Holy shit show, batman!!


Do you ever have those weeks  where you just say to yourself “what the fucking fuck is going on!?” Yep, welcome to week 1 of September 2017!!
BOOM! (that was the sound of all of the shit shows exploding all at once)

It started out as any week would…. with a Monday. This was no ordinary Monday, though, it was a holiday Monday that preceded the first day of school for my 3 kids. We went about our ordinary “back to school” business – laundry, backpacks, hair cuts, etc. And then the hour was upon us – DUN DUN DUN!!!

This year we have to drive our oldest to the high school. Fear not; the grade 9’s have their own wing… their own area with their own lockers, bathrooms, classrooms and eating area. It basically is its own self-sufficient little pond in amongst the big pond that is high school. We had explained this to our son many times, and even showed him previous to the school year starting at the “meet the teacher night” that we attended, like the good little nerds that we are. We showed him around, helped him with his locker, figured out where his classrooms were, discovered the gym and cafeteria (he was elated to see the food options now, unlike the school he had before, which only did a basic hot lunch program). He got excited about school council (it helped greatly, I’m sure, that the girl telling him about it was this tiny perky little adorable blonde girl). He was hugely excited for volleyball tryouts (again, the girls volleyball team was there to help hand out the kids schedules, and again, adorable little perky girls). Learned that his 3 best friends from junior high were all in his homeroom, and the rest of his friends were in the homeroom next door, and in a few of his options. All in all, he was happy.

So on the first day of school, he got out, I did the typical “mom thing” and took his picture in front of the school sign (I have every year since he started kindergarten) and didn’t do anything mommish or embarrassing, and sent him on his way into his new school. Then we rushed across town to drop the other two yahoo’s off.

Our middle kid, our little diabadass, our space cadet – he was fine. We had a meeting with the grade 7 staff a few days before school, as to teach them “how not to kill our son this year”. So he was fine to start, and excited to see his friends. He is low maintenance (diabetes aside) and has a “zero fucks given” mentality about most things. He’s easy (again, diabetes aside… but you can win them all).

And our little guy…. awww… my baby! He started grade 1. And he was FINE! He was excited that he got a locker this year, found his seat, sat down, and my husband and I became vapor. I still stuck around a bit, cuz fuck, he’s still a baby! I keep getting told that he isn’t (he is almost 6) but those people can fuck right off…. Regardless, he was fine. Least of my worries.

Kids came home, and everything was fine. Smiles at the dinner table, stories of the first day and reconnecting with their friends. Happy times. Mom win.

Wednesday morning hits…. I am in BLISSVILLE, as I am home alone. Kids are at school, hubby picked up a last minute overtime shift…. so I was going to get my Starbucks and go read in the peace and quiet of my house… clean the bathrooms and revel in how pissless they remain for the entire day. I had big plans, I tell ya. Then my phone dings at Starbucks, and it is my oldest —

“I don’t want to try out for volleyball this year”

BOOM. What the actual fuck. My son LOVES volleyball like fat kids love McDonalds. This is not right.

“excuse me?!” fumbling for my scalding hot coffee and trying to not spill it on myself.

“I want to spend the year getting myself acquainted with the new school”

“no” I pull no punches.. while trying to catch my breath, as it felt like I was punched in the gut.

“fine”

Holy shit. What did he just say to me?! “WHAT!? drop the attitude please, sir!”

By this point, I was in my truck, dialing my husband, and flying back in the direction of the high school. Little shit wants to text me this crap, he can say it to my damned face! The face that has spent countless hours driving him to and from practices, watching every game and tournament, spent hundreds upon hundreds in volleyball camps, shoes, kneepads, clothes, bla fucking bla.

So I am literally shrieking into my truck phone, which I am sure sounded like screaming squirrel to my husband, who is blissfully working away, but still forced to listen to the ramblings of my seriously unbalanced psyche. By the time I get to the school, I am fuming mad. “fuck this… I did NOT raise a pussy ass quitter!!!” And I go marching into the school, parked in the 15 minute drop off. I give zero fucks at this point… except the fact that my “extra hot” latte is sitting in there getting all cold and shit.

I walk in, trying my best to not look like a fucking lunatic, and thank shit that I did my makeup that morning, so as to not scare the fuck out of everyone around me.

“hi!” big smile as I talk to the secretary I’ve never met before, “my son left his lunch money in the truck”, I lie, knowing she wouldn’t’ pull him out of class had I said “little fucker is trying to be a punk ass quitter and I need to strangle him!”

