I first discovered “T” after she left a comment on my blog six months ago. The first post I read was her “Independence as a Single. Mom,” where she described how challenging it can be to be both a single woman and a mother. I loved it.

Amazingly, that post sums up our last four days together.

T is sitting across from me as I type this post. We are talking in hushed whispers in my living room about online dating — and my spirited child has just out called out, “Mommeeeeeee!! The water you gave me tastes yucky!”

Although we’d emailed for months, we hadn’t even spoken on the phone before we decided to meet in person. When T told her family that she was coming to California to meet a blogger, her mom got worried. What? Her daughter was coming to stay with a stranger, a woman she’d never even spoken to?

Then one of my friends told me, “What if you don’t even like each other?”

I knew we would.

But I had no idea how deeply we would connect. (If you’re curious about T’s take on our connection, go ahead and read her post, “Smitten.” Warning: adult content!)

One of the things that I loved about T’s writing from the get go is how open, revealing, and racy she is. Dad’s House recently described her as being a blogger who “turns herself inside out.”

Does she ever!

In person, T is as raw and revealing as she is in her blog. What has made her stand out in the blogging world for me is the fact that there’s always a nugget of advice in between the lines. In person, too, she  has this incredible wisdom.

Has anything surprised me? Yes.

I’d envisioned a Texan belle stepping off the plane in her high heels. But when she got off the plane, she was wearing a cute turtleneck sweater, jeans, and black boots. Her style is just like mine!

Then, as T walked into my home, she said, “It’s funky! I love funky!”

So, for the next five days, we’d talk about relationships, parenting, kids — and sex. As T says in her blog post, we couldn’t seem to stop talking. In fact, we got so distracted driving to meet Depot Dad that we missed the exit to his home.

As I escort T to her plane tomorrow, I am grateful. This just goes to show that bloggers really can become friends.

If there’s a blogger out there whom you admire, go ahead and say “hello” to him/her. Friendships do happen here. For real.

If you’ve never left a comment here — or on T’s blog — we’d love to hear from you.

Don’t be scared. Come and say “hi.” We’ll be nice.

The above photos are the closest I’ve come.

Seriously, I was just trying to think of a fun, spontaneous way to launch into the New Year. So,  I ran this headline by “T,” and she urged me to go for it.

Here are a few trivia questions for you. Let’s see how you do.

After this photo was taken last night:

Who spotted a woman whom he/she wanted to kiss?

Who doesn’t like “petit fours” with alcohol? (”T” explained to all of us that “petit fours” are those small cakes eaten at the end of a meal. Who knew?)

Who was asked for his/her phone number?

Who vowed us to secrecy?

Photos of “T,” Dad’s House, Depot Dad, and Single Mom Seeking

This photo was taken one hour ago, over fish and chips, and lots of laughter. Yes, that’s Depot Dad and “T.”

I’m writing this post from Jim’s kitchen, as “T” talks to us about love. I’m listening, I really am.

We’re planning a bloggers’ reunion — the West Coast? the South? — after Jim completes his interferon treatments. (See how strong he looks!) Who’s in?

She’s a single mom.

She writes a very steamy, self-reflective blog.

This line of hers just might give it away: “I’ll admit there are some days when I don’t know whether to meditate or masturbate. Both equally intrigue me and satisfy my needs. And help me sleep better.”

Can you guess who she is?

I feel blessed to “know” all of you here. First you’ve found your way to this site. Then, you actually take the time out of your busy hectic days to read the posts. Lastly, you put in the time and thoughtfulness to comment. Wow.

I’ve had the chance to meet a handful of you in person. Some of you have been even sweeter – and goofier – then I’d imagined.

My most recent visitor was RJ, founder of SingleDad.com. As fate would have it, we even made a video to try to answer one of this “mystery” mom’s questions about dating as a single parent…

Head’s up: this video gives away her identity.

You’ll see that the video gets a little jumpy when my cell phone went off, and I tried to cut that bit out. (Sorry RJ!).

So, this mystery single mom is coming to visit me for five days!

If there’s anything you’re dying to know about her in person, here’s your chance to ask. I’ll do my best to get her behind the camera. (I don’t think it will be too hard, do you?)

