Part 1: The Single Mom Starter Pack (Missing Manual Included)
Hey ladies, Net here. Buckle up, because life just decided to play a game of emotional dodgeball with yours truly. You know that feeling when you think you've got it all figured out, the minivan is practically an extension of your body, and then BAM! Reality TV comes knocking, except it's your actual life and the only drama queens are your hormones and your ex.
Let's rewind a bit. Nineteen, starry-eyed, married the man of my dreams (or so I thought). Fast forward twenty years, three beautiful kids (who currently despise me for reasons that seem to fluctuate wildly), and a husband who apparently woke up one day and decided I wasn't the "sparkly" princess he fell in love with anymore. Apparently, supportive wives who spend their days juggling soccer practice, homework meltdowns, and existential dread aren't what fairytales are made of these days.
So here I am, staring down the barrel of forty with a resume that basically screams "domestic goddess extraordinaire" and a credit score that resembles the aftermath of a toddler with a box of crayons. Turns out, Prince Charming wasn't so charming after all. For funs sake, we will call him “Prince Harming” going forward. More like Prince Financially Controlling and Emotionally Neglectful, but hey, details.
The kids? Let's just say the "blended family" posters I found on Pinterest are a far cry from our reality. There's more eye rolling than a room full of teenagers at a Nickelback concert, and the communication skills are about as effective as carrier pigeons with a head cold. But I get it. Change is hard, and watching the world you thought was solid turn into a game of Jenga is enough to make anyone grumpy.
The truth is, I'm grumpy too. Hiding it from the kids is an Olympic sport I never trained for, but their anxieties mirror mine. Maybe that's because, let's face it, I've basically been a single parent in the emotional support department for most of their lives. Sure, there was a husband-shaped lump on the couch most nights, but emotional connection? Let's just say we used different wi-fi networks.
Here's the thing, though. In the midst of the chaos, the anger, the sheer terror of "what the heck am I supposed to do now?", there's a flicker of something else. A spark, maybe. A realization that while this isn't exactly the path I envisioned, it's mine. And maybe, just maybe, this "single mom starter pack" (minus the manual, of course) is actually an opportunity to rewrite my own fairytale.
Stay tuned, ladies. Because let's face it, who needs a prince when you've got a village of fierce women, a minivan full of teenagers (hopefully they'll come around eventually), and the courage to build a damn castle yourself?
Love yourself, Ladies!
Net