White Trash Christmas And #WhyIStayed

I'm sure you all remember the Ray Rice scandal and the twitter phenoma that came afterwards of the #WhyIStayed; it wasn't that long ago. I considered posting, but I felt like SUCH a hypocrite. When the news was breaking about the beatings and the abuse, I wondered aloud, "Why doesn't she just leave??"

Why didn't I just leave?

Today, I came across a picture on Facebook of someone I know who attended a White Trash Christmas Party. To go with the theme, she dressed as a pregnant woman with a black eye, a beer and a cigarette. I have a hard time justifying dressing as whatever you think is "white trash," but what really struck me (no pun intended) was the black eye. Was this supposed to be funny? A woman who gets beaten is supposed to be taken as a joke?

I called her out on it in as nice of a way as I could (I've been known to have diarrhea of the mouth), and her only response was, "It was a joke." I blinked at the screen a few times as my mind tried to fully grasp what was happening in front of me. This person that I had known for literally my entire life was perpetuating this stigma that domestic violence is something that is to be taken lightly.

I only commented a couple more times before deleting her from my page; I didn't feel like arguing and I didn't see that I would ever get my point across. I was heartbroken, however. I won't reveal the identity of this person or any details that would give any clues of who she is, but it really just broke my heart. As I wrote my last comment before deleting her, I had tears streaming down my face. Is everyone who has been the victim of domestic violence considered trash? If that's the case, I'm a piece of trash and that's what she thinks of me.

Remember when people dressed up as Ray Rice and his wife for Halloween? They got a lot of flack for it and for good reason. What I was trying to explain was that there was no difference here; the only difference is skin color and is that really even a difference in this situation? Abuse is abuse. Forget the beer and the cigarette; I've seen irresponsible mothers choose those things. To equate those choices to that of someone being abused is just...not ok. They are not the same thing. It's like dressing up as a rape victim; did they choose to be raped? No. Is it funny that you're dressing up as someone who has been sexually assaulted? No.

The whole thing was offensive just from a human standpoint, but it was especially offensive to me because I come from a home with domestic violence. The thing that people don't seem to understand about abusers is that they're master manipulators. They have this way to make you think that they're like gods. Whenever I would threaten to leave my ex, he would tell me that he would destroy my life and destroy the lives of my family. He told me I would never see my son again (our second child together was not born until after I left). He told me that nobody would ever put up with everything that I made him put up with and that I was lucky to have him. He told me that I was the reason he was so angry, and if I would just stop doing things to make him angry, we would have the perfect life. And I believed him. It was easier for me to stay and endure the abuse than to involve my family and never see my son again. If you believed, and I mean truly believed, that someone had the power to put you on the streets and keep your child from you, would you not do whatever it took to keep that from happening?

Most of the abuse was verbal and emotional. I always said that if he ever hit me, I would leave. I secretly wished he would hit me so I would "have a reason" to leave. But that's not true. I would have stayed. And I did stay. He "accidentally" gave me a fat lip. He "accidentally" almost broke my nose. He "accidentally" flicked his cigarette at me. He didn't mean it! He always seemed to misjudge the distance between us at the most inopportune times. I didn't see it then; I always thought it truly was accidental. Now I'm looking back and I'm incredulous; how did I not see it before?? For someone who can flick their cigarette in someone's face with almost 100% accuracy (saw him do that more than once), suddenly this time was an accident? He was like the scummy used car salesman in our relationship; every single time he sold me this crappy, rundown, rusty relationship that only sputtered when you tried to start the engine. "The best relationship ever!" "Runs like new!" "100% money back guarantee!" I always bought his lines. Always. (The irony is that he actually ended up being a used car salesman. Don't ever buy a car from my ex. ;) )

When my ex found me, I was a damaged person. I didn't know who I was and I didn't know my worth. I was the perfect target for manipulation and he saw it and grabbed onto it. That's what happens with domestic violence cases; the women come into these relationships desperate for love and acceptance and the abuser takes complete advantage of their vulnerability. It's not the woman's fault; when you live with someone who consistently drills into your head how worthless you are when you're already thinking the same thing yourself, you're bound to believe it. You're bound to think, "This is the best I can get. Look at what a waste of a human I am."

So does that make the woman trashy? It's easy to look from an outsider's point of view and think that it only happens to poor people who are uneducated. You think of someone in a dirty trailer with a dirty, dirtbag husband or boyfriend. What you're missing is that abuse happens to affluent people, as well. I grew up in an affluent home; I grew up with privilege. I was abused. I was emotionally, physically and sexually abused. I lived through it, I survived it and I've built myself to be a better person in spite of it. And I don't appreciate being labelled as trash because of it.

My Last Baby's 1st Bday and Sweet Violet Cakes Review

This post is quite late, but my last baby turned 1 on November 1st. :( I wasn't as emotional as I thought I would be, but I think that's because I was so stressed out about his party. Eek! But it turned out good, anyways. :)

We bought the cake from Sweet Violet Cakes in Mohawk, NY. She was very sweet and easy to work with; I explained what I was looking for, sent her some examples and then she ran with it. The birthday party was John Deere themed and here's the cake she came up with:

Just LOOK at the detail on these cute little animals!

