F*ck YOU 2016

Ok, YES…this seems rather late to the game. In all honesty I wrote this on New Year’s eve…I just held it back. But with everything that happened the first 3 weeks of POTUS – he who shall not be named – “45” and the literal shit storm of the cabinet, the political chaos, and the utter denial that everything is SO VERY WRONG right now…. I decided what the hell. Come New Year’s 2017 we may live in an Oligarchy reflective of 1940s Germany – so I may as well have Freedom of the Press while it exists.

This year has had it’s more than fair share of ups and downs. It started so wonderful…so full of hope and promise and direction. Then it all just went to shit. Like the turning of seasons, or from the middle of the month to PMSing, everything seemed to go from sunny days and friends to literally “what the fuck?!” being the daily motto.

In January we started a new business. An amazing idea that would have helped SO many people. We had support of people who had adopted us into their families, we had an small investor and new very dear friends, we had relatively good relationships with family and my personal business was exploding. I was offered a job doing my second love – dance and coaching. Facebook was filled with humor and support systems, and I was naive in believing things about my personality that I could change – or were a phase.

Then it went so. Very. Wrong.

I won’t go into detail…that’s not the purpose of this post. But let’s say in less than 7 months I’ve been taught “family” is a dirty word, and betrayal, deceit, and abandonment will always be a major part of my life. It’s simply the cards I’ve been dealt, and I’m finally owning certain realities. No detail, just a recap: all before August, a church betrayed us causing us to lose our business. A dear friend told the church in not so many words that we were thieves because we didn’t want to buy abandoned property that we were told we could have. Our adopted family checked in even less than when I was a new (and frankly very terrified) mom. My sister needed rescuing from an abusive man she’d abandoned her children for and had pulled a gun on her in the woods – only to find out she was addicted to crack or meth. Our families had such intense and devastating falling outs that we didn’t speak for 6 months – to either of them. I was on the verge of near hospitalization from a nervous breakdown. We were almost homeless, with a 2 year old. The investor – who knew NOTHING about business, just believed in us – decided not to invest more to buy us the mere 6 weeks we needed to be profitable, but lose the original investment instead because he no longer believed. One of our partners abandoned the business within the first few months because we weren’t profitable, yet – then sabotaged future investor meetings. I was severely betrayed by someone I believed was one of the best friends I ever had. I was fired from the gym as a coach AND their graphic designer because “God told her to wash her hands of me.” I was lead to believe by the same person that my fear and stress was a direct result of not being Christian, and told that it was because of ME my husband could not get ahead. This statement made me question my faith, my beliefs, and made me believe my husband had to chose God and thrive – or me and be burdened and struggle forever. I nearly filed for divorce that day to save him. This was said to me the day we were packing up our business.

To further the boot in the ass this day, the former best friend announced in front of our clients and business landlord that I “have a very combative personality” and my mere presence was stressful and toxic (because I had nothing to be stressed about – obviously), a member of the former adopted family showed up solely, it seemed, to ensure his abandoned property did not make its way onto the truck, and I discovered that in Oregon the statute for suspended license and SR22 is five years, not the 1 year like the rest of the country. So I had to fork out a few hundred to legally drive (for the third time since my car was totaled 4.5 years ago).

Oh. And then Trump happened. It was like hatred, homophobia, racism, misogyny, extreme hypocrisy, condescension, and the complete disregard for humanity had been playing a morbid hide and seek game and, after choosing the perfect leader for it, popped out of the dark closet screaming “Tada!” like Jack Nicholson in the Shining. It’s been terrifying and overwhelming, so I’ll just avoid THAT issue all together this time.

Here’s the funny thing about ALL the shit from this year. I have a very deep connection to God, the universe, and my beliefs. I KNOW I understand more than most – and think I’m crazy or not – but I’ve had quite a few conversations with God to confirm this thought, as well as reassure me that most people DO have it wrong. So to have my entire world collapse before me and choose THAT moment to tell me I’m the reason my husband is suffering…well. From that point forward mixed with all the betrayal and deceit that have all had just ONE thing in common this year… let’s just say the way to make me shut down the fastest with you is to tell me you are Christian.

