Category Archives: mom life

Mar24

I get her.

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I don’t believe in child support. I don’t believe in government involvement.

There, I said it.

Friend of the Court called me yesterday for a friendly conversation. We had our 3-year review, guess who didn’t send in documents or fill out the form. Hint: it wasn’t the responsible parent—they even got my letter.

I have a great relationship with the FOC. I’ve always lived by transparency and honesty, the use of documentation to back things up, and being proactive. They called to ask me if I wanted to increase my child support that I received.

I turned the opportunity down.

The lady was absolutely amazed by my response. It’s uncommon. She couldn’t refrain from asking me why instead of letting it go, so we continued into a discussion.

It’s my belief that because I get to—not have to, I get to—raise Evelynn, she is my responsibility. Her dad may have donated the sperm but in my eyes, she only has one parent. Even if you ask her, she finds it weird when kids split parenting time between houses; she only wants to live with me and maybe visit with him. He’s a friend to her, not a parent.

I related to this woman how I believe Evelynn is my sole responsibility. I pay the bills. I handle her school and sports and doctor visits. Since I get to be the parent in her life every day, I don’t care about the money. Now, when he comes at me wanting to use Evelynn as a pawn in dating or for his ego or making claims of how he’s her father or because he’s jealous of a new guy in my life, then I make sure he is up to date on payments (he’s typically behind). I also don’t allow him to get crazy in changing the visitation schedule.

I believe in consistency. I will not allow for him to get her hopes up only for him to start cancelling again. It appears seeing her only five times a year is best for him not to cancel. We tried it, her last birthday, for him to see her twice within a month because he forgot about her birthday being the following weekend; SHOCKER he cancelled on the second one due to sickness.

Called it.

A man who claims he never got sick while we were together suddenly was always sick and had to cancel. He’s cancelled so many times over the years we are now down to him only seeing her—supervised visits only, of course—five times a year. When she was a baby, we started the schedule at twice a week. Imagine cancelling so much that he went from 104 visits a year to only five. Absolutely insane to me.

When we also broke up, FOC wasn’t involved—they forced their involvement eventually due to needing state insurance for Evelynn—and he only gave me $100 a month for diapers. When FOC told him that amount was increasing, he was furious. I didn’t really care. I even allowed them to lie about my income so he could pay less.

Once, I also offered him $25,000 to walk away with the promise I would lie to people and tell them I had cheated on him, that she wasn’t his. To his credit, he refused. More to ego, than anything. Though, I can’t fathom why over the years given how much he cancelled on her to golf with buddies or due to hangovers (social media and many mutual friends slapped me in the face with the truth). Then again, at the time, he had gone months without seeing her in hopes of manipulating me into missing him (yes, he admitted this). It backfired on him.

He’s a man of poor calculating skills.

Yes, I’m not afraid to admit I attempted to pay him off. I would rather my daughter have a father who is not involved at all than one who didn’t even want her, cancels on her, uses her to boost his ego, and quite frankly, not even worthy of her.

Evelynn is amazing. Her personality gives me life. She saved me. I’m not sure how anyone could ever give her up.

Then there’s the entire history of him hurting me, manipulating me, degrading me.

Clearly, I have no respect for him.

Back to FOC.

What infuriates me is this stigma against single moms wanting the dad to pay for everything. I could care less if he pays, I simply want him gone. My daughter is strong because I have nurtured that within her. I have made sure to love her twice as hard. I have played good cop and bad cop, parent and friend.

Evelynn will tell you how I’m “such a mom. The other kids’ moms aren’t really moms because they don’t make their kids eat veggies for lunch like you do. I know I don’t want to and why you make me, but you’re really a mom.”

I am that mom. I know my kid. As soon as we sway from her daily designated fruit, veggie, and protein intake and her sleep schedule, she gets sick. Happens like clockwork every time. Yet, she’s rarely sick, hasn’t been to the doctor since before covid (just a couple phone calls). Clearly what I do works. She’s not a fan of the rules but she understands them. And because she knows how much I love her, she respects them….mostly.

Anyway, back to FOC. Again.

This woman couldn’t believe me. She couldn’t believe my ex.

I can’t blame her.

He’s mandated to provide for Evelynn’s health insurance and pay 80 percent of her medical bills. He hasn’t. I have her insurance, I pay her bills. He racked up late fees and I paid them. She had a heart condition when she was born (she had two holes in her heart, thankfully they healed themselves) and multiple audiology appointments (diagnosis: stubborn and selective hearing, legitimately. She made a movement showing she heard the sound but then wouldn’t turn towards the sound to indicate she knew where it was coming from, instead she would do this very slight head tilt and a smirk. She was only three. They had never seen this reaction before, they found it hilarious. I did not). I racked up $18,000 in medical debt for her because I refused to ask him for money and I had to pay his late fees since most of the bills were past due.

By the way, he never asked when or how those visits went. Someone else had to bring it up for him to remember.

Holes in the heart is not normal. That’s not forgettable. It should not be forgettable.

I refused to be the single mom who made the ex pay for the kid he didn’t even want, a kid I would do anything for.

The woman at the FOC was appalled. I didn’t even give her details. She was simply appalled looking at his child support payment history and hearing he wasn’t providing her insurance or hadn’t paid medical bills. She’s sending me a form and highly recommended in the future, that I not only don’t allow for this to continue but to get the court involved if it does. It’s his responsibility.

Funny, he claims that as Evelynn’s father it’s his responsibility too, to provide for her, and yet he doesn’t do it. The boy only knows how to talk about doing and thankfully I’ve stopped listening. I learned early on he was never good at taking any action.

Let’s travel back to my core belief: I get to raise my daughter.

I get to tuck her in at night. I get to enjoy her laughter daily. I get to hold her daily. I get to watch her play soccer. I get to listen to her sing and hum through her entire day. I get to send her off to school and do the morning rituals of a kiss and “Have a good day, love you!” and for her to yell it back to me proudly. I get to do our nightly “I looooooove youuuu” song followed by tickles as I tuck her in. I get to do all that. I choose to. Every day. That’s a freaking blessing.

The fact that he has messed up so terribly and doesn’t even care, has allowed me to get that for over 7 years.

Get that.

Do you understand the difference? Do you understand the meaning of word change and how much word choice matters?

I’ve been thinking about it all day and night.

Yet again back to FOC, though. She couldn’t believe my decision. Asked me three times. Asked about the medical debt and going after him for repayment. It’s off my radar. I only care about lack of time he has with her. It still makes me sick knowing he’s around my daughter, knowing at some point in my life I had hit such rock bottom to allow him near me. Knowing what he did to me and yet gets to breathe the same air as Evelynn.

