Along the Way with Michelle Tall | “Motivation”

Michelle Tall is a member of Single Mothers Outreach in Santa Clarita, CA. View her bio here.

I think motivation can come in waves. I think you can be pushed into the desire to succeed just as often as you naturally feel the drive to overcome.

Motivation can stem from harsh circumstances, experiences that brutally back you into a corner. Or it can come from inspiration to aspire to something more, something bigger than yourself.

And so which one pushes you forward just that much further? Which one makes you stronger and maybe a little more wiser?

Maybe the answer is both. But right now, in this moment of my life, I am coming back from being beaten down.

When you find yourself in a place you never thought you would be, broken and bruised, hurting and wounded, you wonder how you let it happen. At what point did you allow another person to believe that it was okay to treat you so poorly? When did everything go from fun and comfortable to a disastrously unrecognizable life?

And so when I finally opened my eyes and saw myself crouched into the furthest corner of a room that was caving in on me, I looked up and saw an innocent child with unconditional love just waiting to be wrapped in his mother’s arms.

“At the moment of surrender,

Of vision over visibility.”

–U2, “Moment of Surrender”

That was the day I kicked and clawed and crawled and climbed my way out of that corner, taking my little boy’s hand in mine, intent on setting out to create our own happily ever after. I began to heal when I focused on my son’s beautiful smile.

Motivation came to me from living in the dark to promising my child a life of living in the light. I stumble and fall down every now and then, but I haven’t let go of his hand and I never will. Not ever again will I allow anything or anyone to break this mother’s connection to the joy of her child that she carries with her everyday within her heart.

And this motivation grows stronger and brighter as it changes into inspiration. An inspiration that pushes me higher and higher to places more bright and glorious than I ever dreamed possible.

Motivation changed my life and I can recognize it now more than I did before. And I embrace it and ride it through the journey of motherhood with my child by my side.

Along the Way with Michelle Tall | From Far Away

When I was 20, I moved back to Southern California. Leaving my family on a beautiful May morning, I packed all my belongings in my 1972 convertible VW bug and set off on the ten hour drive all by myself from Salt Lake City, Utah to Los Angeles. In a car with no air conditioning and only AM radio, it was a very long journey. Going uphill was especially grueling as I couldn’t get my car to go faster than 40 miles per hour and I watched helplessly as semi-trucks passed me by.

But when I pulled into my friend’s apartment complex that evening, I was in high spirits and full of excitement for what new adventures were to come my way.

Fast forward 17 years and I found myself as a single mother, divorced and all alone. Things did not turn out quite how I imagined they would. Sure, there were years filled with carefree fun, living the single life with very little responsibilities. But as the famous goes, life has a way of sneaking up on you when you’re busy making plans.

With my family so far away, I’ve struggled with finding the balance of caring for my little one on my own. To be fair, I am very lucky to have my ex-husband’s family so close. Their love and support for Tucker has eased my burden and sharing custody 50-50 has been a blessing that I hadn’t counted on. Initially, I was appalled that I would have to spend even one minute away from my child. And at the beginning of my divorce, I cried each and every time I had to hand over my son to his father.

But time has taught me the value of helping hands, in whatever form they take. Would I rather call my own parents or sister when I need a babysitter? Of course. Am I lucky to be able to call Tucker’s other grandparents when I’m in need? Of course.

I have missed my family since the very day I arrived in Santa Clarita. But never more so than when I became a single mom. I treasure the visits they make to come out to see me and the trips I get to take once or twice a year to go back home to be with them. I have a very close family and even though we live far apart, they are never far away in my heart or in spirit. Their support has reached across two states and has lifted me up when I’ve been down. Their voices on the phone have given me strength when I’ve faltered and stumbled along the way.

But I miss them. Oh how I miss them. And it makes me sad that Tucker is missing out on getting to know them as I do. So I’ve brought them to life inside my home. Talking about each of them and giving a name to every uncle, aunt and cousin. I tell him stories about my family and keep him in the loop of the goings on in their lives. My parents have visited us enough that Tucker does know them and loves them for who they are. And for that I am very grateful.