Since then, I’ve had more conversations with God and “come to Jesus meetings” with myself than I ever have before in my life. Somehow or another a fire got lit under my ass. Hearing from your creator over and over again that you are right, and that you just need to own what he has given you is one hell of a confidence booster. Weirdness, social faux pas, personality issues, universal gifts, and modern/ancient taboos included. It’s also a bit of a slap in the face when God tells you the powers he gave to you at birth would have prevented more than half of the turmoil the last five years, if I had simply accepted them, owned them, and use them…instead of believing others when they told me that my gifts were wrong and I needed to walk away from them.

With this recent revelation, it was also brought to my attention that I was surrounded by people who were toxic for me. Not every single one, but a vast majority. Family, friends, associates…numerous people that insisted my husband, son, and I were very important to them. Yet, a check-in text message was too much to ask, so forget about a coffee date. I do take some blame, the road does work both ways. But in the same breath when someone tells you “I just don’t have time” but they’re still friends with you on Facebook and you see how they miraculously have time for everyone else (barbecues, shopping trips, traveling to visit others, beach trips, babysitting, swimming, ice-skating. The list is endless really), the reality of realizing you’re just not that high on their priority list – If you’re on it at all – is both humbling and devastating.

I can’t change anything that happened this year, and I don’t think that I would, to be honest. If there’s one thing I’ve been taught it’s that sometimes the worst things possible, are what’s needed to have the best things happen. We desperately needed someone to love us when we were homeless five years ago because my husband lost his job and we lost everything. And now, we desperately needed to reevaluate everything that was happening in our life up to this year. With our personal life, our influences, our businesses, and the people we let in. After all, a seed needs to explode and be ripped apart if it’s going to become a tree. By being the proverbial toddler running with scissors, it seems God took away our favorite toy. But scissors can be extremely dangerous… Though useful, and necessary for some things, when held on to for no other reason than because you want them, they become a danger to yourself and everyone around you.

I recently told someone it was like the universe was waiting for me to throw in the towel and say “fuck it” (because literally everything was disintegrating into huge piles of steaming shit this year)… So that I could finally turn around and see the giant, sparkly, star filled door that was wide-open behind me. I gotta tell ya, I’ve just barely stepped through the threshold of that door, but it’s like stepping into a totally different world. I’m not going to apologize any longer for being who I am, for having the beliefs that I do, for having a different approach to business, and for not fitting into any box that others feel is more appropriate. Because that box is actually a coffin, and I’ll be damned if I’m ready to curl up and die.

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The Problem with “Real” Human Connection

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I started in person networking again at the end of last year. I did it because I so desperately wanted to meet people like me. I didn’t. Like freshman year of high school, the novelty wore off rather quickly when I realized people don’t want a real person. They want the fake one. The Vanna White that smiles and nods at precisely the right moment and delivers exactly what they’ve asked for without giving more than a few unclear notes. The person who talks only about coffee, and weather, and gives light banter and says “Hey! How’s it going?” without wanting or giving a real answer. The person that is always happy and has no other emotion and loves Yellow and acquiesces every request with a bounce.

That’s not me.

So I reached out to Mom groups, and Business groups, and Mom Owned Business groups, and so many more groups via Facebook. Same thing. Don’t post your issues, don’t ask for help that’s more than basic advice, don’t express your true opinions because you need to be likable and agreeable. Your skill doesn’t matter….what they think of you does. WTF?

I’m a true Capricorn. For all you non-horoscope understanders basically it means we’re outwardly confident while inwardly ashamed and lonely. We’re severely driven and ambitious, and while simultaneously outgoing and extroverted. We blather on about personal stuff because inside we’re freaking out and have no idea what to say. Loyal to a fault and workaholics. Basically, we’re confusing and “unapproachable.”

I recently discovered I am an ENTJ in the Meyer-Briggs personality. Think Gordon Ramsey, Steve Jobs, Margaret Thatcher…even Dr. House. We all have one blaring issue in common. We aren’t well liked, but goddammit we are GREAT at whatever it is we do. We aren’t very humble about it, but we don’t claim to be the best. We always strive for more, but we won’t diminish what we KNOW we are good at. I read the description and looked like a bobble head in a semi truck on a dirt road in my level of agreeance. So I took another.