The only thing I wish they’d change is his connection to Evelynn. She deserves so much more than him. Her having his last name as part of hers sickens me, still. I’ve seen his dating profile—you would never guess how little he sees her. He shouldn’t have that privilege to “claim” her as his.

I’ve said it before and I will say it again: it’s 2022, family dynamics have drastically changed along with society’s acceptance and views. Providing half the DNA doesn’t make one a parent, it only makes a child. Our actions and love make the parent.

He loves to correct me when I call her “my daughter” instead of “our daughter.”

She is my daughter and I love the hell out of her. He can keep his money; I get to have her.

Mar11

Loving me and singlehood.

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Loving me, myself, is enough for me right now.

Sometimes I want to scream I CHOOSE TO BE SINGLE.

Our societal views on single vs. relationships is fucked up.

Being single does not mean I have to date. Someone thinking I’m pretty does not mandate me to have to be in a relationship with someone. My single status does not mean I have to say yes to guys when they ask me out. Having a profile on a dating app does not mean that I have to say yes to any date, respond to any message, or even be active on the app. It means I have it there as an option for the very rare slow moments in my life that I might want to see if anyone interests me to engage in some conversation or maybe even give up my favored single crown. Slim chance, though.

I am so sick of defending my time spent to my career and my kid instead of paying attention to and responding to messages from guys.

Speaking of valued time, scheduling a showing or listing appointment with me simply to meet me because I don’t have time to date is not a smart move. It’s the fastest way to turn me off. It’s a complete disrespect of my time, and my freedom as to how I spend my time.

It takes two to make any relationship work. Simply because someone wants me bad enough does not mean that I owe them a chance. Honestly, why would you want to have to talk someone into dating you? They should simply want to be with you. If they’re not, they’re not the person for you. If you have to talk someone into dating you, are you really going to feel good and secure about being in that relationship?

Wanting me does not mean you get to have me. It is not that easy.

And when the hell did being single translate to not being able to get a guy? I love the comments of “how the hell are you single?” people will make to single folks. Well, sir, ma’am, we single folks choose to be single.

How about being single means I am actively choosing, in this moment in my life, being single is the best decision for me. That being single is what I want to be.

How about…

  • I choose to dedicate my time to my career.
  • I choose to dedicate my time to my daughter.
  • I choose to dedicate my time to my commitments.
  • I choose to dedicate my time to rediscovering my friendships.
  • I choose to dedicate my time to ME.

And how about I refuse to enter into another relationship that is anything less than I deserve.

Every time a guy comes after me and solely focuses on my looks or body, I’m sorry but it further pushes me into enjoying being single. I don’t want to settle. I want to be appreciated.

Quite frankly, I really appreciate me single and finally learning to set boundaries.

I don’t want to be tied down to someone right now. I don’t want to deal with their expectations of me making time for them. I don’t want to defend myself when I choose my career over date night. I definitely don’t want to repeat myself when I can’t make time due to having 100% custody of my daughter and choosing to spend my free time with her. I’ve been struggling to make time for friends, I’m not trying to date.

I want my freedom.

I want to be single.

How about I’m good enough for me, just me, more than enough, and that makes me incredibly happy right now.

Feb15

Calling dibs on single mom status.

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Calling dibs on single mom status.

I’m a single mom. That’s just who I am. I’m a mom who by definition takes care of her kid on her own. A fulltime single mom.

It’s what I’ve known.

I make all the decisions. I pay the bills. I play good and bad cop. I play parent and best friend. I don’t have someone to turn to as backup or support. I don’t have someone to talk through hardships with. I don’t have someone to juggle her schedule with. I figure it out on my own. All of it. There’s no one to argue with when she’s sick and must stay home from school. There’s not many options for me to call to pick up my kid from school if I’m stuck in a meeting or running late. There’s no one to take her to school if I’m sick.

There’s no one to rock paper scissors with on Saturday mornings when she wakes up at 7am and is ready for some dippity eggs and toast. There’s no one to cover for me when I have a debilitating migraine and need a day off spent in bed, amid darkness, quietness, and closed blinds. There’s no one to spend time with Evelynn during the long working days. My daughter is known for being my showing assistant.

It’s not a path well lit. It’s a path lit by just a cell phone with a dying battery that must be made sure to be charged every night.

Aka it’s poorly lit.

Aka sleep isn’t always on my side.

It’s navigated by putting one foot in front of the other and trusting my feet and my heart will take me where I need to go and my head will stop me when or before any shit hits the fan. If I’m not sleep deprived and delusional by then.

I’m doing the job of two. I don’t have someone to lean on at the end of the day for reassurance or backup. It’s just me and that’s draining.

But I’m incredibly grateful for the people I have in my life. The companies I have worked at over the years who help me make it work.

From Hall Financial where Evelynn would go in and sit with the boss man during meetings to Fitness Tee Co. where there was a kid room she could chill in if necessary. I’m grateful for the understanding of flexibility and working from home ability. It’s taught me discipline in keeping a strict calendar, time management, getting work done, the meaning of non-negotiables. It’s taught me that time is our most valuable currency.

It runs out.

I’m grateful for the clients who accept me as a fulltime single mom and choose to work with me. I’m grateful real estate offers me more flexibility as Evelynn gets farther into her education and sports. I’m grateful for Graydon’s and their allowance for Evelynn to come in on sick days or no school days so I don’t have to cancel work. It’s a blessing and one I have never taken for granted. Although, sometimes, I do struggle with understanding why more companies can’t be so accommodating.

Last week, we were kicked out of our place 8:30AM to past 6:30PM with an unusable kitchen so we spent our days at the restaurant after school. I have the most sociable child and I’m not quite sure where she got it from. She has no problem going up to a kid and asking if they want to play her games with her (this happened Monday). Or forcing the bartender’s husband into playing her Nintendo Switch with her (Tuesday). Or asking a couple people at the bar to scooch over so we can fit in (Wednesday). Or, my favorite, the time she roped a regular (now friend) and the bartender into creating barbie clothes out of gloves and napkins with her.

I refuse to be the person who says, “My God, this is so hard. You don’t understand.” Quite frankly, there’s others who have it much worse. I might not be great at asking for help but I know there’s a crowd of people rooting for me; who wish me well. That’s an incredible feeling. Somedays, knowing someone else believes in me, is all I need. That alone is enough to keep me going.

