The horrible thing I did to protect my son

Bam will be 10 in January. He is the sweetest, kindest person I know. My husband worries that our jacked up world is going to chew him up and spit him out. The only thing I worry about are the women who may try to take advantage of him someday (I swear, I will cut a bitch). But I refuse to "toughen" him up. Truly kind people are in short supply and I will do everything in my power to nuture his kindness.

He is the child who will point out an injustice on the playground (but he does not tattle). The boy who will make sure everyone is included. The kid who, when I held a job last year, asked if I was working so we could give more money to the poor. He tells his teenage sister that he loves her every night before bed. 

Bam has ADD. When he was going to therapy, he was also diagnosed with anxiety and depression (I had assumed the ADD and anxiety, the depression took me by surprise). We don't medicate him. So far his teachers have been supportive, possibly because he doesn't have the hyperactivity part so he isn't necessarily driving them batshit crazy. He has a lot of tics. Weird little movements he does without knowing it. Mostly with his face. Sucking sounds with his mouth, wrinkling his nose, etc. In second grade he was diagnosed with a fine motor skill delay. He was put into speech (I always just thought he sounded cute but is apparently missing sounds from his alphabet). He couldn't tie his own shoes until he was 9 (I still have to help him sometimes). On good days we can read his writing, on bad days it looks like a toddler's.

He obsesses. Mostly over ideas or things. It started at 2 with Toy Story. Then Super Mario Bros. (specifically, Luigi). Most of his after school time in second grade was spent in a Luigi costume. We've dealt with the Minecraft obsession for over 2 years now. We have now added a Doctor Who obsession (he wore a bowtie and carried a Sonic Screwdriver for quite a while). Oh, and zombies and the zombie apocalypse. He has a plan for our survival and I hear about it daily. Throughout all of these he has maintained a Lego obsession, his other obsessions dictate what he builds.

So, to get to what I alluded to in the title of this post, he announced a new obsession a couple of nights ago. Hubby and I were hanging out when he asked if he could watch Netflix. I asked him what he wanted to watch and he enthusiastically answered, "My Little Pony. I'm a Brony!!" Without thinking, hubby hollered back, "The hell you are!" Bam was confused for a minute, hubby got all worked up babbling about crazy grown men doing disgusting things while watching a children's cartoon. I cut him off, told him to hold it for a minute and told Bam to go ahead and watch MLP. 

I calmed hubby down and assured him that our son would not grow up to be a pervert. The next morning Bam asked to watch MLP while eating breakfast before school. I told him yes then sat down next to him. I took his hand and asked him to look at me (he has trouble making eye contact). 

Then I did something I thought was awful. 

I said, "Sweetheart, I don't care if you're a Brony. You go ahead and enjoy MLP, but I need you to do something for me. Don't tell anyone at school. Don't let the other boys know you're a Brony."

He wanted to know why. 

I then told him about the little boy who got bullied so bad at school for being a Brony that he tried to kill himself. I told him that some people might not understand and I couldn't handle it if other kids were mean to him simply because he watched a "girls'" cartoon. 

For the first time in his life, I told him to hide something about himself. And I'm not proud of it. As a matter of fact, it's really eating me up (I do the obsessing thing too, go figure). 

He said, "Sure mom, I'll just watch it and not talk about it at school. That little boy really tried to kill himself? That's so sad, I hope he's ok now."

We had talked about suicide before so we didn't get into it again. He turned back to the tv and his cereal. After awhile he said, "You know, this cartoon has a really good message about friendship."

God I love this kid. Like a love so deep it makes my heart ache. The thought of someone hurting him enrages me.  

Last week a kid called him weird. Bam laughed and told the kid, "Weird is fun!" They're now becoming friends. I think Bam could befriend Attila the Hun. 

Is what I did as bad as I feel it is? I only wanted to protect him. I could care less if he likes MLP. But if someone picks on him because of it, I will throw down on the school grounds. A friend told me that because I explained to him why, it wasn't bad. 

Have you done something to protect your children that went against how you normally try to parent? I was never encouraged in my passions as a kid so I'm usually my kids' biggest cheerleader, getting caught up in the obsession right along with them. 

Knowing Bam though, he'll be over it in a week or two and back to planning our zombie apocalypse survival. 

Almost an alcoholic

Can someone be almost an alcoholic? I supposed it's one of those things where you either are or you aren't but, whatever the case, there was a time when I knew that was the road I was headed down and I felt like there was nothing I could do to stop it. I didn't even want to.

I am the daughter of a recovering alcoholic. My mother would never admit to that label but, she is. She used to buy rum in gallon jugs for Pete's sake. My dad's brother and father were alcoholics. The brother died of his. Just sat down at his mother's kitchen table one day, laid down his head, and died.

