Single Mom Life Archives - Page 4 of 5

When You Need to Know What You’re Doing Right as a Mom

So often, my running self-talk as a mom reminds me what I’m getting wrong.

Boy, did I feel the mom-guilt this past Easter when our schedule was so packed that I never filled Easter baskets and we never got to our annual egg hunt.

It’s often crystal clear when I’ve fallen short — especially with bigger things like losing my temper when I should have remained calm or doubting my kids when I should have trusted.

While we need to own our mistakes, we also need to acknowledge what we’re doing well.

Let’s celebrate that today – not to boast but to affirm our work as moms. Here’s to living out well the kind of mom God has made us!

I’ve written a list of 10 of the best things I’ve done as a mom over at iMOM and I’d love to have you read the rest. What would you add to the list?

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When You Need to Know Release is Right and Good

By Lisa Appelo 1 Comment

Motherhood is a slow release.

No sooner had I delivered our firstborn — after months of birthing classes and baby showers and nursery decorating — than the release began.

I loved the newborn stage. I loved being home on maternity leave and playing all things mom for the first time.

But two months in and our ruddy newborn, who only ate and slept, began to fill out to a chubby baby boy with milky white rolls and coos and long mornings of play.

“Oh I love this stage,” I thought, hoping time would linger right here.

But the slow release continued.

Toddlerhood moved into full-on childhood. Siblings were added to the mix, we moved houses and jobs and, before we ever imagined, girls were calling to talk to our just-turned-teen boy.

I have loved every stage and I’ve wanted it to stay just like it was. But, without permission, time moved on and lo and behold — I discovered that I loved the next stage as well.

Release to the next stage is right and good and healthy.

Rather than mourn what was we get to fall in love with what is.

I saw this so clearly about a year after my oldest, Ben, got married. We were attending a friend’s wedding, a young man Ben had grown up with.

The reception was held around Christmas in my hometown in the same restored hotel where I’d celebrated my own Christmas wedding reception 28 years earlier and boy did it take me back.

After lunch, as people milled around, refilling drinks and beginning to hit the dance floor, I sat at my table taking it in. I’d been seated at the next table over from Ben and his wife, Elizabeth, but we happened to be sitting back to back.
That’s when it happened.

I looked over to see another friend approaching Elizabeth.

“Congratulations!” she said with a big smile. “I saw Ben got accepted to medical school!”

And with those nine words, I felt the final snip of complete release.

For 21 years, my husband and I had poured our blood, sweat and tears into that boy. Our boy.

There had been countless moments in our home that had gone into shaping him, teaching him the values that helped him reach a dream he’d talked about since he was a boy. We had encouraged and helped direct his love of all things science; researched opportunities for him to explore medicine; sent him off with a packed duffel bag and his first VISA on a summer-long medical mission trip.

For years, he had home schooled around our dining room table. We were the ones who had scoured for classes and books and volunteer work that would prepare him. We had prayed through the college process, walked through the disappointments and gone with him when he was invited to explore an early admit medical program.

But the friend hadn’t walked to offer congratulations to me.

She’d gone to his wife. Ben was hers now.

And in this room where his dad and I had started our own life 28 years earlier, I felt the impact of complete release.

For just a moment, my thoughts swirled as I processed the shift.

Inside, I sensed a whole lot of ownership in the celebration.

But I was smiling on the inside, not sad or envious.

This release was right and good and healthy.

Elizabeth could cheer him on in a way I would never be able to.

I was clearly in a new stage. But lo and behold, I discovered bone-deep satiety here and found I loved this stage just as well.

Please join me as I guest post over at Joying in the Journey with Christy Mobley to read the rest.

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6 Ways You can Help Your Single Mom Friend

By Lisa Appelo 2 Comments

My hat is off to single moms.

I’d always heard single parenting was hard, but I never really understood how it was hard until I was widowed four years ago. Suddenly, I was a single mom of seven and more worn out and stretched than ever before. In the years since, I’ve felt more isolated, overwhelmed and underequipped than at any other point in my parenting.

Your single mom friend may make it look easy. But trust me that she knows how many plates she’s had to drop to keep the important ones spinning.

While she may not tell you, your single mom friend needs help.

I’m so grateful for the times my married friends have stepped in to help; they’ve been lifesavers more than once! And if you have a single mom friend in your life, even your small actions could be a huge help.

Here are 6 ways to help your single mom friend:

Be a listener.

Your single mom friend needs someone she can trust. She may need to talk about a hard day, wrestle through an issue or talk about how she’s feeling. Be a safe friend who your single mom friend can confide in. Listening well is a huge gift you can give her.

