Check it Off the List - My First Single Mom Holiday.

And, there you have it. My first major holiday as a single mom of three; the Manager, the Daisy Picker, and the Man Cub, is in the books.

I was so convinced that I would be an emotional wreck and spend the day ugly crying into my eight millionth cup of coffee, but you know what? It wasn't that bad. I mean, yeah. I did a little emotional eating (Does your neighborhood do that Elf treat thing? Mine does, and thanklittlebabyjesus for it) and I may had some irrational moments - like the time I watched the final episode of SOA while putting together a Cars table for the Man Cub at one a.m. Christmas Morning (not my best choice of programming for an already emotional task #allllthescrews), but I MADE IT.

He came over at 6 am and waited in the family room until they all woke up, and then together but separate, we watched as the kids tore open their gifts and stockings. After the wreckage and while they were all wrapped up in little ponies, art sets, and cars, we made breakfast; together but separate - I manned the waffles while he made the bacon - and it was all okay.

There were no tears, there was no yelling. There wasn't a single disagreement or harsh word. The conversation was surface and safe. And later, after the last cookie was eaten and three sets of eyes were drooping with Christmas exhaustion, he left. He went back to the room he rents. Back to his borrowed blankets in someone else's home. Away from the four walls we built together. Away from 

us. Away from what was and into what is.

And it was all okay.

Keep Your Opinions to Yo Sef, and Pass the Pizza

So, here's what I know about crisis and how to get through it. Wait. Just crisis. I have no idea how to draw a map to the other side - I still have my muddy boots on.

For some of us, crisis is running out of Cookie Butter (not judging - I've been there and the struggle is real.). For others, it's finding out that what you considered an interesting quirk in your oldest child is actually a special need.  And, for others, its realizing the foundation you built your adult life on has been irrevocably shattered.

At some point in your life, a crisis will happen and you will have choices. Many, many, oh so many  choices. You can choose to react or not; If you're not ready to face what the Good Lord gave you (and that's fine. Great thing about crisis is that it has a funny way of sticking around. It will most likely still be there once your head clears), and then you can hunker down and carry on. If you're having a good hair day and feel strong enough, you can face it and deal. Rest assured that whichever course you choose as your journey, people will have opinions.

Everyone and their mother-in-law will have an opinion and they will want to share it. Sometimes daily. Sometimes more than once daily. Sometimes in the all-knowing and highly passive aggressive forum of Social Media. ** Note: Please don't do that. Dirty laundry goes in the front loader, not on Facebook. **

For you, the offer-er of advice, the giver of opinions, the sharer of personal stories - I humbly offer an alternative that we mamas in the trenches find infinity  more helpful.

First, if a sentence does not begin with a) "What do you think about _________" , b) "What's your opinion on __________", or c) "Hey, could you offer a solution to this issue?" I'm going to go ahead and guess that your opinion isn't wanted. Nor is your personal anecdote about the time it happened to you or your cousin in Nebraska, or your "friend". We would rather not hear your solution either, no matter how amazing and zen and proven it is.

Instead, offer to bring a pizza over for the kids. Show up with a latte unannounced. Stick a card (the old kind made of paper with an envelope even) in the mail to tell said crisis walker how amazing she is.

You see, dear mamas, crisis iamIright?). Crisis is the monster under the bed we leapt to avoid as a  five year old and is the things in the box in the corner of the closet that we would rather not acknowledge.
n and of itself makes us question who we are and what we've done. It shakes our sense of safety and what is known and makes us feel vulnerable and weak (the WORST,

Crisis is best treated with love. Not judgement, Not know-it-all and do-gooder fix it stories. So, please. Keep your opinions to your self and pass me the pizza. I still have my muddy boots on.


You can read this to recognize signs of crisis or learn how to help mams in crisis . And then order her a pizza.

Empty coffee cup. Also a crisis.