My most vivid memory from childhood is from when I was 8 years old. My mom was a bowler and us kids spent a lot of our time in bowling alleys. I remember liking it because there was always quarters for video games and well, bowling alley food. One night she took only me with her. I don't remember if my brothers were home with dad or a babysitter. I think it must have been the end of the season or something because I remember it being more festive than usual and we were there a lot later. If I had been older, I might have counted the rum and cokes my mom drank. If I had been older, I might have told someone not to let my mom drive us home. But I wasn't. I was only 8 and my only concern was to keep playing Ms. PacMan. The evening got late, I got tired. I started asking if we could go home. The bowling was done, now they were just hanging out. Every time I approached, another adult would hand me more quarters. I remember one man telling me to leave my mom alone. When we were finally on our way home, I got scared. Even my little 8 year old brain knew that we were on the wrong side of the road and that you were supposed to drive straight. I still remember the sound of the siren and the lights in the side-view mirror. I still remember my mom pulling over. I still remember watching my mom be put through the sobriety test on the side of the road while a second officer spoke to me. I don't remember a word he said to me, just my mom stupidly trying to walk a straight line and touch her nose in the lights of our van. I remember watching my mother be handcuffed and put into the back of the police car. I remember being scared. I remember being angry. I remember the second officer climbing into my mother's seat and driving me home. I don't remember much after that but I think it was a few days before my mom came home. There was probably more yelling than usual when she did get home but there was so much yelling anyway that it didn't make a difference. I don't remember at what point my dad explained to me that he was the only reason I didn't go into foster care.  

Fast forward to junior year. My mom was still a drinker. By this time I knew and understood the term "alcoholic". She was the worst kind of drunk. All pathetic tears and regrets. It irritated the fuck out of me. You'd think it would've been enough to keep me away from alcohol.

I didn't hang out with party kids, I had never tasted an alcoholic drink. But I was dating an older guy who did party and did drink and the first time I hung out with them I wanted to impress them so I got rip-roaring drunk. Puked all over the place and passed out drunk. I slunk home the next day, knowing my dad was gonna kill me. Strangely, all he did was laugh at me and talk really loud all day. That ended my drinking for the next four years.

My parents divorced around this time. There were a lot of reasons for it, and I was strangely relieved by it, but her drinking did contribute to it.

Fast forward again to where I'm a 21 year old, divorced (yes, the older guy from junior year is my first child's dad and my first ex-husband, there are two of those but that's another story), single mom with low self esteem and a solid foundation for hating all men. I discovered bars. I discovered dance floors and dollar drink night. I discovered a tolerance and capacity for alcohol that impressed men much bigger than I. I had a love affair with tequila. 

I suppose I wasn't a very good mom for a few years. 

At 25 I had had enough of being a struggling single mom and surprised the hell out of everyone (including myself) by joining the Navy. I remember looking at my daughter and realizing that she had nothing to be proud of me for. That hurt. My daughter went to live with her dad for a year while I attended boot camp and a couple of Navy schools. It is the only year of my adult life that I had to myself, where I wasn't tied to mommy expectations, and I behaved as such. I drank like a fish. I was studying to be an electronics technician and the classes were hard. I discovered that if I studied the night before a test with a pitcher of beer in front of me, I did much better (yes, I'm aware of how dumb that sounds but I swear it's true). The base bar was across the street from the barracks I lived in. I stumbled back to my room more often than not (a lot of us old enough to, did).

Fast forward a few more years and I'm married to a great guy who loves his beer. I graduate to wine, Riesling thank-you-very-much. I'm a steady sipper. I buy my wine at Costco. We're both funny, endearing drunks so we enjoy drinking together.

Another couple of years pass. We've added two gorgeous kids to our brood. I've experienced a ruptured disk and have chronic pain. I start slipping down the black pit of depression (didn't know that's what it was at the time of course, we'll discuss that another time). I've left the Navy to be a SAHM/student. 

I do believe I'm digressing...

Alcoholism sneaks up on you (at least in my case that's what it was doing). First you're just having a few with friends on Friday night. Then it's just one glass to unwind at the end of a particularly rough Monday. The next thing you know, and without even realizing it, you don't even need an excuse to drink. It's just something you do. And you'll do it alone. I would start with a glass while making dinner and just sip right on up until bedtime. Sometimes that meant one bottle, sometimes it meant as many as three. When you're a happy, funny drunk, it's hard to see it as a problem.

Five years ago I started having a lot of heart burn which escalated to esophageal spasms (if you ever want to know what it feels like to have a heart attack without having a heart attack, try one of these) and stabbing stomach pain. Three years ago my doc sent me to a gastrointestinal specialist who knocked me out and stuck a little camera up my nose and down into my stomach. Acid reflux. Yay me. I was put on a drug called Nexium that began to quench the fires in my belly. I kept drinking for a while despite the stomach pain that I refused to admit it caused. By this time I recognized it as self-medicating for the chronic back pain and the gaps that Prozac didn't fill.

