First time for everything
I'm starting to go through a lot of "firsts" as a single mom. Some things have been easier to handle than others, and some have given me the little boost that I need in order to keep going.
I remember on moving weekend that I had to set up an account with our local internet provider. Can I just tell you how much I hate doing things like that. Who has time for it, anyway? But who can survive without internet? So, I visited the local provider, set up an account and walked away with a router? or modem? or something like that - I still don't know the technical term. Apparently the people at this business were expecting ME, yes me, to install it. I took the thing home and let it sit on the kitchen island for a few days. Finally, I got up enough courage to try it. And you know what - I DID IT!!! Woo hoo! It's a bit embarrassing that I was so excited over something as little as successfully installing that little black box and being able to watch Netflix again. Victory!
Then there was that first night that the boys stayed at Larkin's house. It was a Monday night. I had dropped the boys off at school that morning and I totally dreaded going home that night after work. I had several people to call and check on me, which was wonderful. But the silence of the house was deafening. I held it together until I went upstairs to bed, realizing that there were two empty bedrooms down the hall from me. It was too much to comprehend. Early on during our struggles, I remember thinking about how terrible it would be for me not to be able to go through the usual bedtime routine with the boys, but I never thought I'd actually face that reality. But here I was, alone. Living this foreign life. I instantly felt guilty for all of the times that I dreaded the bedtime routine, whether it was dread from my own exhaustion, the boys fussing, or whatever the case may be. I found myself longing for one of those nights.
The next morning, I woke up and faced the day again, knowing that I had made it through that first night. It hasn't been as difficult since then. I've tried to stay busy during the week through going to the gym, Christmas shopping, dinner with friends and family - pretty much anything that would keep me from becoming a couch potato enthralled in some new Netflix series. As I write this, I'm in my 2nd week of single life and I'm making it. It is certainly not easy, and it never will be.
The most difficult "first" caught me off guard. Sunday morning church service. Miller was participating in the ornament hanging of the church Crismon tree. I somehow managed to get everyone out of bed, fed and dressed on time. Mom picked the boys up and took them to church while I got myself together. I confidently walked into the church and found the usual spot. One or two people approached me to let me know that they were sorry and had been praying for me and the boys. I started to get teary eyed, but pulled myself together. Before I knew it, the service was starting. I looked back at Miller, who was parading up the aisle with his ornament and I was overcome with emotion once again. Here I was in the place we were married, where one of our children was baptized, and I was alone. I had no idea where Larkin was that Sunday, and I probably shouldn't have cared, but I did. He was supposed to be sitting right next to me singing the Christmas hymn and watching Miller. Queue the ugly cry. I escaped the sanctuary as fast as I could. I went to my car where I could be alone and let out my frustration and sadness. I don't know why I never thought that that Sunday morning would be difficult, but it never crossed my mind.
The thing about all of these "firsts" is that when they are done, they are DONE! And next time won't be as difficult. I know I have a lot of "firsts" left - the most difficult will be here in a few weeks, as we celebrate Christmas as a broken family. I know I will survive, but I'm longing for January to arrive.
I remember on moving weekend that I had to set up an account with our local internet provider. Can I just tell you how much I hate doing things like that. Who has time for it, anyway? But who can survive without internet? So, I visited the local provider, set up an account and walked away with a router? or modem? or something like that - I still don't know the technical term. Apparently the people at this business were expecting ME, yes me, to install it. I took the thing home and let it sit on the kitchen island for a few days. Finally, I got up enough courage to try it. And you know what - I DID IT!!! Woo hoo! It's a bit embarrassing that I was so excited over something as little as successfully installing that little black box and being able to watch Netflix again. Victory!
Then there was that first night that the boys stayed at Larkin's house. It was a Monday night. I had dropped the boys off at school that morning and I totally dreaded going home that night after work. I had several people to call and check on me, which was wonderful. But the silence of the house was deafening. I held it together until I went upstairs to bed, realizing that there were two empty bedrooms down the hall from me. It was too much to comprehend. Early on during our struggles, I remember thinking about how terrible it would be for me not to be able to go through the usual bedtime routine with the boys, but I never thought I'd actually face that reality. But here I was, alone. Living this foreign life. I instantly felt guilty for all of the times that I dreaded the bedtime routine, whether it was dread from my own exhaustion, the boys fussing, or whatever the case may be. I found myself longing for one of those nights.
The next morning, I woke up and faced the day again, knowing that I had made it through that first night. It hasn't been as difficult since then. I've tried to stay busy during the week through going to the gym, Christmas shopping, dinner with friends and family - pretty much anything that would keep me from becoming a couch potato enthralled in some new Netflix series. As I write this, I'm in my 2nd week of single life and I'm making it. It is certainly not easy, and it never will be.
The most difficult "first" caught me off guard. Sunday morning church service. Miller was participating in the ornament hanging of the church Crismon tree. I somehow managed to get everyone out of bed, fed and dressed on time. Mom picked the boys up and took them to church while I got myself together. I confidently walked into the church and found the usual spot. One or two people approached me to let me know that they were sorry and had been praying for me and the boys. I started to get teary eyed, but pulled myself together. Before I knew it, the service was starting. I looked back at Miller, who was parading up the aisle with his ornament and I was overcome with emotion once again. Here I was in the place we were married, where one of our children was baptized, and I was alone. I had no idea where Larkin was that Sunday, and I probably shouldn't have cared, but I did. He was supposed to be sitting right next to me singing the Christmas hymn and watching Miller. Queue the ugly cry. I escaped the sanctuary as fast as I could. I went to my car where I could be alone and let out my frustration and sadness. I don't know why I never thought that that Sunday morning would be difficult, but it never crossed my mind.
The thing about all of these "firsts" is that when they are done, they are DONE! And next time won't be as difficult. I know I have a lot of "firsts" left - the most difficult will be here in a few weeks, as we celebrate Christmas as a broken family. I know I will survive, but I'm longing for January to arrive.
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