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Angela Thomas is an ordinary woman and mom, with an extraordinary passion for God. She's been honored to walk alongside women of all ages and walks of life through her books and speaking engagements. Angela received her Master's degree from Dallas Theological Seminary. For more information on Angela, visit: www.angelathomas.com.

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MY single mom LIFE

Thomas Nelson

Contents

Foreword...........................................viiIntroduction: Dear Mom Like Me.....................xi1 Starting at Zero.................................12 A Changed Mom....................................193 Hey There, Lonely Mom............................354 Tired and Guilty Mom.............................515 Solo-Parent Mom..................................676 Boundary Mom.....................................837 Groovy Mom.......................................1018 Financial Mom....................................1179 A Dating Mom, or Not.............................13110 Waiting for Hunky Man...........................14511 Turn and See....................................15912 Love Has the Final Say..........................177Study Guide........................................195About the Author...................................217Acknowledgments....................................219

Chapter One

"I was wondering if you buy diamonds?" I whispered to the clerk, hanging my head in embarrassment and self-imposed shame.

"Just a minute and I'll get the owner," she offered.

While I stood there waiting, with just about my only worldly possession in my coat pocket, I watched a man choose a diamond three times the size of the one I wanted to sell. He had been meticulous with his research and obviously knew all the important features of an investment diamond. With the help of a clerk, he examined the one he had chosen closely and twice took it outside into the light to consider all of its properties. He talked some about clarity and color and flaws, but mostly he talked about how much he loved the woman he was buying it for. I stood in the corner and pondered the irony. This was his beginning and, on the very same day, my ending. He was full of enthusiasm and starry-eyed plans for a proposal. I was as empty as I had ever been, trying to feel as little as possible just so I could stand there and breathe in, breathe out.

So I watched him for a long time as I prayed for the courage to show my little diamond to whoever appeared, and then to have the nerve to ask him to buy it.

Eventually a small, busy man came through the back door. He seemed genuinely immersed in the details of jewelry being shown and overseeing the transactions of the clerks as he walked toward me. Our eyes met, and I knew that he knew. His countenance softened, and I could feel the instant tears trickle down my face when he asked how he could help.

Somehow I choked out that I wanted to sell my diamond. And that gracious man began to treat me like I had just offered him a bargain on the Taj Mahal. No shame. No judgment. Just one used diamond being sold in a business transaction. He pretended not to notice my tears. I'm so grateful he treated me like that.

In about thirty minutes he handed me a check for fourteen hundred dollars, shaking my hand and telling me ever so sincerely that he was sorry. I drove straight to the bank, cashed the check, and then walked two doors down to a furniture store. There I spent every dime of that money on beds for the children. Somehow it seemed OK to sell my engagement ring if the money was spent solely for them.

That day I started at zero. And I think that day was the beginning of our surviving.

My life as a single mom did not begin with surviving. So I'll go back and tell you what happened at the beginning, or maybe it was the ending that actually became the beginning. Either way, I didn't do whatever it was very well.

becoming a single mom

The day my marriage was finally all over, I walked from room to room, nauseated, physically shaking, wiping tears, and packing three laundry baskets with whatever children's clothes I could find. I strapped two kids into their car seats, picked up the other two at school, and drove an hour to my parents' house. Mama made dinner, and my kids thought it was just a fun sleepover-except we slept over for three months. I realize it's exactly the opposite of how things usually go, but I never went back to live in the house with my things. The kids went every other weekend.

From that day until now I have been a single mom. I've done a hundred things wrong and finally gotten a few things right, but whichever way, I am absolutely sure this has to be the hardest job anyone could ever have. There should be a special medal for single moms. We should all get medals made of gold, with bouquets of flowers, for living this life and doing it with poise. Someone should stand and cheer every time we get the kids to school on time, fed and with clothes on. Or put stars on our single-mom charts for making it to the soccer games and school plays and for staying up late to talk to the kid who finally opened up. There should be a finish line to run through at the end of every day's marathon, corks popping from the celebratory champagne, a marching band playing "There she is, Ms. Amazing Mom." And there should be someone to hold us tight because we've given all we had to give.

No one ever prepares to raise children alone. I had never even considered it an option, but there I was, fresh out of divorce court with a parenting plan and four heartbroken kids who had me for a mom.

Honestly, I'm not really sure how I made it through my first year of being a single mom. I look back now and know that a survival instinct kicked in eventually. Unfortunately, the will to keep going took a while to materialize. For the first few months, there were no living instincts inside of me at all. Just the desire to evaporate.

I know it was October. I'm sure it was a beautiful autumn in the mountains where I was staying. But all I can remember are the colors of my bedroom in the basement of my parents' house. Mostly taupe: taupe walls, taupe carpet. A peach bedspread, a peach headboard. A green lamp. A floral chair. Quite pretty, if you can see pretty. But I couldn't see pretty back then. Just blurry, colored shapes, with darkness closing in. I spent the days moving around in my room, but mostly I just lay on the bed and cried for all those months.

I look back now and realize that even that was a gift. Not everyone can take three months just to fall apart. I screamed for my children and the label they would now wear because of me: You know their parents are divorced. I pounded my pillow and yelled at the future they'd just been handed. Packing an overnight bag every other weekend. Divided affection. Deciding which parent to sit with at the school play. Dumb things like leaving a baseball jersey at one house when it's needed at the other. Opening presents on Christmas Day with one parent, and then leaving for a week at 3 p.m. What in the world has happened? I thought.

My hair was falling out. My eyes twitched. I lost about thirty pounds on the divorce diet. I was severely depressed, with all the classic symptoms. My parents were devastated and worried sick about their daughter, so they sent me to their family doctor. His nurse took my medical history and then used a stethoscope to listen to my broken heart. I left with a prescription to ease the depression, but I never went to the pharmacy for the medicine. For some weird reason, I wanted to learn from the pain.

In the time we lived with my parents, I was a mess. I would get up in the mornings, drive the children fifty minutes to...