Trying to parent your kid while fighting with your ex reminds me of the poem by Robert Frost, “The Road Not Taken”, but in the fighting version of the poem where the roads diverge, each parent takes a different path as well as one arm of their kid.

Then they start pulling.

There was no handbook at age 22 when I got divorced and if there was I wouldn’t have read it.  For such a young and relatively selfish human being I managed to do more right than most would have expected of me but I did a lot of things wrong.

A lot.

One story ended up with me on a bar floor, a cigarette butt stuck to my cheek and police being called to restrain me as I fist fought with my ex husband’s new girlfriend. While I have never been afraid to tell my own stories or examine my own faults, I never thought it right to write about my ex’s.  That was one of those “me managing to do the right thing” moments.

My son is now 22 and I decided it was time to talk, but only if I had something good to say.

When my ex and I were married and my dad was dying outside our bedroom door, my ex spent countless hours drinking coffee with my dad who was at the time pretty much talking gobbeldy gook.

My ex went to work with my three brothers every day and threw pizza dough in the air starting at 4 o’clock in the morning to make money for our family.

I repeat, 4 o’clock in the morning.

My ex gave up his band, his house, the company of his friends, and life in the city to move back to the suburbs and into my family home with my entire family including my dying dad.

My ex was at times an amazing dad and he still makes my son laugh.

If you have nothing good to go back to then I’m sorry for you and your kids but don’t curse your ex anyway, instead, thank them for coming into your life long enough to create your kid with you.

Stop fighting over every little thing, such as the food your children eat, the homework they forgot to have them do, the L.L. Bean jacket that didn’t make it back, the amount of television time or what rated movie they watched.

Your kid won’t fall apart if they eat one un-organic yogurt or spend the weekend watching Wizards of Waverly Place.  In the matter of you versus your ex, it doesn’t matter who’s right.

In most cases, both of you are probably a little bit wrong, except for in mine where I was always right.

Wait, did I just write that?

See, it’s a work in progress.

Your ex’s family did not divorce you.  Foster a good relationship with your child’s other side of the family.  Be thankful that there are more people in the world that love your kid than just you and your immediate.

If you hate your ex then wait till the day your kid becomes an adult and you look at him and all you see is your ex.  Your child shares attributes from both your gene pools, attributes from your ex that you once thought it appropriate to get in bed with.

If you can’t manage to like your ex, then go for neutral.

In divorce world, neutral goes a long way.

Never talk about your ex to your kid.  It isn’t right and once a year is one time too many.

You do not get a pass for bad behavior just because your ex is the spawn of Satan, if he is then one day your child will figure that out on his or her own.

It will not be a joyous day; it will be one of the saddest days of their lives and therefore yours as well.

After two decades of being divorced, the moments I am most proud of are those in which I did the right thing.  And the ones I did wrong linger always like a bad rash in my arsenal of guilt

You will have fights, disagreements, and arguments and it will be a work in progress but your kid is the masterpiece you are trying to protect so pull up your sleeves and sweat a little.

Try to treat your ex with as much respect as you can muster, he or she might not deserve it but there’s someone in your house who does.

Ah, the single mom life.

I’ve been teaching my little one how to tell a joke. He’s picking up a sense for timing and is developing his own wit already, and besides who doesn’t love a little charmer who can make you smile?

We started with knock-knock jokes and the classic “why did the chicken cross the road” varieties. This morning I tested him “Hey, C, I’ve got a joke for you”. His eyes lit up and I continued, “how do you catch a unique rabbit”? To which my little comic replied “Who’s there?”

We fell into a heap of laughter, probably for different reasons, and I thought to myself “I can’t wait to text my sister and my best friend, and…”

And then I stopped myself. It’s not as though the people closest to me wouldn’t care or wouldn’t laugh, but I thought about how all weekend I’ve been texting or telling them the latest “super cute” thing my son has said. And that’s when I realized I’d gone too far.

Ah, the single mom life.

100% of the love with 0% of anyone to share it with. And I say that in the happiest way possible for I wouldn’t trade this set of circumstances for the previous. Still, in all of my careful preparations, my hours of research, the books I’ve poured through, and talks with my therapist – I can’t help but feel caught off-guard here. Nobody prepared me for one of the biggest single parenting hazards: the over-share.

I’m that mom. The one who comes at you with arm extended brandishing her phone’s photo album before you’ve even said hello. I’m the mom friend everyone’s got who’s all “guess what the little progeny did today at school /soccer /music class /in the backyard” while the waiter is pouring you a glass of wine and you’re gesturing for him to keep pouring. I’m the mom who looks adoringly at her little one who’s running in circles around the living room in his underwear grasping a piece of bacon in each hand singing his ABC’s and thinking “OMG soooooooo cute! Who should I send this picture to first?!”

And then I sort of panicked: how long have I been doing this? How many bizarre pictures and kid quotes have my closest allies received with zero to little context? Does Hallmark make an “I’m sorry I keep harassing you with the most intimate moments of my life” card?

Let me be the first to warn you single moms: there is a very fine line between mass text proper use and mass text abuse. And let me be the first to tell all of the friends I’ve included in my mass text abuse that I have learned the error of my ways, and I thank you for standing by me through this trying time. Though you’ll never get those images out of your mind, I commit myself to exercising restraint in the future.

When I think back to when co-parenting began, I can remember taking pains to prepare myself for the roughest moments that surely lay ahead: lonely nights, solo temper tantrum management fun, public meltdowns faced alone, hectic schedules and dinner, sick days when you’re both sick, fielding questions from everyone – even holidays. I armed myself with research, coping techniques, emotional outlets like writing and a hot yoga fixation, prayer, and a short list of A-Team absolutes I could call, text, or email at the drop of a dime for support.

What I didn’t prepare myself for, however, was how to deal with the happy moments. What to do after you embrace your child who brought home a great report card, or said something hilarious, or built the mother of all Lego towers. It’s hard to turn, with a smile on your face and joy threatening to burst out of your heart, because your little one just made a basket or figured out how to ride his bike and not find anyone there to share that bliss. For all the pain I prepared myself to face as a single mother I did nothing to ready myself for the sharp ache that is loneliness experienced in the happiest of times.

Friends, I stand beside my earlier promise to exercise restraint, but if you get the occasional strange text from me with 4-year old dialogue or another “adorable!!” picture of my nearest and dearest, please know that in that singular moment of happiness I turned and I reached for you. Because I needed to know I wasn’t completely alone. And it probably really was hilarious or adorable.

So, how do you catch a unique rabbit? It’s an old joke: unique (say it like: you-neek) up on him. And that’s really how we’ll be handling things over here: laughter and silly jokes. Because you’ve got to keep smiling.