So he comes down the hall of his wing, sees me, and breaks down. I wasn’t glaring, I just looked up at him. Holy fuck, like, monster meltdown. I drag him outside as to not make a scene, and ask him what the fucking fuck…..

Scared. Big school. Big kids (he is 6’1″ I should point out). New teachers. New people. I get it. I’ve done it (not the 6’1″ part, thank you, genetics)! So I try to calm him down and talk some reason into his erratic thoughts. Nope. So I drag him over to the counsellor, who does a 180 and marches us right back into her offie upon seeing his face. He was not ok. We chatted a bit and then she sent me away, as to avoid a parking ticket (holy fuck, that would have just been the shit icing that day!)

He texted me later, and he was fine. Met his volleyball coach, and she is this cute little lady, not threatening at all. He was fine. Took him back to the school for his 5:30 tryout, and only 8 other boys are there. Sweet. No cuts! He had a great time. All smiles when I picked him up.

Lets skip ahead to 1am that night. My little diabadass, my low maintenance “I give zero fucks” kid pulled the children of the corn shit on me, standing at my bedside at 1am, staring at me until I awoke, barely refraining from hitting the body standing beside me.

“I have a stomach ache” ……. BOOM.

“okay, get back to bed and I will come check your blood sugars” And sure enough, they were elevated. So I plug a correction into his pump and grab him some water.

“I feel overwhelmed by junior high”…. fuck.

“uh, it is the second day of school. What could possibly be overwhelming already”

“I am nervous about finals. There is so much to learn…”

FUCK! Breathe, Jennie… don’t smother your child…..

“Okay”, breathe in and out, “lets talk about that in the morning” and I walk away, grinding my teeth, wondering if I screamed into a pillow, if I would wake anyone. Then I lay awake in bed until almost 3, because the little assbag scared me so bad standing beside me, and my adrenaline is pumping because of the bullshit he just spewed…. no sleep for the wicked, indeed.

Thursday morning…. “oh children of mine. Perhaps in the future, if you all feel like melting down and having some little freakouts, would you be so kind as to do them at a MORE APPROPRIATE HOUR!?!?!?!? Like at dinner when you are straight up asked how school is going!? MY FRICKING GAWD!!!!!” and they stared at me with open mouths, like, how dare she, why is she losing her mind!?

*insert crazy ass laugh here*

I thought I was in the clear until 3:16 on Friday when my phone went ding. I was walking into my youngest kids school, again blissfully unaware that another boom was coming.

“I don’t want to go to volleyball today”

BOOM.

mother of fucking hell……

“and why pray-tell not?” breathe in and out, Jennie….

“she made us play this game last time, and it was hard. and it took like a half an hour”

okay, here comes another ‘holy fuck, my mom is losing it’ moment……

“you have GOT TO BE KIDDING ME. YOU WILL NOT BE A QUITTER! You like volleyball. So, go like it again. Stop being a whiner when things aren’t easy, or you have to actually try. GO! TRY! Enough is enough! I am done with this. Life is going to suck for you if you don’t ever try and you give up when you feel like it isn’t going to be easy!”

“fine”

fuck my life…. he said it again…. as though the first time wasn’t enough of a warning….

“you have got to be kidding me. Attitude. Say goodbye to it, or you can say goodbye to your iPad, phone, Apple TV, xbox, life as you know it…. you will live an amish existence if you can’t get your head out of your ass and behave as though you are the kid that I RAISED!”

“ok. see you at 5:30. Love you”

Yeah, you fucking better………

“love you, too. Have fun.”

5:30……

“hey buddy how was volleyball?”

“GREAT! I had so much fun. Coach said I am doing good. I just need to practice my setting, but my serves and hitting are really good!”

I was right. I am always right. Bow to my wonder.

“well we already knew your setting needed work, you have long frozen hot dogs for fingers” this made him laugh, so I had my opening, “what is wrong buddy. Why don’t you like yourself?”

“I don’t think I am anything special or worthwhile.”

BOOM.

“I don’t see what you see. You guys all tell me all the time how special I am, and how I should be happy with who I am and how I am, but I don’t see it. I am skinny and weak”

AH HA!!!! We have a crack in the armor!!!

“Yeah, you are skinny and weak! You grew like 4 or 6 inches in a very short period. You grew straight up SO fast!! But your growing will slow down now, and now you will fill out. It happens! Some people are built this way. And you are weak because you are lazy and only sit on your ass and play iPad. Volleyball and athletic development will help”

And he smiled. I think I have helped, but I still call for reinforcements. I call my mom, who spent her night texting him and telling him stories of me and my siblings. He has no idea about this, he just sees us now and never assumed any of us were bullied or picked or had a hard time. I called my best friend and she almost broke down and talked me down off of my “oh my god, I suck at parenting, I should have done better!” ledge. She took his phone number to text him, too. My husband spent the night and next day telling him stories of when he was small and was bullied, and how he changed it. We showed him pictures of when all of us were young and skinny and awkward as fucking hell.