High D, medium C in the DiSC personality. Basically D “is described as direct, demanding, forceful, strong willed, driven, and determined, fast-paced, and self-confident.” and C is “is motivated by opportunities to gain knowledge, showing their expertise, and quality work.” What’s that mean? Well. Same thing as above.

See a trend? I did.

Here is the crux of this situation. By delving so deeply into my personality types, I’ve also discovered why it’s so very hard for me to make friends. I read these things all over about “find your tribe” and yet those that pretend (and I use that word intentionally) to befriend me love me only until I drop my walls, or want to do more than hide in their house helping them all the time, or need someone for more than just a bad day.

I have severe high functioning depression. I’m an introvert. I’m an external processor. I’m very damaged from people in my past and I’m more like Gordon Ramsey with temper and lack of patience for incompetency than anything. But I’m not a TV star. People love the way I am from afar, kind of like why everyone loves Sherlock Holmes. The eccentric, direct, opinionated, passionate, quiet rage, explosive temper, and undying acceptance in mastery of their craft…it’s when I want Real Human Connection that it all goes wrong.

My beliefs are awe inspiring – until we get to deeper than just the surface that I believe in both Jesus and a Goddess. I stop there, because to tell you what I believe in, see, feel and hear daily in all it’s wonderful glory means I’m either not godly enough…or I’m plain demonic. Either way, an outdated book gets thrown at me…and the person who handed it to me is gone. No conversation, no goodbye…just a feeling that I should have lied to stay in this club that has false promises, and deceitful and disingenuous people.

My past is broken and fragile and filled with stories that most can’t believe could happen to anyone, let alone simultaneously and continuously to one person. But instead of sharing and healing and filling the cracks with gold to become something new and beautiful, I’m left to my own devices when they realize my stress is a chronic condition and to heal I need to tell my stories over and over because that’s how I process. Ironically, my rape is the one thing I’ve fully healed from because I’ve told the story over and over. Who knew trial would be therapeutic for me. Instead, I’m told to take a pill and use a journal…”because it’s getting old.” So I shut down. I stop talking. And I change the bandage again.

I am very transparent and direct and I will NEVER lie to you, even if that means I will scream out how stupid you are being and point out all the facts that say so. Not ARE. Never “are.” Because you aren’t stupid. I care very much about words, how they are said, how they are phrased. Because I’ve been scarred more deeply by words and phrases than when I was physically abused by boyfriends. I wish people would just hit me, at least then I could feel like I could fight back. So when you tell me to go away…I will. Always wondering, always questioning what I did. But I won’t ask. I’ve learned not to ask. People aren’t direct like me. “It’s not you, it’s me…” Lie #1. So I leave. Tail tucked between my legs feeling rejected and abandoned. It becomes my new norm. So each new person I meet I hold even further away, because I don’t want it to be you too. The older I get, the less I try. Just like my skin, or my body after baby…I don’t bounce back the way I used to.

I have friends. Very very dear friends that truly DO love me for who I am. And I am blessed with a husband that not only loves me despite my faults, but does everything in his power to counteract the negativity and weight and devastation I feel so often from being around others. But he bears a heavy burden, and my dear friends are all in other states. I can’t curl up on the couch with them over drinks and chips and just word vomit when it’s been an exceptionally shitty day. If I could, maybe my desire to be a recluse and a professional hermit wouldn’t be so strong. I long for the zombie apocalypse…a reason for me to pack up my husband and son and go away. Forever. To protect them from people. But though I would thrive…they would wither and die. They aren’t jaded the way I am.

So here’s what I don’t understand. I made these friends – somehow – in my past. I’ve made friends through out my life, even though I’ve lost a lot of them for a multitude of reasons. But since moving here, that’s one major void that hasn’t been filled. Having that one unconditional friend that stays longer than a few months. I’m asked to totally change, or it’s too much of a bother to get to really know me in the first place. I’m too much to handle. I’m afraid of new people, and thus I don’t pursue others. Experience has taught me that they will always hurt me, in unimaginable ways. So I’m surrounded by loose acquaintances, at most. I can’t find my tribe. Each day I get lonelier. But I can’t change who I am. Even when I’ve tried…even when I wanted to.