I wish more than anything that my family were close by. But they aren’t and that’s just the way it is. So instead of feeling sorry for myself, I let the love of my parents and siblings fill my home from across the miles. And I remember to be grateful for Tucker’s father’s family who are supportive and kind.

Sometimes you’ve just got to take what you can get. The trick is to remember to be thankful for what you do have. Perhaps not your ideal situation, but most certainly better than nothing at all.

Along the Way with Michelle Tall | The Hardest Part

photo by Rich Hall Photography

Michelle Tall writes for Single Mothers Outreach (www.singlemothersoutreach.org) She is a single parent and a proud mom of three-year old Tucker. They share life together in Santa Clarita, CA.

What’s the hardest part about being a single mother? Are you kidding?

* Always being tired.

* No one else is going to fold the laundry.

* Eating dinner standing up at the kitchen counter.

* Forgetting…everything…all the time.

* Always being tired.

* Trips to the grocery store are equivalent to climbing Mount Everest. It takes forever and you’re exhausted at the end of it.

* Feeling the shame of tricking him into watching the Disney movie you feel like watching.

* Days and time and moments overlap and you become that person that wonders, “Where did the time go?”

* Always being tired.

* Being secretly annoyed that he colored all over your page of the coloring book that you just worked on for fifteen minutes.

* When it feels like you won the lottery when the name-brand cereal is on sale. (I don’t care what anyone says–the generic just tastes different.)

* Guilt of just wanting to be left alone. Just for 5 minutes. 5 minutes. Please? Ok, I’ll take 3. How about 30 seconds? Well, can I at least go to the bathroom? Nope? Darn.

* Always being tired.

* Hoping nobody overhears you when you make up some ridiculously crazy answer to yet another “why is the…” question. (The bath water goes right to the ocean for the fishies to swim around in. Well, you tell me. Where exactly does that water go to? What drains? Where are these drains? How do you know for sure there aren’t pipes that tunnel directly from your home all the way to the Pacific, hmm? See what I mean?)

* Wanting to get him that Spiderman bicycle but not having the money to buy it or a sidewalk to ride it on. Apartments aren’t very ideal for that kind of thing.

* Potty training. Enough said. Actually, no, that’s not enough said. Because then there is the bed wetting which leads to 3am laundry loads which leads to bringing him into your bed which counteracts all the progress you’ve made of getting him to sleep in his own bed.

* Always being tired.

Wait a minute, what was the question?

Along the Way with Michelle Tall: “Oops”

It’s so cute when your toddler starts swearing.  That sweet, little, innocent voice—suddenly talking like a sailor fresh off the high seas.  (I’m being facetious…mostly).

Case in point:  The Incident of the Swiffer Wet Jet Commercial.

I’m at the kitchen sink doing dishes.  Tucker is on the living room floor, absently playing with his Hot Wheels while watching cartoons on T.V.  And then the commercial comes on.  The commercial.  The commercial of all commercials; clearly.  Otherwise, how else to account for Tucker’s passionate response to something as ordinary as a mop?

“What the h***?”

My head snaps up and for a moment I think I must have heard wrong.  But then it comes again.

“What the h***?”   Followed immediately by, “What the h*** is that?”

It is the cutest thing in the whole world and I’m devastated my little guy has just said his first bad word.  What does this mean?  Where has he picked this up?  Who’s being negligent with their conversation around my son?  No doubt his dad, I’m sure.

Pulling myself together, I attempt subtlety with a gentle reply.

“Yeah.  What the heck?  What the heck is that Tucker?”

And his angelic little face meets my gaze as he answers me.

“Yeah.  What the heck is that mama?”

A couple of weeks later, I’m over at my friend, Cindy’s, for dinner.  I’m telling her the Swiffer Wet Jet story and we’re both amused and appropriately chagrined at this new development in Tucker’s life.  Obviously his dad is to blame for my son’s potty mouth.  Obviously.