My fucking god, lets hope this all helped. He has volleyball tomorrow night – cross your damned fingers that he goes in with a smile and comes out with a smile. Cuz I am not sure I can handle any more days where I feel like a gigantic failure of a parent, and wonder where I went wrong. And I don’t ever want him having any more moments where he feels like he is nothing special.

My diabadass is fine. Once we explained that finals occur AFTER you learn all of that stuff, he chilled and is back to his ‘zero fucks given’ existence. And my baby… well…. I still think he should stay home with me. But he is refusing, so whatever, I guess I am happy that he is enjoying grade 1, so far.

Holy fucking fuck… what a week. And now, once again, because of last week, my coffee is cold. Damnit.

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When things change…

can-you-see-it-change-is-here

 

All three of my kids started school today. It was a big day for us. We had one start high school (only because in this stupid town, high school starts in grade 9), one start junior high and one start elementary.

It was a big day. We drove our oldest to school – a different school than his brothers for the first time ever. We pulled up to the high school, in the mess of busses and vehicles, and I quickly jumped out of the truck to snap a pic in front of the school sign. I have taken pic of them at school on the first day since he started kindergarten. But this year, he didn’t want us to go in with him. Sigh. Fine, I will just take a pic in front of the sign, in front of all of the busses and vehicles. I will show you, teenager. Hahaha!

Then we rushed back across town to drop off the other two. We walked in today, already knowing where our kids were going, because we got in to the school when no one else did. Thanks, diabetic kid. Hey, you have to find the perks where you can, right? So while the hundreds of kids were surrounded by their clueless parents, wandering the hallways and clogging doorways, we just strutted in (flipping lots of people off in our minds…. gift of my way…) But we dropped our little diabadass off in his grade 7 classroom, asked the teacher to keep him alive, and went about our business.

Business being…. dropping our baby boy off for his first day of elementary. Sure, he had kindergarten last year, but I still got him all to myself 3 days a week. Plus weekends. And now? Only after school and weekends until he graduates… and then he’s leaving me! Do you see how fast this is happening!? He is gone full time now, learning, growing, and I am not there to be the one to show him what to do or help him when he gets frustrated. Fuck, I am so not ready for this. It has been me and him for so long! But he promised me that he would still hug me every day… holy, shattered heart! My baby!!!! *sob*

So as a way to welcome our new way of life, my husband and I went to get pedicures, cleaned the house and then went to a patio and had some drinks. It is the first time it has really been just him and me. We moved in together soon after getting together (and had lived 4 hours apart), never really dated or any of that time consuming shit. And then I got pregnant reallllly soon after moving in together (we don’t fuck around, actually, we did… hahahaha) So right off the bat, it has been me and him, but always with other people.

I brought my 2 boys into the relationship (hello, baggage!) and then got pregnant right away. So from the beginning, it has been me and him and them. And while my older two have been in school since we moved in together, I also worked full time until our little dude was born, so it wasn’t really just me and him, ever.

So, now, facing this new part of our life, I am excited but also apprehensive. I am nervous… what if this change in our life isn’t good? What if spending so much time together creates a rift? What if our buffer (our children) not being here makes him realize that he doesn’t really like me?

Yes. All of this is troubling me, as fucking stupid as it may seem. It is a change, it is a big change. I will be starting school in January, but until then, it is just him and me and our days together. He only works weekends, so we have all week, every week, just him and me. It has never been just him and me.

What if he doesn’t like me?

I know this seems absurd, but I can’t be the only one who ever felt this way, worried this way, felt this concern.

It’s a change… a shift in our life… our pattern is changing…..

What if he doesn’t like me?

It’s the most wonderful time of the year..

Sanctimommies, crunchy granola moms, moms without any experience in this, and in general, snarky bitches… take a seat, and then carry it far far away… this post is not for you.

Now that that is out of the way… lets discuss the topic at hand; the most wonderful time of the year. And no, I am not talking about when the crimson dressed stalker pedophile comes shimmying his fat ass down your chimney (tell me you haven’t ever thought of Santa that way? Cuz if you haven’t, you are gonna now, aren’t you!?)

I am talking about back to school!! Now, our neighbors to the south have already ditched their kiddos a few weeks back, while us Canadians have been in the trenches a little while longer. But, that is all about to end! We have ONE WEEK LEFT PEOPLE!!!

