Mud Season Blues

There are certain unavoidable truths I have come to accept this time of year. First, mud season stinks. Second, any resolve I have to stick it out at the end of a two mile dirt road quickly disappears like steam from boiling sap. Third, mud season amnesia sets in as soon as the road is graded and the spinach seed pokes through the soil, sometime around early May.

This season has been more difficult than most. Not necessarily because there have been too many disasters. The sum total for this year is down over previous years. If I were an economist I might even say that while the dirt road still contributes to a sluggish recovery; over all, there is improvement, statistically, year over year. Given all the available data, our household has made it out of its own personal recession... er, depression.

However the cumulative impact of dirt road living has me repeating Einstein, "Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result." Another mud season leaves me questioning my philosophies. I am a single mother, on a modest income, living in the middle of nowhere. On good days I can be a rugged pioneer woman. Most days I am just frazzled and in a hurry to get somewhere.

Let's dig into the dirt of this narrative. Two weeks ago central Maine had two gloriously warm days. We even reached a balmy 60 degrees. This was a too sudden thaw. The road quickly went from a sketchy Braille texture to soup. One night we are driving slowly but without too many uh-ohs. The next morning we are driving what we hope is terra firma. Split second choices could have dire consequences. The secret to driving a very rutted road is to ride up along the sides of the ruts that previous drivers sculpted with their vehicles. A slow intentional approach nearly always guarantees success. This particular morning this strategy was not going to proves reliable.

We are nearly at the end of the road. We just have to climb a little hill. I could go to the left side. Any vehicle coming from the opposite direction will also go slow. As I am going up the hill, I trust to the good neighborly acquiescence that is common this time of year. Everyone knows that when you have the momentum you just have to go. But such a stickler for the rules of the road, I decide, perhaps, the right side of the road looks solid enough to get myself to the top. Bad choice. Half way up the top of the rut disintegrates under my car and I am in it. The road has eaten my passenger's side tire. It is too deep for my little Subaru Impreza. We are stuck.

No problem. My son might be a little late for school but we are not stranded. There is a guy on the road who has all manner of dilapidated trucks, jeeps, and 4-wheelers. He might be able to help us out. As we get out of the car another truck comes down the hill.

"Can you pull us out?"
" I don't have any chains."

In past years this would have been a real problem. However, prior experience informs future decision making. I had chains in my trunk. A slow tug from behind freed me from the quagmire.

If only this were the end of the story. I knew from past experience to go to the car wash after such a mud bath and give the wheels extra attention with the power hose. That weekend a horrible noise began emanating from the front of the car. On Monday I took the car to the tire shop to replace the front tires (they needed it). Tire guys took an air compressor to the tires to clear out any remaining mud. The noise was still there. By the time I arrived at the mechanic, the car has eaten through a brake pad, warped a rotor and nearly stuck a caliper. Three hundred dollars later I am driving safely again.

Metaphor is everywhere during mud season. The significance of a car stuck in the road is not lost on me. Spring brings this tension between earth and sky. While I gripe about the road, the travails of the car, the mud splattered on my work clothes, I can also recognize the wonder and gifts that a quieter life give me. I've noticed rhubarb poking out of an awakening earth. The maple sap is really flowing this year, a success I can taste. I can hear Canada Geese in the small pond in the woods. Life is always teaching you a lesson you have to learn, sometimes over and over. But at least I've have learned to carry the chains.

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

Mud Season Blues

There are certain unavoidable truths I have come to accept this time of year. First, mud season stinks. Second, any resolve I have to stick it out at the end of a two mile dirt road quickly disappears like steam from boiling sap. Third, mud season amnesia sets in as soon as the road is graded and the spinach seed pokes through the soil, sometime around early May.

This season has been more difficult than most. Not necessarily because there have been too many disasters. The sum total for this year is down over previous years. If I were an economist I might even say that while the dirt road still contributes to a sluggish recovery; over all, there is improvement, statistically, year over year. Given all the available data, our household has made it out of its own personal recession... er, depression.

However the cumulative impact of dirt road living has me repeating Einstein, "Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result." Another mud season leaves me questioning my philosophies. I am a single mother, on a modest income, living in the middle of nowhere. On good days I can be a rugged pioneer woman. Most days I am just frazzled and in a hurry to get somewhere.

