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I remember as a child I was told I could do anything I wanted in life. That I could reach any dream I could conjure up just by pure will. I believed it then. Granted I wanted to be a princess or a famous tap dancer at the time… but they did say ‘anything’.

As I grew up I began to realize there wasn’t an overwhelming need for princesses anymore although that didn’t stop me at the age of 35 from watching every last second of the royal wedding. Twice.  If I can’t fulfill my dream then watching someone else do it was the next best thing.  As we get older we realize there are boundaries to our dreams and we seemingly just accept them.

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When it comes to raising kids there is so much more to it than any amount of words on paper could ever explain.

This morning I listened to a radio broadcast of a teenager in front of a judge getting her bail set. She didn’t like what the judge laid down so she proceeded to drop the F-bomb and flip him off…. Sending her to jail for 30 days and having her bail amount increased in the process. A few hours later I saw the same article on Facebook and was curious to the comments left on the NBC post.

There was an overwhelming amount of criticism in regards to what type of parenting she had received. Granted… in today’s world parents are less involved in their kid’s life while these kids are held less accountable for their actions than previous generations.

I think that’s the point I’m trying to make. We don’t hold our kids accountable for what they do. We automatically think there was some other greater force that is to blame for whatever it is they have done.

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When my oldest was 3 I gave him one responsibility around the house. His chore was to pick up the shoes scattered by the front door and put them in the ‘shoe box’. We called it ‘shoe duty’.  A brown wicker over sized box with a lid that I used to disguise any front door shoe clutter. I figured it was a simple easy job that only included one instruction. “Just pick up any shoes you see and put them here and then you are done.” He followed my directions perfectly and each day when we got home I would remind him to do his ‘chore’ and he would without hesitation.  Call him an over achiever genius of a 3 year old if you must. Personally… I would have to agree with you. Then again… I am his mother.

In all honesty being a single mom makes for a pretty huge job all set on one person’s shoulders and as the years went by with two growing boys I knew I just couldn’t handle everything on my own. I never wanted to take their childhood away from them and defiantly wasn’t running an over worked-under paid sweat shop. In my mind I was doing my job. Being a Mom. Teaching my boys what responsibility was and how they could contribute to the household. It’s a team effort running a home and I’m pretty sure that most mothers forget that. They feel the need to do everything for everyone even at the cost of forgetting themselves.

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Broken~

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I read an article the other day that was titled ‘It’s better to be raised by a single Mom.’  I have to tell you… my first response to this was a clap and a smile followed by a big “HELL YEAH IT IS!!” I gave myself a moment to relish in this new found validation that I was doing everything right. That I had made the right choice in raising my children on my own and that all my hard work was going to somehow payoff in the end for the better.

It’s quite the contrast from the conversation I had with my ex-husband as we were going through the divorce. It was my choice to leave therefore he felt the need to look up and inform me of all the statistics showing that children are more likely to be drug users, drop out of school and even go to prison when they come from a broken home. I just kept thinking….  “How much more broken than us can you get?” A broken home doesn’t just mean the parents aren’t together. Wouldn’t it be more appropriate to define a broken home based on the environment you are raising your children in rather than how many grown-ups live under the same roof?

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**I left the intro out… as well as the end to the second date. Guess you will just have to buy the book when its finished. 😉

 

Friday night consisted of a date with a CEO single father of three. While Saturday nights date was with a self-employed never been married, no children ‘Mr. Steroid Man’.

 

I held my breath as I emailed them both accepting their invitations. Then quickly filling with giddiness I went to my closet to figure out what to wear.

 

One weekend.

Two dates.

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Brink…

I seem to like that word… enough that I believe I’ve use it more than a dozen times in the last few days.

Maybe I just need a vacation?

Ok… so I totally need a vacation… but besides that… again, I just really like the word.

Brink.

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Red-Flag

Red Flags

It’s very normal… even accepted and understood that when a person experiences a loss in a car accident or plane crash the person would be hesitant when having to drive again… or fly again. If someone goes through something tragic we all show sympathy towards their emotions when having to face that fear again. We know logically that not every time you get into a car or plane something bad will happen yet we can understand how someone who has suffered such a loss thinks it might. We have the ability to accept that their fear is painfully real.

When it comes to something tangible we can stand on common ground and have patience in another’s recovery process whether we have been through it or not. The problem lies when it isn’t something we can touch or see. When there is a situation that the only thing we have is what is felt or what someone is telling us. It’s hard to reach out and grasp ahold of the wind although we know it’s there because we can feel it.

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