4 years is a LONG time to be that lonely. 4 years is a long time to be depressed. 4 years is a long time to go without real human connection.

The Greatest Lie Ever Told…to Modern Moms

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There is this overwhelming lie sweeping the nation like wild fire. It’s been steadily growing for decades now, but has accelerated in leaps and bounds just in the last generation.

You can have it all!

Most evil. Lie. Ever. The whole purpose of this lie is to encourage moms to have a full career, and be a full time mom. And be a stay at home wife. And have housecleaners and lawn guys and pool boys and nannies and daycares and still be able to make noodle necklaces and homemade dinners and make yourself beautiful every. Single. Day.

But the thing I can’t seem to fathom is why people have these super woman expectations of modern mothers, and yet totally forget the reality and realistic issues of every one of those things. JUST being a stay a home mom has it’s own mass of daily issues, JUST being a full time working mom has loads of guilt ridden commentary, and JUST being engaged enough to be the Pinterest queen usually means you haven’t learned to say no to every person that asks for help and thus do not sleep.

Now, lets add them up.

It’s not sufficient enough that with a career or business most women will put in a 50 hour work week – lets be honest. You’re working on your phone on your lunch break. After work, the same woman is expected to happily cook dinner, clean up dinner, cook a different dinner for the SUUUUUUUUPER picky toddler and then, if not take care of it alone, assist with bath and bed. But that same toddler wants to be laid with…for all 90 minutes of “trying” to sleep. On your way back down stairs you finish the laundry that was forgotten about that morning, pack the bags and lunches for the next morning, triple check your to do list, and finally sit down for a show with your spouse. But then you remembered you didn’t send that email, so you get up and out comes the computer. Two hours later, now midnight, your husband goes to bed. You think: “Dangit. I should go too.” Then realize the spaghetti sauce never got put into a container. And the dishwasher wasn’t fully loaded. And the toys didn’t get picked up in the living room. And the laundry wasn’t switched. Now it’s 1 am. God, the house is so nice and quiet. CRAP! I forgot to switch the laundry. Then you wash your face and overanalyze your face, and way overanalyze your new body that even after two years you can’t get used to. Now it’s 2 am. You pour yourself into bed and have restless sleep because the toddler is coughing. It’s now 6 am, the alarm goes off, if the toddler hasn’t been in your bed since 3 am, and you start to get ready to do the total insanity all over again. Day after day. Week after week.

When was the last time you had a date night? When was the last time you had a chill night? When was the last time you literally came home, ate a premade dinner, hung out on the couch, and went to bed before 10? I truly do not remember. Men do it. All the time. But for a MOM to do it is atrocious and makes her lazy.

Some how, in some twisted societal standard between June Cleaver and Dr. Meredith Grey, it’s been pounded into us that we MUST be everything. All the time. To everyone.

Honestly…who the fuck thought this was a good idea?!

Because of this expectancy to reach the level of perfection, I know so many moms – me included – that are strung out, exhausted, and constantly in this state of feeling like an epic failure.

I think some things need to change. Like yesterday. Let’s be clear…you CAN be successful, and you CAN be an awesome mom…but to assume “You can have it all” and not expect either to suffer is not only unfair, it’s stupid. And frankly…it’s mean as hell that we’ve done this to each other.

I don’t want it all anymore…I just want to be happy with some of it. I want a break from most of it. I want to stop feeling like I can’t do any of it.

I Want *MY* Sexy Back.


Everyday I am bombarded with images of beautiful women. Photoshopped, inhuman, airbrushed, makeup-ed and unnaturally beautiful women. It’s a problem, we all know it. Yet like a drug we can’t quit it. But those are not the things that drive me insane. Just like Freddy Kruger I know they aren’t real. So I ignore it.

Yet, in the same overbearing, in-your-face way I get just as much imagery and blog posts to “love who you are,” “accept your mom body,” “all humans are beautiful.” Truth be told…they annoy the crap out of me.

Don’t get me wrong, the message is great. We talk too negatively to ourselves daily, and CPS would be called on us if we uttered HALF of the same things to our children. People would call us abusive if we commented on our spouses bodies the way we do our own, and we sure as hell wouldn’t have any friends left if we told them the same things we tell ourselves. We surely need to change the way we talk to ourselves, without doubt.

