Pancakes Taste Like Poverty: And Other Post-Divorce Revelations

by Jessica Vivian

  I mean, getting laid takes effort and crappy marriage puts you way out of practice. Sleeping with the person you've been sexing for a decade is just convenient. They already know what you like. Or totally don't. But at least you know what you're getting.

  I, like so many other moms, have "let myself go." When I only had one child, I smugly watched the weepy doormat moms on Oprah and berated them from my couch.

  I will NEVER let myself go! You can't take care of others unless you take care of yourself!

  I used to love my body. I walked around naked all the time especially during my first pregnancy when my boobs were all huge and my skin was extra glowing.

  Fast-forward two more kids, a combined 4 years of breastfeeding, crushing depression, jobs which kept me away from human interaction and I am just a hop-skip from wearing pajama jeans, a do- rag, and bunny slippers in public.

  I mean, as I've mentioned, I only own the two pairs of jeans and the rainbow collection of pajamas. Where am I going in that? I do not have the tools to make myself attractive. I can't compete. I am a really, really mommish looking woman. I'm about as sexy as Nanny McPhee.

  But the real roadblock is the post-baby body. I nursed three kids in 5 years. My tits have definitely seen better days. As the joke goes, my bra size is now “34 Long.” Couple that with the tell-tale mom pooch, an extra thirty or forty pounds above my pre-marriage weight and a crooked C-section scar and I fear I must live a lifetime of self-love to crappy internet erotica.

  I did have some post-divorce sex with a chef from Paraguay. He was a palette cleanser, if you will. He was very athletic and attentive in the way sexy, South American chefs should be. Our short affair was the perfect way to break the monotony, reminding myself that venturing away from convenient ex-sex is worth it.

  Now, though, I am raising my kids full time. All the adults I know are women or gay men. I can't imagine a straight, single man wanting to jump on board with all of this - or even accommodate it.

  Married friends say stuff like, "you're worth it, girl, he's out there." I don't think they know what the hell they are talking about. Reassurance from married women is not helpful.

  I need a fairy Godmother to poof into my life, buy me clothes, do my face and then babysit. Otherwise, I fear that no matter how pithy my dating profiles are and no matter how cross-eyed, blindingly horny I am, it's celibacy whether I like it or not.

  And since you're asking...

  ...the answer is "not".

  General Life Update - June 2012

  OK, for realsies, I don’t know what took so long. I should have moved home ages ago. I am so generally happy that I just feel sad to think of the time I lost being unhappy in an unhappy environment, surrounded by unhappy people. Feeling good makes me realize, also, how few people I know back in Tampa who are happy. There was a lot of robotic, suburban defeat, though.

  Not to say my life is not majorly vanilla suburbanism. I mean, I live in West Mobile with my three kids doing playdates and stuff. I am not any less poor. I actually have less time to myself now that it's summer break and we're homeschooling. But what’s weird is that, in Tampa, I was always exasperated. I was living a little bit outside of my body, just doing what I was supposed to do. Now I am with my kids almost twenty four hours a day and I genuinely enjoy it. I enjoy them. I talk to them and listen to them. I hug them. I don’t have to spend sixty percent of my mental and emotional bank on numbing the general malaise of a wasted life. I’ve got 100% of myself to myself. It’s nice.

  As for work and income, I've taken some odd independent jobs to make ends meet while I look for something more full-time. Also, with it being summer vacation, I need flexibility since the cost of childcare is astronomical. My ex still isn’t paying child support.

  How can that be!? You ask…

  Here’s what the uninitiated need to know about how child support works. The amount of child support awarded is based on income. Since my ex’s business is mostly in cash, there is little income to report. I have no idea how much money he makes but I know it is next to nothing. Nothing from nothing is nothing.

  Because of this, he is not in danger of losing his license or anything because he is paying what he can…nothing!

  He has sent me money since we moved here. I think $200 in the last three months which is more than I got in the previous six.

  I am homeschooling and the home school community I am involved with is boss. All the families are great, the kids have made a bunch of friends. I can’t tell you how many teachers I have run into who have advised me to continue to home school, which is troubling to say the least. It’s not for everybody, of course, but it works well for us.

  I taught my 6 year old to read in a week or two. My oldest’s personality has exploded, given the room to develop her sense of self on her own terms. I mean, she had a panic attack in Chuck E Cheese. Now she can talk to people of all ages - something I thought she would never be able to do. Ever.

  When we pulled out a sheet and a globe and I explained gravity and the fabric of space she said I explained in 10 minutes what she could never understand in years of traditional schooling. The individualized attention is awesome. The activities and field trips are specific to what we are learning; what their passions are. They interact with kids of all ages instead of being boxed in with only other kids their own age. It’s really been great for us.

  I am not so rabid for homeschooling that I would never let them go back to traditional school if they asked. I ask them every now and then how they feel about it and they have no desire to right now. Things will probably change when they are a little older and I am prepared for that. If we keep up the pace we have been keeping, though, I don’t think traditional school will be academically satisfying but we’ll see. For me, home education is less of a movement or protest than simply an option. I don’t know why it’s so mind-boggling for people to imagine a world where we have options on how to educate our children, rather than some district lines and generations worth of poor schools in poor areas.