I added the candle, but you can see how the attention to detail goes the entire way around the cake.

She offered a variety of cake flavors and fillings; we decided to go with just plain vanilla. It was delicious! It was nice and moist and the frosting was sweet. It paired very well with ice cream! The cake was covered with frosting, while the animals, barn, fence and the number 1 on the side were made of fondant. Ironically, she made exactly enough animal decorations as we had kids at the party, so each child got one, which they were ecstatic about.

Sweet Violet Cakes offers reasonable pricing and also offers delivery (within reason, of course), so if you're looking for someone to make a special cake for your special occasion, you can check out the facebook page here and shoot her a message. There are pictures of some of the other beautiful cakes she has made and you'll get an even better of an idea of why I chose to work with her. :)

Now check out this candy buffet that my sister in law set up:

Mmmmm snacks:

AND, the birthday boy himself, who had a wonderful time:

Lifetime Loves Stereotypes And Here's Why

There's a new show on Lifetime called Girlfriend Intervention. I've seen previews and never really felt the need to see it, until I saw someone making fun of it. It might have been on The Soup, but I can't be sure. Anyway, I hate daytime tv and usually have things recorded on the DVR to watch or I look for interesting shows On Demand. Since I had seen someone poking fun at Girlfriend Intervention, I decided to watch it and see if I could pick out any WTF moments to laugh at. I was very surprised at what I saw.

If you're not familiar with the show, it's about four black women who surprise people with makeovers. It's very reminiscent of What Not To Wear, but not even a fraction of the quality. I was first set off by the opening sequence. They say, "Every white woman has a strong black woman inside." ....wait, what? Then they explain that they find a "basic woman" (read the tv friendly version of "basic bitch") and help her bring her inner black woman out.

First, I'd like to know why a woman of any color can't be strong and confident. To specifically isolate white women and say that what they think and feel isn't good enough is pretty alarming. I know lots of white women who have confidence and great fashion sense without feeling the need to summon an "inner black woman." I know lots of confident women of every color, actually. So, are black women the only ones we can look up to for guidance? Certainly not. It's also poignant to mention that white women aren't the only ones who can lack such qualities; some people (men included) of every race have confidence and body issues. Why are they making a show solely dedicated to one race?

Secondly, I'd like to know why they feel the need to put such a separation between races. Throughout each episode (I watched two), they reiterate over and over that white women need to act like black women. How exactly does a black woman act? If you're thinking of the stereotypical black woman that is portrayed in movies and tv shows, that's exactly the problem. "Stop acting like you're black" or "you're not black" are really good examples of this. I have to be black to act a certain way? I can't act in the way that I want to because I'm white? Lifetime may say that they're not racist, but what they're doing is perpetuating stereotypes and encouraging their viewers to acknowledge the difference in races. As a society, if we truly want equality and want racism to end, this show is sending us backwards with a fierce veracity. Society will never look at African Americans as equals when we're giving them their own, separate way of acting.

And then to actually call someone a "basic woman" is demeaning. What they're saying in a tv friendly version is that she's a "basic bitch." If you're unfamiliar with the term, it's negative. The definition according to Urban Dictionary is this:

"This is that white suburban girl whose prideful of laying her ass around all day and letting the genetics prevent her from being morbidly obese, or not. She takes pictures of everything, and when the miracle occurs that she leaves the house she will take pictures and snapchats of the endeavor to make sure the world knows. These journeys will include trips to Starbucks, chipotle or other appropriately 'basic' locations. She is jobless, and one wonders what exactly she does to kill so much time, but in all likelihood, you don't want to know."

If you're wary about that source, here's the definition from Wikipedia:

"Basic bitch (or simply basic) is a slang term in American popular culture used to describe bland, ordinary people – usually but not always women – whose preference for certain name-brands or products with mass appeal demonstrates their uncritical conformity, lack of originality or coolness."

That's not nice. As you can see, what they're referring to and branding the woman as is not flattering or positive. How is that productive? How does that make any woman at all feel better about themselves or about getting a makeover? A makeover should be fun, helpful and wanted; I wouldn't let anyone who called me a "basic woman" give me a makeover. It's just too judgmental and I don't want anyone who thinks that low of me to be in my life.

On top of all of that, the women aren't even qualified to be giving fashion advice. From the two episodes that I saw, they were dressing the women in clothes that were unflattering and ill-fitting. There are definitely some wins in that department because they do find some pieces that look great, but it's painful to see these women being put into clothes that don't look good and then are paraded across national tv.

I don't want to be a strong black woman. I don't want to feel like my self worth comes from a racial base. I don't want to be judged purely by my race, which is exactly what this show is asking everyone to do. I just want to be a stronger version of myself. The concept of the show in regards to helping women dress better and therefore feel better about themselves is great; it's not that I think anyone's worth should be placed on how they look, but I know that I have a lot more confidence and a greater sense of self esteem when I dress in a way that's actually flattering, rather than when I'm just in sweats and tshirts. Women should absolutely be supporting each other and helping each other deal with their issues. What we don't need to be doing is to be basing the support on racial stereotypes and negative connotations.