But the truth is…I don’t know how.

I don’t want to be a super model, I never did. I like food too much. I don’t want to be an actress, or famous, or Miss America…I just want MY sexy back.

When you’re 20 something, you daily dress in super revealing and adorable clothing, flirt with everything, take hours primping, check out your butt, push up your boobs, on and on. We all try so hard when we’re 20 something. But at one point or another throughout the day, I always felt sexy. Even when I didn’t. I knew all my clothes fit, my skin was nice, and I still had the high school body. So even when I did what all girls do (Hellooooooo Mean Girls) there was still some part of me that felt sexy.

At 26 I got sick. I gained 65 pounds. I got acne for the first time in my life. I was exhausted ALL. THE. TIME. But…I still felt sexy most days. I felt like my husband was still attracted to me, we still had sex often, I still wore sexy little outfits for him, sex wasn’t confined to the bedroom (sorry mom).

But then I had a baby.


Something shifted. Something changed…something disappeared inside me.

I can tell you the exact day I last felt sexy. April 18, 2013. I sent my husband a video. Yes. THAT kind of video. I was pregnant, but not massive. I could still see my toes, I’d gotten a pedicure that day, I’d just gotten my hair cut, and because I was pregnant my skin had cleared up. It was nothing special. No anniversary or special date, no rhyme or reason. I just simply felt sexy.

Now. That was 2 years and 4 months ago. Approximately 850 days. That’s a stupid long time to not even kind of feel sexy. I’ve thought, “Maybe it’s because I’m bigger now.” That’s some of it, but not most of it. “Maybe because my skin is still bad, and regardless of what I do I can’t change it.” Well. That’s a pretty large part too…as well as my extreme stretch marks, my unshaven legs for lack of time, my deformed belly because little man was unbelievably massive, my chipped toenail polish, my ripped cuticles, my lack of clothing that truly fits, my newfound loathing of jeans, my new inability to wear heels, my perma-messy bun…the list just grows.

I hear the feminists screaming: You don’t need all that crap! That is society brainwashing you and you should do what makes YOU happy! My husband tells me regularly I’m beautiful and we still regularly have sex, and even my lesbian roommate has said she can appreciate “my womanly-ness”.


But I don’t. That’s the problem. How you flip back the trigger after having one body for 30 years, then one day waking up from a haze of months of sleepless nights, a healing vagina and ab muscles, a diet of chicken nuggets and fish sticks, and literally foregoing every feminine thing you used to do daily because a toddler makes them impossible? How do you accept this alien body you are suddenly stuck in? How do you remove decades of society’s unattainable standards and go back 200 years to days when a mom body was sexier than the post teen body because you gave life? How do you learn to love ALL of you, when the mirror view of you is just disheartening and depressing? How do you learn to believe the loving words your spouse tells you over and over when your internal voice just maliciously laughs and says “Yea right.”

How do I bring MY sexy back?

My Child is Not a “Brat”…He’s Just TWO!

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Here’s the thing. I know that toddlers can be brats. I know that with the tantrums and the meltdowns and the sleep deprivation most parents will utter “little brat” under their breath 50 times a day while reminding themselves they can’t kill their child. I know it’s not fun or entertaining when a toddler has a complete meltdown in the middle of the restaurant or Target, and I KNOW that’s the first thing outsiders think too. The stranger observing with contempt on their face and judgement in their eyes believe he’s spoiled, I’m a terrible mom, he’s just a brat, and on and on.

But the truth is, generally they are NOT brats. We’re just tired, impatient and frankly, completely ignorant adults. Having the sandwich in triangles instead of squares may not seem important to an adult, but how many times have YOU sent back a sandwich because it had the tomatoes you asked them to remove? Same thing. We’ve just learned to deal with our disappointments.

So when my sitter took my son to the park today and promptly returned less than ten minutes later I was a little taken a back. “He wouldn’t listen. He kept trying to run in the street, chase the older kids, climb the tree, and then just started throwing a fit. He was being a brat.” Ok. So what did you say to him? Did you try to redirect him? Did you forget I told you he loves the outdoors, older kids, and climbs like a monkey? Did you miss the part where I said he has cabin fever and letting him run would be good for him? Did you truly think you could sit on the bench and simply watch this two year old run amuck?