Two Halloweens ago, at a party, I knocked out a bottle of my favorite wine then spent the next day throwing up and groaning in bed. It was months before I had another drink. Twice in the past year I have done this. The last time, about four months ago, scared me. I threw up until I was dry heaving and could only move when I needed to drag myself to the bathroom. It took me three days to recover. Thank God my kids are older and we were visiting family and daddy was with us to take care of them. On the other hand, it was really embarrassing to know that my kids were old enough to understand why mom was in the bedroom acting like she was dying.

Bam, "Mom, maybe you shouldn't drink grown-up drinks?"

Me, "I won't again dude, trust me, I won't."

But oh how I miss my wine! I miss it like the desert misses rain. 

Last Friday, when I went to the Painted Cabernet, I allowed myself two small glasses of wine while I channeled my inner Monet. It was just enough to make my face feel warm with the promise of better things if I just had another. I wanted more so bad it hurt. I was close enough to home to walk there. One more couldn't hurt. Right? Maybe I could go home and have one more from the bottle that's been in the fridge for the past year? Just one more. Just one more.

*sigh*

I didn't have one more. Because I knew if I opened that bottle in the fridge I would have to finish it, because that's what I do.

Am I an alcoholic? I don't know. I think I could've been. Luckily, I dislike the feeling of dying more than I like the warm fuzzies from a bottle of wine.

My mom would still never admit to having been an alcoholic. She hasn't drank in about five years I think. She and my step-father woke up to the fact that they were abusive to each other only when they drank and quit. She also had a run in with lung cancer and quit smoking finally (I'm a smoker, we'll talk about that nastiness another time).

Anyway, thank you acid reflux. While I hate you for taking away my wine, I think you saved me too.

I KNOW it will still be there tomorrow.

"The mess will still be there tomorrow, go enjoy your kids."

Yes, I know it will still be there. Believe me, I know. But the truth is, I don't want it to be. Our mess is out of control. Like, barely keeping our house off of an episode of Hoarders, out of control. AND I HATE IT. It consumes my every waking moment. Even when I do say "fuck it", I'm gonna go enjoy my kids, it's in the back of my mind. So much time, money and energy is wasted because of the mess. It enrages me when I know we own something but I can't find it. Sometimes, when there gets to be too much crap all over the place, I will actually get a box and just fill it and stick it in the garage (ohhh, that damn garage). I think there must be 5 or 6 of those boxes out there by now. Who knows what's in them. With my luck, there's probably a winning lotto ticket out there.

Something I dream about quite often, and this might seem silly, is implementing a family game night. We have about 30 board games tucked into a cupboard in the laundry room (and one Monopoly game that is strewn across the boy's bedroom-he needed the money). But I can't keep the dining room table cleared long enough for us to play a game. The living room floor is out of the question because we have stupid little dogs and hardwood floors that are covered with their hair. We have a giant coffee table but it's always covered with crap also. The kids' bedroom floors? Are you kidding? They have a path leading to their beds carved out through their crap every night.

Anyway, family game night, it seems like such a simple wish.

I wouldn't mind letting the dishes go, or passing on the vacuuming or dusting, to focus on my kids but I can't even get to these most basic housekeeping needs through the rest of the mess.

I would love to have people over. Would love to host a BBQ every once in a while. A play date. Whatever. But at this point, I wouldn't invite my mom to my house (and her house is even worse, go figure). Friends say don't worry about it, they don't care. But I care. I'm embarrassed, no ashamed, of our house. 

It's like my whole identity has gotten wrapped up in this disaster.

It keeps me from doing things I love. I've been feeling inspired to draw again but can't get through the garage to find my sketch books. Yes, I could go buy more, but that's the thinking that has us owning four battery chargers, three packs of printable business cards, etc. etc. Even if I could find them, there's no clear space to work on. I love to cross stitch but chaos is such a time stealer that there is no time. I love building Legos with my son, but even his Lego table is piled high.

Give your kids chores they say.

It's to the point where that isn't an easy solution. I feel like I need to get it under control before implementing chores and such in order to maintain it. I wouldn't even know where to begin making them help.

Then it comes back to the depression and anxiety diagnoses. It's like I'm stuck in an evil loop. One day I wake up feeling like I got this. Full of energy and ambition. Then just when I get on a roll, I come crashing down. It's all very frustrating.

I beat myself up over it a lot. I feel like I'm failing my family. I have a lot of excuses. Shit, I got a job last year because I felt like such a failure as a SAHM. I know it's mostly in my imagination, but I feel like the world (or at the very least, my neighborhood) is judging me. I cringe any time I need to open my garage door. If someone comes to my front door I quickly step onto the porch and pull the door shut.

