By alone I mean with an ex-husband whose now remarried, and never sees our son; phone calls are the order of the day!
By alone I mean with my mom who helps, loves, and offers support.
By alone I mean with my brother who financially keeps us able to do, go, see, and be.
By alone I mean with my father who loves, and adores his grandson like he didn't know how to love his son.
By alone I mean with my daughters who are thirteen, and nine years older, and behave like surrogate mommies.
By alone I mean with my aunt who gives this tired mommy an occasional weekend to herself.
Okay...so maybe not alone, but alone in the traditional way that says there needs to be a mommy, daddy, siblings, cat, dog, fish, and the white picket fence that needs to be repaired, but debt is biting us in the butt, so it'll have to wait.
I often wonder what raising a child alone actually means because so far I have no clue!
Anyway, this blog will be about a divorced mom with a 4.5 year old black son who at the age of 41 is navigating doing it with no husband, or boyfriend, or prospects, dates, winks, or long dreamy stares...NOTHING! A mommy who, while standing in the line at the grocery store wonders what all of these people think of this boy, the one they consistently talk to, the one who attracts the attention of old, young, black, white, other, tall, short, fat, and thin adults, who feel compelled to have a conversation with a boy who hides behind his mommies legs.
He's my boy, and every day I start my day with an agenda:
RAISING JAY
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