This too shall pass.

"Apparently, you like the attention of this divorce princess, but tell me how you will feel when you are fourty and having to (explict_) to get your bills paid because thats all you have to offer"

This was a text message that I received while I was standing outside tonight on a cool early summers night underneath my car port next to my house. I was battling with a hanger that I had to stretch straight and patiently (which I am far from)in an attempt to unlock the door that my seven year old locked in an effort to make sure none of his three other brothers could get "shot gun" while he waited for me to get my purse and head out. Cursing aloud and allowing the frustration to build i kicked the damn car door that was already badly dent from an earlier story of just how my kinda luck goes.

I ran the palms of my hands down the front of my face pulling the soft skin under my eyes along with it, exposing the pink of my under eye. (lol) then slapped my hands down on my favorite jeans took a deep breath and went at it again. Shoving my cell in my back pocket. I could barley concentrate on the stragity of how the angle of the hanger needed to be pointed. I could only rehearse my harsh response of a text I was going to send back when I got done with this shit. My four kids, watched me half afraid to speak because of my impatience and frustration level and yet eager to try to help curious how I would accomplish this task. I could tell my oldest Sterling was worried. He knew I already tried my dad...who essentially is the only person that can and will help us when we are in need. My dad doesn't have call waiting or caller id...let alone a cell. So, if he is not home thats it. We have to just make do. And so I was. I did attempt to call my soon to be ex husband. He was a professional car thief in his early teens and into his twenties before he was locked up for ten years. (his sentence was NOT for stealing cars, but robbery)

I replayed the conversation in my head "Hello" he answered and right away I could tell after eleven years together he was high as a kite. "I need you to come to the house, your son locked the keys in the car and I can't find the spare.........please." I got it out in one breath uncomfortable to call and ask him for anything. He does NOTHING for us. He barely sees the kids. When its convenient for him. He doesn't have a car or a license because of his DUI he got only a month after he lost the house I left him in, with all of our furniture and everything we owned. He doesn't pay me a dime..but spends every waking moment other than the twenty hours he works through the week getting high, getting drunk and sleeping with every willing woman in the city. No exaggeration.

"are you talking to me?" He says.

Thats, it. I tried to be nice....
"No I thought I called fucking santa clause. What the hell do you mean am I talking to you...who else is on the damn phone Alex.?"

"I can't help you, I have no way there." He said, sounding like a stoned sophmore trying to convince his mother that his speech isn't impaired.
"why don't you call Stevie..".he says. Condescendingly. Stevie is the man that I am now with and he lives an  hour and twenty min away.

"thats it, that is your response? Call Stevie...you know good damn and well that he is over an hour a way! GAWD....Alex, I don't ask you for ANYTHING. This is the one thing that may EVER come up that you are better at than me, why would you not be able just to do this one little thing for me, no fuck doing it for me, I have to get these kids to school in the morning....!" I was almost out of breath as I tried to fit all that in in one swoop.

"nope," he said as he was stuffing his face with something crunchy and loud in my ear.

"Go to hell' I said and hung up the phone. I looked over at my four boys, studying me in a moment of small crisis. I realized that I needed to put thier fears to rest.
"listen boys, This is nothing...no big deal. It may take me awhile but since the door is bent from it getting hit last month it is easy to fit this hanger in. Its just a matter of getting it at the right angle. And if all else fails, I can use Bob tripple A.  (My fathers name, and the affectionate name my children call their grandpa, his preference...per his ego)

within the hour and many moments of patience deep breathing and "centering" myself the iron hanger pops the locks and the doors open. My mothers voice rings in my head

"this too shall pass" and so it has. The boys had since made a game of Stick "swords" and were in full blown vicious battle with one another. Using the time to crawl into their creativity, because the situation demanded them to entertain themselves. I loved it. Watching them forgetting about the worry that they first saw in my eyes and consumed in their own day dreams that they created from needing an hour of free play. I am blessed. No matter what their dad decides to do, they are my creation and they will be the best they can be. Or I will die trying....

:) this too has passed.

In a word a single mother of four is TIRED, but this is why behind the word.

A single mother of four boys wakes with the buzz of the alarm from a very old hand me down alarm clock. With hair in total mess-stage and eyes swollen from the toss and turn of the night slumber struggle she crawls out of her mismatched bed sheets and pillow case bed.

She habitability walks past the coffee pot and clicks the on switch in one swift movement. Sits to pee pulling up her over sized t-shirt and pulling off the one sock that she still wears. As she sits and releases her bladder squinting against the lights of the vanity she reaches over and turns the focet to drawl the morning bath. Wipes flushes and flicks the water from the focett back into the tub. She opens the door and bluntly turns on the lights, three boys lie alseep in various positions
"WAKEY WAKEY boys" she yells with her body already half turned dragging her feet into the next room. One boy obviously the oldest sleeps with his lap top still on his lap and head phones still on his head. She walks over to his sleeping body and pulls the head set roughly from his head.
"what did I tell you about wearing these at night, they could choke you!"
She shakes her head he rubs the sleep from his eyes.
"mom its not gonna choke me..."
She turns back picking up dirty clothes off the floor and his desk
"Yeah, well I hope not right now, cause I don't have money for the hospital bill or for the funeral. Just keep the damn things off your head at night. Its not hard"

She goes back into the first bedroom and yells again shaking each of the three boys as she does
"GET UP...No rest for the wicked....time to start our day lets go...first one in the bath gets the biggest bowl of cereal!"

The little one springs from his toddler bed and bolts into the little bathroom undressing himself and jumping in. She sits on the toilet and lathers a wash cloth...
then the two middle ones she calls them her book ends slink in behind him both undressing and squeezing in the tub. Silently with nothing but the occasional yawn she cleans their bodies. Worried about the rest of her day. Last week the day care closed because of a gas leak, she had to take off work. This paired with her nervous panic attack two weeks earlier leaves her with the doubt that she will have a job by the end of the day today. A degree that she can't find work with and an economy that leaves her stomach empty. She dries each one like an assembly line, sends them to get their underwear on...while she piles their clothes in the laundry room. One by one like a line in the barracks she hands a small pile to each shorts, t-shirts, socks  they dress over thier tighty whiteys while the oldest slinks into the shower...he dresses himself.

She pours her coffee after making their cereal, and wonders why she can't be the mom that makes eggs each morning.
She checks the time...
"Bus is coming in five" she yells through the bath room door. The other three gather their book bags and scurry around the house...

she sends them off on the bus and walks to the car in her worn down heals with her beaten up purse full of bills and receipts slung over her shoulder. She takes a deep breath and says a little prayer to not loose her job that she hates more than the taste of liver and onions. She sits in throws her purse in the passenger seat and slams the door. Turns the key to nothing but the sound of clicking...her heart pounds...twenty mins till work begins 15 min commute....her head rests on the steering wheel. Defeat overcomes her tired body. Defeat. Five minutes to fix this mess, another small problem in the whirl wind of single mother hood. Shes going to get fired. She lights a cigarette and watches the clock tick by.