Sitting at the kitchen table, the conversation turns to other topics as we catch up on our friendship.  Then, out of nowhere, Cindy is laughing uncontrollably.  I mean she is really, really laughing.  I sit there confounded.  What’s so funny?  My story about the lady in the grocery store who was wearing a mu-mu with curlers in her hair was pretty good, but not certainly worthy of the laughing fit I’m witnessing in front of me.  When she’s finally able catch her breath, Cindy says to me:

“Michelle.  You have said ‘what the h***’ about ten times in the last 20 minutes.”

Apologies to Tucker’s dad…

…Lesson…Learned…Humbled.

Along the Way with Michelle Tall: “Garden Gnomes”

by Michelle Tall

I love 99 cent stores.  There I’ve said it and I’m only semi-embarrassed to admit it.  I have been known to spend up to two hours just browsing.  It’s one of my guilty pleasures.  I grab a cart and begin the joys of what I like to call:

“going up and down every single aisle and picking up and looking at every single thing and thinking to myself, hmmm…I really do need to have this medium-sized, leaning slightly to the left, (tilt your head to the right and you won’t even notice!) ceramic garden gnome holding a purple sunflower attached by something that could mean a possible trip to the doctor for a tetanus shot.”

But seriously, a trip to the dollar stores can provide both entertainment and great finds.  Coming across a 6-pack of Juicy Juice can feel like I hit the lottery.  And the truth is, there is one store in particular that has stepped up its game and has added a small produce section (whether it’s fresh produce, I can’t say for sure).  All I know is I’ve found a basket of strawberries that looked and tasted great—so what if I had to toss them out the next day.  My son and I enjoyed them for dessert that night and they were only one dollar!

I’ve built up a decent tool box complete with a hammer and nails, both phillips and flathead screwdrivers and even a (working) picture hanging laser leveler.

I have a cupboard stocked with name brand cans of soup.  I’ve got a supply of basic office products such as pens, paper, envelopes, etc.

And if you look hard enough, (be warned, you’ll need to put in some effort and dig through the bins!) you can build up a little collection of holiday decorations that don’t scream “I was purchased at your local dollar store!”

So for every garden gnome I’ve come across, I’ve also discovered some great stuff.  I believe it really comes down to the individual.  Is the trip and time invested worth finding a handful of marvelous little treasures and waiting in a long check-out line (because the other 5 registers are never open)?  Only you can answer that question.

But if you happen to find yourself at a dollar store on any given Sunday afternoon, I’ll be that lady spending a particularly long time checking out the garden gnomes with a look of genuine consideration on my face.

Along the Way with Michelle Tall: “Paper”

By Michelle Tall

Well here it is.  A fresh, new blank piece of paper

I’ve wondered about this piece of paper for a long time; long before I knew for sure that I would need it and use it and treasure it.  I knew it was there when I first brushed aside what was real for what I wanted to be true.

It has been patiently waiting for me, waiting until I was finally ready to believe in myself again.

This fresh, new blank piece of paper; it’s time to begin writing the next chapter in my life.

A couple of years ago I thought there could not possibly be anything left to write.  I truly believed my story would resemble the ending of a Shakespearian tragedy—denial and confusion resulting in a lost soul and a life half-lived.  Never had I felt such anger towards the universe as when I felt the façade of my marriage crumble before my eyes.  I choked on fragments of dust–the remnants of the past seven years of my life.

Yep, it was pretty awful.  It took a lot of work and a lot of time but gradually I began to heal.  The dark fog slowly lifted and it was a beautiful thing to watch as objects came back into focus and details once again were crystal clear.

But I do remember thinking back then, that if one more person told me it would “just take time”—I was going to punch them in the face.  If one more person told me I was “such a strong woman”—they were going down in a death-grip choke-hold.

I could barely pick myself up off the floor, let alone start thinking about the future.

But here I am.  With a fresh, new blank piece of paper.

I’m anxious and excited, filled with energized anticipation—waiting to see what the first words and sentences of my new chapter are going to be.

“She’s gonna dream up
The world she wants to live in,
She’s gonna dream out loud.”

–Zooropa, U2

Along the Way with Michelle Tall: “Fizzle, Snap and Pop”

By Michelle Tall

It’s Friday evening and I’m all fizzled out.  The weekend is looming large ahead of me and I wonder, once again, how I will possibly find the energy to be the kind of mom I want to be and the kind of mom my son deserves.