Let’s be clear. When I average 5 hours of sleep a night, my incredible patience for children that I was so proud of and reveled in years ago as a teacher, has totally disappeared as a parent. I hear Bill Cosby’s “Jeffrey” skit from his As Himself standup every time I talk to my kid. Like a skipped record I say his name 100 times a day. Like the crazy guy on the street I talk to myself in exasperated mumbles over lukewarm coffee while watching him run circles around the kitchen island just because.

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“Come here come here come here come here! STOP!!! Come here come here…” is repeated like a mantra while chasing an unnervingly fast, naked, 3 ft human through the house at bath nightly. I marvel as my child goes totally deaf regardless of the amazing amounts of noise in the house, until he hears Facebook autoplay a video on my news feed on my phone. I, like so many of my fellow toddler parents, feel like banging my head against a wall would produce more results than trying to reason with a toddler in the throws of a tantrum.

But YOU, dear sitter, you have that blessed break I took for granted so long ago. You get to go home, recuperate, take a pause…eat regularly.

So when YOU tell me “He won’t listen,” my first response is “Yes. And?”

As a sitter I understood I had one job. To take care of the kids. But with that comes some seemingly obvious obligations that strangely elude my sitters. I shouldn’t HAVE to tell you these things, I’m paying you to watch my son…not watch NetFlix with my son, yet here I am listing out your job duties when I pay to you come to my house to watch my child.

1) Turn It Off. No. Really. Turn off the TV, iPad, PS4, Wii, XBox and tablet. He watches enough electronics when you are not here because I work at home and that’s how my husband and I decompress. Frankly if I wanted him watching TV all day, I wouldn’t pay you to be here because I own a laptop.

2) Put your phone away. I’m not paying you to text your boyfriend, update your status on Facebook, tweet your bestie, or email your teacher an update on your report. Just because you don’t get W2s from me, doesn’t mean it’s not a job.

3) PLAY WITH MY KID. In the words of Cher from Clueless: “Um. Duh!” Of all things I’m listing, this seems the most asinine. Don’t sit on the couch and repeatedly say “Play with your blocks Damian.” Get off your tiny little butt and play blocks WITH him. He’s has a lot of toys to play with…he wants to play them with you. He’s not a plant. Engage for god’s sake.

4) Cook. I know you are able to feed yourself and I happen to have a whole kitchen full of food. Snacks, meals, left overs, bread, peanut butter, fish sticks, fruits….so stop asking me what to feed him. He’s not a lizard. Unless I give explicit instructions one way or another, figure it out.

5) Take him outside. I’m an introvert. He’s a toddler boy. So he doesn’t get to run as much as he, or I, would like. So when it’s sunny and nice don’t ASK me…just go. You know where the stroller is, how to get to the park, and how to open the back door. If you leave my property, let me know. Otherwise, take him outside. Let him get dirty, let him run, let him explore, or just splash in the splash pool I made him. You won’t have to deal with the exhaustion later if he doesn’t take a nap, so what’s your excuse?

6) Read, play with play dough, or just color. He doesn’t HAVE to be running, getting dirty, or listening to something all the time. He and I will sit for a long time while I make play dough balls and he practices cutting with a butter knife.

7) Talk to him. He speaks, just not English. When he says “Wa Wa” over and over, say “Do you want water? Ok. Say Please.” He’s trying to talk to you, just talk back.

8) CLEAN UP!!! I really don’t mind messes. Honestly. But nothing ticks me off more than when I come home and my son’s stuff is everywhere. I’m not asking you to do dishes, scrub the toilet, or to wash my underwear…but do I REALLY have to ask you to clean up his stuff? Especially when it was clean before I left??

9) Leave. This one kills me. I have no problem doing a ten minute small talk, getting the details of the day with him, telling me about your upcoming placement test…but chatting with me for 30 minutes when I’ve said “thank you” or “Ok I have to get dinner started” or “Ok Let’s go get some milk handsome!” 15 times like you’re trying to milk the time just annoys me. I know when I came back, which means I know what time I clocked you out.