My kids want friends to come over but I rarely let them.  A friend of my son's (the son of a friend) once asked, "Why is your house so dirty?" I laughed (my trusty defense mechanism) and said, "Because I'm not good at keeping it clean." His mom manages to keep a beautiful and neat, while still looking lived in, home. *sigh*

People who aren't like me don't get it. Just throw it out. Just make your family help. Just do a little each day. Just...just...just...it's enough to make me want to scream.

And now we've added a toddler to the mix with my grand daughter coming to live with us. Added to the downstairs' mess is three large boxes, three trash bags of clothes, two toy boxes, and a pack-n-play. 

I've been up since 5. I should have cleaned the kitchen rather than getting on the computer, the toddler will be up soon. Maybe I have time to do it before she wakes up. Maybe I'll have another cup of coffee.

I made a list.

Wednesday is the last day at my job.  My boss has no spouse or kids and wanted to know what I was going to do with all my free time.  After getting over my laughter, I'm making a list of what a typical day consists of with my kids and hubby (with or without an outside job)...

1. Laundry
2. 2 hours a day looking for shit I can't find in this mess
3. 20 minutes explaining to the boy why chips don't count as breakfast when fried potatoes do
4. Another 20 convincing him that he can not spend another whole day in nothing but underwear
5. FACEBOOK
6. 1 hour looking for my family's shit that they can't find in this mess
7. PTA duties that I've been flaking on (I'm the Labels for Education and Box Tops coordinator, now also PTA historian)
8. Laundry
9. 3 hours arguing with my children
10. 3 more hours repeating myself
11. FACEBOOK
12. 1 hour looking around at the mess and wondering where to start
13. 10 hours procrastinating
14. 2 hours walking dogs and picking up poop
15. 30 minutes in the bathroom, pretending to poop so they'll leave me alone
16. Two words: SOCCER SEASON
17. 30 minutes, 4 times a day, trying to decide what to make for dinner.
18. FACEBOOK.
19. 30 minutes looking for matching socks.
20. Laundry
21. 15 minutes screaming for someone to bring me a roll of toilet paper
22. 93 minutes trying to get my kids to brush their teeth
23. Another 37 trying to convince the 9 year old to stop talking so he can fall asleep
24. FACEBOOK
25. Once school starts back up there will be 5 hours and 24 minutes spent fighting my child to do his 30 minutes of homework
26. 2 hours of reading in 5 minute spurts between all the rest of this crap (current book:  book 5 of Game of Thrones)
27. FACEBOOK

I know there's more but I gotta, you know, go find something to do with all my free time...

Whatever will I do with myself?

I have worked at a large retailer since January 2013 (hint: I wear a lot of red and khaki).  Last week I put in my two week notice, my last day is the 16th.  I actually love my job but since life has seen fit to make me a 40 year old in a 70 year old's body (herniated disk, osteoarthritis, degenerative disk disease-yay me), the pay off is no longer worth the pain.

Anyway, yesterday was the first time I had seen our store manager since putting in my notice.  She is a twenty-something, unmarried, no-kid-having woman.  When I saw her at the beginning of my 7 hour shift she exclaimed, "I'm so sad!  Why are you leaving us?"  So I explained the state of my body and how I'm spending my time off just recovering from working.  I told her that I was thinking about finishing school and returning when my kids are older, when I could be high enough up the food chain that the job wouldn't be so physical (those who have never worked retail have no idea just how physical a job it is).  She encouraged me to do just that, that she always expected me to go far with the company.

So I went through my shift, working my ass off.  I have a few projects on my plate that I am determined to finish before my last day.  Near the end of my shift, I saw her on the sales floor.  She asked me how my day was going.  I told her the things I had been working on.  Then her eyes got wide and she asked, "OMG, what are you going to do with all your free time??"  (Remember-20 something, no spouse, no kids)

Then before I could stop myself, I began laughing hysterically.  She looked at me like I'd grown a second head.

When I finally got control of myself, I simply told her, "No worries, I have plenty to keep me busy."

I almost started giving her a run-down of the things that would keep me from the bonbons and Netflix life she thinks I'll be embarking on next week, but decided against it.  Some day, when she's married with kids, with her full-time management gig, she will look around at her messy house, undone laundry, etc. and remember her asinine question and think, "Holy shit, no wonder she laughed like a mad woman."

But, at least for the first few days, I foresee catching up on Game of Thrones on my to-do list.  Netflix and bonbons, here I come.

