For the past six years, I've searched for a balance between my professional and mother jobs. I refuse to give up on the idea that there is actually a balance. The factors for how much and where I work can be simple: what am I more sick of, being at home or being in my office? Or the reasons can be more basic: how much money do I have to clear this month to not be thrown out on the street? Ultimately, my kids are the most important deciding factor. Are they fed, watered, happy? Have I spent adequate time with them? Are they living at school in a hell I can't imagine or having the time of their lives with their substitute parents, I mean, teachers?

Awhile back I wrote a column about having professional choices in the form of decent part-time positions available. We are farther from that reality now than when I first wrote about it. With the economy ranging from bizarre to horrible, now more than ever we are barely staying afloat providing our families with basic needs. Working is not an option for many of us, and securing insurance for our family seals the deal. It's full time or nothing—literally nothing. Survival has come to be a major factor in how much time we spend parenting.

The last year in my house was a doozy. I left my full-time position (leave voluntarily or we'll let you go) in April and thought I'd take some time off to catch up with the girls. They are six and three and are both at such a great age right now I find everything that comes out of their mouths both precious and hysterical. I'm one of those moms who repeats the stories of what they've said to friends followed by "Isn't that cute?" and they are forced to agree.

Staying home with them for a few months before I had to start selling my ass to potential employers was a tremendous privilege. I also felt a bit entitled. I had done my duty working regular hours for a brutal boss and felt my husband could take a turn piloting the ship for a spell. Being self-employed, his income was never regular, but I felt sure the potential was there, his being talented and in demand in his field. It was only for a short time, so what was the big deal?

Good fucking luck.

Since becoming a mother, the one thing I know now is that I need to be taken care of sometimes. When I got married, this wasn't a need I expressed to my husband because back then I could take care of myself. Since becoming a mom, I've lost the ability. Everyone else started to come first, even the damn house cleaning came first, and I looked and felt like shit. I needed someone—and I wanted it to be my husband—to pamper me, to say, "Take a break. Let me make you a cup of tea. Come to bed, let that wait. Let's go away for the weekend. You deserve it." I know right now no one is going to do this for me but me, but I can't stop looking for the partner who can possibly be this person.

When my fate began to crystallize this past fall and me and my husband split up, I knew I needed a job right quick and started searching desperately. I applied with everyone, for everything, and signed a lease on my new apartment before I even had a position lined up. It was the scariest, most horrible feeling I have ever had in my life. I did not know how I was going to feed my children. I sat in the welfare office (another column in itself) waiting for my turn to be taken care of. Three days before my interview with my caseworker, I was offered my present position.

There are people in my office who probably think I am the biggest kiss ass on earth because I am so, so thankful to be there every moment of ever day. I may have debt, but I can and will chip away at it. I may spend nine hours a day away from my children, but I know I can care for them and I am caring for them. If I'm looking at the bright side, every moment I do get with the girls these days is precious. Far from our tedious routine when we were home together all day every day, I run my errands at lunch or on the days they are with their dad. My time with them is just that—time with them. Ironic, that this is what it takes.

I am the atypical frazzled single mom who is working, mothering, running a household, managing the legal aspects of a separation, attempting to have friends, be a friend, and maybe date once in a while. But I am not on my game. There are days I am so embarrassed when I hear the stuff that comes out of my mouth or see the work I'm turning in because I am tired. I am tired for longer periods of time between recovery than I ever thought myself capable of. I am a lame, retarded tired. A shouldn't-be-driving, wearing-bad-makeup tired. Saying-weird-things tired. If it weren't for Ambien, I would be dead.

Spiritually, I am elated. Another irony. This is a hard time in our lives and by all outward appearances may be pitiful, but I am living to my standards, true to myself, and there is something beautifully defining in losing the things that aren't truly what we need to be a family. The guilt I felt toward my children about moving them to our cozy duplex was intense, but more than one friend has said to me in one way or another, "Home is where you make it." Wiser words have never been spoken. The house my children came home to when they were born is for sale (the goal being to sell it before it forecloses). But the truth is I moved on from that loss months ago and feel unburdened. It may not be ideal, but I know our home is where we are safe and together.

Thankful is what I keep coming back to, despite losing so much. Thankful for this opportunity: to be a mom, to realize what really counts, for our friends, for our home and what little money we have and, of course, for each other. Never have I been so happy to be a mom. Never will I take for granted how lucky we are. I am even at this point so thankful their father is in their lives, even if he isn't in mine. This is not what I pictured when we planned our lives together, but it is a different version of heaven than I could have ever dreamed.

I still dream of the perfect family, the perfect balance of mother, woman, romantic partner, provider, and sometimes a total loser who can say to someone, "Take the reins while I lose my freakin' mind." I refuse to stop hoping. I'm a realist more than ever but still an idealist too. For me, it will never be about just survival because I have children and want their lives to be better. I want options. I don't have to be part of their future. Maybe it will happen with our next president (go with your bad self, Obama) or with the enlightenment that hopefully follows loss, but really it starts at home, with me.