From the ugliest messes come the most beautiful gifts. I actually believe Hallmark crap like that now. Really. And I'll tell you why.
I spent the first four months after I got separated sitting cross-legged on my living room floor, wine in hand, staring blankly into the fireplace (back then I still lived in the suburbs...when I snapped out of it and came to my senses I got out of there faster than you can say "single mother in New Jersey no thank you"). I was in a stupor, too terrified to feel sad and too shocked to feel relieved. So I stopped eating, talking or pretty much doing anything other than, well...drinking and staring. Though dropping the "newly separated 15" was a bonus, it wasn't a pretty time.
But still, there was beauty (oh, no, not me...I was a fright. I meant that metaphorically). My friends and family showed up for me in the most astonishing ways. They offered love, support, patience, advice, donuts, cash, dirty martinis...and I needed every last one of those things.
I lost count of the number of times I called Alexandra sobbing from a doorway somewhere in the middle of the workday, feeling like the saddest, most pathetic wet lamb imaginable. Or how many walks around the block Mary Ann took with me trying to untangle the heap of legal snags that reduced me to a puddle every time I tried to tackle them.
I slept in Jacquie or Karen's guest room on the nights I needed to be out of the house so my ex could be with our daughter. Melissa and her husband basically found me an apartment and negotiated my lease. Amy silently handed me a sizable check with a card that simply said, "Sometimes you do what's needed for a friend like you and that's that. I don't expect this back...ever." I felt like a Lorelei Gilmore version of George Bailey, completely screwed but still filled to the brim with gratitude that there were people like this in my life.
The one gift that stood out the most, and still does, came from my friend Michelle. Michelle and I met the first day of freshman year in college -- she a freckle-faced cutie pie from Westchester, me still a wanna-be rebel with purple-streaked hair. We don't speak often these days, but our bond is rare and deep. On my first solo Mother's Day, she called and left me a voicemail message that said, "In case no one tells you this today, I want you to know you're a great mom."
It was exactly what I needed to hear.
Four years later, I'm back on my feet, but Mother's Day is still the holiday I dread most. There's no one making brunch reservations, no obscenely large bouquet of flowers arriving at my door. That's not because IndieBabe doesn't love me with all her heart; of that I'm certain. But let's face it: Mother's Day is really about what the dads do for their wives via the kids -- at least when the kids are too little to do much more than splotch a gooey handprint onto a pottery mug or scribble one of those potato-people drawings. It's the husbands who make the moms into queen for the day, priming the kids to eventually pick up those reigns.
With no husband in the picture, suddenly Mother's Day can feel pretty lonely.
So today, dear IndieMoms, I want to pass along Michelle's gift to you. Whether there is anyone in your life saying this or not, I'm here to tell you that you are a fantastic mother.
No matter what comes up, you handle it. Even when you're convinced that you absolutely, positively can't.
Your kids are lucky to have a mom who is brave enough to make it on her own, smart enough to figure out how, and human enough to admit that most of the time she's just winging it.
They may not have everything they want, or even everything they need, but they have you to lean on, learn from, and love them -- and whether it's today or years from now, they will know what that's worth. Just ask any friend of yours who was raised by an IndieMom.
Your kids might sometimes look longingly at "normal" married families, but of all the moms they know, you might just be the one who "gets it" the most. And deep down they know it. IndieBabe told me recently that she doesn't want a roommate when she goes to college because no one will be as fun as I am. Yeah, that was a nice moment.
You've figured out that it's ok to lose it sometimes in front your kids, and even more ok to allow them comfort you every now and then. Last week, when I was having a particularly snaggly day after my computer coughed up that spinning rainbow thingee and wheezed itself into a techno-coma, IndieBabe wrote me a note with one of our house mantras on it: "It's no biggee." Smart kid, and smart me for letting that cheer me up.
Your life might seem schizophrenic sometimes (reconciling the sexy single and proper parenting sides of yourself is a juggling act worthy of Cirque du Soleil), but at least it's never boring. You're a whole person with many dimensions and because of that, you're infinitely more fascinating than you even know you are. Trust me on that one.
So whether you're still in the "staring into the fireplace" phase, or the "My life rocks" mode, take a minute sometime this Mother's Day and give yourself credit for all that you do and all that you are.
Remember, you're a kick-ass IndieMom. You're strong, amazing and wise, and all our IndieBabes are very lucky little ones to have us, indeed.