What do you think? Have you watched the show and do you think I'm way off base?

8 Things No One Tells You About Little Boys

There are things about raising boys that no one really tells you about beforehand. I mean, there are always going to be little things as you raise any child, but raising boys is a horse of a different color. I have three of them, so now I know for certain that these things aren't just because I have a unique child. These are things I've experienced because I have boys.

1. So. Much. Pee.

a) You WILL get peed on. More than once. You'll open the diaper, get him all spiffed up and ready for a new diaper, and right when you put the new diaper under his cute little tush, he'll be peeing. Or you'll forget to grab the cream or the powder or even the diaper, and all you'll have to do is look away for a millisecond. Or you'll get him all stripped down for a bath and he'll wait until he has perfect aim to let 'er go.

b) He will also pee in the bath. Like. Every time. At least for a while. And it's ok to not drain the tub every time and start over, I don't care what the other moms say. Listen, when you've been up 32 times in the night and you're just thankful you have the energy to bathe the pee monger at all, it's a small blip on the radar. It's sterile anyways, right?

c) As soon as the air hits his diaper-free schlong, he'll pee. I think that basically covers everything.

2. Babies get boners, too. I suppose the reason no one warns you about this is because...well, I can't really see my mother or grandmother casually bringing it up in any conversation. If either one of them ever mentioned an erection in any form, I would wonder what demon had possessed them. But there really is nothing like opening a diaper to have that looking you straight in the face. In case you're not familiar with the terminology, they're referred to as "pee boners." I've never closed a diaper faster than when I've encountered those. You've been warned.

3. He will notice his urine-related erections and engage you in conversations about them. This will happen long before you think it will. My middle guy was still in diapers when he noticed his. "It's too big!" My oldest's thing was, "Why is it so big?" So. Have fun with that convo.

4. Does anyone else's boys somehow hold their farts in and wait until you're changing them to let it loose? You have his butt in the air, switching diapers or something, and you don't even hear it, you just feel the breeze on your face? No? .........

5. They always get dirty somehow, no matter where you've been. Sometimes, just wiping them down with baby wipes is a good temporary fix. It's not something that is really talked about, but I've found that it's an acceptable practice. Boys just never. stop. moving. Which means you never. stop. chasing. When you're coming home from a long day at the grandparents' house, a trip to the playground, a day at the park, etc, and you're just so damn exhausted from trying to keep up with all that energy that you simply don't have it in you to give him the bath that he desperately needs...baby wipes to the arms, hands, legs, face, all parts that were not protected by clothing, etc. Voila! He's clean(-ish) enough to go to bed so you can sit down! I figured out this fun trick while I was pregnant with my third. Because. Pregnancy.

6. Boys could genuinely care less how dirty their butts are. It doesn't bother them one tiny bit to sit in a diaper full of rotting, stinky poop. I had a terrible head cold one Spring while I was with my dad. He sniffed the air, gave me a strange look. "Did he poop?" he asked me. "I don't know. Did he?" I shrugged. I'm glad he was there to do the butt sniff check because my son was just happily playing like he wasn't working on a diaper rash and my nose was so plugged that I couldn't smell a damn thing. Maybe they enjoy it. Boys are obsessed with dirt, boogers, their wieners and poop, so perhaps it really starts at birth.

7. Wiener conversation is a common, every day happening. Be prepared to talk about it at least 7 times a day. When they're not touching it (which is constantly, which requires the "STOP TOUCHING YOUR WIENER IN PUBLIC" scold), they're telling you about their wiener's adventures of the day or yanking their pants down to show it to you, just in case you've forgotten what an amazing appendage it is.

8. And lastly, on a more serious note, little boys love their mothers with a fierceness you wouldn't dream possible. There's this sort of stigma that because dads do all of those boy things with them that they have a stronger bond, but that's just not true. They just have a different type of bond. Boys are loving and very loyal; to them, you're the queen. You care for them, kiss their boo-boos, snuggle them and give them a kind of love that only you can because you're mom. It's a very special thing to experience.

So for those moms with boys...would you add anything to this list? What did I miss?

The Day I Gave Up My Son

I'm mad.

Not like I'm-going-to-write-a-rant-full-of-curse-words mad, but mad.

I was 19 when I gave birth to my first son. I had a fairly easy pregnancy with an abusive man. My first pregnancy was the only one out of my three that I was able to sleep, so on the days I didn't have to work, sometimes I took naps. I was tired! My body was growing another human being and that in itself is exhausting. My fiancee at the time would come home from work or whatever he was doing and start yelling if I was napping. Not just yelling, though; he would throw things, punch the walls, call me names. Instead of napping, I could have been vacuuming! How dare I! Because the abuse escalated when I was pregnant, I began to resent my unborn child. Clearly, if I wasn't pregnant, life would be easier. Or so I thought. That began the meltdown that would ultimately lead to the final explosion.

After my son was born, I struggled. I had moved out of the house with my fiancee and moved in with my father; I didn't want my son to grow up thinking that the relationship we had was healthy. I didn't want him to see his father abusing his mother and then go out in the world as an adult and do the same. I had help from my dad, but I was raising this baby on my own. The thing that nobody warned me about was postpartum depression and what it looked like. Let me explain.

