Single Parenting

Yesterday I went light-fixture shopping with the only other divorced Jewish woman in Mayberry. She and I were fast and furious close friends a few years ago after realizing we both dated the same man.

Lucky for us, but not for him.

Our lives are similar in the sense that our kids are the same ages and neither of us have husbands, but once did. She is always in a relationship, her kids have a dad and she works in banking. I’m not, mine don’t and I can’t balance a checkbook. But, despite our laundry list of differences we have become the Kate to the other’s Allie, and can synchronize the other’s world where she lacks. The fact that we crack each other up doesn’t hurt either. And I know that although our worlds collide only slightly, that she does understand my situation and has reminded me often to be my best self.

So it only stands to reason that when we went shopping, as we’ve done in the past for things like Bar Mitzvah outfits for our sons’ Bar Mitzvahs, we’d be in sync. I kept her daughter out of her hair occupied while she browsed and spoke to the sales person about the flexible track lights, eyeball can-lights, rocking dimmer switches and bathroom, kitchen and bedroom fixtures and ceiling fans for their new home. I offered my opinion when asked, and some times when not. I extolled her good taste, and stoked her when she waivered. Bottom line, it is her house, not mine, and the decisions, as well as the money, are hers and hers alone.

As we left Lights R Us a mere 90 minutes later, she was done, and I’d decided that in lieu of remodeling I can’t afford, that I’d change some lighting in my home as well.

“That was easy,” she said.

We high-fived and did the secret single-mom victory dance.

“Great choices”, I said, reassuring her and wiping her brow because she spent a large amount of money in a short amount of time. I had a paper bag at the ready in case she started hyperventilating. Instead of fainting, we opted for a quick salad.

Then we both remembered one of things we like about being single.

It’s about decisions. As hard as it can be, they are ours and ours alone. And sometimes that is really fun!

Parenting issues and tribulations traversed on my own leave me angry. When I see happy couples I feel a deep-seeded physical ache. When I am removing and replacing screens and changing furnace filters I curse my ex-husband. BUT, when I plan a family vacation where I want to go, buy new bed linens, hire a painter and decorate my bathroom pink and green, well, I do a peacock strut. And yes, although men in my life have slept well under roses, I would redecorate if I ever marry Mr. Rightstein and he finds it just too feminine for his masculine sensibilities.

But in the meantime, it serves me well to realize that the independence thrust upon me with singledom is not all bad.

Decisions are precarious things. Some decisions matter, and truthfully, some really don’t. Some decisions have lasting effects, and many, do not. As much as I wish I had someone to back me up, I’m often glad there is no one looking over my shoulder.

So how many single moms does it take to change a lightbulb?

Undoubtedly, one.

But only if she feels like it.