Structure and direction

When your brain is dealing with things like depression, anxiety, ADD, and OCD, it needs a lot of structure and direction.  I'm pretty sure this is why I excelled in the Navy and fail miserably at home.  My brain is usually all over the place, lost for where to start or where to go to next.  Clutter and chaos is the name of the game.  And I gotta tell ya, I hate it.  It drives my anxiety up and my lows even lower.  I know I'll never live a minimalist life (although I think it would be ideal) but I think I have finally found at least the direction I need in a blog I stumbled across a couple of weeks ago.  Slow Your Home is a blog about simplifying your life.  It's about everything from decluttering to knowing you're enough.  Brooke McAlary keeps it simple.  I need simple.  Anyway, from her blog I learned she had a Facebook group for an annual decluttering challenge so I ran right over to join up.  It's exactly what I needed.  Someone to break it down, give me lists, tell me where to go next.  The members share their challenges and triumphs and are incredibly encouraging to one another.  

Baby steps.  Baby steps are good.  I have a bad habit of diving into things headfirst with enough gusto for 10 people then burning out and giving up.  I started with the January challenges even though it was June because it's always best to begin at the beginning.  

The first thing on the list was kitchen drawers and boy, were mine a mess.  We had the ever present junk drawer (although 2 or 3 of them could have qualified for the title) and one we thought it was funny to call the danger drawer.  I did not count the number of items removed but it was A LOT.

Guess which one is the danger drawer?

I'm discovering that slow and steady not only wins the race, it helps real change occur and stick, so I spread the process out and only did a couple of drawers a day.

I found this cool, in drawer knife block at Target.  It is no longer called the danger drawer.

 

 And this is no longer a junk drawer.

This is so crazy to me.  I have never lived in a house without a junk drawer.  I proudly showed my husband and he joked, "Well, it's kinda useless as a junk drawer now."  I punched him in the arm, he laughed and told me it was awesome and good job.  Sadly, my psyche and ego need lots of atta-boys.  It's been almost a week and I still open it occasionally just to look at it.  I spied the tray out in the mess in the garage and put it to use.  I have a small box of things that I removed and will give a permanent home to once the garage gets done (I finally have hope that some day it will actually be a functioning garage).  I plan on adding divider trays to the utensil drawers once I decide on and find the ones I want to use.

The next thing on the January challenge list was medicine cabinets.  This was an easy one and only took about 15 minutes.  I removed 27 items to the trash can.  The next day I pulled out 2 bottles of perfume and 2 of cologne that I can't remember not being in our medicine cabinets.  Not sure why I've resisted throwing them out for years except that they weren't cheap to begin with and it seemed a waste.  Which is a really dumb mindset considering they were just going to waste while taking up space.  If I had found them a new home while they still smelled good, they wouldn't have gone to waste.

 

 

Please note that there is a proper way to dispose of medications.  I purchased postage-paid envelopes to send them to a place that handles them at Walgreens for around $3.

Today I will clean out my purse and my car and since I don't have an entry way, January's challenges will have been met.  The next set will be a little tougher as they include the bathrooms, the laundry room, and the utility closet.

Remember, slow and steady is the way to not giving up and real change.  

I had the meanest parents ever.

I had the meanest parents ever.  Like, they made me do chores  and get good grades and *gasp* eat what was put in front of me.  When I was about 10, my younger brothers weren't doing well in school so my mean-o dad threw out the TV.  I don't remember EVER having dessert after dinner (there was the occasional trip for an ice cream cone but I don't remember those things ever having a place in our kitchen).  The only cereals I remember are Cheerios, Rice Krispies, and Corn Chex (I do, however, remember Count Chocula, Franken-Berry, and Boo-Berry around Halloween).  I had ONE Lego set growing up (still have it but it's been absorbed by the 1000's that my children own) and a handful of Barbies (although I did have the Barbie mansion and silver corvette-best Christmas EVER).  I had ONE Strawberry Shortcake doll (still have her, she is/was so lonely).  However, I did have all the books and drawing paper I wanted, and about a gazillion stuffed animals.  I don't remember ever having to be told to do my homework because I just knew if I didn't there would be hell to pay.  

When I became a mom at the ripe ol' age of 18, I swore I would never be a mean parent.  

Sadly, it took until I was a 40 year old grandmother to realize that none of the things mentioned above were what made my parents mean.  We really were one helluva dysfunctional family, but not because of the reasons I thought all those years ago.  We're still dysfunctional, I have zero relationship with my brothers (I even have one of them and their baby-momma blocked on Facebook) and one that's barely beyond the occasional "Happy Birthday" and "Merry Christmas" with my mother.  My dad and I are ok now that we've both grown up a bit.  Yes, it's sad and I might regret it someday, but I spent many years eaten up by it and decided it just wasn't worth the one-sided effort anymore.  I'm a firm believer that blood does not make family and I've moved past it.

Anywho, I believe that qualifies as digression...