Every time my son cried, I would feel this overwhelming anger building inside of me; it was a physical feeling rising from my belly and up through my chest. I wanted to throw things. I wanted to punch things. I wanted to scream. And I did. I did all of that. I never hurt my baby, but boy did I yell. My dad came home from work one morning while I was getting ready to go to my own job and heard me screeching at my son, "What is the matter with you?! All you do is cry!" My son was in his swing in the bedroom and I was in the bathroom. My dad came racing upstairs, grabbed my son and held him so close, speaking in a soothing voice and rocking him back and forth. I was humiliated. The thing is, I knew as it was happening that what I was feeling wasn't normal. I would get so angry and think, "why do I feel like this? What is wrong with me?" But I couldn't control. I had no control over myself and my emotions and I was scared. Scared for my son. I feared that one day I wouldn't be able to control myself and he would get hurt.

I sought out a psychiatrist after I attempted suicide. My son was a month to 2 months old. I explained to her my symptoms and she diagnosed me as being bipolar. I came to later find out that that mental illness runs in one side of my family. She prescribed me medication and I went through lots of trial and errors with different pills. Nothing seemed to work. My memory is a little foggy around that time period, but I don't remember ever being happy with anything she gave me. My fiancee wasn't working at the time due to an injury, so he was babysitting our son while I worked. Then he began taking him for a couple of days at a time to save on gas (we lived a half hour away from each other and it was a great strain on my bank account.) Eventually, I told him to keep our son for good, that I didn't want him back. I was still suffering from the rage, resentment and depression and I still feared for him. I dreaded coming home from work because I couldn't stand the crying. He agreed to take him and eventually we went to court to officially name him primary caretaker, although we have joint custody. I figured that if this is how I was going to be since I had been officially diagnosed, that my son deserved better. I had little hope for my future.

I remember that day in court so clearly. The judge said that what we were requesting was unusual, but if that's what I wanted, then so be it. I felt like I was choking when I tried to speak to the judge. Afterwards, I got into my car and broke down. I put my head in my hands and sobbed; I had just given up my son and it was heartbreaking. How does a mother do this? What kind of mother am I? Am I monster? I struggled with those questions and more for years. I hated myself. I just wanted to curl up and die because I was such a horrible mother.

I spent years being a shitty mother. I rarely took him when he was a baby because he was a constant reminder of what I had done and the kind of person that I was. It's ironic because I rarely had him with me, yet I spent countless nights crying myself to sleep because of it. It's not like I gave him up and then went on my merry way. I was devastated and had a genuine, deep hatred for myself.

Fast forward to when I was 27, when I had my second son. At that point, I'd been on an antidepressant that really kept me stable and kept me from going to those low points, like when I attempted suicide. I reiterated to my obgyn many times that I needed to be put back on that medication as soon as my son was born so that I didn't have the same issues. But even before the drug was in my system long enough to be therapeutic, I had none of those feelings. I was elated to have this baby. He was my entire life, my love, my heart, my miracle. I had some life experiences (such as cancer) that I was told would make it nearly impossible to have any more kids, so that played a part in my emotion. He was my miracle baby. He never left my side. Another part, I think, is that I felt like this was my do-over. I had another chance to prove that I could actually be a mother, and a great one, and I was over the moon at the chance. He's 3 now and I've still barely ever left him with a babysitter because we have such a tight bond.

In 2013 I had my 3rd and last son with my current fiancee, a much better man than the father of my first 2 children. I struggled with depression throughout the pregnancy and it didn't get any easier after he was born. It got worse. I was so angry and had so much resentment. I couldn't get my dr to give me the right dose of my antidepressant and then I lost my insurance, so I had to stop taking it. I felt just like I did after my first son; it was awful. Everybody felt the brunt of my emotions. I yelled a lot and had a terrible, negative attitude. I'm sure I was hell to live with. I cried at night and when my fiancee was at work because I hated my life and I hated myself for feeling this way. But I couldn't help it. Eventually, I got my insurance straightened out and I was able to start taking my antidepressant again, when my youngest was 9 months old. Although it wasn't the dose that I knew I needed, it was better than nothing and after a few weeks of taking it, I felt 100% better than I had been feeling for the past 9 months. That's when it hit me. I may be bipolar, but that's not what was happening 10 years ago when I had my first son. I had postpartum depression.

I'm mad because now I'm on the other side of the postpartum depression this time and I have a clear view of myself 10 years ago. The PPD aggravated my bipolar disorder, of course, but I needed the depression treated, not the symptoms. The psychiatrist was giving me medication to stabilize my moods and help me sleep, but not the cause of my mood swings. She gave me the impression that I would never recover from this mental illness that I had, but that was so wrong. So very, very wrong.

I'm happier now. I still get irritated easily and my anxiety is still pretty high, but I'm happy most of the time. I love my kids. They're everything to me. My oldest son is 10 and he's old enough for me to have real conversations with. One weekend that he was here, he came into the kitchen while I was washing baby bottles. I stopped and turned around to look at him. I asked him, "Do you feel like I don't want you?" That's how the conversation started. I told him over and over how much I love him and want him, how I wanted him to come live with me but didn't want to rip him away from his current life and attachments, and how it came to be that he lived with his father. I didn't give him specifics, obviously, but I told him I was sick and I just couldn't do it back then.