It drowns out the ones wanting me to fail. They don’t even register on my radar. (To the point this is an afterthought.)

Even more, I did choose this path. I had it as my New Year’s resolution to make it on my own, to break it off with the baby daddy. I don’t believe in resolutions…but that one. It was it for me. He hurt me and I was done with him. I couldn’t trust him. He wasn’t a good dad. He wasn’t a good human. I deserved better. Despite all the fear thundering through me, I was going to squish it and set my own path. I was going to teach my daughter that you can make it on your own. I was going to show women that you are worth a hell of a lot more than a bad relationship. I was going to show single moms, nothing is worth staying if you’re not treated well.

So these hard days, these long days, these lonely days; I’ll still take them all. They’re worth a hell of a lot more to me than any day where I was hurt; was degraded and talked down to; made to feel stupid or ugly or unworthy; made to feel less than or not enough.

There are many days I need a nap but the love for this little girl and the life I’m building for us carries me through. She’s my best friend. Even on the days she drives me absolutely crazy, she’s my everything.

I get to see her every day. I get to tuck her into bed every night and sing our I Love You song. I get to teach her healthy eating habits. I get to nurture her into a good human and woman. I get to set her on the path for independence. I get to hear her laugh and make her smile. I get to sing and dance with her. I get to set an example for her.

I get to watch her grow up. Wake up to her and say goodnight.

Mama might need a nap but I’m not missing any of this. If I knew how my days would turn out, I’d choose this path again, without hesitation. Often times, the hardest moments are the most rewarding memories.

I’m a fulltime single mom. I wouldn’t dare change that until it’s well worth changing.

Feb4

Jake, we love you; a child’s perspective on death.

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Jake, we love you; a child’s perspective on death.

Children astound me. This girl amazes me. Everyday.

This morning before school we FaceTimed Big Jake, my brother Travis’ dog. Jake is only about 6 months older than Evelynn. When we lived with my parents and on the east side, she spent a lot of time with him. Travis is putting Jake down today because of how unwell he’s doing. We’ve known this day would come for a while now and it’s finally hit a point where Travis can’t put it off any longer.

Death is a difficult subject to handle and kids can simultaneously amplify the difficulty & break it down into such simple terms. We always tell Evelynn the dead remain within us if we allow them to; are no longer suffering. Sometimes, she will feel the need to want to visit a gravesite to say hi, needing something tangible. She didn’t quite understand an idea that someone was simply gone, she needed an idea that they still exist around us and so I’ve allowed her to create and expand her own view on death and after. 

She has a picture of her great grandmother Goetz & I’ll catch her in her room having a full-blown conversation with great grandma Goetz. Telling her what’s going in her life or that she misses her but is thankful she’s “still here with us.” She has a toy dog that barks when there’s movement nearby and sometimes, we will hear it randomly bark—she’s convinced it’s because of ghosts, specifically her great grandma Goetz. She calls it her proof.

My views with religion and God are tumultuous. You don’t grow up with a brother like Taylor, watching him suffer and smile and not be confused about a greater power. And yet, over the years, my views have simplified. Took me 25 years to grapple with my religious views, but I finally understood them.

Evelynn is 7 and seems to already know where she stands regarding an afterlife. She calls it a new “city.” So, this morning, she told Jake she loves him, goodbye, she will miss him, and that she hopes (no, she knows) he will enjoy his new city and she will see him again one day. 

Jake is an amazing dog. Always very protective of Evelynn while everyone else could basically handle things themselves. When another dog would run at Evelynn to knock her over when she was only 2 years old, Jake would body slam that dog like NOT TODAY SATAN. When Evelynn wanted to visit the llamas on the edge of my parents’ property, Jake would stand guard, barking and making sure she didn’t get too close; he didn’t like them hissing. Jake always allowed Evelynn to treat him like a jungle gym or her personal chair, his patience with her was mind blowing.

So Jake, we love you, goodbye, we will miss you, we hope you enjoy your next city. 

Dec18

More than a Nightmare.

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I’m shaking. I can’t stop shaking. I’ve been shaking all morning.

It’s days like today when telling myself I’m fine and I have moved on that are the hardest. Like I’m being slapped in the face and forced to acknowledge I’ll never be fine; I’ll never fully move on.

I shouldn’t be expected to move on. I shouldn’t be expected to accept the situation. I shouldn’t have to be fine for the sake of being fine when I’m not always going to be fine.

I’ve successfully gone 6.5 years without having to be the one who sticks around when my ex visits Evelynn. Yes, visits. Always visits. Those first few years, I got away with my parents being the ones while I either, more often than not, left the house to work out or hit up a yoga class and do some retail therapy—and I racked up the debt to prove it—anything to take my mind off the fact my kid was meeting with the man who hurt me; or, I would hide in my parents room or the basement, areas off limits to him and Evelynn. His voice would carry through the halls, though. I couldn’t drown him out when I wanted him drowned.

When we moved out of my parents, by this time my ex had cancelled enough on my daughter that his visits were down to only twice a month. Every other weekend Evelynn would go to her grandparents for two to three days and for a couple hours one of those days my ex would see her there. My parents didn’t know at the time what he had done, only that he had hurt me but not the extent or how exactly. They haven’t seen him or had to deal with him since finding out this fall.

By the time the pandemic came around and Evelynn and I moved in with my most recent ex, A. was a saint at letting me leave the house and he be the one to deal with the baby daddy. Until A. caught her dad talking negatively about us and A. to Evelynn; her dad made E. feel bad for calling A. “daddy” or “Andy dad” and A.’s parents Grandma and Grandpa.

Now, I’m forced to be in the same room as him. Forced to watch him interact with my daughter. Forced to witness the man who raped me on my birthday simply because it had been too long for him and it felt too good to him. Forced to wonder what he could possibly say or do if my daughter was ever assaulted or worse.

Nothing, he could do nothing. That same night of my birthday, a guy at the bar had grabbed my ass hard, full palm, and he did nothing to the dude. Two girlfriends, however, had words to say and drinks to throw and we had to leave the bar.

I spent the drive here telling myself I’m okay. I’m okay I’m okay I’m okay. I spent the drive here trying to focus more on the road than the lies I was telling myself.

I’m not okay. I am never going to be fully okay.

I have moved past many things regarding this situation but the more I’m forced to see him or hear his voice, the more I’m pushed back into that bed and the harder it is to ignore my daughter’s dad raped me because it was more important for his dick to feel good than me begging for him to stop when I felt as though I was on fire.