But who’s counting?

Oh wait, I fucking am!!

Now, lets make one thing clear, I love my kids. They are the light in my eye, my greatest accomplishment, my favorite little humans, bla bla bla. I do though – I adore them – those little crotch goblins make me very happy.

HOWEVER! Being in close quarters with them for months at a time…. that is so no bueno!!

My kids are smart, they are gifted, they are funny, they are kind, they are gracious, they are considerate, they are thoughtful, they are bright, they are cute, they are athletic… people, as a whole, seem to enjoy them. That being said…. they are also annoying as shit at times and get under my skin in a way that not many can. So a little space between us all may be a good idea right now. Let’s be serious – it is the ONLY option right now. For the sake of all of us, it must be done.

I miss them when they are at school, sure. And this year will be even different. My oldest is starting high school, my middle is starting junior high and my baby is starting elementary. It is a big year. Big changes. Big shift. Now they will be in two schools, two different schedules, two sports teams, two sets of administrators to get to know… its a shift in our space time continuum. But we will handle it, just as we always do.

Lots of parents get sad on the first day of school, and this year I probably will be one of them. But instead of wallowing, my husband and I are going to get pedicures and go for drinks on a patio. Yup. You heard it… pedis and cocktails! (my husband is only coming with me so I am not alone, as every pedicure I have ever had has been with my best friend, but she moved away last year… and his “cocktail” will consist of beer, and possibly tequila… lets just hope our shit-ass Alberta weather holds up for just another week and a half… hopefully longer.. so not ready for winter yet, but that is for another time)

I’m ready. It is time.

Take me back to routine. Take me back to packed lunches and little ice packs. Take me back to hugs on the way to class and hugs at pick-up (not the older two, obviously). Take me back to smiles and stories in the truck on the way home. Take me back to “best part – worst part” over dinner. Take me back to volleyball practice and games on the weekends. Take me back to quiet for a few hours a day!

I adore my fuck trophies. But god damn, do I fucking also love peace and quiet. And after 2 solid months of “mom, can I…” I am ready to be the only person asking myself for things for a few hours a day. Not that I talk to myself a lot, but truthfully, sometimes I do. Hey, sometimes its the only pleasant conversation I have all day long… hahahahaha!!!

So, parents, raise your wine bottle to the sky and repeat after me…..

….. it’s the most wonderful time of the yeeeeear…..

I’ll see you all back in the trenches next June… but for now…. Bye Felicia.

 

Cracked…

I have always loved this quote. It makes you really think of your damage as less of a break and more of a glow.

I haven’t been feeling very put together lately. My levels of confidence ebb and flow like some sort of deranged asshole riptide. I am doing so much better than I used to be, but I still sometimes feel like I’ve regressed. Lately, total regression. But why?

Things are going so well for me. Truth be told, I am very stupid happy. So why? Why do I feel cracked? I know I am a bit of a self-sabotager, but I do not think even I am stupid enough to sabotage my own happiness! OR am I… fuck.

I was broken as shit for a very long time. Some days I don’t feel like I will ever get put back together. But for the most part, I feel like I am totally glued back together in a pretty decent way. I know I will never be perfect.. way too much damage for that to ever be possible. But for now, I am okay with being perfectly imperfect.

I mean, right now I am running on nearly no sleep, an increased level of stress, a slight higher level of anxiety… but that is where I usually thrive! Or maybe not so much thrive, as just exist….

Perhaps… if I am going to be all silver lining and shit, this is all just happening because the universe thinks that I need some more light, so my cracks are opening a bit to let more light in. (hahaha yeah, I heard it)

Or maybe I just need some more fucking sleep.

Strong, but exhausted…

 

 

This last week has been a bit of a ride for us. Well, to be completely honest, it has been quite the ride since our son was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes in 2015. But this week, he got his insulin pump, and we had to learn how to not kill him all over again. The learning consisted of us sitting in a classroom at the University of Alberta, with 8 other families, all with children there, while two nurses stood at the front of the class, and tried to cram as much insulin pump knowledge into our heads as we could handle before we all exploded.

To say this was stressful would be an understatement. I am not a fan of kids, and this classroom had kids of all ages (mine was one of the oldest) running amok for 3 days. Lucky for us, there was a small room in the back of the classroom (the old projector room) and it had a door. Score for me. I stuffed my kids in there for the training and let them go rampant on their iPads. Grade A parenting? Probably not, but I give zero shits. I wish I could say that solved all of the annoying kid problems, but that would be a lie.