"I've been a really bad mother to you and I know that. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I've been such a crappy mom. But I want to do better and I want you to know how much I love you and always have. I want you to feel comfortable enough to talk to me about anything, even if it's something that you think will hurt my feelings. I can't make anything better if you don't tell me, so please tell me. I want you and I've always wanted you."

I'm choosing to speak out now because I want to help other mothers. The way that PPD was described to me was "baby blues." I'm sure you've heard that, too. "Blues" indicates sadness, depression, crying and hopelessness. Nobody told me that there were other ways it could manifest itself. I want to put this out there even if it only helps one person. Nobody shared their experiences with me and I never had the chance to be that "just one person" who gets the help.

You're not alone. You're not a bad mother for feeling what you feel, as long as you don't act on your thoughts. It's ok to ask for help and you absolutely have to if, like me, you feel like you can't control your emotions. There are ways to help you; you'll be able to mother better and you'll feel better overall. If you feel like you need someone to talk to, someone you can completely open up to with no judgment, feel free to message me. After reading my story, you know that I won't think anything about your ability to be a mom. I've been there. Don't just bottle it up inside and let it stew while you suffer; speak out. If not for your baby, for yourself. Feeling like that is no fun. It's your own personal hell.

You can reach me at: zebraprintmama@gmail.com. I've got my listening ears on. :)

Make Store Bought Strawberries Last Longer

My kids love strawberries, but especially my 3 year old. He would probably eat a quart of strawberries a day if I let him. I buy them from the grocery store once a week or so, but I always run into the same problem: they start going bad within days. They get mushy, moldy and inedible. It's not fun when my emotional boy asks to eat the strawberries he sees in the fridge and I have to throw them away in front of him. It breaks his little heart.

But, I've found a solution!

Usually, I clean and cut them as they're requested. Instead, I cut the tops off, clean them and put them in a tupperware container that is lined with a papertowel. You can use whatever kind you want; I prefer these long, flat ones. Place a papertowel on top of the strawberries, secure the lid and voilà! They'll last at least 3-4 days longer than they would originally.

Enjoy your strawberries and enjoy saving money!

Tiny Terrorist Toddler And The Little Mother That Could

If you're a parent, you know that raising kids isn't always fun. You don't always go to bed with sunshine and rainbows coming out of your ass, excited for the number of consecutive poopy diapers you're going to change before 10am. There are some days (or weeks, let's be honest) that really just suck. Because being a parent is tough. Whether you're working outside of the home or are a stay at home parent, parenting can feel like a full time job in and of itself. It's a lifestyle, really. A lifestyle that sometimes (more often than many want to admit) makes you lock yourself in the bathroom for a few minutes before you staple your whiny kid to the wall by the food and booger stained clothes they're wearing.

For the past week, we've had nothing but rain and it's made us all a little stir crazy. The toddler begs to play outside on a daily basis and, quite frankly, sunshine and fresh air really help clear my mind. The sun finally peeked out from behind the clouds today. If it hadn't have been so windy, it would have been damn near perfect. When the fiancee was finished with work (he worked from home today), we all went outside to sit and soak it all up. While we were sitting there, a woman with a stroller walked up the sidewalk. I looked not only to see who was passing, but also because she complimented the toddler's hair, as most everyone does when we're outside. (Girls love curls, mmkay?) The back of the stroller resembled a mule: it was laden with a giant, overstuffed diaper bag and 3 or 4 full shopping bags, all strategically (or not so strategically) stuffed in the basket under the stroller or hanging from the handle. There was so much weight in the back that unless she kept her hand on it, it kept tipping backwards. The front of the stroller contained a small girl with long, red, wispy hair that needed to be brushed. My eyes moved to the woman pushing the plastic mule. She was the quintessential frazzled and overwhelmed mom, almost to the point where it was like looking at a character out of a Lifetime movie: her long hair hung in a complete mess around her shoulders and the frame of her face, pieces blowing madly in the wind. She was wearing yoga pants, a baggy tshirt, a fleece jacket, and a 7 month old baby boy was hanging from her front. She was out of breath and you could hear it in her voice. Her face was drawn and gave away her level of exhaustion.

We talked for a few minutes about how our children were similar in age differences: I have a 10 year old, an almost 3 year old and 6 month old. She has a 20 year old, a 2 1/2 year old and a 7 month old. We sympathized with each other on how hard it is to have two little ones so close in age and laughed at the stupid parts of it; you know, when you're trying to leave the house and all of a sudden everyone has pooped! And how everything is always covered in spit up, including clothes that haven't even been worn yet. Rather than beginning to move the stroller forward, she continued to stand there, just talking about stuff like that. I figured that she was tired, lonely and needed someone who understood, so I continued to smile, laugh and sympathize with her.