We met at a restaurant today. Always public places. I won’t allow him in my home, I won’t even tell him where we live. He’s not allowed in my space. When I was with A., it was different. I had three bulldogs and a beast of a man. It didn’t bother me that he had to enter our home. Since the breakup with A., it has all changed. Parks and restaurants only. The first time was at a pizza joint, and I sat there and read. I couldn’t eat, didn’t even try to attempt it.

I never eat well on days when he comes around. I have to force it. Sometimes it stays down, other days I can’t even try.

Today we met at a restaurant for him and Evelynn to have brunch. I sat at a separate table. I ordered her food for her to ensure it was gluten free safe. I sat here writing this damn blog and dealing with all the conflicting shit roiling through me.

And I puked.

Drank more coffee. Failed to control the shaking. Succeeded in controlling any frustrated tears.

Frustrated as hell over the situation.

I hate him. “Hate” is not a word in our vocabulary I allow to be spoken. I find it poor choice when there’s so many others that can better articulate our emotions. Yet, I hate him. There is no other word accurate enough. I have struggled with accepting the fact that I will not only always hate the father of my child but also the fact that I am allowed to do so.

Evelynn has begun to ask why I don’t like her dad and it’s been draining. I don’t want her to know, I don’t want her to know how her dad betrayed me or became a monster. I don’t want her to know the hell her dad is capable of doing to a woman. I don’t want her to have to experience the emotions behind all of this bullshit. We only tell her that he hurt me and that I’m allowed to not like him but that doesn’t mean she can’t like him.

The strength it takes for me to tell her that completely drains me. There’s a voice in my head screaming, “LIES! BULLSHIT! KEEP HIM AWAY!” There’s a quieter voice in my head wondering why he can’t disappear already. Right now, all I can think about is how I would love to drown out the noise with some Jack Daniels and friends. Surround myself with people who support me not hurt me. Fuck a guy who if I told him to stop mid sex he would do so because he understands and respects consensual sex. I want the intimacy of feeling loved and appreciated.

Not a toy.

It’s been a struggle dating this season because of the comments guys make on my body. I like me, I’ve worked incredibly hard to become me. I’ve pushed past physical obstacles to build strength and correct issues. It hurts when guys only want me for my body after Evelynn’s dad did what he did to me. I can have a sexual relationship with a man, not date them, and they still respect me for more than my body, where we have a strong friendship. Yet, I’m struggling with this concept of gaining weight, fat not muscle, to make the comments stop. I don’t mind if a guy wants my body—me­­—as long as he’s not objectifying me.

That’s how this began. That’s how he felt the need to rape me in the first place.

He didn’t respect me to stop. He didn’t see me as human to care. I was nothing to him.

I am not okay.

I won’t look at him. I won’t converse with him. He’s been in the mode of kissing my ass ever since A.’s and my breakup. It’s eating at me. I want nothing to do with him.

I refused to even have us walk out of the restaurant with him.

Back home, I’m better. Still shaking. Not as sick. Secure.

I’m not always okay. I’m strong because I choose to always move forward. I choose to pick me. I choose to look for the good. I choose to look towards tomorrow. I choose daylight over nightmares.

I might not always be okay, I wasn’t okay for most of today or last night leading up to this day, but I firmly believe I will be okay. I will be more than okay. I will not be defined by a nightmare.

I will be okay. I am more than a body, I know this. There exists in me more light than this nightmare.

Sep13

Breaking free.

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There’s something about breakups that make me come out on the other side stronger and more in love with me and everything I still have in life. Even when it feels like things might be falling apart, or that I might be meant for singledom. When things fall apart, I learn just how many people I have in my corner; even when it feels like I’ve grown incredibly distant with everyone because I’m an introvert used to being alone.

They show up for me and it feels good.

This isn’t easy. I’m struggling. I’m hurt. I’m lost. I’m heartbroken. We’re still living together. We still sleep in the same bed at night. It’s incredibly difficult to walk through a house with someone who I firmly believed the best in him only for him to break up with me because he believed the worst in me. He held his ex and all her faults over my head as if I was her and it’s difficult to grapple with his reasonings when at the core of our breakup is not our relationship, it’s his schedule and his inability to communicate and love.

I can’t read minds. And I shouldn’t be faulted for such.

I dated a runner, though. What could I expect? I dated a man who has never been chosen and will only love his dogs. He loves the idea of love but I can’t say if he ever loved me. It sure doesn’t feel like it. You don’t give up on the people you love simply because something got difficult, or someone got busy.

I prosper with breakups. I suck at dating and finding good, mature men, but I prosper with breakups and excel at finding me.

And understanding what I deserve.

I deserve more than someone who will walk two feet ahead of me when going on a date and will let the door slam on me instead of waiting or holding it open.

I deserve someone who is willing to have the patience to win my kid over and work through issues, who understands she’s seven—and that by saying such is not an excuse, it’s cause to teach her and show her acceptance.

I deserve more than someone who will snuggle and love on all three dogs and then only give me a quick quiet shout before walking out the door or ignore me completely.

I deserve more than someone who believes that because I’m not his mother nor the mother of his child, he doesn’t have to recognize or celebrate Mother’s Day for or with me. I should not have to explain to someone that loving me is accepting that I’m a mom and therefor celebrating that with me, especially when Mother’s Day is one of my favorite holidays—highlighting all the accomplishments I’ve done to get where I am, everything I’ve overcome as a full time single mom.

I deserve more than having to pick up and pay for my own birthday dinner for the entire family.

I deserve more than just a “how much money will you make off that?” while still glancing at his phone when I announced I just released and published my first book of poetry, a longstanding childhood dream of mine that finally came through. I also deserve someone who will take enough interest to see what the book looks like and will at the minimum flip through its pages.

I deserve someone who will follow through with wanting to celebrate my first real estate sale rather than just chalking it up to his dad “doing me a favor” (I sold his grandma’s house).

I deserve someone who wants to show up to events and parties with me that we’re invited to and tries to recognize each other’s schedule instead of one reigning priority.

I deserve someone who will communicate with me when he’s going to be three hours late to our plans because he stayed longer with friends than he had initially said he would—and understands the difference between this being respectful of my time and not me being controlling. I should not have to explain this to someone.

I deserve someone who will not neglect my daughter’s birthday.

I deserve someone who will not tell my daughter to lie to me or keep something from me.

I deserve someone who will console me or talk to me when he makes me cry, not ignore me or intentionally hurt me more.

I deserve someone who will not attempt to belittle me in order to feel superior—this is a partnership, after all.