P.S. And off topic, RJ with glasses… or without? What do you say? I know that you single moms have opinions!

Ask just about anyone, “Who’s a Jew?” and you’ll be told that a Jew is any person whose mother was a Jew, or any person who has gone through the formal process of conversion to Judaism.

The Reform movement, however, considers a person to be Jewish if either of her parents was Jewish and the child was raised Jewish. And this is why, as a kid who was brought up in a reform synagogue, I never had any reason to believe that I wasn’t authentic.

I had my bat mitzvah and confirmation alongside my friends, so I never had a clue that I was any different. Sixty of my relatives never resurfaced after the Holocaust — this alone has always connected me deeply to Judaism. In high school, I became a docent, and went to history classes to share lessons about the Holocaust with my peers.

I dreamed about going to Israel one day, and the summer I turned 16, I did. It was in Israel where, for my first time, that a Jewish scholar explained to me who’s a Jew and who’s not a Jew.

What do you mean I’m not a Jew?

According to Bryan Mark Rigg, author of “Hitler’s Jewish Soldiers: The Untold Story of Nazi Racial Laws and Men of Jewish Descent in the German Military,” this rule goes back to the Roman empire 2,000 years ago when the Romans said you were only a citizen if your mother as a citizen. When in Rome, do like the Romans do!

In other words, a bunch of white guys got together and made this rule. (If you wonder if this has caused a ruckus for me on JDate, you’re right.)

~~~

Because we’re half-way into Hanukah — and I’m a half-Jew — I’m giving a shout (completely non-endorsed!) to a couple of my favorite gifts:

You’d never see me wearing a  “Chai” Maintenance T-shirt — above — but I think it’s a clever play on words.

But how about this Hanukkah bush?

~~~

Yes, here’s to Hanukkah bushes.

I just sent a note to a cute, short, single guy on JDate, telling him I thought his profile was very well-written.

Guess how he responded?

“I’m not ready to adopt.”

That’s all he said. I’m not kidding.

I’m grateful to have all of YOU, readers. Thank you, thank you. It’s almost a new year!

Photos courtesy of Pop Judaica and Cafe Press

December

A few years ago I drove to OSH so my kids, at their request, could get me my Christmas present. I remember this as an especially poignant moment—sitting in my car watching the two of them walk through the crowded parking lot. I was already pretty sure what they were getting me. I’m not materialistic, but as on other holidays I’d cobbled together a list anyhow.

Though far from glamorous, first on the list was a new toilet seat; something we could use at the time.

I watched them, my 16-year-old son and my 9-year-old daughter, as they headed toward the hardware store’s glass doors. On that chilly December afternoon as I waited I suddenly, though not for the first time, saw them through Everybody Else’s eyes: a lean teenager talking, then playfully nudging the bright-eyed young girl next to him, her skin much darker than his, her braids shiny in the winter sun. She barely reached his shoulder, and the two of them appeared easy and comfortable with each other. She looked up at him with a smile that could melt an iceberg. He grinned back, said something, and she gave him a push back with her arm. I remember this.

Do people assume they’re brother and sister, one adopted?

They are so different from each other; in appearance, in temperament. But it’s my son and my daughter’s expressions and gestures that day that will stay with me.

Sometimes I want to tell people—and I do—that my son was an ardent advocate for my daughter’s adoption back in 1999, when I myself, a single mom who knew next to nothing about transracial adoption, was on the fence about adopting my first foster child.

Thankfully I did adopt her, a year and a half after she’d arrived as a 2-year-old. The familial bond that began to grow the first day she came has grown ever stronger, and on that cold winter day when I was feeling poor and somewhat depressed it was heartwarming to see the radiance that still shines around my kids.

On Christmas morning a few days later I sat on the couch drinking coffee and watching my kids’ faces light up as they opened packages containing electronic games and clothes and books; I feigned surprise when I unwrapped the clunky package that held the blue toilet seat. Of course they’d remembered blue is my favorite color.

We’ve been through hell and back since then.

My son’s depression-related diagnosis the following year, 2006, isn’t as important to relate as are the small moments that helped hold my little family together then, like the day my daughter went into the hospital gift shop before we took the elevator upstairs and bought her brother a small, clear stone with the word “Hope” engraved on it.