Be a trusted adviser.

One of the hardest things about single parenting is the sheer number of decisions that have to be made alone. The single mom makes hundreds of decisions by herself every day. I cannot begin to describe how helpful it is to have a friend I trust for advice. As a friend, you can ask questions to help the single mom work through a big decision or bring an objective perspective to her decision-making.

Be understanding.

Going from married to single meant that my workload doubled. Between work, house, yard, finances and parenting, most single moms have way too much to do. Be understanding if your single mom friend can no longer do the things you used to together. If she can’t get out for coffee, bring it over to her house one night after the kids are in bed. Instead of the annual birthday shopping trip, offer to take her kids shopping for her birthday presents.

Be another driver.

This is a place where you can be a huge help. While my husband and I used to divide and conquer the parent meetings, practices, and lessons, nowadays I often have to be two places at once. You can always set up carpooling ahead of time but look for a spontaneous need as well. If you see her child at practice, text her and offer to drive her child home.

Be a supporter.

Married parents can lean on each other when making decisions or encourage on the hard days, but single parents are going it alone. This is where a good atta-girl goes a long way. Be specific. A good report on character shown by one of her kids or affirmation of how your friend handled something will give her a huge boost to dig down and keep parenting well.

Be loyal.

When my husband died and I was suddenly single, I worried my friendships would change. Most single moms have already gone through a painful loss and the last thing they need with all the change and upheaval is to lose a good friend. It might look different, but find a way to include your single mom friend and make sure she knows that her singleness doesn’t affect your friendship.

This post was first published on iMOM.com.

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When Your Christmas Needs Grace

By Lisa Appelo 22 Comments

“You haven’t finished all the shopping yet?” my son asked. It was December 23rd and my stomach tightened at his question. He’d just gotten home from college and had no idea all that our December had held.

I was two and a half years into this single parenting thing. It was our third Christmas without Dan and while I thought I should be able to manage everything, I still had not transitioned into any kind of “new normal.” As much as I tried to make life for my kids look like it always had and as much as I did not want them to feel the hovering loss in our everyday routine, there was no masking the huge gap in our life without him.

One of my sons had asked for a shotgun that Christmas. Which sounds easy enough if you know all about shotguns, but that had been Dan’s area. I knew nothing about guns.

I resolved to make it happen and give this boy I loved a Christmas to remember. I swallowed my pride and called a couple of men for the basics of shotgun buying.

Then on Black Friday, armed with what I had learned, I opened the Dick’s Sporting Goods flyer and spotted a gun on sale in my price range. Perfect. We were traveling back from Thanksgiving but we stopped at Dick’s late Friday afternoon as soon as we got into town.

I showed the picture of the shotgun to the salesman, only to learn it had sold out. He showed me other guns that may have been just as good, but I was lost. I’d have to go back and consult and figure out which one to get now.

As I kept researching, my son – knowing nothing about his mom’s predicament — changed his mind. Figuring he wouldn’t have much chance to use a new shotgun, he asked for a fishing pole instead. Which sounds easy enough if you know all about fishing poles, but that was Dan’s area. I knew nothing about fishing poles.

So there I was on December 23^rd — shopping unfinished, struggling to pull off The Best Christmas Ever for my kids and falling so far short.

I should have stopped right then and let myself – and everyone else in my family – off the hook. The hook of my expectations and what I thought they were expecting in an awesome Christmas.

But I kept trying to push through and make it happen. I worked harder and stayed up later. It might even have worked, but one of my children didn’t realize my expectations and didn’t meet the part in pulling off The Perfect Christmas.

So by December 24th, two of us were in tears, both feeling miserably misunderstood. I scrubbed at the Christmas Eve dishes, my tears falling hot. Didn’t my kids see how hard I’d worked to make Christmas special? Didn’t they know how I’d spun every plate I could with musicals, performances, parties, school work, decorating, baking and a season of basketball in full swing?

Now on the other side of that Sadly Imperfect Christmas Eve, I’ve hashed over where I went wrong. Mostly because I never want a repeat. I probably should have started prepping earlier. Perhaps I could have said no to more things or simplified a bit more.

All three would have helped, but when I really untangle it, I realize something was missing that Christmas – grace for our Christmas.

I needed grace for myself and I absolutely needed grace for the faces around my dinner table.

I had tried to soldier through. With good motives but flawed thinking.

Life will not look the same as it did. I cannot re-create the childhood that my kids had when Dan was alive. Life will look different — but it can still be good.

