...we may not choose it, but we do our best.

Today I had a friend post something on his Facebook page about single moms and them always having a lot on their plate, and he asked for insight as to why this was.

I had to throw my two cents in the hat, I couldn't help myself.

And I have been thinking a lot about it since.

Being a single a mom is hard, there's no question about that. But why are we in this situation? Why are single moms bombarded with so much responsibility?

And I have to say that I think that (many) of the men in my generation just aren't being men.

I don't know where the fail was, but I see it all too often these days, that men just don't step up.

Men these days are lazy, and selfish and don't hesitate to walk away when things get hard.

They don't hold down a job, or finish school or move out of their folks' basement.

And I certainly don't mean every man. I actually have a man in my life now who is a real man, who works hard, who steps up, who gives of himself. And get this, who lives in his own place.

It's refreshing to see men be a strength and not cower in the face of responsibility.

But the sad thing is, it seems to be a rarity these days. And then you are left with single moms who work three jobs, go to school, chauffeur children, put food on the table and roof over their babies' heads, kiss booboos, read stories before bed, help with homework, video the school play, pay for ballet lessons and much much more.

And we do it willingly. Because its for our sweet sweet children.

But why don't more fathers have that mentality?

I don't know. I just think it's sad.

And, I feel lucky I found someone who is the man he should be.

Location:Single moms

Read my text

Communication is a funny thing. And I always hear people within the communication field talk about how terrible they are at communicating.

The stats vary depending on the source, but, the illusive "they" say that somewhere between 70-90% of communication is non verbal.

Which can be a little scary in our world of text dominant communication. I mean, jeez, you're reading these words right now, this communication by text. And as much as I wish I could insert my tone of voice or facial expressions into each sentence or word, I can't.

So you just have to take these words at face value.

Which is a hard thing to do. For me anyway.

I base so much of my communication with people off of the way they say something, or the look accompanying their words. Or even their stance as they speak.

So, understandably, texts and tweets and Facebook posts can cause some miscommunications, especially when you consider you're missing 70-90% of the message.

So what's the solution? I'm not exactly about to stop all high tech communication.

Maybe we need to improve our library of emoticons? Haha ;-)

I don't know. Maybe the solution is that we all first just give each other a break and not automatically assume the worst. And second, maybe we should try to be more clear in our selection of words.

And also, when it comes to personal, important conversations, it's just better to put that phone down, log out of Facebook and look that person in the eye and be real with them, take in that extra 70-90% of the message, and really connect.

Broken hearts

Some things can never be repaired.

It won't matter how much tape is wrapped around,

or how much glue seeps through the cracks.

What's broken is broken.

And you can't take it back,

you can't undo it.

It doesn't matter

It doesn't really matter how great you are,

how much you accomplish,

how much you overcome,

who you become.

It doesn't matter.

You'll always be your past.

And that's it.

I don't care what they think

What if I said that I love, love. Would that make me less tough? Less cool? I don't know. But I have felt for so long that I couldn't or maybe shouldn't be so excited or so giddy about love, weddings and even my impending marriage.

But in reality, if you stop and think about that for just one second, that is absurd. I mean, really?

I should be allowed to be ridiculous and silly about my love. He's amazing, and I adore him. I should be expected to be pouring over bridal magazines and, nowadays, pinterest, in search of that perfect dress, that perfect veil, those perfect flowers that will all be icing on the cake that is the day I marry the man I love.

The man who knows my heart and has taken it and promised to care for it. He is my dream. And I love him and I love our love. And if someone has a problem with that, well whatever, I don't care.

Because I'm happy. And I'm getting married. And this time, it's to the man I love, and to the man who loves me, my friend.

To those who will never be enough

Somewhere along the way, someone told her she would never be enough.

Never enough to be loved.

Not as she was...not as she could be.

Because she could never be enough.

There would always be some flaw that proved too much, insurmountable.

She couldn't blame them when they walked.

She knew. She wasn't enough.

Some lasted longer than others, but the end was always the same.

She was never enough.

What was it? What about her didn't add up?

She wasn't sure. And yet she knew all the same.

And she knew it would never matter how much she ever became, because it would never. be. enough.

It became her identity.

"Hi, my name is...and I'm never enough."

She longed for the day when one, at least one, redeeming quality would over shadow a flaw.

That day never came until....

....she decided she was enough for herself.

She knew she wasn't perfect. No one is.

And if that guy, or that teacher or that friend doesn't think she's enough, well, they are the ones who aren't enough for her.

But she was enough. She IS enough.

Junk drawers and lost thoughts

I've had so many thoughts running through my brain the past few weeks/months. But I haven't been able to put them together, or make sense of them.

The thoughts seem very sporadic and incoherent, hence the reason I can't successfully catalog and organize them.

I guess that's why people have a junk drawer.

I need one for my brain.

A place for all the random, possibly useless...and yet possibly useful thoughts. The thoughts I don't quite know what to do with.

There's just no place for them.

Maybe what they really need is some time in the sun. A day. To walk around and stretch their legs.

Perhaps then they'd be able to find their place.

But airing a thought out or two or twenty can be daunting, exhausting.

Looking at all the ins and outs, analyzing...

But then, I guess if I were doing that, I'm not actually letting it walk around, I'm taking it for a walk.

I need to take the leash off and let it be.

Be the thought that it is.

Perhaps if I stop resisting it, stop trying to tie it down, the lost thought will find it's way home.

Maybe I'm just curious where it will end up.