Head of House (on) hold

Filing taxes is a pain. Refund or not, it feels like I’m giving a stranger permission to look at me through a microscope when I wake up in the morning or while I’m flossing my teeth. It’s like starting what you hope will be a best selling memoir and dying before readers get to the happy ending.

I recently dug into my tax detail again and learned I am Head of Household, which always cracks me up. It also reminds me that I’m proud to be a single mom. I want to go on a run in this below zero weather with some kind of “Single Working Mom” jersey.

Something – maybe it’s Saint Valentine – is making me feel particularly positive and energetic lately. When I look at my obstacles, I see a 40-year-old marathon runner with epilepsy who does hurdles after each mile. It makes me run faster but I also wish I could hit the “pause” button on life.

My ten-year-old Madeleine is in fifth grade, which means middle school next year. She loves My Little Pony, eating chocolate and teaching her friends songs that I now have memorized. While she uses her cell phone, Madeleine forgets about it as often as she uses it. She loves to climb trees and claims she hates anything “girly” despite her love for My Little Pony. I’m loving every minute of this soon-to-expire version of my daughter.

Madeleine recently graduated from the school DARE program. Classmates read essays on why it’s important to say “no” to alcohol, drugs and violence while parents held their breath. As a member of the PTA, this was the event I volunteered to help with. It was a piece of cake, literally. The DARE police detective brought the cake and all l I had to do was bring drinks, plates and forks, cut the cake into 50 pieces and hand it out. I’m not an insider here, having arrived when my girl was in third grade, but I felt at home. I held back tears because my girl was even more at home… and because of a recent preview from the Big Man Upstairs.

Last weekend I collected old boxes from my parents. The one labeled “pots and pans” was actually a countless supply of old notes and pictures and disintegrating hand-made string bracelets from my middle school days. Junior High back then, for the record. I went from loving Michael Jackson to making it clear that I truly loved Fred, Billy, Bob, Nick and Mike.

I was only a year older than Madeleine when this nonsense began.We all know it never ends, either. I was relieved to have two of my middle school BFFs over a few days later to share the old notes and photos with. We laughed, cried and played a tape of mixed songs before I boxed it all back up. Luckily, all Madeleine wanted was my old Girl Scout patches from 1985. Ethan wanted to see Michael Jackson dance so I showed him videos on my phone and did the moonwalk.

The day after DARE graduation, Madeleine had her first audition as an aspiring actress. The local high school wants a girl from the district to play Cosette in their Les Miserables performance this spring. 70 girls showed up when they expected about 25. I got a lot of teenage-toned “Mom! Please leave me alone!” during what felt like our three-hour wait for her 60 second audition. I thought of my middle school notes while I prayed that she would hit her high notes.

I really prayed, too, which is something I started doing more lately. I didn’t start for Lent, it just kind of happened. Lent is something Lutherans like me are forgiven for forgetting about. I’m usually reminded when I see Catholic friends with Ash Wednesday service proof on their foreheads. I even forgot the religious rules before praying my Catholic boyfriend would like a beef stew. I think my prayers worked, but I’m a vegetarian so who knows.

Whether the Big Man Upstairs, Jesus or my Divine Angel is inspiring me to have a conversation, I’ll take it. Filing taxes as Head of Household happens to me every year because of events most people would consider negative, but they make me thankful now. They help me run faster toward the finish line.

I want to put this Head of Household year on hold. So much will change that I will miss. The fact that Saint Valentine is the patron saint of epilepsy, Read here: St. Valentine patron saint of epilepsy reminds me why it’s not the countless marriage proposal commercials on T.V. but Mick Jagger’s words on my mixed tape that are my focus. You can’t always get what you want. But if you try sometimes, you just might find you get what you need.

Happy Valentine’s Day.