  Of course, well-meaning and skeptical relatives try to “catch” me at failing at homeschooling by grilling my kids about their favorite thing they learned. I don’t think my 6 year old is going to say “I learned how to read.” So when someone says in a smarmy tone “So, what have you learned while homeschooling?’ and she says “lots of different stuff” and they look at me like “mmhmm, as I suspected, no better than regular school” I just roll my eyes. The proof is in the pudding. The statistics about socialization and academics are both in homeschooling’s corner. I am not concerned.

  The only negative opinions I have gotten are from childless people with no background other than the extremist homeschoolers on reality television and a few educators who think I am somehow flipping them off by opting out. When I eat chocolate ice cream I’m not turning my nose up at vanilla, you know? It’s no different with homeschooling, in my opinion. I know a bunch of amazing teachers and there are some great schools in every town.

  As far as the kids' adjustment to moving, they are calmer and happier. We are all getting to know each other. Jaya and I are so close now. I think about how tense and unavailable I was to all my kids and now I feel like I have room to love on them. Kids learn quickly and have adapted to the new affectionate, happy mom. I think they like me.

  I also noticed my kids have never, ever seen me pretty. I am still working on that one. That requires disposable income. But really, when I met the ex I was working at a “modeling agency” -quotations necessary- wearing heels and makeup every day to work. When I was pregnant I wore a lot of dresses. I was pretty at my wedding. But I’ve mostly been either depressed or trying really hard to go unnoticed during their awareness years, and they’ve gotten so used to seeing me in pajamas that they chastise me for even owning high heels like I’ve gone mad. Anyway, basic self-care is a habit I have to re-learn. The ex never had a problem with the fact that I did not get one professional haircut in the 11 years
we were together, but he went on five yoga retreats. We just never had money for me and always had money for him. And being a stay at home mom I just didn't speak up because I didn't feel I had the “right” to the money. Drama.

  The kids do really, really miss their dad every now and then. When he calls to talk to them, which is almost never, one usually ends up in tears. We had some serious issues since he did not call Jordis on her 6th birthday, nor did he send a gift or a card. After receiving angry texts from both of my parents he eventually called about a week later. His excuse was the typical tale :

  I didn’t know what to say. I feel like such a shitty dad. I think about you guys every day.

  One of the hardest things about being divorced is that kids idolize their parents no matter how shitty they are.

  It can feel a little alien being so involved in the home school community. Single-parent homeschoolers just don't really happen. So while the home school friends are great, I sort of needed a community who got it.

  So I made one.

  Upon moving home and reconnecting with old classmates and former coworkers, I was glad/disheartened to find so many of them in the same situation as myself. I decided we should form a group and meet once a month to cook a big meal together, let the kids play, and hopefully address each other's single-parent needs.

  There's a mom of two I met in a “Crunchy Moms” group on Facebook. She's hyper-intellectual and her vocabulary is so big I often have to look up words after speaking to her. Then there is the mom of two I met at a family yoga event. I hinted at being a single mom and she approached me, noting how well-adjusted my kids are. We decided to meet a few days later and spent several hours on my bed commiserating, becoming instant friends. There is my former coworker who has one son. She works full-time to support her him and her extended family. One single mom of three was abandoned by her husband who went “on vacation,” leaving her alone for over a year, only to come back with a girlfriend and ask for a divorce. My best friend from kindergarten is still in the process of getting divorced and raising her son alone. I remember seeing pictures of her magazine-glossy wedding on Facebook years ago and now it's over. And lastly there is a custodial single father who I was friends with in high school. He's a real-life Mr. Mom raising his sons alone, coaching the soccer team, organizing the carpools. And of course we include CBL, the Crazy Blonde Lady, our champion and knowledge bank.

  Once a month we collect at someone's home, either mine or Mr. Mom's, and share food and stories of the struggle. Someone will pull out a notepad and say “what do you need?” and maybe someone will say “well, my kid has grown out of their shoes” or “the pantry is looking thin” or “I'm on the hunt for a toddler bed” and if the need can't be resolved within the group we get on our phones and reach out to our friends. Usually, the need is met within 24 hours.

  Since my schedule is the most flexible, I am the go-to emergency childcare person. If money is tight or if a little one has the sniffles and can't go to daycare, they are welcome at my home. Payment can be anything: a loaf of bread, some bars of soap, some garbage bags. I don't keep a log because I know my needs will be met when and if I am in peril.

  When my water was going to be turned off, another mama whose son I'd watched a few times paid it for me. When I was worried about groceries, my kindergarten friend, who is also an avid couponer, deposited a variety of stockpiled frozen meals into my freezer.

  It's the best thing that's happened to me as an adult next to the birth of my children.

