I've never been good at beginnings. New friendships, new relationships, new blogs. (I don't even like to take the tags off of new clothes until the last possible moment when I know I am definitely going to be wearing them.)
It's the awkwardness of finding your footing that halts me. Do I introduce myself, summarize who I am and what I'm doing here? ("Hi, I'm Ashley. I'm 27 years old and like long walks on the beach and rainbows..." is a bit too trite for me.). Is launching head-on into a post really better? (How will my potential 2 or 3 readers know I am credible? Is this thing even on?).
So, deep breath and bear with me.
I’m a fairly new member to the Single Parent Club, still figuring out the motto and secret handshake. My son, the often to be mentioned Agent M, is six years old, a first grader who like to name his toys after household items (we have a teddy bear named Spatula).
I thought I had a plan figured out and was on the road to eventually being old and married to my high school sweetheart for a billion years. We had the house, cars, kid, cats, the whole nine yards.
But over 10 years, things happen, things get said, things don’t happen, things get thrown, and eventually someone decides to shake up the world like a snow globe.
That someone was me.
More than starting over, I’m figuring out where to go from here. From the tiny apartment, no pets, and dropping my son off for weekend visits to his dad. Figuring out where the pieces are going to fall and how to make the most of it. I’m done making plans and long-term commitments, done painting a long-term picture of what life will be for my son and I. I’m also figuring out how to juggle more bills than income and unclog the sink. Like the title of this blog, we’re just living life by the seat of our pants.
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