I deserve more than someone whose go to defense mechanism when Evelynn acts up is that he is not his father and she is not his responsibility, especially when I have never said anything remotely similar about his own son. And he should not be telling this to her with anger in his tone.

I deserve someone who wants to show me off and take me out and will speak highly of me.

I deserve someone who will believe in the best of me, be honest with me, love me, and respect me.

We met during covid, when things were relatively easy and we didn’t have jobs to show up to and we could be present for each other so easily. We could skip off to the beach, deliver GrubHub and DoorDash together, talk endlessly about life and philosophies and beliefs and our past. It is so incredibly hard reconciling this man; who I know he can be with who he ended up being. Why do I still believe the best in him? Why did I let all those things I didn’t deserve slide?

He taught Evelynn how to ride a bike. He taught her how to use her fingers and nose to do math. He taught her the alphabet in a manner where she could remember it. He was around when her own father only showed up five times in a year for her. He prioritized showing up for her school conference over coaching cheer. He would help her build a sandcastle and play in the water with her, two things I’m just not great at doing, whenever we went to the beach. He would lay in her dirty pool with her just because she asked and didn’t want to be alone. When she started calling him daddy in public, he took it in stride and just let her do her thing, what she wanted and needed. When she later was insistent that he was NOT her dad whenever she was asked, he accepted it even though it bothered him, her aggressiveness in stating that he wasn’t.

I’m not easy to date me. The whole 100% custody thing is difficult to get around. I’m a packaged deal, there’s no way around it. There is no break from parenting in my world. Andy took it all on. When Evelynn’s dad scolded her for calling Andy “daddy” and spoke negatively of Andy and his family to her, it created a major riff and thus began the spiral of Evelynn acting out against Andy. Her father was jealous and began ruining her relationship with the only man that had stuck around and took on the fatherhood role of showing up for her, asking her about her day, encouraging her with her education, not allowing her fear to get in her way of achievements.

Andy helped her break through so many barriers.

I hate her dad and hate is not a word I allow to be said in this house. It’s not something I allow in Evelynn’s vocabulary. Yet, I have spent too much energy wishing he would just disappear. What father does that to his daughter? Discourages a healthy relationship. I would have hoped that a man willing to step up and be there for her would have been an amazing thing to embrace and be comforted by.

Jealousy really is an ugly green monster.

Not to mention her own dad forgot her birthday. I can’t be shocked, he only saw her five times last year and has a history of cancelling, hence why we’re down to only every other month of supervised visits. He’s lied about being sick so many times I blocked him on social media—I was completely over the blatant truth of him instead being too hungover or wanting to hit the golf course because he didn’t prioritize seeing his daughter.

Andy, despite his conditioning to hold a grudge and not willing to be around to celebrate Evelynn’s birthday, showed up in other ways. He allowed us to move into a house he bought designed for just him and two dogs. Instead, he got three other humans (his son moved in with him about a month before we met) and yet another dog. He hasn’t had the ability to enjoy this home he bought all on his own through hard work and perseverence. We moved in and took over, and that’s another grudge he’s holding over my head.

But I never needed shelter from him. I needed love and support.

And grace and acceptance, as I had shown him.

I needed communication and no judgment.

And I needed a cheerleader. For being a cheer coach, he failed at cheering me on the moment it was inconvenient for him.

I don’t get a clean breakaway. I’m stuck until I find housing and it hurts.

There are so many moments where I would just be enraptured by him. I’d just stare at him and be so in love. I was so sure of him. I felt so unbelievably safe with him. My favorite sound was when him and Evelynn would wrestle and he would make her belly laugh. God, I miss that sound. I miss him being the sole reason for that sound.

It is utterly heartbreaking to find yourself at the end of a relationship where you thought you would and could spend the rest of your life with the person. When he was job searching, I had told him to look wherever he needs to because I could sell real estate anywhere. And we had fully discussed this possibility.

Somehow, instead, only months later, we’re over. That’s really fucking hard to accept.

While attraction draws me to someone, compatibility keeps me around. I was so sure we could make it through anything. It’s depressing to learn you’re the only one in love and willing to fix things, believing in your relationship.

All those things I deserve, I mean it. However, I also knew he could do them if he wanted to.

I remember our first fight. He’s a yeller. He sees red. It consumes him. He yelled so hard he spit on me—accidentally! Don’t get your panties in a bunch (still spit though, I know). I told him to walk away from me.

The next day I made it clear that I am not someone to speak to like such and that we will not have arguments of such nature. It’s not something I will allow. It’s not something I want my daughter to view as an acceptable form of communication. It’s not something I want his son to see and think is okay to replicate.

He never did it again. Not once. He learned to walk away when heated or upset. He learned to calm down first.

And I noticed. It meant something to me, oh dear lord how it meant everything to me, that he understood what I wouldn’t allow and didn’t do it again.

It’s hard moving on when I’m still here in this god damn house, sleeping in the same bed with him, exchanging niceties. It’s all so fake. I thought he was my best friend—he’s not. I still want to fight for us but again, I can’t be the only one wanting to fight for us; and also, again, I do not need someone in my life who doesn’t want me in theirs.

There are moments when I forget we’re broken up, and then it hits.

Those moments floor me. They knock me down. Makes it hard for me to breathe.

I still want his arms wrapped around me at night when we’re on the couch. I still want a kiss goodbye when one of us leaves to go somewhere. I still want to be invested in his day and accomplishments. I still want to be able to touch him in bed at night. Still want to love him and show him love.

How am I, really? I have a way of breaking free with breakups. I realize what I’ve compromised on that I never should have allowed. I will come out on top, I always come out stronger. Despite feeling lost, I have a way of grounding myself. I know I have a hell of a lot to offer someone, someone who will appreciate me and what we have; and I also know that I’m the best he will ever have, in all aspects.

I said what I said.

When he first mentioned going on a break, I wanted to hold on to the idea that he just wanted space and for us to date, traditionally, after I moved out…. but let’s be real, that was just worthless words he said in passing to ease the blow because he didn’t have the respect for me to break if off. I had to force him to make a decision. And let’s be realer, why would I want to hold on when he was letting me go so easily? It felt like he was leaving me to drown as he steered the boat away.

I loved hard and deeply and I lost big for it. I can be okay with this knowledge. I know, leaving, that I gave him everything. I showed up for him. I celebrated his wins. I cooked and meal prepped for him to make his nights after a long day easier. I took care of his dogs, and dealt with their attitudes and the one’s aggressive psychotic episodes, without refusal to do so or claims that they weren’t mine. I made sure his son ate every night. I didn’t push him away or reject him. I changed up my routine and how I do things to fit his style.