That is not to say I didn’t feel bad for these kids. The little girl in front of us was less than 3 years old, and she had an insulin pump stuck to her tiny little chubby belly. I felt so bad for her, but laughed when she spilled her moms Perrier… we are all in this together. And the fact that she called it “rotten juice’ just made me snort laugh. She may have her insulin pumping into her from a thing on her hip, but she is still a funny little kid.

We learned a lot, one of the things I learned was that I could run on less than 2 hours of sleep and not murder the snotty bitch sitting in front of me. So, score for me. I also learned that the carpet in there is no longer stain resistant, and that you can smell spilled iced caramel macchiatos for hours after sopping them out of the rank ass carpet. I really think I did that aisle a favor – at least our area was aromatic in a good way.

For months leading up to this, I have been stressed and trying to remain calm; trying to convince myself that I can actually pull this shit off. But for months, all I have wanted was a shoulder to cry on. And while I did get that sometimes, I mostly heard “you are strong. You will be fine”. And while I appreciated the kudos and props, I didn’t believe it. And to me, that more or less just felt like placating so that people didn’t have to hear me talk about diabetes anymore.

I have lost so many people because of this disease. My life is no longer my own, and I lack new things to talk about most days. I am tired. I was up all night. Middle-little’s numbers are rubbish. Bla bla bla. But you know what? That IS my life right now. That is not to say I don’t miss my friends, or my sons functioning pancreas. But alas, not all things last forever…. and with his pancreas, so along went a lot of my friendships. C’est la vie.

LAH VEE!!

I know I can do this. I know I am strong. I know I am capable. I know I am smart. I know that my son is lucky to have me. But some days, I don’t fucking want to anymore. I want to crumble. I want to bawl. I want to have a total hissy fit and throw things. I want to spit at the heavens. I want to sleep through the night. I want to sit down and eat without doing math. I want to fucking fall apart. But I can’t. It hasn’t been allowed of me.

You know that old saying “you don’t know how strong you are until that is your only option” WELL! I fucking knew how strong I was and I didn’t need a lesson or reminder… and yet, here I am!

Some days I feel like it is totally unfair. Not for me, but for my son. He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve this future; this mortality hanging over his head for the rest of his life.

But it could be worse.

He has me. I am strong. I am smart. I am tenacious. I don’t give up. I am strong. I am strong. I am strong.

I am also fucking exhausted.

 

Good for me…

I don’t necessarily think this is a sign of aging, but maybe just a sign of good sense. And you always hear “young and dumb” so perhaps there is more truth to this than I initially thought. Either way, this shit is legit!

At some point in your life, you have to really take stock of what you have and who’s around you, and decide if it’s right for you and your soul. And if they are not, it is time to let them the fuck go.

Hanging on to someone who makes you sad, hurts your feelings, makes you feel hard to love, and is totally fair-weather, and generally brings nothing good to the table is incredibly stupid… so why? I can’t tell you how many times, just in the last few months, where I have felt like someones fair-weather friend. Not in the sense that I am fair-weather, but that is who I am to them. I even texted my husband the other day and said “I don’t feel like I am good enough [for blank] anymore” and let me tell you, as a grown ass adult, this shit is still super real, and still super shitty. It is not to say I am not good enough, but it is a bit sad when that kind of realization and feeling hits you.

I know that friends come and go, I know that you grow and get busy, I understand all of that. But when people don’t make time for you anymore, it is no longer a matter of being busy, at that point, it is making a choice to no longer make time. People get busy, people have lives, bla bla bla. But when the months tick by, and the time between texts, calls, visits begins to extend to greater and greater spans of time, that is drifting my friends, that is not busy. And it is devastating when that shit happens.

And this all made me sad. Made me feel like I had a rock on my chest. I don’t like feeling like I am not good enough. It is no longer making me happy to keep this person around, it is no longer making me smile or feel loved and wanted… and truth be told, I am kind of over it. I am over feeling like I am not good enough, that I don’t look good enough, that I don’t make enough money, that I don’t have a nice enough house, that my sons sickness is annoying to hear about, that my sickness is annoying to hear about, that I no longer fit in this persons life or future. I am just over it. It doesn’t make me happy, and it hurts my soul.

I just want good people in my corner. My life is finally mellowing out and going in a good direction. I am happy. I am going somewhere with my life that I am happy about. I am no longer a swirling hurricane of shit and disaster. And I want good people behind me, and beside me. I want someone who asks me how I am. I want someone who talks to me about my plans, and how things are going. I want someone to tell me they are proud of me. I want someone who loves my kids and is excited to watch them grow up. I just want someone who wants me to be in their circle and who is happy I am there. I just want….. someone.

