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.

The Next Chapter | A Single Mom Story

Natalie Lessard is a single parent at Single Mothers Outreach, located in Santa Clarita, California. You may learn more about her here.

by Natalie Lessard

"Cinderella's Broken Glass Slipper" by Cafe de Duy

Once upon a time I was a beautiful princess who was very much in love with a handsome prince.  We were going to live happily ever after.  After a 13 year marriage, I am now a single mom of three boys, 15, 12 and 7. I have been single for six years, and it’s unbelievable to me how far I have come!

I’m the first to admit, things aren’t always easy. Yes, I get frustrated. Yes, the burden gets heavy at times. But having been through all of this, I have learned that my attitude and perspective play a huge part in my success.  I have learned to simplify my life and how to ask for help, though I learned it the hard way.

For example, I was married to a Mr. Fix-It.  He took care of everything that needed to be done around the house. Shortly after the divorce, I was in for a rude awakening.  One time there was a clogged toilet that was not going to get fixed, unless I did it!  Please understand, I’m not a prissy girl, but I mean COME ON!! Unclog a toilet?!?  This was a SERIOUS clog. We are not talking about plunging it a few times, and “voilà.” Oh, no! This clog was a “call the plumber” type! The only problem was that I was low on money. I was renting from a private landlord at the time. Our agreement was such that if anything broke, I took care of it and deducted it from the rent. So it was ”face the cold hard truth” time.  It was up to ME to fix it.

Photo courtesy of diynetwork.com

After pulling my hair back and donning my grubby sweat pants and old t-shirt, I grabbed a bucket and rubber gloves.  I had every intention of winning this war. The soup ladle was sacrificed as I starting bailing out the water. You see, Mr. Fix-it took his tools with him, so I had to make do with what I had.  Little by little, scoop by scoop, I finally cleared enough water to see the blockage.  It was small, blue, and looked somewhat like a toy skateboard.  After pulling, tugging, yanking and pushing, I determined this thing was NOT going to budge. Things were not going my way! I started crying, “Why me? I can’t do this! I never asked for this!!” I was a sight to behold, boo-hooing on the floor next to a backed up toilet.  This was not one of my best moments.  Looking back, I just have to laugh at myself.

Finally, I called my dad, who lived out-of-state.  He explained to me how I needed to pull the toilet off of the floor, clear the clog and re-seal it! So I took notes, gathered myself and made a trip to Home Depot. I did exactly what I was told, and guess what? I did it! I fixed the toilet!! The toy skateboard causing the problem was gone. Not only did I save money on an expensive plumber, but I rose to the challenge before me. I educated myself and accomplished my goal.

It was after this incident that I had come to the realization that I am the one who takes care of everything: the kids, the house, the car, the bills, everything.  It’s me. The “it” girl. I no longer “share” responsibilities. Therefore, I need to pick my battles.  I moved from that townhome, into an apartment with an on-call maintenance person. I now have a support system in place. There are people I can call who will help me with car maintenance or whatever my need may be. I am not alone.

Yes I can!

There is life after divorce. I am a strong, intelligent woman who can take care of herself and three boys. See, my “once upon a time” story isn’t over, I have simply turned the page to the next chapter, and it is an adventurous one!

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: “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: “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.

Single mom’s passion is helping others

Source: Glendale News Press

By Steve Kindred

January 19, 2011

Patty Schermer, 53 of Glendale, at Assistance League of Glendale’s Thrift Alley. Schermer is 2nd VP for the Glendale High School PTSA and also gives her time to Boy Scouts Troop 118 and the Frank and Ann Leone Scholarship fund.(Raul Roa)  As citizen volunteers go, Patty Schermer colors outside the lines. She isn’t one of those rich philanthropists with oodles of time on her hands and an open checkbook. Nor is she a retiree free to complete many worthy charitable projects in Glendale. Instead she’s a youngish single mother with a passion for public projects with a very busy schedule.

“I was raised in a highly volunteer family,” Schermer said. “My dad had his own business (Glen-Pacific Carpets, now under different ownership). Mother was in the PTA, and both of my parents were involved in the Lions Club, which is the largest volunteer organization in the world. Mom was always volunteering to do something.”

Schermer’s son, Evan Schermer Jr., a junior at Glendale High School, is closing in on Eagle Scout status. Schermer has been president of the PTA twice and sits on its board at her son’s school.

Edna Karinski with the nonprofit Community Foundation of the Verdugos has known Schermer since both parents served on the PTA Council when Evan was in elementary school seven years ago.

“Patty is one of those people who really want to help,” Karinski said. “She’s the kind of person who helps someone who has any personal issues, even though she has a ton of other issues.”

One example of Schermer’s personal commitment happened when parents noticed one of the students was slipping through the cracks, and counselors weren’t correctly guiding the youngster through the system.

“She decided to work with that student one-on-one, and to help PTA get more involved with helping the parents,” Karinski said. “Patty’s a team player, she’s a very good leader, and she’s able to ascertain who has what good skills and to do things that work with those skills. She tries to fix problems as she sees them.”