He did a lot for me…when it was convenient for him. That is where all the hurt lies.

I showed up for him regardless; behind closed doors where no one else could enter and in the public eye.

I made clear that I still love him and wanted to work on things, be with him. I made clear that I still believed we both could do better and be happy together. I made clear that even though there were things in our life I was unhappy with, at the end of the day having him made me happy overall.

And I made these things clear without hearing them in return. All I got was a “well, we’re definitely on a break, I know that much.”

So I’m working on breaking free because wild horses run in me.

Mar3

I’m still here.

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I’ll stare the devil down, let the fire take me.

I spent most of the last year fighting—to keep going, to push through, to stay positive, to persevere, to not give up.

When 2020 began, I was dating my boss and less than a month into the year he ended the relationship. And when he broke it off during lunch at work, my exact words to him when he told me to “say something”, were something like, “well I can’t be too surprised since it feels more like I’m a workplace sex toy.” And I wasn’t wrong.

Less than 2 months later I’d lose my job along with the rest of the staff, only for him to pursue hiring high schoolers and college students on the cheap. Or so I heard.

It takes something from you when you lose a job where you had also had a physical and romantic relationship with the owner. It wasn’t something I had entered into lightly—there were four girls all under the age of 11 involved, both of us being single parents. And the last time I’d dated a boss, I was pregnant & he fired me (by telling his superiors I had put in my two weeks when I hadn’t) in fear of not getting a promotion when management asked about our relationship. It wasn’t something I ever wanted to repeat.

And yet there I was again.

Like I never learn.

I questioned all of my worth. I questioned my mind. I questioned my decision making skills. I questioned my body—not if it was good enough or if I was pretty enough, but if that was all I’d be seen as by a man. An ornament, an instrument. Something only meant to please them and to covet.

Not for me to be loved.

I was once told at a job to wear heels to a meeting because we were meeting potential partners. I had been asked on more than one occasion if I’d gotten where I was at because I slept with someone, if it was because of my body.

I don’t mind using what I have when it’s appropriate (aka not career) but I do mind that being seen as all I have to contribute.

I more than doubled my salary in 3.5 years of my marketing career and suddenly I was jobless. When I changed jobs and moved across state over two years ago, I had been kept on at the first as a consultant for a term. I went from working 60-80 hour weeks to being labeled “unemployed.” I went from 430am workouts before work and working until 11pm at night to not having to do anything. Except parent.

And then I couldn’t find a job. I started applying at 530am the morning after I lost my job. I was devastated. I filled out hundreds of applications and 95% of them I never heard back from. The rest? I didn’t have childcare during a pandemic and they wanted me at work during the shutdowns. With virtual school on the horizon and everything unknown, they didn’t want a single mom who couldn’t come in 8-5. I was too experienced for the job and they couldn’t afford me—I literally told them I am not above anything, I had lost my job. But for most of that 5%, they changed their minds and were no longer hiring for the position due to an uncertainty with the economy and shutdowns.

So I wore that godawful unemployment crown.

And I took my background in marketing mortgages and decided to pursue real estate instead.

Only for me to receive a letter last month claiming I owe the state almost $30K (with monthly interest) because I was never eligible for unemployment due to not having childcare during a global pandemic that shut down the state.

I was so mad. At the government. At my old boss. At hiring companies. At fucking politics. At this fucking virus.

I’m still waiting to see if my protest will be approved or if I have to go to court.

My health and fitness have often felt like the only thing I could control. It has helped keep me sane. Helped my sanity and mental health, helped me check those self doubts.

I have questioned my worth—in career, in love, in parenting—more days than I would ever be willing to admit. But I’m still here.

I’m. Still. Here.

Because in the last year, I have made a career jump to real estate, met an amazing guy and fell in love, I have learned I can love my body—I should—and relish it and not accept that it is all someone sees of me, and have never once heard my daughter tell me she hates me. She has never once physically fought me or threw a temper tantrum upset at me like I’ve heard many parents go through with their young ones during the shutdowns and pandemonium. Instead, I still hear everyday how much she loves me.

So I’m still here pushing for more because even on the worst mental health days, there’s still a light, still a desire, still a flame in me, no matter how small. It’s still there. No matter how worthless I might feel, I know—I KNOW—I am in fact more than enough. I am more than just a body. And sometimes, life is simply hard. I simply have to overcome. If it was easy, there’d be little to appreciate.

Jun26

Migraine hell.

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I’ve always done it alone. And I was fine with that. Though, I couldn’t tell you how as I never remember much other than the puking. The constant puking and pain. Everything else is black.

Until this time when I had someone by my side.

Migraines are my invisible enemy & Wednesday I came down hard with one. I was out for 36 hours, dead to the world. My boyfriend claims to have spoken to me throughout the day but I don’t remember it. He took Evelynn the entire day and then planned on having to do so again yesterday (he skipped going to football practice) because he didn’t know what to expect. If I’d feel better or if I’d still feel like death. Yesterday, I still wasn’t 100% with a lingering headache that I had to work to manage.

My brain was in a meat pulverizer. It was like a construction crew was having a jackhammer party in my head. I couldn’t keep down anything, not even water. My body would overheat and then get hit hard with chills. I couldn’t stand up, I was dizzy, I was seeing spots. It’s wondering if death is a good enough answer just to end the pain—it’s not. But that’s the troubling thing with migraines: you want it to end as fast as possible by any means possible. There is nothing I can do except sleep. Looking at a screen makes it worse. Trying to keep hydrated just makes for more trips to the bathroom to puke. I go dark.

While I spent the entire day in bed, Andy took care of Evelynn. They washed both his truck and my car. They took the dogs for a walk and she rode her bike. She got dirty and played with mud. They did a bonfire and danced. She ate all her meals and earned herself some ice cream. He kept her happy and entertained.

I’ve had to skip major events for migraines. I’ve lost great friends from migraines. I’ve been verbally abused by past boyfriends due to my migraines cancelling their plans. I’ve had grades slip in college due to migraines and my attendance record alone. I’ve slept through days on vacation due to migraines. I’ve missed soccer games growing up due to migraines. I’ve left bachelorette parties early due to migraines. I’ve almost lost jobs due to migraines—my work ethic and communication helped me keep them, helped my employers trust me. I gave up going for my teacher certificate because I couldn’t sub more than 3 days in a row without getting a migraine. I once chopped my hair because I heard that could help. I once gave up lentils (yes that means peanut butter, too) because I heard that could reduce headaches. I once went on a migraine med and ended up pregnant because it interacted with my birth control despite original assurances it wouldn’t—8 months after giving birth there was a “new finding” that the med I had taken was reportedly making birth control pills ineffective.