Guess I am just getting to the point in my life where I expect the people in my life to be good for me, good to me, and good for my soul. That isn’t too fucking much to ask, is it?

 

 

Closed for business…

People all around me are reproducing at an alarming rate. Just in the last 9 months, 4 new baby’s have directly entered my life, with 2 more sort of indirectly. Count it people, that is 6 babies. Six! Holy pampers, that is a lot of tiny humans.

I like a baby as much as the next person… actually, that is not true. I have never been the type to gush and goo over babies, it just isn’t in my dna. But all the power to those who do. However, with the sudden onslaught of little people entering my life, it has made me blatantly aware of one thing: I am SO happy I am all done with that part of my life!

My ovaries are just for show now, and I could not be happier. I know a few people who have been really hesitant and sad about shutting that part of their life down, but me? Not even one single second thought.

Truth be told, I had an appointment to have my tubes done when I was 29. I was a divorced single mother of 2 crazy boys, and I was just done. As fate would have it, I spent the better portion of my night prior to my surgery in absolute turmoil over my recent breakup with my boyfriend (whom is now my husband, as fate is a finicky bitch sometimes!) and I slept through my alarm for my surgery and didn’t get them done. I suppose fate had other ideas, as a mere 6 months later, I was pregnant with my littlest boy. I can’t imagine life without him in it, so I guess sleeping through my alarm was some form of kismet, as I NEVER sleep through alarms.

But I knew I was done with my littlest guy. I could feel it, and honestly, I DESPISE being pregnant. I was not one of those “oh the magic! The miracle!” people, I fucking hated it. It is not that I had bad pregnancies, they were really simple and lacking any sort of drama. But, I still hated being pregnant. I think some people just do, and I am for sure leading that parade.

The day I had my littlest guy was a bit of a gong show. I had discussed having my tubes done with my doctor in my last few appointments. And because I was older (30) and in a committed relationship (the aforementioned boyfriend – our “breakup” lasted less than a month and a half, and to be honest, we never really severed all ties, and thought about each other every day, and still talked alllllll the time…. I think it was more of a pause than anything… sometimes people need a beat to breathe…) I was granted a tubal ligation. So at the hospital, I signed the papers and we had our baby. And while my husband was giving him his very first bottle ever, my baby factory was being closed for business. Not a single tear. Not a single pause. Not a single question. Just cut, clamped and cauterized, and carried on with my life.

Have I ever thought about having another? What it would be like to have a baby girl? To add to our little family? FUUUHUUUUCK no. Not even for a second. I was given 3 boys, and I am so happy with that. I am closed for business, and I feel like I am complete.

Some women see babies and they say their ovaries skip a beat. When I see babies, I think they are cute, I silently laugh to myself over the sleepless nights and poopy hell that the parents are now in for, I rub their tiny little adorable heads, and me and my ovaries celebrate with a big fat gin and tonic.

I am at peace with it. It all ended up how it was supposed to. But holy damn are there a lot of babies being born right now!! It must have been really cold last winter.

Yolo…

Mistakes. We all make them. We have all made them. And they will continue to be in our lives, regardless of our most sincere attempts to avoid them. But, just because a great period of time has passed, does that mean that that particular thing/person/situation needs to remain in your life? Does time automatically equate to seceding and leaving things status quo? Does that mean that just because time has passed, it is just part of who you are now?

I am here to answer that question for you as blunt as possible: FUCK NO!

If something doesn’t bring you joy or enrich your life in some way, if all it does is bring you down and cloak you in toxic sludge, walk the fuck away. I don’t want to throw out trendy asshole sayings, because I don’t particularly think of myself as trendy or an asshole, but for real people, fucking YOLO!

Now that is not to say that you should go quit your job and screw over your family. So be responsible, but still try and find your bliss in this situation.

BUT!!!

A friend who makes you more sad than anything? Or makes you feel like you aren’t important? Or possibly drains you beyond measure? Why are we holding on to this? I can’t tell you how many times I have heard “bla bla sucks, but we have been friends for [blank] years so I just stick it out” Holy fuck, why? If  you got stuck in the leg with rusty barbed wire years ago, would you just walk around with it sticking in you? Poisoning you? Driving you nuts? No, I would like to think you would not do that. So how is this any different? A thorn in your side is a thorn in your side. Remove all poison and carry the fuck on.

