Being a single mom is an oxymoron. Most of the time I just feel like a moron, but that’s beside the point. There’s very little about being single and being a mom that correlate. When I bought my fully loaded Honda Odyssey during the final months of my marriage, I thought I was the bomb with the clicker that opened both doors. I could just herd my little one in and throw the baby in the car seat without doing any yoga moves.

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It’s normal to hear a 5:30 a.m. alarm ringing, but on a Saturday morning while suffering from some sort of head cold…it was not welcome. I was supposed to be downtown at the Tower of the Americas by 6:30, and I hit snooze at least twice–each time wondering why did I do this?!

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Trusting in God, and finding my worth in Him are two of my biggest stumbling blocks. I’m like the running back that takes half the team to tackle, I just keep moving my legs and staying on my feet in the hope that I’ll break free. I’ve been told for years to slow down, and just recently had a good friend tell me that again.

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If hope floats, how did mine get tied to a sinker?

I love to go fishing, just sitting outside–sometimes on the dock, a boat or a kayak–enjoying nature with the anticipated hope that I’m going to catch a fish. In Texas I’m good at catching saltwater catfish that can slice your hand open with its scales–that’s a lot of fun when you’re trying to get it off your hook. In Virginia I’m great at catching croaker, which is really just a bait fish but a lot of fun to listen to it sound like a bullfrog–hence the name “croak”er.  But as for a delicious red fish, mahi mahi or anything I’d order at a restaurant, I’ve never caught a single one in my years of fishing.

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I loved this weekend, it was one of those perspective realignment moments. It started with teaching about 50 girls kickboxing. I actually felt sorry for the girls because as my former spinning/boot camp students can attest, they always knew when I needed to work through some emotions because they would get a tough workout. Halfway through the class, my regular students would say, “What’s up?” I’d say, “Why do you ask?” And they’d say their legs were about to fall off…ha ha ha. But the girls Friday probably got a break from what I would’ve normally done because I needed a pocket to keep the microphone on, and the only pocket I had was on my sweatshirt. Then, I never thought about asking for the stage lights to be turned off, so between my sweatshirt and the lights it was probably over a 100 degrees up there on the stage…sweat was literally flying off my face. Luckily, none of the girls were within sweat-shot distance. But they had no problem pointing out that I looked really tired and sweaty!

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