Let's dig into the dirt of this narrative. Two weeks ago central Maine had two gloriously warm days. We even reached a balmy 60 degrees. This was a too sudden thaw. The road quickly went from a sketchy Braille texture to soup. One night we are driving slowly but without too many uh-ohs. The next morning we are driving what we hope is terra firma. Split second choices could have dire consequences. The secret to driving a very rutted road is to ride up along the sides of the ruts that previous drivers sculpted with their vehicles. A slow intentional approach nearly always guarantees success. This particular morning this strategy was not going to proves reliable.

We are nearly at the end of the road. We just have to climb a little hill. I could go to the left side. Any vehicle coming from the opposite direction will also go slow. As I am going up the hill, I trust to the good neighborly acquiescence that is common this time of year. Everyone knows that when you have the momentum you just have to go. But such a stickler for the rules of the road, I decide, perhaps, the right side of the road looks solid enough to get myself to the top. Bad choice. Half way up the top of the rut disintegrates under my car and I am in it. The road has eaten my passenger's side tire. It is too deep for my little Subaru Impreza. We are stuck.

No problem. My son might be a little late for school but we are not stranded. There is a guy on the road who has all manner of dilapidated trucks, jeeps, and 4-wheelers. He might be able to help us out. As we get out of the car another truck comes down the hill.

"Can you pull us out?"
" I don't have any chains."

In past years this would have been a real problem. However, prior experience informs future decision making. I had chains in my trunk. A slow tug from behind freed me from the quagmire.

If only this were the end of the story. I knew from past experience to go to the car wash after such a mud bath and give the wheels extra attention with the power hose. That weekend a horrible noise began emanating from the front of the car. On Monday I took the car to the tire shop to replace the front tires (they needed it). Tire guys took an air compressor to the tires to clear out any remaining mud. The noise was still there. By the time I arrived at the mechanic, the car has eaten through a brake pad, warped a rotor and nearly stuck a caliper. Three hundred dollars later I am driving safely again.

Metaphor is everywhere during mud season. The significance of a car stuck in the road is not lost on me. Spring brings this tension between earth and sky. While I gripe about the road, the travails of the car, the mud splattered on my work clothes, I can also recognize the wonder and gifts that a quieter life give me. I've noticed rhubarb poking out of an awakening earth. The maple sap is really flowing this year, a success I can taste. I can hear Canada Geese in the small pond in the woods. Life is always teaching you a lesson you have to learn, sometimes over and over. But at least I've have learned to carry the chains.

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

What Type Is Your Ex? Part 2

In the first of this three-part series, I introduced the six types of exes as I have identified them, based on the many types of behaviors that I have seen exes employ: The Intimidator, The Passive Aggressor, The Manipulator, The Terrorist, The Victim and The Cooperator (aka the best kind of ex.) We have already looked at the first two, so let us turn now to these.

The "Manipulator" This ex-spouse is clever, charming and often seductive. This type can lure in their ex, only to pounce or pummel him/her. The Manipulator, similar to the Passive Aggressor, plots and carefully plans control strategies. They can use the children or unsuspecting others (even caregivers, teachers and coaches) in their quest to gain control. I am sure you have heard instances of an ex hiring away a nanny (for more money) -- someone who was thought to be a loyal employee. Manipulators are adroit, and they never seem to run out of ploys to get what they want. It is best to stay clear of their grenades when they are symbolically tossed for they can cause sometimes irreparable damage to one's psyche.

The "Terrorist" This type of ex is usually quite vocal and obvious about his/her intentions to assert or gain control. The Terrorist often makes open threats -- physical, mental and emotional -- and can act on them. Terrorists should be watched carefully and taken seriously, for they tend to be fiendish and compulsive about maintaining control. They may threaten to turn you in to the IRS, tell the children your darkest secrets, or even suggest that they will kill you. Do not ever let this type think they can control you. Stay strong and calm, always, no matter what attack they launch. Stay safe: if you feel you are in physical danger, do not hesitate to seek assistance, and I mean immediately.