A family situation that makes you feel like you are insignificant, stupid, hard to love, unnecessary? Just because they are family does not give them a buy to treat you like shit without consequence. Sure, families usually get away with far more shit than anyone else, but it doesn’t mean you have to lay down and take it. Sometimes space is necessary. Sometimes estrangement is necessary. I’ve done both. No it is not easy. But like I said, yolo, bitches…

Marriage…… this, I feel, is the one that most people hold on to even when they don’t want to, or really fucking shoudn’t. I’ve ended one myself, and while it wasn’t easy, I still frequently kick myself for not doing it a lot sooner. I lost a lot of people because of it, was reprimanded by certain people (who should have had my back) for just “giving up” and “breaking vows”. He was poison. He was awful. He was (and remains to this day) an emotional terrorist. He is manipulative and conniving, he was emotionally and mentally abusive, he was (and still is) a narcissistic sociopath who will literally blame anyone but himself for everything that is wrong in his life or situation. He is never wrong. Who the fuck in their right mind would want to stay in that sort of a life? Being told every day that you are a failure, or a disappointment, or being constantly told that I didn’t “turn out like he hoped”…. Like I said, I kick myself for not leaving sooner. And shame on anyone who feels I should have stayed and tried to make it work. I walked the fuck away, middle finger in the air, and not a single tear shed. What does that tell you? Yolo, mother fuckers…. and I decided it was time that my one life was MY life. And I have never looked back.

Don’t hold on to a mistake just because of the amount of time it has taken you to make it. Don’t hold on to a mistake just because it is what anyone else thinks you should do. Don’t hold on to situations that bring you grief or distress or unhappiness just because a great period of time has passed since you allowed this situation into your life. People would judge you for leaving barbed wire in your side, or a shard of glass in your palm. So why is it so easy for us to accept that basic principle, but in human form?

Every day is a fucking gift, don’t squander it on the unworthy. Walk the fuck away from the bullshit and poison, middle fingers raised, and enjoy the life you have been given.

Yolo, bitches. Fucking YOLO.

Something for me… 

I have wanted to do something for myself for years. Now now, don’t go getting all perverse and think I have some long running desire to pleasure myself.. I have a sex-on-a-stick husband to do that for me. You bunch of disgustingtons.

Moving on..

I have two college degrees. I hate both of them. I have long desired to go back to school and do something that sets my soul on fire. Because at the end of the day, if your soul isn’t ablaze, are you really living?

I have toyed with many many career options; some fun, some practical, some would have required I pack my family up and move 4 hours away (let me tell you, that was one of the most appealing aspects of that particular schooling). But I never really pulled the trigger on any of them. Some because of cost, some because of practicality, some because I just plain and simple feel too old to do a long term program. I am not “old” but I sure as shit am no longer a spring chicken (and thank hell for that, chickens are fucking ugly!)

I had one program picked out, had the funding all figured out, figured out scheduling for practicums and all that nonsense, and then less than two weeks later, I found myself pregnant with my youngest son. I find that more often than not, if I plan something for myself, I am met with some form of push-back from the universe, or my children. Or some heinous combination of both.

My kids are great. Lets just get that out of the way now, so I don’t get any assbags climbing up my nose because I didn’t praise them enough or properly. BUT! That being said, they are sometimes real cock-blocks (so to say, and sometimes actually literally). It is some universal bullshit blowback that when a mom decides to be something other than just a “mom” something explodes in her regular routine and throws a proverbial wrench into her plans. This can’t possibly only happen to me.. and if it does, fuck you, universe!

I realize that my life exists mostly in “murphys law” (hell, I once wrote a book and I even named that thing “In the life of Murphy”… no, it’s never been published… sure I have thought about it, dreamed about it, but again, never pulled the trigger…) But I think after this many decades of doing shit only for others, it was time to do something for me.

So, two days ago, I pulled the trigger. Application sent. Now we wait. Am I worried that I will get in? No. The prerequisites are so basic, I could have been accepted even if I had done high school like my husband did (haha sorry honey!) I wanted to start in September, because lets face it, after this many years of waiting, I didn’t want to wait for another 6 months. But alas, because of some plans we already have made for September, and the fact that I am a “ne-‘er do well” and can not acquire a student loan, I settled for January. And come hell or high water, barring any more children coming down with some form of life-threatening illness (thanks middle child…) I WILL be starting on January 8th… possibly the oldest college student known to man. Yes, I realize that is a massive exaggeration, but fuck do I feel old (thanks to the aforementioned middle child and his life threatening illness, and the fact that I actually am old…)