I truly can’t believe I have to list this next one.

10) Wash. His. FACE! I have boxes of baby wipes everywhere, real wash clothes at an arms reach, paper towels on the counter, and if all else fails…tissues. There is NO reason I should come home and my son’s face have gunk on it, his shirt be dirty, or his hands sticky. Remember what I said about not minding messes? If he’s still eating, fine. But if lunch has been over for an hour and he’s playing with his trucks he shouldn’t look like a street urchin.

 

Listen. I’m not asking for Mary Poppins, I probably can’t afford her anyway, but for all that is holy WHY is this list not common sense?!

So I say again, no. My kid is not a brat. You’re just not doing your job.

Random Mom Thought #63

I’m pretty sure the “spy era” is totally over with our generation…because I put no less than 15 images of my son out into the world wide web today alone. Facial recognition will only get better, and with how much of our lives we share online…how in the hell are spies supposed to “blend in and hide”?!

I’m Not Sure I Was Meant To Be A Mom…

  
It’s 9:10am, my son is eating breakfast, finally. Not “finally” because he won’t eat…but because I couldn’t pull myself out of bed. he’s been up since 7:15. Because of technology, he’s able to watch a show while snuggling with mom (something he loves), while I can sleep longer and know he won’t move. I finally got out of bed solely because he was having a tantrum because my phone suddenly wouldn’t work. At all. Siri, the dumb robot, worked. Not well, obviously, but that was it. A touch phone is useless if you can’t actually TOUCH anything. I have a screaming headache, my husband is gone for another 6 days on his business trip, I have no time for my work, I’ve only left the house in three weeks to feed my son and get groceries…I haven’t even talked to my mom in weeks. I’m in a bad mood and angry. Again.

No. I lied. I leave to go to meetings. What used to annoy me and feel like I wasted gas half the time (this is why we have Zoom!) now feels like a welcome vacation. I put on makeup, I fix my hair, I wear real clothes…I talk to an adult!! Sometimes the meetings go “longer than I intended”, but truth be told it’s because I don’t want to go home. But that means I have to pay a sitter. By not having much time to work right now, I kinda feel like I’m robbing Peter to pay Paul.

  
I’m rambling a bit, but I feel like I have to paint the picture…this is normal for me. I’m too tired to go anywhere, I’m too tired to DO anything, I yell a lot, and we watch way more TV than I’m comfortable with. I work until 2 and 3am because after 9 is the only time the house is quiet and I can focus, but that means I average no more than 5 hours of sleep a night. My house is a disaster because I just don’t have the energy to care, and we eat out way more than we should because when my son is actually taking a good nap, I don’t dare get up from the computer lest my eating causes my son to instinctively know I’m taking a break.

I was an amazing teacher, and a fantastic nanny. Two years after I stopped nannying, the kids not only remembered me but requested I come over while they were back in the states. Innumerable parents have come up to me, 15 years after the fact, and say “My kid still remembers when you babysat! They loved you! You were always their favorite!” Parents at my preschool were constantly asking if I could sit, or be a part time nanny during summer. I played with them, we made epic messes, we had awesome crafts, they were always fed good food, they went to bed and nap on time, we went on adventures, and the house was always clean when the parents came back.

  

My son has never had any of that from me.

I feel like I’m failing him because even though I use techniques to teach him to drink from a cup, eat with a fork, recognize letters and numbers, even sign until he can verbally communicate…I’m not fun. I’m kind of a bitch, to be honest. I always wondered why my mom would yell so much, now all I do is yell. There are days I just don’t even want to be around him.

It’s not his fault, he’s brilliant and beautiful and inquisitive and everything a toddler SHOULD be. But instead of reveling in the fact that I now have a constant playmate to build forts with and teach the cool science of cornstarch and water…I get irritated he won’t leave the kitchen while I cook. Because he wants to be held.

I love my son beyond words, but I can’t help but feel like maybe I wasn’t supposed to be a mom. Maybe I was just supposed to be the awesome aunt, because my child isn’t getting a quarter of what I gave to other people’s kids for years…and he deserves so much more than that.