Since finding out I’m celiac and going gluten free, I’ve had far fewer debilitating migraines. Where I used to have them for 2-5 days 2-3 times a month, I now only get the excruciating crushing ones a few times a year. Most people don’t know how to react. They can’t see it. They can’t feel it. It’s invisible. Some think I must be faking it. It’s extremely difficult for anyone who doesn’t experience such crushing and debilitating migraines to not be annoyed with me for disrupting their day. Reality: it’s my hell. I not only have to battle the migraine but then I will have to also defend myself.

Today with the migraine gone and the post lingering headache gone, I’m feeling unbelievably blessed to have a man who took it upon himself to watch Evelynn for a day without complaints. Thank you babe.

Feb16

Reality Check.

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On his 90th birthday last Sunday, my (step) grandpa attended a memorial service for his daughter; and on Valentine’s Day, my paternal grandpa attended a visitation for his wife of almost 63 years. The following day was her funeral mass and burial. It’s been a week of reality checks and right after a breakup I didn’t see coming nor did I want.

Death is a reality check.

My step aunt passed away from cancer and while I didn’t know her well, let me just say cancer is only for the strong. Even when it feels like a losing battle or like giving up, it is only for the strong. Whether you are the one battling the disease or watching someone battle. You cannot be weak and have cancer. Nobody is weak and has cancer, whether they beat it or not. I firmly believe cancer is only for the strong. The mental and physical hits one takes, their capacity to process—only the strong get cancer.

We grew up rotating between visiting three sets of grandparents every week. We lived with my maternal grandmother until I was ten and then every Sunday we would visit either my maternal grandfather (now deceased), my maternal great grandparents (now deceased), and my paternal grandparents.

After returning home Sunday evening from my step aunt’s memorial service, I got the call that my grandma wasn’t doing well. I hadn’t seen her since last summer and I had made plans for Evelynn and I to go see her Tuesday. She never made it through Monday.

My grandparents didn’t have the best health. I’ve only known my grandmother to be extremely overweight and to make little effort in achieving better health. But oh man could she complain. And with my growing up with a severely disabled brother who is confined to his hospital bed and wheelchair, you can imagine how much her lack of interest in selfcare was difficult for me to process and accept. Not to mention my dedication to my own fitness and healthy eating, and struggles with health and celiac disease. And they knew. My mom guilted my paternal grandparents into eating better when I was pregnant—I wanted them to meet their first great grandchild. I’m sad to say by the time my grandmother passed, she was seeing my daughter more than she was able to see me.

Despite this difference, she was damn proud of me and she was a ferocious woman. She was stubborn as all get out and was all about that girl power. Of nine grandkids, I was one of only two girls. Sometimes, I think she loved the fact that I was a full-time single mom. I think it made her prouder.

My grandmother was the only person who whenever I was dating someone would ask me, “Well, does he make you happy? Are you happy Tiffany?” That’s all she cared about. She might ask other questions about his job or how we met—the gossipy bits of general info everyone always asks—but she always without fail would ask me if I was happy. That was the most important thing to her. And if I was, then it was a, “Well then I’m happy for you and Evelynn.” And if I was single, it was a “Well, I’m proud of you. One day there will be a man good enough for you but never settle.” And then there was my favorite, “I’ll let you in on a little secret. Men aren’t worth the trouble of settling.”

Actually, she’s one of two people who would ever consistently ask me this—my step grandpa also asks me this whenever him and my maternal grandma find out I’m seeing someone new or when they meet a new man in my life. My paternal grandmother, though, she would ask me this every time I saw or spoke with her. Every time. Whether I was seeing someone new or not or if it was the same person. All she asked was, “Well are you happy now that you’re living in Grand Rapids?” “Well, are you liking your new job? Are you happy at your job?” “Is Evelynn happy?” All she ever cared about was if Evelynn and I was happy. It was the underlying theme to every question every time I saw her.

And yes, I’ll admit, thinking about all of this immediately after a breakup I didn’t see coming and in a relationship where I felt valued and naturally happy, it’s painful. With death, you realize how little time matters and when lack of time was the key reason I had been given for why he wanted a breakup, it stung and was confusing.

Death is a reality check if nothing else. It makes you think of where you are at in life, where you want to go, what you haven’t done that you thought you would have. Above all, it makes you realize how short life really is. Time is fickle.

I never thought life was a given. In fact, we speak of life not being a given but a gift, yet we act like we have a lifetime ahead of us and we are owed that lifetime. Maybe it’s watching Taylor live a very confined life all these years, but I feel lucky for anything I get to achieve or experience. It’s why I’m so passionate about working out and eating healthy—I’m showing appreciation to my body. I feel lucky to be able to work out daily and breathe in fresh air and wake up in the morning to a new day. I never could be the girl to sit around and binge watch Netflix. I could never be the girl who felt good being winded by stairs. I was the girl who if stairs were making me winded, it meant I was going to up my cardio game in my workouts. If I couldn’t play a full half game of soccer without needing my inhaler, oh man was I on a mission. Asthma might be a diagnosis but it was not about to control me.

I think it’s why I never settle in dating. I think it’s also why I never quite give up. Life is too short to be in a relationship I don’t want, respect, or value; where I don’t feel valued or where I simply know I’m not happy. But life is also too short to not want to experience life with someone else by your side and make memories with and build a life with in the hopes that when we reach 90 years old (fingers crossed), we can look back together and reminisce and be like, damn did we live. The only three questions I ever ask myself when dating: Am I happy? Do they treat me well? Do I like who I am when I’m with them? That’s my criteria.

I find it extremely captivating and beautiful to be able to grow with someone. To have someone who calls you out on your bullshit, expects the best of you and pushes you to grow but also accepts you for you and knows you’re not perfect. It’s an ideal I continue to hold out for.

And it is completely acceptable—encouraged, even—to be selfish in love.

The other day my recent ex made a comment, “I know you want to be in a long-term relationship with someone.” Here’s the thing, I want to be in a long-term relationship with the right person for me. (And yes, I did correct him, too.) I might have a fear of going through life without ever really knowing love and it might hurt like hell when someone doesn’t choose me back but I’m not willing to force it. I’m not willing to force finding it or feeling it. I’m 30 years old and I won’t lie, I thought I’d be married by now—don’t most of us?—but I’m also 30 years old and know who I am, know my worth, and know what makes me happy. I’d say, I’m pretty ahead of the crowd because all that is worth more.