Excerpt can be found in my book -
DIVORCE: It's All About Control -- How to Win the Emotional, Psychological and Legal Wars

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

What Type Is Your Ex? Part 2

In the first of this three-part series, I introduced the six types of exes as I have identified them, based on the many types of behaviors that I have seen exes employ: The Intimidator, The Passive Aggressor, The Manipulator, The Terrorist, The Victim and The Cooperator (aka the best kind of ex.) We have already looked at the first two, so let us turn now to these.

The "Manipulator" This ex-spouse is clever, charming and often seductive. This type can lure in their ex, only to pounce or pummel him/her. The Manipulator, similar to the Passive Aggressor, plots and carefully plans control strategies. They can use the children or unsuspecting others (even caregivers, teachers and coaches) in their quest to gain control. I am sure you have heard instances of an ex hiring away a nanny (for more money) -- someone who was thought to be a loyal employee. Manipulators are adroit, and they never seem to run out of ploys to get what they want. It is best to stay clear of their grenades when they are symbolically tossed for they can cause sometimes irreparable damage to one's psyche.

The "Terrorist" This type of ex is usually quite vocal and obvious about his/her intentions to assert or gain control. The Terrorist often makes open threats -- physical, mental and emotional -- and can act on them. Terrorists should be watched carefully and taken seriously, for they tend to be fiendish and compulsive about maintaining control. They may threaten to turn you in to the IRS, tell the children your darkest secrets, or even suggest that they will kill you. Do not ever let this type think they can control you. Stay strong and calm, always, no matter what attack they launch. Stay safe: if you feel you are in physical danger, do not hesitate to seek assistance, and I mean immediately.


Excerpt can be found in my book -
DIVORCE: It's All About Control -- How to Win the Emotional, Psychological and Legal Wars

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

The Next Guy Who Dates This Single Mama

My mother bemoans the fact that I'm single. She just wants me to find a good guy, one who will love my kids and me wholly and unconditionally, so I can be happy. And I firmly believe she and my sisters would do it all for me, if they could. They would pool the available men, interview, investigate, and interrogate until they found me an acceptable suitor. And I LOVE them for that.

The truth is, though, I am happy. I'm head-over-heels in love with two people. And they both call me Mama. They drive me crazy at times arguing over who gets to brush their teeth first and who gets to turn the lights on and off, but they are my purpose in this life. I've also found success in my professional life and hobbies--more than I had ever aspired to prior to my divorce, if we're being honest.



While I'm happy, I'd be lying if I said the loneliness doesn't creep up on me every-so-often, especially during those weekends the kids are away. I come home and think, "This is great. It's quiet. I can nap and clean and rest up before they come back." That lasted for about two hours this evening before I joined my father for dinner and then headed to the gym (which should indicate that I was desperately trying to keep myself busy). It is in these quiet moments, when there is a lull in my hectic schedule and a void in my calendar, that I think to myself, "Man, it'd really be nice to have a boyfriend." And I'm not talking about going on fancy dates in little black dresses (although that can be fun), I'm thinking carry out and a movie at home.

So, Linz, if you're getting lonely, why aren't you doing anything about it? I'm so glad you (and nearly every. single. one. of my friends) ask! There are a few reasons that I'm not actively pursuing a relationship (online or elsewhere).

I'm an introvert by nature. I don't even like being around the people I love some days, nonetheless meeting new people and trying to create chemistry out of thin air.

I'm tired. I'm a single mom, and I just don't have the time or the energy to go on several dates a month, especially if they aren't going to lead anywhere.

And this brings me to my main point: I'm tired of dating the same guy.

I don't mean that I break up with and then start dating the same guy over and over (burn me once, I'm pretty much done). I mean I keep dating the same kind of guy -- this guy who is charming and affectionate and flattering. He's also unavailable. Maybe he's still caught up on his ex or maybe he's been screwed up by divorce himself or maybe he's just immature and refuses to commit. Regardless of the reason and regardless of the fact that he might genuinely have real feelings for me, the relationship never gets off the ground.

And I'm done with that.

I'm 30, and that's just too old to be playing high school games. I'm not going to agonize over whether he's going to call. I'm tired of sending all my friends screenshots trying to decode what he means by this text or that emoji. Over it.