But this is for me. All for me. We don’t “need” the money. I don’t “need” to work. But I am fucking sick of being mom and wife, and little more. My kids will all be in school full time in the fall, and while I know my job with them will never technically end (right, mom? *wink wink*) I feel like their need for my undivided attention is beginning to dwindle. And doing school online is good – I will still be home for my middles busted ass pancreas, to take my oldest to volleyball and school dances, and to go to my youngests show and tell and special days. Oh yeah, and I will still get to spend time with my husband during the day, because his schedule only takes him away from us on Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights… yes, it is badass, I agree! So, I will get to be me, better me, and still be what everyone else needs me to be, too. And this will give me more excuses to bat my eyes and ask my husband to pick up a bit more slack around the house, and anything that keeps me from having to cook every meal is absolutely fantastic! Cuz really, fuck cooking. Guess my hubby is gonna have to learn how to cook keto, hahaha!

So anyways, this is just a very long-winded way to share my pseudo exciting news. And now you know. Carry on……

You are actually pronouncing that wrong…

As a matter of fact, “mom” is NOT pronounced “nag”… silly me, I have been saying it wrong for years!!!
When being a mom means you are perpetually nagging someone to do something, clean something, wash something, change something, check something, say something…. it gets tedious and eats away at your soul. So one day you wake up and realize that your soul looks moth eaten and you’ve spent your youth being a nag. Super.


You see all of these blogs and posts and whatnots of people glamorizing that which makes me homicidal… “the years go by so fast” “let them be little” bla bla bla. And while I am totally on board with this, and never ever ever want to wish my kids childhoods away, or wish time to go faster, I also see the flip side that none of these mommy blogs will share with you… Being a mom sometimes SUCKS!!!!

Waking up in the middle of the night for years on end, running on nothing more than caffeine and the desire to not die while looking this haggard, being covered in unidentifiable stains and liquids for the better part of your years with youngsters, teaching them to read, write, ride bikes, walk, clean themselves, clean their rooms, think for themselves, cook, clean, be responsible….. sweet baby Jesus, it is a wonder that more mothers are not walking around with straws just stuck right in the wine bottle, and sucking it back like it was our jobs.


I adore my kids. I love the shit out of my little fuck trophies…. but for real, motherhood is no fucking simple job. I feel like 90% of my day is nagging them. Not because I am a nag, but because their little ears and brains can’t process something until it has been repeated, at increasing volumes, five hundred times. Literally, five hundred. I struggle to comprehend how these tiny humans, of which have all been given awards for their intelligence at school, can’t remember, from day to day, just what is involved in being alive. Like bathing, or brushing their teeth, or changing their clothes, or doing their laundry, or in the case of my diabetic, making sure that his cgm is calibrated and he is not dead (calm your tits – I do 95% of his diabetic care, and he is only expected to do his calibrations and his 24hr injection.. I do not leave this all up to him, so don’t go getting all sanctimommy on me just yet – there will still be plenty of things I am about to say that you can pile on..k?). Day after day, these simple tasks are expected of them, and day after day, it comes as some horrific surprise to them that they have to do them.. and this is generally after I have come unglued and shrieked in their general direction. Shrieked. Because that is what I do now… remain calm until that is no longer an option, and then come unleashed on the people that I am responsible for keeping alive.


In a perfect world, my hair would still be thick, my skin would still have elastin, I wouldn’t have bags under my eyes that could accommodate a costco shopping trip, I would sleep soundly every night, wake up refreshed every day, have children that walked in nice straight lines with smiles on their freshly washed faces, they would do what is expected of them not because I freaked out but because they remembered to, birds would chirp, the sun would shine, and I would feel peaceful and serene.


But since my name is not Cinder-fucking-ella, that is just not the case. I just wish, with every ounce of my haggard mombie being, that they could just let me stop nagging. It really is just one simple request.. I would like to stop having to nag. Yes, I could just let my lazy flag fly and let them get away with it, but that is not how I roll. I am in charge of these little shitters, and my ass will they be the kind of people that go out in to the world and have no idea how to live or survive. My children will never be surprised that they can adult, they will never use the hashtag “adulting is hard” because they won’t have their heads rammed straight up their asses like some of these little snot nosed turds that are being raised right now. I do not pat their asses and tell them that their lack of effort is good enough. I nag because I care.

Yes. You read that right. I nag because I care! And one day, while my kids are being served their McDonalds french fries by some of these other kids who’s parents didn’t believe in time outs, or punishments, or teaching them right from wrong, or let them run the show, or allowing them to parade around without rules or consequence, then I can sit back, snarf my humble pie, and maybe then I will hear birds chirping and see the sun shining and feel peaceful.

But until then, I guess I am stuck with the mom/nag gig. Ah well, I don’t fucking like birds, anyway.