I love my children dearly, and they really are good kids, but they are lazy with  a capital L.  The 21 year old has flown the coop with her own daughter, the ones at home are 9 and 12.  We've never established chores for them, I only buy sugar cereals (ok, not ONLY because the 9 year old's favorite is special K), they have enough toys for 20 kids (and a path from their door to their bed), they're horrified if there isn't something for dessert, and every bedroom in the house has it's own TV, video game console and DVD player.  Now before you go saying "what spoiled brats!", let me reiterate-they are good kids.  They don't talk back (the eldest did/does but now that she's an adult I just tell her to shut the hell up), they argue very rarely and I can count on one hand the number of times one has hit or otherwise physically accosted the other, they do decent in school.  They really are sweet kids, kind and giving, and good friends.  HOWEVER, I have had enough of doing EVERY SINGLE THING around this house.  I just can't keep up.  And having worked for the past year and a half with a lot of young people who have absolutely no work ethic, I am now realizing the error of my parenting ways.  

Something's gotta change.  Something IS going to change.  I can't barrel into it headfirst and without thought or I will fizzle and not stick with it.  My plan is to sit down with them and come up with chores that are appropriate for their ages.  Then we'll discuss an allowance of sorts.  Then I'll hit up Pinterest for a fun "chore chart".  Any parents with known, working systems, I welcome and value your input.

But first, I'm going to go clean the kitchen.

I had a clutter epiphany.

It dawned on me last night that clutter isn't always a physical object.  Sometimes it's mental, sometimes it's from cyber-space.

I live in a neighborhood that thinks it is so cool that it has numerous Facebook pages.  Two basic groups for the neighborhood (the admin of the second page didn't get along with the admin from the first page so she made her own), one for "dirty laundry", a mom's group, a couple of food groups (I actually admin one of those), some of the individual areas have their own, and so forth and so on.  I left the dirty laundry page last year because it just disgusted me the way people treated each other.  

I have recently come to the conclusion that I hate living here, which sucks because this area is actually pretty awesome and I do love my house.  I don't post very much on the neighborhood Facebook pages but I do check them out every day or so (sometimes there's good info).  Last night I went over to the one I look at most and was upset by a post someone made.  It dawned on me that, more often than not, I am either annoyed by or get hurt feelers from what is posted there.  Yes, I know this is stupid and that I shouldn't take things personally, but I also know that this is a flaw of mine that I have not mastered yet.  This post was a picture of a garage crammed with crap (obviously a stock photo from somewhere and not an actual photo from an unsuspecting neighbor's garage).  It was accompanied by a rant about jerks who fill their garages with crap instead of parking in them, thus adding to the parking issues in the neighborhood.  I get it, our CCRs (don't know what it stands for but it's a 5 inch thick binder of rules and regulations we're supposed to follow in exchange for the privilege of living in an over-priced house here) state that our garages must be able to accommodate the number of cars it is specified for, but there is no need to throw out a blanket insult/accusation to those of us that don't have perfectly organized garages.  

Do you think I enjoy having a garage cram-jammed with shit?  No, I do not.  As a matter of fact, sometimes just thinking about it is enough to give me an anxiety attack.  You have no idea why someone's garage is not useable for its intended use.  Maybe someone's parent just died and they're having to store things while they figure out what to do.  Maybe they're letting a friend who lost their home stay with them and that's their stuff taking up the space.  Maybe, like me, they are fighting mental illness and desperately trying to get a handle on things.  YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT SOMEONE IS GOING THROUGH.  I get it, you're pissed because our cluttered garages are against the rules.  It is our fault that the parking situation here sucks (never mind the dumb asses who came up with this "master plan").  However, I do have to wonder, if your garage is perfect and you park in it, why are you crying about the parking?

Anyway, the point of this rant was the epiphany I had regarding non-physical clutter.  I don't need it in my life any more than I need all the crap taking up my garage.  I sat there for a good 10 minutes looking at the "leave group" button.  Ugh, what if I miss something?  What if, what if, what if…then I clicked it.  Then I went through my list of Facebook groups and reevaluated every one I belong to.  And I left a lot of them.  And it felt good.  Like as good as it feels when I drop off a car load of crap at the Goodwill.  

Maybe now that I'm not subjecting myself to a good chunk of the stuff that I don't like about living here I'll remember why I was so excited to move here in the first place.

Why is THAT shocking, but not THAT?

This has been bugging me since 6:30 am this morning.  I had to work at 4 am.  Since the store was closed and we were working as a team, we took our 6:30 am break together.  Someone had a televised sermon on the break room tv.  I didn't mind.  The preacher had a nice voice (you know, one of those soothing preacher voices) and it was a good message (make your own path, don't let others dictate how you live).  It made me think of church, which made me think of how we don't attend church, which made me think of how every Sunday the boy gets disappointed when none of his friends are home to play because they're all at church.

I mentioned this out loud.  The coworker sitting next to me said, "You don't go to church??"  Strangely, because I would never imagine she would be the church-going type, her voice seemed all judge-y to me.

"No, we don't."