Saturday morning I sometimes feel like I can’t even peel myself out from under the cocoon of my blankets.  It is a physical battle between my body and my brain to not just open my eyes, but to actually keep them open.  It literally takes all that I’ve got inside me to get out of bed.

There is only one thing that pushes me through this weekly ritual; this early morning transformation from feeling completely and utterly drained to being replenished with hope.  The fresh hope that can only be found in the brief and precious moments where night surrenders to the cool dawn of a new day.

His name is Tucker.  And when I hear that little voice calling me from the world of dreams, when I see his bright face and stunning smile of anticipated joy, when I realize I hold the memories of his childhood in my hands—that is when my heart wakes up.  He reaches for me and I swing him up from night-night and into good morning.

Those morning cuddles are the best!  So much unconditional love and trust rests in his little arms that wrap around me as he nestles his head into the warmth of my shoulder.  This little guy is waiting for his mama to show him a new and wondrous discovery of the world.  This world he and I share is forever growing bigger and bigger with every passing day.  So much is new to him that I sometimes forget how truly amazing fresh-cut grass smells and feels under bare feet.  I forget how exhilarating that first plunge into a cool pool on a warm day can take your breath away.  I forget how unbelievably amazing it is that ducks can both swim and fly.  I forget that there is nothing better than being pushed in a swing—up, up, up.  Up towards the ethereal, white clouds.  Up towards the dazzling rays of sunshine.  Up towards the soothing blue of a perennial sky; a boundless and infinite sky that is broken only by the horizon of hills which surround our small valley.

“Baby slow down,
The end is not as fun as the start.
Please stay a child somewhere in your heart.”

–Orignal of the Species, U2

Tucker’s sweet, little, toddler-self wakes me, re-energizes me, and motivates me.  His very presence inspires me to be his mama, to show him something he hasn’t seen before.

He effortlessly lifts the blankets and opens my eyes.

He puts the fizzy snap and pop back into my morning and I ride the wave of his energy throughout the day.

Along the Way with Michelle Tall: “Once Upon a Time”

by Michelle Tall

My younger brother and I used to listen to Hansel and Gretel on the record player down in our family room.  It was the late 1970’s and this record player was encased in wood, resembling a medium size coffee table.  I remember it always smelled of lemon furniture polish, growing more pungent especially as we listened to record after record.  I remember also the smell of the vinyl getting warmer as it turned round and round beneath the delicate needle.

Hansel and Gretel scared us to death and my mother tells us about the summer when we played it nearly every day.

I remember hiding under one of the kitchen table chairs as Hansel and Gretel happened upon the Gingerbread house deep within the forest.  Oh how that witch cackled on that record.  Never again have I heard a cackle as terrifying as the one from that record.

This is a treasured memory that always makes me smile whenever it comes to mind.  It marks the beginning of my discovery into the magical world of stories.  Stories of witches and little girls and boys.  Stories of mountains made out of rock candy and gumdrops.  Stories of beanstalks and giants and heroes and noble steeds.  Stories with sprites, fairies and pirates.  Stories from far-away places with delectable names and enchanted villages.  Where queens were either very wicked or very kind.  Where woodland creatures protected the little girl who found herself lost in the woods—and of course there were always the chirping birds who tied pink ribbons in her hair with their tiny beaks.

In the end, Hansel and Gretel got rid of that scary old’ witch and had a joyful reunion with their mother and father.  That’s simply how it was in the land of happily ever after.  Squealing with delight, I would crawl out from under the dining room chair as my brother lifted the needle and placed it at the edge of the record to begin the story all over again.

I began collecting children’s books as soon as I found out I was pregnant.  I would even read them out loud to my ever-expanding belly, hoping to pass on my love for literature and fairy tales to my, as yet, unborn baby.

So today, when my toddler asks me to read him a story, the TV gets turned off immediately as I chastise myself for not having thought of it first.  And for me, there is hardly anything better than snuggling on the couch with my little guy on a rainy Saturday afternoon and hanging out with our silly, tea-party lovin’ friends and one very calm caterpillar from Wonderland.

