About Lesley Bolton

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Mom Friends

“Mom, the baby likes it when I spit on her!” I could do little but inwardly sigh. We were on our first outing as “mom friends”; I didn’t know Ali very well, and I was just sure that after this trip I wouldn’t get the opportunity to get to know her better. After all, my child was spitting on her child. Granted, Story’s version of spitting was blowing raspberries, and Riley did, in fact, seem to like it. But still.

Cruising up highway 37, I kept a close watch on the speedometer. If I went over the speed limit, would Ali think I was endangering her child? I looked in the rearview mirror to check on Story’s behavior, praying she wasn’t she still spitting on the baby. But she wasn’t there! My heart stopped for the agonizing full second and a half it took to remember that I had moved her car seat from the middle to the side to make room for Riley’s car seat. Just as I had started to normalize, I heard a click and a roar. An alarm flashed on my dashboard. Story had opened her door. With visions of children being sucked from the backseat as though out of a plane, I pulled over to a too-quick stop on the shoulder. “Story!” I yelled. I’m not sure what else came out of my mouth, but I didn’t dare face Ali’s eyes, which I just knew had to be full of judgment. What she must have thought of me!

The girls were hungry. I won good-mom points this time: I had packed a snack. Of course, Ali had too. All was quiet for a minute or two, and then Riley made a little sound. She was gesturing for Story’s Goldfish. Story was quick to interpret: “Riley said she doesn’t want any of my Goldfish, and I can have them all.” Riley disagreed. Story refused to share. I spoke harshly. There was much grumbling. And then we were finally there: The Children’s Museum of Indianapolis.

 

Trepidation overwhelmed me; this was a bad idea. And I was right to worry. Story ran away from me several times, refused to leave the Dinosphere, had a meltdown like I’d never witnessed, would not share toys (or space), and had no patience for the things Riley wanted to look at. What was worse was my attitude. I was so worried about what Ali would think, I acted like a different person, and the result was failure. I failed to experience the wonders with my daughter and share her joy; I failed to get to know Ali in any real way, and I failed to show Riley how much fun I can really be.Mom Friends

As we were leaving, Ali, seemingly oblivious to my utter shame, announced, “Well, that wasn’t so bad. We only had a few meltdowns!” I looked at her in disbelief, but she had a genuine smile. That’s when I knew that this was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Lessons learned: Always bring more than one baggie of Goldfish. Always engage the child locks. Always anticipate a meltdown. And always, always stay true to yourself and your child.

Now, let’s hear from you! What are some of your mom friend stories?

Story

Story Name

I get some pretty interesting looks when I introduce my daughter. “Dory?” they say, trying to force a name that their brains can recognize as a name. “No. Story.” I smile and wait patiently as they, maybe not accept, but at least comprehend it. “Oh . . . How do you spell that?”

I took a risk with Story’s name. I put a lot of pressure on the poor kid. What if she grew up to be as dull as a dormouse? What if she had nothing at all to say? And what if she never learned to read and write a story? An illiterate Story.

I needn’t have worried. From the outset, I knew I had chosen correctly. Story was a very verbal baby. Not having been around many babies, I thought all her noises were the norm. Not so much. She didn’t cry; she negotiated. She didn’t sigh; she sang. She didn’t snore; she cooed. Constant sound. As any good mother would do, I quickly learned to tune most of it out. (Of course, I became immediately fearful if the sound stopped, but luckily that didn’t happen often.)

One day while shopping and trying to tune out my poor daughter so I could concentrate, I suddenly realized that there was a specific pattern to her noises. Story was alternating between a high-pitched babble with an inflection of fear and a deep, gruff, almost-roaring sound. As I listened and watched her most-expressive face, I realized she was telling a story. A little girl was being accosted by a monster.

It’s impossible for me to put these sounds into words, so have a listen. First, the little girl:

 

Now the monster:

 

Before I reveal the ending to my tale, let me tell you what Story’s middle name is. It is Fae. Fae is the root word for fairy, so Story Fae is my little fairy tale. All modern fairy tales have a happy ending, and every mom wants that for her child, right? Well, it seems that Story prefers the grim, oral versions of old.

The little girl’s voice grew softer and softer as her pleas died with a slump of Story’s shoulders. In the next moment, the monster RAWRed triumphantly and my precious cherub-faced little girl laughed wickedly.

Story is now five years old, and the sounds have turned into words. So many words. She has embraced her name with a fervor that I could only dream of applying to my life. Still she cannot write, but at least I know she can tell a story.

This blog is an adventure﹘a misadventure, at times﹘about two families learning and growing together. Two single moms, Ali and Lesley, are determined to raise their very individual daughters, Maddie, Riley, and Story, to be true to their natures and gifts while still contributing to a polite society. No easy task. The Fey, those mischievous little imps, are messy, expressive, and so very imaginative. Like most children, they aren’t easily compartmentalized, and each requires a different battle plan﹘ahem, parenting strategy.

Here, Ali and Lesley share their wins and fails in the magical world of single moms, including stories of food, fixes, and family. Welcome to the clusterlove: three strong-willed girls, two single moms, one continuous adventure.