Or the way the next December, still recovering and regaining his spark, wit, and confidence, he used a big chunk of his own savings to buy his sister an X-Box for Christmas. The way recently when my daughter got dropped off after a visit to a friend’s house she swept right past me with barely a “Hi,” to wrap her arms around her brother’s shoulders as he worked on his computer in his room.

“I love you,” they call to each other spontaneously and often, their voices filtering through the small house. But often my son’s eyes still look sad—as I’ve been told mine do.

This year, my happy, resilient, now-twelve year old daughter just e-mailed us her Christmas list—complete with brand-names, colors, sizes, etc. Topping it is an expensive new cell phone, and then continues in order of priority including gift cards for clothes stores, a sewing machine, games. She’s clear about she wants.

And knowing my son, he might just spring for the cell phone. But when I ask him what he wants, he says he doesn’t know.

However, you can bet that if happiness came in a box my daughter would give it to him. I would, too.

Illustration by Annie Kassof

Christine Coppa over at Glamour.com’s Storked! blog is excerpting from my book, Single Mom Seeking, today.

It’s the week before Christmas, and we’re supposed to meet my ex — the father of my child — in the children’s book section at Barnes & Noble.

One year earlier, he’d split town — and now he’s back. Barnes & Noble seems like a safe, neutral place. So, here we are…

Click here to read the full entry.

Today, please visit Singlemommyhood to read our guest post from the amazing Rookie Moms!

You’ll meet Heather Flett and Whitney Moss, whom I ran into at BlogHer in San Francisco last summer.

Heather and Whitney were both raised by single moms — and both of them turned out absolutely perfect.

Heather adds that her mom was single from the time she was three to age 14:

“She had date night on Saturdays and I loved our babysitter.”

~~~

During the holidays, especially, it’s so important for you to remember YOU. So, head over to SingleMommyHood to read:

“5 Ways to Have Fun with Your Friends Without A Babysitter“

See you there!

Photo of Heather (left) and Whitney (right).

After all, I breastfed my kid for more than two years. I even made it into the Guinness Book of World Records for being one 1136 women in the SF Bay Area who simultaneously breastfed our babies in the same place. (Woo hee!)

If you haven’t yet heard the news:

Facebook has been “pulling” profile pictures of babies nursing. The pictures have been reported as ‘obscene’ and have been removed. Their posters warned not to re-post or they could be kicked off  Facebook.

What is Facebook’s problem?

And who the heck made this corporate decision to ban cozy shots of moms who are breastfeeding? (Let me guess: a group of young guys in Silicon Valley who don’t have kids yet.)

Really now. Nursing a baby: it’s the most simple, natural thing in the world. (And I’ve seen my share of obscene shots on Facebook that did not feature lactation.)

But mothers are speaking out. A group called, “Hey, Facebook, breast-feeding is not obscene!” already has more than 54,000 members, including yours truly.

The group asks: “What about a baby breastfeeding is obscene? Especially in comparison to many other pictures posted all over Facebook that really are obscene.”

I’m working on a piece right now for MomLogic.com about this issue — and I’d love to hear what you think.

Should Facebook reverse the ban? Or, am I overreacting?

Dads, I’d love to hear your thoughts on this one, too.

Photo of Angelina Jolie on the November 2008 issue of W, shot by Brad Pitt as Jolie was breastfeeding one of the new twins.

This week, Dr. Leah and I have written a letter to Britney Spears, in which we ask her to cancel her upcoming tour.

Her two boys need her right now, the tour can wait. (We know that she’ll go anyway, but it doesn’t hurt to ask?)

One of my faithful single dad readers, Phil, says that we’re “giving Britney too much credit.”

He adds that “her father is now legally in charge of her. I don’t believe any business decisions are up to her anymore. I heard she had more legal rights when she was 13 on the Mickey Mouse Club than she does now. I also doubt if she has an option for opting out of a tour, I’m sure her contract requires tour support. It’s all about big business, nothing else is considered.”

Is this true? Is she now a puppet in the music industry? What happened to the mom Britney?

We’d love to hear what you think!

To read our letter, please visit Singlemommyhood.com.