  When I step outside myself and see how easily and swiftly a community can be built when someone just says “Hey, this is hard isn't it? How about we team up?” I am consumed with wonder, shock, pride and some survivor's guilt.

  I feel like single parenting is easy now because having the community makes it easy. It makes me hurt for the single parents who don't have it. or don't know how to get it, or are too scared or prideful to ask for help. I hope I can find a way to extend it and include more people. It'd be even cooler if it became a “thing.”

  Like...

  If I could find a way to create some sort of center or intentional community of single parents that runs on a barter system.

  Come take a parenting class or volunteer in the daycare center and get to “shop” in our store full of donated clothes, toys, etc.

  That'd be amazing.

  Queen

  I was treated to "bweffist" in bed today. Jordis made me cereal with no milk and a mug of water. I live the life of a queen.

  The time has come – September 2012

  Fair warning: this is a post about sex. Prudish friends and readers, proceed with caution.

  Okay, seriously, I thought I was hormone-driven in high school. That didn't come anywhere near the cross-eyed, panting, blindingly scorching level of undersexed-ness I am experiencing now, two or so years into being single. But single-momming is so strange that sex, an act that used to be so easy and effortless, is now really terrifying and complex.

  Why doesn't anyone warn us?

  My single-parent co-op is comprised of women (and one man) of varying ages at different levels of single parenthood and we almost all agree on one thing:

  As long as we have children to raise, we have no desire to ever share our homes with another man ever, ever, ever.

  But we are humans. Humans have needs. One of those needs includes sex...but much more than that...

  Oh, it's so complicated I feel like I'm typing and not saying anything. Lemmie try again...um...

  The men I encounter seem to be in one of three camps.

  1) They are married men who want to have sex with me, and are trying to convince me and their wives that we have threesomes.

  No thanks, I've already been involved one complicated marriage and one is more than enough.

  2) They are single men who think single moms just want detached sex and send me text photos of their penises.

  No thanks, I've already been in one detached, I'm-just-having-sex-with-you-because-you're-here relationship. See again: Marriage.

  3) There are single men who assume all single moms are looking to replace the male figure in their child's life, so they keep a half-petrified look in their eye the way introverts nearly poo their pants when the crappy magician starts scanning the crowd for a volunteer to be sawed in half.

  Divorce rates for 2nd and 3rd marriages are abysmal. I need another husband like I need a kick in the shin.

  So what DO we want?

  I will try to explain.

  I don't think there is a demographic less admired, desired or sought after than single moms. It certainly feels that way, at least. It feels like we are at the bottom of the heap. We are not available because we don't have sitters. We cancel dates because our kids throw up. Our tits are saggy because we breastfed thinking "no big deal, my husband supports me and loves me for me" never thinking that one day our saggy old tits will be up against those childless-woman tits that we envy.

  We have scars and stretch marks. We clearly spent several months or years or, in my case, a decade in loveless marriages. No one was wooing us. We weren't worth the effort to our spouses. Some of us were treated like we were invisible, like slaves. Some of our spouses were cheating and drinking and drugging and making it clear that the threat of jail, or death, or genital warts was better than being at home with us.

  So we left those relationships and now we are slaves. We have children with bottomless needs and jobs and bills. And we just want someone to notice us. And then screw us silly. And then get out of the way.

  Single moms need wooing, and coaxing, and courting. We, more than ever, need tenderness and effort and finesse and confidence and prowess. And then we need a good, solid fuck.

  I mean, seriously, we talk about this constantly.

  We need to feel desirable again. We need someone to think we are beautiful and attractive and funny and sexy and smart because right now we live lives of thankless servit
ude. All anyone thinks of us now is "pick me up" or "I'm hungry" or "snuggle me." It's exhausting.

  If host clubs were legal in the States, I'd be a regular patron. I would absolutely pay to be flirted with, doted on, flattered and sent on my way. It's 90% of what I need. The other 10% is not being satisfied through battery-powered means.

  So in a perfect world, my single parent co-op and I (minus the man) would gather a collection of single men as it seems married men are all too enthusiastic to provide their services. These men would take us out on dates, love on us, screw us silly and never ask to meet our kids or stop by unannounced or get an attitude when we don't answer texts or phone calls (sorry, busy making home cooked meals for three demanding children) or want us to meet their friends or, God forbid, their mothers and always wear protection and not feel the need to show us off and be patient with our inability to dress properly for the occasion (we have little paint stain/vomit stain-free clothing) or the fact that we don't remember how to flirt because it's been years and years since anyone has flirted with us and don't mind our mushy mom bodies.

  Something like a gigolo, who pays on dates but gets uncomplicated, no-nonsense sex.

  Is that so much to ask?

  Do Me

  Being “low maintenance” has suddenly become the single biggest pain in my ass.

  I had a rare night away from my kids a few nights ago. So rare, in fact, that I believe it’s only happened three or four times in the last two or three years. It was always my mom who gave me the break, flying in from Mobile to Tampa to visit and help. Their father would only take 2 out of 3 kids at most.