Are you there Ray Lewis, it's me, Kat, a single mom in need of help
On one of the coolest Baltimore July afternoons, I begin to write this. It’s kind of weird since this weekend is Artscape, Baltimore’s long-running free art festival which is usually Hades-fucking-hot. Except this weekend it’s not. And I am kiddo-free. Which usually I am not. I should be out at the festival getting into trouble, eating street-food and enjoying art. But I am not. My daughter is off with her father for the weekend and I woke up twice last night, panicked when I realized she was not in her crib. I’ve been doing this single mom thing for over three years now. It wasn’t until this past year that I had to get used to seeing my daughter wave goodbye to me on a Friday night and watch her return sometime on Sunday all happy. Sometimes she missed me horribly and sometimes, I could tell, she didn’t want the fun with her dad to end. All of it smacks me straight across the heart. My daughter and I live in cramped quarters together. We live in a decent high-rise in a very safe part of town, but it’s still a one-bedroom place that is shared by two sweet, adorable cats and two humans, one of us large, one of us very tiny. To clarify, I am the large one. The tiny one, however, dictates everything I do. Friday morning, as I attempted to cajole her out of bed, she threw it right back to me. “Mommy. I tired. I need to SWEEP!” I left her alone and fed the cats. Then I took a quick shower and brushed my teeth. But holy hell! 15 minutes can glide by FAST! Suddenly, we were running about 15 minutes late. I finally ended up dragging a groggy, sad, three-year-old out of bed. She let me know how unhappy she was. After consulting with other parents, mostly of teenagers, I realized that the toddler years are just a preview of the teen years to come. Thanks, nature! Anyhoo, her dad and I have had an arrangement. He picks her up, every other Friday for a weekend excursion. There was a time, for a few months, these visits stopped. He was in between living arrangements. I tried hard not to feel resentful. After all, I am the one who has to get not ONE, but TWO people ready every morning. It’s not always easy. Plus, I’ve been trying to reclaim what precious space I have by sorting through years of baby clothes, toys and my own stuff (I’ve lost close to 100 pounds in two years). Those two nights to myself had not only become precious to me, but important. I was glad to hear he could reinstate them.
Lately, these trips have occurred at his sister’s small apartment. For the record, I love his sister. She is also a single mom with two amazing boys. I get very upset that some members of the family have given her grief over the fact that her boys have different dads. To be honest, I don’t care. She is a loving mom and a wonderful aunt. I will NEVER diminish her because she has so much to give and she gives it so honestly. I hope the same for her as I do for me: a kind, understanding life-partner who doesn’t mind that we are single moms.
Instead of going out for wild shenanigans, though, I curled up on the couch and stayed home with my two cats. Partly because I broke two toes two weeks ago; also because I am still stinking broke. I finally returned to work after 16 months of joblessness. My bills never stopped and I fell behind on my apartment building utilities. They’ve since tried to evict me for that (even though my rent payments are always on-time). I have to have a conversation with the IRS about my last two years of taxes. I’m worried about an old judgment coming back to collect again. In short, underneath my calm exterior is a woman battling serious anxieties and trying desperately to figure all of this out. These weekends alone go by so quickly, too. It’s now Sunday morning and I just got a text from my daughter’s father that he’ll be returning her around 1 p.m. As much as I miss my girl, I accomplished NOTHING yesterday and feel like I must now rush around like a mad woman to get things done. Then I realize it’s okay not to be perfect and my house doesn’t have to be perfect for anyone but me--even though I miss the days it was so clean, tidy and organized. I am working my way back to that. Instead, I’m going to use the next few hours to finish this blog and apply for some help. I’ve learned about a local program from NFL star, Baltimore Ravens’ Ray Lewis, that helps single mothers get financial help and into a home. I think this is the best use of my time. I am genuinely tired of waking up in the middle of the night, sweaty and breathless, and fearful I will never get out of this rut from hell. I can keep doing what I've been doing or give myself and my daughter every chance I can to find a better way of life. So, I will try to enjoy a few more hours of peace and quiet, even though one of cats keeps imploring me to pet her (very loudly!). Actually getting help, I hope, will quell those horrible fears help me take control of my life. My fingers are crossed.
