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Single Mom Slice of Life: A Day In The (Marvelous) Life Of Mom


Single Mom Slice of Life:
A Day In The (Marvelous) Life Of Mom 

I’ve written for my aunt (you did know Rene is my aunt, didn’t you?) for several years now but I’ve never taken the time to detail my life in this way. I suspect it might be similar to yours and if it is, let’s have a virtual fist pump. Solidarity people! That’s what I’m talking about. At any rate, a day in the life.. yeah there’s fighting and life lessons and spectacles in school, but what is an average week REALLY like for a single mom raising two teenage boys?  Oh, I’m so glad you asked…

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Ok, first things first.  I’m human. I’m old-ish. I’m a mom. I forget things. Sue me. Which, coincidentally is what Justin wanted to do. I’ve been kid-less for most of the summer. School only just started back up. So, when I tell Justin that I will drop Nick off at school, and come right back for him… but then forget I said that and turn left instead of right… well… yeah.  30 minutes later as I was letting myself into the office with the nagging suspicion that I had forgotten something… or someone… let’s just say that for a 13 year old kid – that boy can hold a grudge! Strike one.

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Nick’s been having some health issues of late. Scratching until he leaves claw marks on his skin. Thus, a trip to the doctor was requested. Now, as he is still a month away from being 18, he still gets the kid doctor, complete with front row seating for mom. His only request… “please don’t give me the perky seriously cute doctor. I’m begging you.” Now, in my defense, there are three doctors in that office… am I supposed to remember WHICH one is the seriously cute one? Yeah, he thought so too.  Sadly, I didn’t. You know what I DID remember? That Nick was behind in a particular series of shots. For a six-foot-two tall boy built like a linebacker, he REALLY doesn’t like needles… or moms who can’t remember cute perky doctors but CAN remember shots that require injections straight into muscle. Sadly, I don’t think he was kidding when he looked at me and said, “you know, there are days I really do which I was adopted.” Strike two… and probably three.

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So, when you’re afraid of needles, have to get a shot into muscle (and are a really big baby about it) it’s probably a BAD idea to have to then the very next day get told that you also have to have blood work drawn too… well… you just aren’t a happy camper. It probably didn’t help that as we exited the car, I accidentally hit him in the same arm with my purse. Not just any purse, but a purse that holds my laptop plus all the other girl stuff that one normally finds in a purse to make it heavy. Add to that, the fact that he was partially dehydrated which meant a difficult blood draw, and me fawning all over him in the lobby STILL trying to apologize… yeah, we’ll combine these into strike four.

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An Ethiopan woman taking a quick afternoon nap on the sofa

Nick often complains that I favor his brother. He says I always get Justin the best of everything. I think that after forgetting him at home on Monday morning, Justin would beg to differ. I tried to redeem myself. I told him that I would pick him up every day after school to make up for it. That was a GREAT plan, an almost PERFECT plan. Right up until Thursday afternoon when I got off of work early. So early that I headed home since Justin wouldn’t get out of school for another hour… and really… when did an hour long nap ever hurt anyone? Well… according to strike five, it was when an hour nap turned into an hour and fifteen minute nap, from which I awoke to find Justin, red faced and sweating (what with it being 109 that day) standing over me saying, “so… I guess you forgot you were going to pick me up today?” Strike… whatever.  Stop counting already!

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Family night!  We had (barely) survived the week. This is a night for relaxation, and redemption, which of course is achieved by going online, ordering a super huge, extra cheesy pizza with lots of tender juicy hot wings for dinner. All I asked was that we pick up the house while waited for the pizza so that we could enjoy the rest of the night in a nice clean house, and not have any worries for the rest of the weekend. They dusted, and vacuumed, and started laundry, and emptied dishwashers, and you know what I did? I realized that when pizza still hadn’t arrived two hours later that I had forgotten to hit “submit” on the order screen.  

We’ll just stop counting strikes now… I think that’s best.


What about you?  Have there been days/weeks/months when you’ve tried – honestly tried – but just never seemed to get it right?  How did you compensate?  How did you recover?


Wendy Syler Woodward has been a single parent since 2002, with two boys ages 13 and 18. Originally from southern California, Wendy moved her family to Phoenix where she manages a law firm for work, writes for fun, and has returned to college for her B.A. Follow her on Twitter @WendySyler.

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