Before I really knew what was happening, her daughter was throwing a genuine temper tantrum to get out of the stroller and play with the toddler. I mean, she was kicking, screaming, thrashing, stripping off her coat and shoes to throw on the ground and being an all around really good visual birth control. The woman had said that the little girl had been screaming all day to go outside and they finally were, so she had all this pent up energy. She said that she wanted to go to the playground, but she was afraid of having to chase her around with the baby strapped to her. The little girl continued to throw everything on the ground and the woman looked at me, saying, "I...I don't know what to do."
"Well, I'm here and we were going to stay outside for a little while anyways. If you want to let her down, I can chase her around for you. Mine doesn't run for the street, so he's easy."

I spent the next hour or so chasing this little girl around my front yard and the front yards of two of my neighbors. I blocked her path, limited her running grounds, pried things from her little fingers, picked her up and redirected her path, wrapped my arms around her and my toddler to prevent them from toppling over as she gave him an all encompassing hug and played traffic cop while she drove around on the little four wheeler. (I also stopped myself from being short with her when she continuously snatched things from the toddler, including the hat he was wearing and his jacket, but it's not her fault that her mother doesn't discipline her.) All the while this was happening, her mother talked about random things and gave little embarrassing laughs when her daughter misbehaved. She wanted to talk about messy houses, the nightmarish weight gain...just random chit chat.

Eventually, we had to go inside for dinner and the woman had to leave. We packed up all of our toys, which we hoped would make it easier to get the little girl to leave. It didn't. I ended up sending the toddler upstairs so I could stay outside for a few minutes to make sure she was ok. I couldn't just leave her there. There was a baby strapped to her front and a tiny terrorist toddler that had thrown herself on the ground, screaming and thrashing around again. She looked so frazzled, embarrassed and at the end of her rope.
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
"Yeah, if you could just..."
Her sentence trailed off and I knew that she didn't know what she wanted me to do that would sound appropriate. I'm sure she didn't want to be judged for what needed to be done. So I just walked over to her. I put my hand on the stroller to keep it from tipping and my foot behind the wheel to keep it from going backwards as she attempted to get this little girl, who was now suddenly red faced and stiff as a board, into the stroller. (I suddenly understand why the stroller was in the laying down position...) Anyways, I eventually helped her pick her up, place her in the stroller and buckle her. Can you imagine trying to do that on your own with an 18lb living sack of potatoes hanging from your front?? Pfft.

Can you imagine actually being this woman? I can. I may not go out in public during those days, but there are days that I am this woman. Frazzled, overwhelmed and not able to see an end in sight. We've all been there to some extent. Unless, of course, you're Super Parent. In which case, you're at the wrong blog. ;) What I could have done to this fellow mom was to brush her off and usher her on her way. But I didn't because I know what it feels like to need a damn break! What was an inconvenience or an annoyance to me for a little while today was the life that she leads every single day. For that small amount of time, she could breathe a little easier because she wasn't alone. She said to me, "Oh my god. He's your responsibility and here you are chasing her." I just looked at her and said, "It's ok. I understand."

Be patient. Be understanding. Don't look at another parent who is overwhelmed and make snide, judgmental remarks, even if it's only to yourself. You don't know the person's story, where they've been or what they're going through. Today, I helped a single mom take a breather from her stressful life. Today, that single mom helped give me perspective on things.

SUPPORT EACH OTHER, MOMS. Support each other in love because that's what you'd want in return. Right?

Here's Where You Can Check Yourself

Two of my 3 children belong to the narcissistic abuser I was with before Zebra Print Fiancee. I have considered myself lucky up until this point because he really wanted little to nothing to do with our youngest, so there was no co-parenting involved. I won't even really get into the full details, as they're unimportant here and actually make no sense at all, but even though he wants nothing to do with the toddler, he wants everything to do with our oldest. That has been the most difficult, but even then it's always been pretty easy because he's always been fairly easy to work with as far as visitation and so forth.

Sometime within the last year to 2 years, he finally found someone willing to be in a relationship with him. I knew he had a girlfriend, but he kept her identity a strict secret for a long time. In fact, I ended up finding out who she was on accident. When this little morsel of information was thrown at me, certain pieces all of a sudden started making sense. I have a history with this female in particular and my ex requesting to keep our oldest son with during Thanksgiving and Christmas (even though he's Muslim and celebrates neither) now had a real "justification." This justification is the reason I'm writing this particular blog entry.

There is a huge gray area when a couple with children split and then begin dating other people. It's unfortunate, but it's true. Many couples are able to handle things amicably and responsibly, but an even larger portion of couples are not. So in response to this, here's an open letter to my ex's current girlfriend and any other ones to follow her:

I am not your enemy. Don't view me as his ex girlfriend. While that may partially be what I am, that's not how you need to view me. I am my sons' mother. I'm not in your boyfriend's life because I want to be. I'm not in his life because I want to be in your place. I'm not in his life to make you feel threatened. I'm in his life because we have children together and I have to be.

With all of this in mind, remember your place. Remember that your place in his life is to be his girlfriend, not the new mother of his children. You have no say in how they are raised, how often they see either of their parents or what takes place in their lives. Should there ever come a time when your boyfriend becomes more delusional than he already is and wants you to have more of a say in such things, remember that you have absolutely none and you never will.