The conversation ended at that and moved on to work related things.  I mentioned that I wish I could just once catch someone stealing something (every shift I find oodles of ripped open packages, hidden among other items).  The judge-y coworker asked me why.

"Because I would like to punch them in the throat."  I responded very matter-of-fact.

"Whoa, that bothers you?"  Was her response.

"Yeah, it enrages me."

"Really?"

"Yes, really.  I HATE thieves."

At one point she kind of chuckled and stated something along the lines of, "I'm pretty sure we've all done it."

Um, no. I'm pretty sure we haven't all done it.  Well, honestly, I think I remember stealing a lighter when I was about 12 to smoke a cigarette that a friend had stolen.  But I don't remember feeling good about it and I never did it again.

Anyway, I can't get this out of my head.  She's surprised and judge-y about me not going to church but thinks stealing is ok and shouldn't bother me?  WTF is wrong with that picture?  Does anyone else think that is crazy?

I'm giving my all to all the wrong people.

I've been home from work for 2 hours and I haven't moved far from where I sat down when I got here.

I work for a large retailer and during my last 15 minute break of my 7 hour shift today, something sad occurred to me:  I give much more of myself to the strangers in my life than I do to my own family. For 25-35 hours a week I bust my ass to be the nicest, most charming, funny, and helpful sales associate to strangers who could mostly give a crap as long as I help them find what they want.  I do my best to listen to their needs, to not annoy them in a stalker-ie (-y?) sales associate way, and to let them know that I genuinely care (and I honestly do).

But the second I clock out, all that goes out the window and all that's left is exhaustion. I find myself not even wanting to engage in anything. My children try to talk to me and I find myself only sort of listening, asking "huh?" or telling my sweet son when he asks a question or otherwise expects a response, "I'm sorry honey, say that again."

I don't want the best of me to be left at the time clock.  What good is it being a rock star at work if there's nothing left for my family?  The truth is, at work I can hide.  I can hide from all the things that press down on me when I'm not on the clock.  The bills, the chores, the unfinished degree, the clutter, the traveling husband, my daughter's less than stellar grades, the adult daughter's woes as a single mom, the unrealized dreams, the disabling feelings of failure, and so on and so forth.  I can even suck up my chronic physical pain and plaster a smile on my face.  Home is my safe place to turn inward and, for lack of a better word, sulk.

Omg, that's what depression has turned me into, a big bag of sulk.  I sit here and sulk.  I brood about everything I hate about my life and want to change but don't ever change anything.  In my 20's I vehemently declared, "I regret nothing!!"  But now that I'm 40 there's so much I regret that I'm paralyzed by my woulda, shoulda, couldas.  I need help. I guess that's a start, admitting that putting on this front is slowly killing me. It's hard to admit to being a train wreck without my usual humorous defense mechanisms to cover just how much it hurts.

But, like I so often do, I digress...

Back to the realization that I give the best part of me to strangers instead of my family.  My family deserves better.  They deserve my smiles.  They deserve, more than anyone, my efforts to give them the me that listens, that smiles, that is there for them.  It's not their fault that I feel defeated and unworthy because they really do nothing but lift me up.  They deserve for me to get help and give them the best me I can be.

I think that I've never made time for blogging, for writing, because I was always so hung up on wanting it to be funny all the time.  I want to make people laugh.  I want it to be rainbows and unicorns.  But like my blog description says, this is a journey to find peace for myself, and I'm never going to do that if I don't admit to and face the darkness within.  

So if you don't like the darkness that comes before the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, better walk away now.

Is there any bigger waste of time than the last week of school?

I guarantee that 99.9% of parents of school-age children have wondered this. The other .01% are just, well, delusional.

My kids' last day of school is this Friday. They quit doing homework a week ago. The 7th grader has turned in all her books. Attendance awards were given out today.

So why in the hell do I have to suffer through bedtime for the rest of this week? I'm ready to toss away all pretense of being super mom and let my children stay up until they pass out in order to avoid bedtime. My kids are pretty darn good kids right up until the words "It's time to get ready for bed" pass my lips, then all hell breaks loose and they turn into demon spawn.

You know teachers are thinking the same damn thing.  They're just as sick of our kids as we are of fighting the homework fight and pretending like our kids have an 8 pm bedtime.

I'd keep them home for the rest of the week but if I have to get up for work, I may as well be dragging their asses out of bed also.

One Nation Under God...

God is not what makes me a decent human being.

Yes, I believe in God. And Jesus. Yes, when asked what my religion is, I answer "Christian". It's what I grew up with. I rode the Sunday school bus when I was a kid. I belonged to Awanas. Shoot, I even went to a Christian private school from Kinder to 4th grade (when it became too expensive for my mechanic dad and lunch lady mom).

