The good, the bad, and the worst . . .

So I moved mid January and since then each day I discover something new about being divorced and living alone. Everything seems to fall into one of three categories: good, bad, or worse.

The good:
I get to go to Target ALONE!  The days that I don't have the kids, I run all my errands and do my grocery shopping. I actually peruse the aisles leisurely and don't have to push my cart in the very middle of the aisle for fear Lee will swipe an entire shelf of pickles onto the floor.

I'm only cleaning up after myself and TWO children. Cleaning up after a grown person is SO aggravating! I used to walk around grumbling as I picked up all sorts of miscellaneous items:  "Oh of course a dirty coffee cup would go next to the sink rather than in the empty dishwasher.  And by all means, don't bother putting the hand towel back on the rack. Let's just wad it in a big wet ball so that the kids can witness science as mold forms on it." And "I think I will convert the closets into reading nooks or wine racks because for some reason you're unable to place clothes, shoes, jackets, etcetera back in a closet. Instead they are littered around the house, and as much as I like an Easter egg hunt, I do not consider smelly shoes, neck ties, and mate-less socks as delightful as Cadbury eggs or pastel M&Ms.

The bad:
I am now responsible for all the chores at my house. For the last 6 years or so, we had a cleaning lady come every other week. Now I'm in charge of all the cleaning and it's worse than I remember. I can hear you playing your tiny violin for me, but seriously, how hard does one have to scrub to get water spots off the shower door?  Also I never recommend getting a home with dark wood floors if you have a Golden Retriever. I have tumbleweeds of dog fur rolling around my home at all times. I vacuum at least twice a week, but it still looks like I live in the canine Wild West.

I am my only physical protector. I enjoy watching CSI and Criminal Minds, so of course every tiny noise at night frightens me.  I'm not sure why anyone would break into my house - I mean I love my turquoise bar stools from Pier 1 and my paperback collection of Jodi Picoult books - but I'm not sure they'd go for much on the Black Market.  I feel a little better now that I've had an alarm system installed, but I still visualize myself trying to ward off an attacker until the police arrive by throwing a snow boot at him or a hair dryer.  Not sure that would be very effective.

The worst:
I only have my kids 3-4 days a week. Even though sometimes they drive me crazy and I want to play hide and seek, but not actually be found, they are my precious babies and the greatest blessings in my life. I truly miss them when they are not with me, and I don't sleep well those nights . . .