I may wring my hands over the challenges of raising kids, the emotional issues I’d love to talk out (or hand over altogether), the things left undone that I cannot get to. I often feel so inadequate for all of it.

But God knew that I’d be parenting these kids alone. This season doesn’t surprise Him. He’s not having to pull out Plan B for me or our family.

Maybe your Christmas looks different this year. Maybe you’re dealing with huge challenges or changes and you’re trying your best to soldier through.

Give yourself and those around your table a gift — grace for your Christmas.

Life may look different for you now but it hasn’t taken God by surprise. This isn’t Plan B for Him. God knew all about these days just as He knew all of the days that came before them. And He has allowed them.

Let’s let ourselves and those we love off the hook this Christmas. Let’s hang up our expectations altogether. And let’s trust that God who knew about this season in our life, will equip us for it.

*If you’d like new encouraging posts walking with God in the adventure of faith delivered right to your inbox, I’d love for you to subscribe here.

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When My Heart Wants to Rewind

By Lisa Appelo 23 Comments

This month has been a whirlwind of graduation activities. There have been senior dinners and rehearsals, final exams, banquets, awards and presentations, photos, slide shows, meetings, parties, a late night sleepover after graduation and the cap and gown Sunday service.

We started the month with Rachel’s college graduation (She’s got a job! Woop!) and ended with Seth’s high school graduation.

Listening to my taped voice over and trying hard not to outright cry.

Seth is our fourth child we have graduated, the true middle child of seven. You would think it gets easier, this releasing kids from home.

But this entire month has tugged at my heart: picking photos for the senior slideshow and going back through all the moments that have been his life and mine for the last 18 years; searching for treasures in his baby box and on his bookshelves to display on the senior table; pulling the black robe and mortar board his brothers wore from the back of the closet.

I’m not just nostalgic over my own boy. The past few months have been a series of lasts for his whole group of senior friends.

As I watch them standing for pictures together, lanky arms across each other’s shoulders, with grins as wide as their dreams, I breathe wistful, silent sighs.

“This is ending. It took us 18 full summers to get here. And it will never be again. Even when you come home from your colleges, and you get together, it won’t be this — this shared, mischievous, carefree, continued adventure that has been childhood.”

These kids are stepping from our lives to their own.

Of course, Seth will always be very much in my life. But his life is about to grow way beyond mine.

I’ve been the hub of the wheel. The calendaring, the meals, the money handed out for gas and school books and lunch on the choir trip has all required me.

In a few weeks, we’ll pack up boxes with his things and move him to a new school and a new town. I’ll get phone calls and texts, but no more “I need my uniform by tomorrow, Mom” or “I’ll be home late, Mom.”

Being a mom has been the pinnacle of what I’ve wanted in this life. Life hasn’t been fancy and that is fine by me. Who needs fancy when life is rich with babies, afternoons at the park, conversations and cutting up in a few different minivans, basketball games and ballet recitals, and listening to the back door open and close a hundred times on a summer day?

This entire month, I have wished I could push pause and just stay right here. Release is so hard, no matter how right.

As I release this fourth child, it feels like a strong wind has taken hold of my kite and I’m watching its string unwind quickly through my grasp.

I’m watching it go further and further out and I already miss it.

We do not know the true value of our moments until they have undergone the test of memory. Like the images the photographer plunges into a golden bath, our sentiments take on color; and only then, after that recoil and that trans-figuration, do we understand their real meaning and enjoy them in all their tranquil splendor. ~ Georges Duhamel

But I did know their value.

I have always known — even on the hardest days and in my most impatient moments. I have treasured the little hand slipped into mine, a grocery cart full of tow-headed preschoolers, grass worn bare from summers of touch football.

Through the tired and late nights and loads of laundry, I loved those moments and I knew they were fleeting.

photo credit

In the last few weeks, I’ve noticed small green oranges forming on our orange trees.

Before there was any fruit, the trees were covered in buds that opened in early spring to a profusion of small white flowers.

Orange blossoms have an undeniable sweet scent. I remember driving through Florida’s rolling hills of orange groves as a child when the orange blossom fragrance was so strong it came right through our car windows.

And yet, as heady as that scent is, no farmer would be content with a grove of orange blossoms. His labor is meant to produce fruit.

These last 18 years? They have been good.

But they have been bud and blossom. How I have loved the sweet beauty of this season and boy is it hard to release.

But there is great fruit. And though different from the beauty of bud and blossom, it is good. Deeply satisfying.

For now, the black robe is hung back up in my closet and the mortar board tucked onto a shelf. They’ll be needed again for another brother in two years.

* * *

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