And I have to thank my late grandma for consistently asking me about my happiness over the years (and reminding me not to settle) because it’s a question I’m not only not afraid to ask myself, but I’m also not afraid to answer honestly and make moves to change if needed.

Nov2

Balancing Act: Single Parenthood.

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Incredibly grateful. That’s the mood.

I was terrified to be a parent. I knew without a doubt I could love my daughter hard and give her my heart but I didn’t think I could have the energy to be present. I thought I might be one of those moms who are always laying down. Not because of depression or lack of desire but because I had suffered from constant chronic fatigue and endless migraines. You have to understand, I missed so much school in high school that every year I had to write my principal and the board a letter requesting not to make me repeat a grade and explaining the cause of my extensive absences, and I had to get all of my teachers to sign it with their stamp of approval. After I had Evelynn, I was subbing and couldn’t wake up to sub more than 3 days in a row without coming down with a migraine from exhaustion. I’d spend the next 36 hours or so sleeping. It was dreadful.

I worried endlessly about a career I could juggle with single parenthood. Until Evelynn, there was a reason I stuck with serving—it worked for me to sleep, I didn’t take the job home with me, it required little to no functioning. It wasn’t until we found out I had Celiac Disease and I learned how much working out daily helps that I improved and did basically a 180 with my health—I now average less than 6 hours of sleep most nights, little to no fatigue (unless obvious overexertion), and migraines minimized 95 percent I’d guess.

And then there’s the other part: I am adamant about believing I do NOT have it harder than any other parent, single or not. Some days it gets really difficult to believe but I refuse to go down that road. I am not special. I am not the only single parent. I am not the only parent. There are plenty of others in similar or way worse situations—let’s be real clear and honest about that fact. I have it pretty damn good.

Reality is it’s still frustrating when folks don’t get that single parenting as the sole parent is tough. No, I can’t drop things to go out. No, I don’t have “half the days off a month” to date. No, I don’t have someone else who can pick her up from school because she’s sick. No, I don’t have someone else who can get her around in the morning because I’m running late. Everything is on me—the school events and extracurriculars, the finances, the cleaning, the nurturing. I play best friend and parent. I play both parents.

I love her hard enough so she never doubts she is less for having only one parent routinely around.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Seriously, I always feel like I’ve suddenly lost a part of me on those weekends she goes to my parents without me. Might not be often but damn, shit hits hard. (I swear I’m not a helicopter parent.)

I am no supermom. I don’t mind if Evelynn thinks I am but I don’t want to be anybody’s goals simply because I might have it hard. I know I have it hard. You can respect me for it but it’s only my reality, not yours. Your reality is yours, and your only goal should be to make it work, make your dreams happen, make the best of your situation.

The difference between me and others, though, isn’t because of my single parent status, it’s because of my mindset. I refuse to settle. I refuse to give up.

Whether I had Evelynn or not, my reality would still be me pushing forward, working for more, consistently showing up for me.

I can account for every moment of my day. I act with intention. I make things happen for me and my daughter. I don’t believe in complaining about things we don’t have or our struggles when I can work at changing them. I have the power (98 percent of the time) to grow and make changes.

And then there’s the reality we can’t always control things. I shared my fear of parenting due to health issues and support—I wasn’t sure I could keep or find a job with my life. Single parenting is hard and you never feel so alone as a parent until you’re taking all the days off work for both your illnesses and your kids, even if it’s just the flu. You never feel so alone until you have to fit in the groceries, the bill paying, the dinner cooking, the workouts, the cleaning, the drop-offs and pickups, the extracurriculars, the bedtime stories and tuck-ins, the early morning wakeups and midnight calls. And then the actual work for an income. It’s stressful. There’s no one to fall back on. I have an extremely supportive family but my life is not their responsibility. I’m pretty adamant about that, too.

So why do I refuse to recognize myself as having it “harder” than other parents? Because their situation isn’t mine. I think parenting in general comes with some hiccups and difficulties. It’s a road only you can travel. Every child is different, every household is different. It’s the entire reason for the nature vs. nurture debate. We can’t depict how one’s upbringing effects one’s life. So how we can say single parents with 100% custody have it harder? I simply have different obstacles to overcome than others. We’re still all in the same battle of raising littles.

The benefits: I raise her. I make the decisions. I don’t have to consult with a partner currently. I have the freedom to raise her how I choose—there’s no room for varying upbringing beliefs that I have to take into consideration.

But I also own all the failures. And I’m good with that.

I have been profoundly blessed in finding two jobs over the last few years with leaders who support me. Who instead of immediately looking at a piece of paper and take me to the chopping block, will ask me what is going on and how can we make it work? What do I need from them to be successful and balance everything? Often times that has included taking odd hours or working from home. Sometimes, it’s just being given a little grace.

My daughter comes first with everything, the balancing act of recognizing when that means I show up for her versus when that means working towards building a life for us, is the tricky part. I’m still learning this balance. But I always tell her why and we communicate.

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When she didn’t see me during the parade, her face was ashen white.

Thursday was Evelynn’s costume parade at her school. Of course, I didn’t find out about it until the day before. She had already scolded me once before for missing some activity in class in September where most of the parents had come to class to participate—it was a 1-on-1 volunteer. I didn’t feel the need to volunteer when they had said they had enough. Evelynn of course thought otherwise.

Evelynn didn’t see me during the parade but I saw her. She was ashen. She was so white in the face I couldn’t tell if she had been extremely upset and scared or if they had put makeup on her. She ran right by me—she hates being put on display in front of a large group of people she doesn’t know. Like every parent, sibling, grandparent, and faculty of the school. When I showed up to her class after to snag a photo and tell her hi/goodbye and grab a kiss, she IMMEDIATELY lit up. Instant color to her face. It was amazing—shocking and eye-opening, too.

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She was thrilled I stopped in for a few minutes to say hi. check out those colorful cheeks! And yes, she wore last year’s costume so her Anna costume for trick or treating wouldn’t be worried…but we couldn’t find her Minnie ears so I improvised. #momwin

I didn’t stay for the Halloween party—balancing act, remember?—but she understood.

So Thankful. That is how I felt all of Thursday and since. That I was able to text and email my bosses late Wednesday night and request 2 hours off Thursday morning to see Evelynn’s parade.

We’re all balancing something. This happens to be mine—and I love mine despite all the struggles and unknowns.