Schermer is a relative newcomer to the Glendale Assistance League, but takes great pride in the organization’s many services to the city. She cites as examples the league’s Thrift Alley thrift shop and its Operation School Bell, a program that provided school clothing for 500 needy children last year. Members stow socks, underwear, pants, shirts, a hooded sweatshirt and a bag of toiletries in every backpack.

Asked what motivates her nearly full-time commitment to charity work, Schermer said it is her belief that we are put on this earth to help make it a better place to live.

“I came to my conclusions about death and the afterlife, that as mortals we don’t chose the timing, you just do what you can while you’re here, to make life better for the people around you,” Schermer said. “As corny as it sounds, I think love is the strongest force on earth. In spite of all the tragedies around us, I think people are truly concerned about their fellow man, encouraged by people. Ninety-nine of 100 people will do good things to counteract the ones who are bad. I feel blessed by having a good family, and Glendale is a great place. When you feel blessed, you have to pass it on.”

Plight of the Single Parent

By: Biddy Bytes (View Profile)

I’ve been lone parent for time periods that lasted many years. In the first instance, I divorced my husband and raised my first child from the time she was five months of age until I remarried—when she was six. Her father was not in her life for any of her milestone events—in fact, he was not even a sporadic visitor.

During those early years, I recall getting up at 5 a.m. (readying myself first so that I could focus on her), dressing her, and getting her supplies ready for her day at the babysitter’s. It was the era before public day care was readily available, and I brought her the twenty minutes across town to a babysitter who had her own five children. When I started my work day at school, I’d already been in overdrive for three hours.

In the wintertime, I carried her into a pitch black parking lot to a frigid car where I had to buckle her into a cold car seat, before I even dealt with the ice that had formed on the car’s floorboards from water that leaked in via cracked weather stripping around the windows.

I desperately needed a new car, but I had no money—strained as we were on my schoolteacher pay. When the car broke down (as it did many times), friends picked us up, and we watched the car towed away. On one occasion, the heater coil quit on the car’s radiator and water sloshed into the car, wicking up my bell-bottom pants and showing a blue/green line of antifreeze on the cream-colored fabric. Money was always in short supply, and I frequently needed to take on tutorial jobs, waitressing, etc., just to get by.

During those years, she got sick often, and I needed to take many days out of work. Finally, a bout of scarlet fever sent her to her grandparents’ for a bit more attention then usual. The year she was finally old enough for half days at kindergarten, I made arrangements to have her picked up and dropped off at their home, since I was unavailable for her abbreviated schedule. But I, alone, did the shuttling to the doctor’s, to sports practices and games, to dance rehearsals, to church events, and to friends’ homes.

And then I got to do it all over again, with a second child … ten years later.

Single parenting (round two) came on the heels of the death of my second husband who fought terminal illness for two years. He sought chemotherapy, hospitalization, and radiation, only to succumb eventually. We in his family suffered the brutality of that disease as well.

With his death, I’d raise two children alone. The older one was now fifteen, and the other was five.

What do I remember most as single parent? I remember the countless occasions I needed to bundle up a sleepy toddler at night to go to the store for the milk I’d forgotten for morning. I remember the middle of the night occasions I stressed at being alone, faced with a child spiking a high fever, wondering how I’d drive her to a hospital while comforting her at the same time.

As they got older, I hated being lone enforcer of rules, the one who had to make the hard decisions. School events (where they performed) were always difficult when I sat alone, noting parent pairs together, chatting amicably. Finally, there were all those open houses, which this parent attended, after her own long work day teaching classes.

I remember the screaming fits, too. Those times when I lost it, too drained to do it anymore. Those were the years of adolescent wars, when my daughters—as teens—demanded ever more freedom, while I tried to hold the line.

You see, as single parent during that period, there was never an instance of two parents in the wee hours, commiserating. There was no hand-holding, no body hugs, no telling one another “We’ll get through this” (even though it’s impossibly hard). In the stark light of day, there was only ever that aggrieved teen, still smarting from the night’s battle, still hating her parent (me).

The silence of those times hurt more than the fury.

In later years, there were the trips to unfamiliar towns and cities, to check suitability of colleges and universities. Sometimes, this parent drove hundreds of miles alone, following the drop off one at a school. One night saw me seeing double on the New Jersey Turnpike, following an eight-hour drive from Pittsburgh to New England, following my helping one daughter move into her dorm in 95-degree heat. I didn’t want to stop, but I had no choice: It was either that or go off the road or into oncoming traffic.

When it came time for the younger one to go to school, I crossed international borders (she went to McGill in Canada).

Father’s Day was always mindful of what we never had, and Christmases were less than cheery in a home whose lone players were mother and children (in stark opposition to those endearing Norman Rockwell scenes).

The single parent has a lone road to walk. If she reaps success and her children are productive members of society, no one thinks twice about how that happened.

But, if those children fail, she alone is held accountable (even if it’s not fair).

Biddy salutes single parents everywhere who try hard each day to make up for the significant absence of that other vital player in their children’s lives. Those of us who have walked that road recognize your considerable efforts.

Originally published on Biddybites.com

First published January 2011

Read more: http://www.divinecaroline.com/22115/109460-plight-single-parent/3#ixzz1BgEwglYN