Monday, May 21, 2012


Sometimes the truth makes me uncomfortable.
Rattles a part of me that says it's not ok.

Not ok to be a single, never-been-married mother.
Not ok to have two children from two different fathers.

The voice that says I was raised better.

The judgements I used to hold against those kinds of women.
The judgements I'm afraid people hold against me.

The fear that someday
my own children will judge my choices.

It is my own arrogance that holds me hostage.
This belief that I should be something.

Something I'm not.

Something I'll never be.

Sometimes the truth embarrasses me.
Makes me feel bad.

Sometimes nosey women at parties
point out how different my boys look.

"Oh! One with curly hair...

and one with straight!"

"Oh! One light and one dark!"

Yes she actually said that.

My sweet guy
trying to save me from her intrusions,
"They're half brothers."

And I am crushed.

Because I never thought of them that way.
Because Lucas had never heard that term.

Because there is nothing half
about my brother and I
 and I want my boys to feel the same way.

2am on Christmas Eve.

Because saying anything invites more questions
and sometimes things are so complicated,
they are better left unsaid.

he's not my husband.

he is my boyfriend.

that is his dad.

not his dad,
his dad.

that's a long story.

And then right when my judgemental self
reaches a fever pitch in my own head
my truth becomes abundantly clear.


The absolute best version of this dynamic...yes.

Because these boys have no shortage of love.

Because I am
(and have always been)
surrounded by a village.

My parents.

His parents.

Nana to one and all.

Aunts and Uncles
that show up
and tie shoes.
Build Legos and cars.

Brothers vs. Brothers

Front yard football champs

Daycare providers and teachers
who love my boys.
And have cared a whole hell of a lot
about me too.

Girlfriends who have cheered me on
when my head was too loud.

If you're ok with it,
they'll be ok with it."

Listened to me cry
and not judged me
when I've had to bow out of friend duty for a minute.

A good man
who let's me say these things out loud
and trusts me enough
to share his own reservations.

These last few years
growing up
has meant the slash and burn
of all those little ideas and expectations.

Ripping apart the pages
of what my life was supposed to look like.

I think I've done that.

Burned it all right down to the ground.

And the best part...
even with my sometimes blinded,
smoke-filled eyes,
there are hands to hold on to.

Last week a girlfriend of mine said
I was oozing happiness.

And I am.

I mean..

how can I not?

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