Memory Lane

I was cleaning up a flash drive recently and ran across some journaling I had done in 2000. This was a particularly tough time in the tiny Rutherford household, as we had just moved to Memphis, Tennessee, the year before so that I could finish a degree for free while working at a university there. My son's father, from whom I had been divorced six years by this time, had followed us there, profusely promising to babysit Spawn. Yes, thanks for asking, I can still hear the sirens in my head, but I really, really needed this degree for the extra income I knew I would need as Spawn got older. So, I just plowed on and hoped for the best.  

Which worked well. The ex's promise lasted less than two months and included five, exasperated afternoon phone calls from my son's school saying that a parent had not picked him up. Each time, the ex blamed Matlock. I kid you not. It came on three times between 1pm and 4pm each day, and he "got wrapped up in it and just forgot". After much turmoil, grit, bartering with his friend from school's grandmother for babysitting (there was a law at the time that children under the age of 12 could not be home alone for any amount of time), and death plots, I did eventually finish school in 2002. And I haven't had a conversation with Spawn's father since.*

*If you know me, you know that this changed me forever, explaining a lot about who I've been for the last thirteen years and continue to be, in many ways.

Anyway, I think the following three days sums up a lot of my life as a single mom. It's a mystery how I can look back on this now as a PSMer and miss it.

November 12, 2000. This was my first weekend alone in years. Had the whole weekend. Austin went to the lake with Ryan and his family. Had big plans to read, get ahead in school work, take bubble baths, watch girly movies, take walks. Yeah, me ME. Well I did all those things, but it didn't seem very spiritual or personally fulfilling. I think I feel selfish. Saturday night, I craved okra. There was only 1/4 bag left, and this is Austin's favorite. How could I cook his favorite without him? How could I explain it? Not to him, but to myself. If I turn on the fireplace in the middle of a Sunday afternoon just for the joy of it, how much more will my gas bill be? My god, what am I? Some sort of second class citizen who doesn't deserve anything? If I do something for myself, it feels like taking away from someone else. Even writing this feels indulgent.

November 13, 2000. Team decided to go to dinner after work. I couldn't go. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. Can't go. Then, a 23-year-old guy man-boy named Brad sent me an instant message. "You'll miss out on the fun if you don't go." "I just can't. Kid at home at 3." "Y'all should both go then. Go home and get him and come back. We'll wait." "Thanks, but that's okay. It would be almost two hours before I got back." "Next time, then." Made me cry. That was the sweetest, kindest, most sincere gesture in my general direction in ages. Someone actually understood. Something so small to him, so huge to me. He had no idea. Then when I got home, I got mad at Austin because there was dirt all over the living room carpet from his shoes. I came upstairs to write this for 30 minutes. And now I feel guilty all over again. The whole idea of coming home was so that he wouldn't be alone and I just yelled at him and came upstairs to vent here. I have two chapters to read and a quiz tonight, too. Maybe I'm just a selfish bitch. Maybe I'm resentful. Fathers get to do what they want when they want. I can't be the only mother to feel like this.

November 14, 2000. I think I have a crush on the man-boy at work now. He asked me about a scene from The Graduate (there was a question in some online quiz he was doing to kill time at work), and I got flustered. Am I that starved for attention? Of course I am. I'm just going to assume this means I'm still female. Anyway, will try to count my blessings today. 1/4 tank of gas. And only two more days till payday. Carry on, girl, carry on.

New car, caviar, four star daydream

Money. It's a gas. So they say. Just when I started thinking about how expensive my kid was when he was little, he turned into a teenager. And before I had a chance to adjust, then came college. I don't think I'll ever recoup these recent losses. Spawn's gravitating toward Botany of all things, and while I'm very happy that he's found his groove, Botany isn't going to get me the old-age wing in his house that I thought we had agreed upon years ago.

Believe it or not, the advantage to college is that the money flying out the doors and windows is in one lump sum each month, not the teen "Hey, mom, I need $50 for shoelaces and mouth guards", "Oh yea, when do you need it?", "Uhhh, Coach said yesterday" conversations.

Luckily, for me anyway, I was beside myself with unidentified grief (I was in the Paralysis Stage but had no idea) his freshman year, so money didn't even matter much. I wasn't spending anything or going anywhere. I wasn't even going food shopping until I started to feel dizzy. And besides, it made me feel like I was still needed.

But now? I've been through Rehab and been needed enough, thank you very much. I'm good. Really. In fact, I think I'm knee-deep in Flirtation because I'm trying on new things and have, frankly, developed quite a case of the wanderlust. So these college bills are stepping on my last nerve. I'm ready for the little birdie to fly away. "You're going that way?" "Cool, I'll go this way. And, FYI, I'm taking my money with me."

As I look back, the Stages of PSM have been perfectly timed. They've been gradual and as kind to me as they could be. I talk a lot, but if I were free of this college bill right now, I might just tease my hair, put on some leg warmers and turn into 23-year-old me. Nobody wants that. So, for this next and last year, I'm thinking I'll be all dreamy about Satisfaction. Well, as I have time between all the hot flashes, bouts of insomnia, and mood swings.