If I could have nothing to do with your boyfriend, I would. I would like you to keep this mind. Rather than viewing me as someone who is trying to get involved in your relationship in any way, you need to view me as what I am: my children's mom. Everything I do is for my children's best interest, regardless of whether or not you like it. One day, if you're super unlucky and super stupid, you may become their stepmom. But that will never negate what I am.

I am not the person that my ex has portrayed me to be. Unfortunately, you're only getting one side of the story and that side is actually skewed and full of lies. You may be wondering how I know this. I know this because I've known this man for over 10 years; I'm more than familiar with his personality, how he acts, how he THINKS and how he manipulates. I know that he is a very skilled liar and uses it to his advantage every single day. You may think you know him, but you don't. It took me years to actually realize what he was and how he had filled my life and my heart with lies. Because of this, I know he does it to you, too. Not only that, but I know how much he lied to me about you. You'd be appalled at the things he said about you. I, on the other hand, would not be surprised at all by the things he's probably said to you. I know all of his tricks and I know how convincing he can be. There's a reason he's such an excellent used car salesman.

The bottom line is this: I am not your enemy unless you want me to be. All I want is to continue to be what I already am: my sons' mother.

Who Told You Life Wasn't Worth The Fight?

We celebrated S's birthday today. We should be joking about how old he's getting over a couple of beers. We should be sitting in the living room, surrounded by food, laughing and telling stories. We should be watching his son blow out his birthday candles for him. We should be with him. But we're not. Instead, we're sending his birthday balloons up to him in heaven. (Click here to read his story.)

I was so sad as the day started. I just miss him so much and it makes me so sad that my children are growing up without having such a wonderful person in their lives. It makes me sad that I've never met his son. It makes me sad that our children should be playing together, but they're not. I cried a couple of times throughout the day and fully expected to be a hormonal wreck for the remainder of the day.

This was the first year that the toddler could really participate and know what was going on to some extent, and his pure, unadulterated joy at buying balloons and watching them being filled with helium was a great jump start to our ritual. His innocence and the pure excitement that shone on his face had me bubbling with laughter.

Then we had to get the balloons into the car without losing them to the wind. I had my oldest get in first and then I started shoving balloons into the backseat. Once they were in my car, I secured the toddler into his seat and told my oldest he could try and push the balloons into the far back if he wanted. (I drive an SUV.) He started fighting them; pushing them, shoving them, punching them to get into the back, and they bounced around in his face and in the toddler's face in protest. The toddler could not stop laughing at the sight and it helped bring the joy we experienced from inside the store to inside the vehicle.

It was soooo windy today. So windy. And so cold. We were actually under a wind advisory. But the funny thing is, every year that we've done this, we've had ridiculous wind. I'm not sure what that means, but I noticed that today and so did my oldest. We got up to the cemetery, to our favorite spot, and got out. The wind was absolutely piercing because we were up on top of one of the tallest, if not the tallest, hills in the city. I cut a balloon free from the bunch and handed them to the oldest, telling him where to stand and when to let go of the balloon so I could take pictures. He's always very cooperative with my photography. :) We kept running back to the car, cutting balloons loose and then fighting the wind to get what we wanted. We were also fighting the toddler to get him to cooperate, which was completely impossible. But it didn't bother either one of us. We had so much fun doing all of this that we found ourselves laughing most of the time. By the time we got into the car to leave, I realized that I hadn't even remembered to put on the CD that I listen to when I'm missing S. I felt my heart swell with warmth and happiness and I smiled; I knew that this is exactly what he would have wanted. He wouldn't want us to be sad. He would want us to be happy and have fun. He would have loved the ridiculous chaos that we brought to his birthday celebration and that made me feel content. He loved my oldest and I know he would have loved my toddler (and my newest baby! But I left him with his aunt for the afternoon). And he just would have loved the fun and laughter we had while celebrating him and his life.

Some of my favorite pictures from the day (and these are only a few! I took a bunch and love them all):

I heard this song for the first time a couple of weeks ago while I was doing dishes and it reminded me of S. It reminded me of him and made me cry. There's a song that I consider to be his and always listen to that on days such as this, but I want to post this song instead.

Here are the lyrics:

You must have been in a
Place so dark
You couldn't feel the light
Reachin' for you through
That stormy cloud
Now here we are
Gathered in our little hometown
This can't be the way
You meant to draw a crowd

[Chorus]
Oh why, that's what I keep asking
Was there anything I could've
Said or done
Oh, I had no clue you were
Masking a troubled soul, 
God only knows what went wrong and why
You would leave the stage
In the middle of a song

Now in my mind I'll keep you frozen
As a seventeen-year-old
Rounding third to score the
Winning run
You always played with passion
No matter what the game
When you took the stage
You'd shine just like the sun

[Chorus]
Oh why, that's what I keep asking
Was there anything I could've
Said or done
Oh, I had no clue you were
Masking a troubled soul, 
God only knows what went wrong and why
You would leave the stage
In the middle of a song

Now the oak trees are swaying
In the early autumn breeze
A golden sun is shining on my face
Through tangled thoughts
I hear a mockingbird sing
This old world really ain't that
Bad of a place

Oh why, there's no comprehending
And who am I to try to
Judge or explain
Oh, but I do have one
Burning question
Who told you life wasn't worth the fight
They were wrong, they lied
Now you're gone and we cry
'Cause it's not like you to
Walk away
In the middle of a song

Your beautiful song
Your absolutely beautiful song

What 2013 Taught Me

This post might be a little late, but I don't care. I've been thinking about making this blog for several weeks, so it's in time in my mind. And that's what matters.