So I've decided a few things about "the next guy."

Instead of telling me he likes my eyes, the next guy is going to appreciate my mind.

Instead of complimenting my smile, the next guy is going to applaud my parenting.

Instead of labeling me "intimidating," the next guy is going to support and celebrate my personal and professional successes.

Instead of telling me how good my butt looks in that skirt, the next guy is going to appreciate my sarcastic sense of humor.

Instead of agreeing with me on everything in an attempt to woo me, the next guy will disagree with me because he has thoughts of his own. And because I'm not always right.

You're never going to find all that; you're setting the bar too high, you say. Eh, maybe you're right. Maybe I'll never meet this guy. And you know what, if that's the case, then I'll be just fine. My life is not lacking in love and laughter, and I'd rather spend a few moments alone than in bad company. I will not make myself less so the man I date can be more.

And the next guy will respect that.

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

The Next Guy Who Dates This Single Mama

My mother bemoans the fact that I'm single. She just wants me to find a good guy, one who will love my kids and me wholly and unconditionally, so I can be happy. And I firmly believe she and my sisters would do it all for me, if they could. They would pool the available men, interview, investigate, and interrogate until they found me an acceptable suitor. And I LOVE them for that.

The truth is, though, I am happy. I'm head-over-heels in love with two people. And they both call me Mama. They drive me crazy at times arguing over who gets to brush their teeth first and who gets to turn the lights on and off, but they are my purpose in this life. I've also found success in my professional life and hobbies--more than I had ever aspired to prior to my divorce, if we're being honest.



While I'm happy, I'd be lying if I said the loneliness doesn't creep up on me every-so-often, especially during those weekends the kids are away. I come home and think, "This is great. It's quiet. I can nap and clean and rest up before they come back." That lasted for about two hours this evening before I joined my father for dinner and then headed to the gym (which should indicate that I was desperately trying to keep myself busy). It is in these quiet moments, when there is a lull in my hectic schedule and a void in my calendar, that I think to myself, "Man, it'd really be nice to have a boyfriend." And I'm not talking about going on fancy dates in little black dresses (although that can be fun), I'm thinking carry out and a movie at home.

So, Linz, if you're getting lonely, why aren't you doing anything about it? I'm so glad you (and nearly every. single. one. of my friends) ask! There are a few reasons that I'm not actively pursuing a relationship (online or elsewhere).

I'm an introvert by nature. I don't even like being around the people I love some days, nonetheless meeting new people and trying to create chemistry out of thin air.

I'm tired. I'm a single mom, and I just don't have the time or the energy to go on several dates a month, especially if they aren't going to lead anywhere.

And this brings me to my main point: I'm tired of dating the same guy.

I don't mean that I break up with and then start dating the same guy over and over (burn me once, I'm pretty much done). I mean I keep dating the same kind of guy -- this guy who is charming and affectionate and flattering. He's also unavailable. Maybe he's still caught up on his ex or maybe he's been screwed up by divorce himself or maybe he's just immature and refuses to commit. Regardless of the reason and regardless of the fact that he might genuinely have real feelings for me, the relationship never gets off the ground.

And I'm done with that.

I'm 30, and that's just too old to be playing high school games. I'm not going to agonize over whether he's going to call. I'm tired of sending all my friends screenshots trying to decode what he means by this text or that emoji. Over it.

So I've decided a few things about "the next guy."

Instead of telling me he likes my eyes, the next guy is going to appreciate my mind.

Instead of complimenting my smile, the next guy is going to applaud my parenting.

Instead of labeling me "intimidating," the next guy is going to support and celebrate my personal and professional successes.

Instead of telling me how good my butt looks in that skirt, the next guy is going to appreciate my sarcastic sense of humor.

Instead of agreeing with me on everything in an attempt to woo me, the next guy will disagree with me because he has thoughts of his own. And because I'm not always right.

You're never going to find all that; you're setting the bar too high, you say. Eh, maybe you're right. Maybe I'll never meet this guy. And you know what, if that's the case, then I'll be just fine. My life is not lacking in love and laughter, and I'd rather spend a few moments alone than in bad company. I will not make myself less so the man I date can be more.

And the next guy will respect that.

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.