(Tucker likes the white rabbit the best—and really, what’s not to love about a frazzled rabbit who is perpetually late for something that is clearly very important and may possibly have to do with a certain date?

Along the Way with Michelle Tall: “My List”

by Michelle Tall

Without the following, I don’t know that I would be where I am today…happier, healthier, more hopeful than ever before, inspired, thankful and humbled.

• My parents
• Each of my three brothers and my sister
• Forgiveness following in the wake of justified anger
• Acceptance
• Music to cry to
• Music to laugh to
• Music to reminisce with
• Music to motivate an exhausted heart and body
• Music that carried me when I could not walk on my own
• Music to sing to my son—specifically Frank Sinatra’s “Fly Me to the Moon”
• Two amazing women who stepped up and gave me strength when I had none, these two women who surprised me with unconditional love and acceptance where others turned away
• Therapy
• Books to escape into, even if only for a little while
• Sunshine to warm my ice-cold soul
• Rain that said it’s okay to cry, cry because you are sad, and it’s okay to feel sad because acting strong all the time would be a lie and why give up precious healing time to pasted smile/pretend time?
• Being on the other end of charity, a place I never expected to find myself, but a place that restored my faith in all that is good in this world, and a place I will always be grateful for, a place where I found genuine kindness—something that I was sorely missing in the mess of it all
• My son, oh my beautiful, sweet son—you are the very reason I was born and I will forever wonder how I got so lucky as to be your mother.

This list is actually an endless one.  I know that I could go on and on for days, months, years.  And yet I would still only be brushing the tip of all the blessings that came from climbing out of the deepest, darkest hole.  All the times I thought I just couldn’t reach up one more time to grab hold of the next jutting rock, the next extended hand—this is when I fought the hardest without even realizing it.

I think it was those times that changed how I viewed my life.  Those moments when I felt the most alone, they actually were giving me the permission I desperately needed from myself to start believing that I was worthy of a life filled with joy; a life free from the fear that nearly defeated me.

Along the Way with Michelle Tall: “Time”

by Michelle Tall

The great thing about having a partner when raising a child—you get breaks.  Whatever the problems that plagued my marriage, the one thing I took for granted was time.  Everything from taking a shower to grocery shopping weren’t monumental events which needed to be strategically scheduled around naps and stolen moments of distraction.  Casually and with confidence, I could hand over baby and take care of whatever was on my to-do list for that day.

Now I catch myself watching the clock, counting down the hours until it’s time to say goodbye to my little guy as he heads off to be with his daddy.  And even as I’m looking forward to time to myself, I am riddled with the guilt that a good mama would never actually want time spent away from her child.  Because surely a good mama would spend that time merely surviving the hours until her child is back in her arms and in her home.  A good mama would run her errands without a smile on her face or a skip in her step.  A good mama would not appreciate, with a healthy sense of relief, time to relax and breathe without that natural pull to keep constant vigilance over her little one.

A good mama…where, exactly, did I get the idea of what makes a good mama?  Would I ever judge another mother who embraces these stolen moments of freedom?  Absolutely not!  Instead, I would envy her confidence as she goes about enjoying her life while her child is in another’s care.  So why do I hold to such a restrictive set of standards which I created myself?

I believe that just because we became single mother’s does not mean we gave up the right to enjoy our breaks.  In fact, I would even suggest that perhaps we need them more now than ever before.  We judge ourselves so harshly, so afraid that we are being judged by others.  But you know what?  I think other people don’t have the time to worry about what everyone else is doing.  And more than that, I don’t think other people even care why you happen to be at Wal-Mart on any given day

Think about it…have you stopped browsing through the women’s clothing section to take the time to care about that woman checking out the shirts on the clearance rack next to you?  Of course not.  Because you know you have only so much time to yourself before you transform back into full-time mama.  Time, time, time.  It is one of life’s certainties.  Maybe it’s time we stop apologizing for its existence and begin spending it however we choose—for whatever works for us, whatever makes us happy and thereby healthier mothers.

It’s your life and your time.  It belongs to you.  Own it.  Use it.  Enjoy it.  You deserve it.