It's a brand new year! Can you believe it?? I'm feeling kind of blase about the whole thing this time around. It feels like it's just another day in another week in another month in another year. Yanno?

Anyhoo. I thought I'd compile a list of things I learned in 2013. I went through a lot in the past year. Some of the things on this list I may not have necessarily learned in 2013, but were lessons that were forcefully reiterated. Let's see where this takes us.

1. You get what you give.

If what you put into the world is negative and cancerous, that's what you're going to get back. I learned that I truly believe in karma. I questioned it previously, but now I know that karma exists. If you're going to be a nasty, negative, destructive person to other people, expect the universe to repay you with the same. Not only will you suffer, but those around you will also suffer. Don't say I didn't warn you. ;)

2. True friendships aren't based on how often you see each other.

A friend that loves you for you and completely understands who you are as person will understand why you haven't seen each other for however long. Once you see each other again or even just start talking again, you will pick up where you left off and will feel the same amount of support you felt before. A true friendship is a meeting of the souls and that's something that nothing can break.

3. People are selfish.

Everyone always says that they can always rely on family or their closest friends to be there no matter what. Well, sometimes, that's just not the case. It's ingrained in us to be selfish; if you see that something isn't benefiting you or is causing you harm, you think of yourself first and remove yourself from the situation or do something that makes the situation better for YOU. Keep this in mind as people come and go from your life. Everyone has a breaking point and eventually, they have to take their own well being into consideration before anyone else's. Even the most giving person has this in them. If they don't think of themselves first in some situations, they will slowly deteriorate until there is nothing left. So expect nothing less and you will not be disappointed.

4. Family is forever, but that doesn't mean they don't suck.

This kind of ties in to the last point. People are selfish. Your family is selfish. It's human nature. Your family may be tied to you forever because of a blood relation, but that doesn't make them suck any less. You just need to learn to deal with it or cut them out of your life.

5. You're the only one that can heal yourself.

Nobody else knows what your heart truly holds and nobody else really knows what will make it better for you. You need to come to terms with what's going on in your heart and your mind, understand and deal with those issues and learn to love yourself before you can heal. Nobody can do that work for you. Others may have the ability to apologize for what they have done to wrong you, but the healing begins within. Love yourself and realize that you are worth the healing. You are worth love. You are worth it. Period. There is a reason that you have made it this far. Love yourself.

6. The rearview mirror is only there to warn you about what's to come.

You don't look in the rearview mirror because you miss the view. (Unless it's a really pretty sunset. Because I've done that.) You check your rearview mirror to see what's going on behind you. You check it to try and predict what could have an impact on you. If you see someone speeding up behind you, you get in the slow lane to get out of their way. (Unless you have road rage, which then indicates you should hit your brakes as hard as you can without warning because you're an asshole and want to show the speeder who's boss.) If you're passing someone, you check your rearview mirror to make sure you have passed them enough to safely get in front of them. If you cut in front of them before it's safe, you're going to get into an accident. But you'll be able to predict the accident if you check your rearview mirror. So, when you look in your rearview mirror, don't do it because you miss what you've passed. Do it to predict what will cause you harm in the future. Protect yourself. Protect your future. Don't let the same mistakes happen again.

7. Your hair really is connected to how you feel.

I've had cancer. Twice, actually. I can attest to the fact that women tend to equate hair to how feminine they feel. BUT. I let my hair go since I was pregnant and didn't care. Now my hair is long and annoying. I feel just as unattractive as I did when I had no hair! If you find yourself feeling down and out, go and get your hair done. Get it cut, get it colored, get it highlighted. Whatever! If you want something funky, do it! It's only hair. It will grow back. You can even color over it! Take the risk that you've been thinking of and know that the outcome isn't permanent, so it's ok. Or just put yourself first for once and get your hair cut. You'll thank me for it later, trust me.

8. Dish Networks sucks.

If you live in a region that gets any weather of any kind, don't get Dish. You lose the signal to your tv, which means you can't watch what you want. They don't do anything about it because it's an "act of God." Who knew that Dish was Christian, right?! Had I realized this before my 2 year old freaked out because Yo Gabba Gabba was frozen, I would have stuck with my shitty, overpriced cable provider. I'd rather pay more and have consistent tv than listen to him scream about Foofa being stuck in a compromising position with the Tooth Fairy.

I got nothin else. Did you relate to any of that? I hope so! I hope that some of what I have learned over the past year will help you learn. Or, if you're like me, you'll go through shit over the next year or so and then suddenly think back and remember my blog: "Oh yeah, she SAID this would happen!!" Because I never learn lessons until I've been through the scenarios myself. But that's ok. We're all beautiful and perfect in God's eyes, right?

Pfft. Good luck. And Happy New Year. ;)