In light of our nation (and world) being in the toilet, I've seen the above meme pop up on social media more and more. I have never, nor will I ever, share it because quite honestly, I don't believe it is the answer to our problems.

I'll say it again, God is not what makes me a decent human being. Being a Christian is not a requirement of being a good person. You do not have to be a Christian to choose to do the right thing. It does not make you kind or forgiving. You may be a kind and forgiving person who happens to be a Christian, but there are plenty of Christians out there who are not kind or forgiving. As a matter of fact, I have a couple of atheist friends who are top-notch, good people.

"It's the Christian thing to do" is a bunch of hooey, a cop-out. Being a decent person is not the Christian thing to do. It's the right thing to do, whether you're Christian, Mormon, Muslim, Jewish, Atheist, whatever.

We need to become one nation under God again.

Um, no we don't. We need to become one nation who teaches their children how to be decent human beings. We need to heal the disconnect that we have with one another. We need to get our noses out of our smart phones and cultivate real relationships. We need to support parents disciplining their children. We need to not hand everyone a trophy just for showing up. We need to give out F's again so that kids understand that they're failing and need to try harder instead of worrying about hurting their feelings. We need to quit handing our children every damn thing they desire and teach them the importance of a work ethic. We need to teach respect for life, all life. We need to teach that it's ok to feel down sometimes, that we can ask for help or cry every once in a while. We need to defeat the stigma of mental illness. Because it DOES exist. We need to make it ok to be disappointed every once in a while.

We need to become one nation under God again.

Um, no we don't. This country was founded by people who were tired of being persecuted for their religious beliefs. They wanted to be free to worship how they see fit. To me, that also covers the right to NOT worship.

And while I wholly support the Pledge of Allegiance in schools, I also support your child quietly, and respectfully, standing there while others recite it. Did you know that while the Pledge of Allegiance was composed in 1892, the words "under God" weren't added until 1954? And honestly, I wouldn't be opposed to them being removed (gasp). Being a Christian isn't a requirement of being patriotic any more than it's a requirement of being a decent person.

There, I've been thinking it for a while now but was just too worried about upsetting friends, etc. to share my opinion. But I'm trying not to worry about that anymore, because if you're truly my friend, you'll still be my friend when we have a difference of opinion.

What's the point of life? Of loving something?

My 9 year old son asked me this last night with tears in his eyes.

Our 13 year old cat, Psycho, was diagnosed with renal failure 4 months ago. This past Monday he took a turn for the worst. Last night I told my kids that it was time to let him go, he was in obvious pain. The 12 year old knew what I meant and accepted it, but I had to explain a little to the 9 year old. That's when he asked me what the point of living and loving was if everything just dies.

We are heartbroken. I got Psycho through questionable circumstances (long, funny story) when I was pregnant with our 12 year old. We have many happy memories of loving our kitty. He was such a crazy cat. If he had been able to, I'm sure his favorite thing would've been flipping us off. For most of his life he weighed around 24 lbs. My big, fat, crazy, Psycho kitty. But I digress...

So what's the point of life? Of loving something? I'd like to think that I made my son feel better with my answer.

The point of life IS to love. Sadly, all life must end, but while it's here the point is to love completely and fiercely. To love unconditionally. No strings attached, no questions asked. Whether it's loving a person or an animal, love them with all you've got. Embrace everything that love brings. All the happiness, the smiles, and the laughter, the tears and the anger (because, admit it, there's always, sometimes that)-love it all. Don't be afraid of the hurt it might bring someday down the line because, trust me, if it does bring you pain someday, it will heal and leave behind something amazing.

Come to think of it, it doesn't even have to be a person or an animal. I'm not saying to declare your fierce love for an object, etc. I say that because love is what gives us a passion for something. Love to draw? Draw with all your heart! Love to sing? Sing it from your heart and sing it loud! Love to run? Then by all means run! Love to write? Then get writing (or blogging lol)!

Without love, there would be nothing. LIFE would be nothing. It would be just a big-o bag of boring loneliness. Empty. Useless and worthless.

Psycho, you were one cool cat and I am so glad I had you to love for so long. You will be missed.

They do what they see.

The 3rd grade boy brought home the PTA newsletter today. Under upcoming events, the annual music festival that is hosted at the 7th grade girl's school was listed. The girl is in a guitar class at school.

*DEEP BREATH*
"Hey, are you a part of this music festival at your school THIS Saturday?"

"Oh yeah, I keep forgetting to give you the flyer."

*digs around in binder* "Here it is."

"How long have you had this flyer?"

*sheepish look* "Ummmmmmmm..."

"How LONG?"

*mumbling* "A week or so."

"Dang it child! I'm supposed to work all day Saturday. I could've taken the day off!"

"It's not required. I don't have to go." (Translation: I don't have to go but I really, really want to.)

"I'll try to get someone to work for me." 

(Because I need another reason to receive the Mother of the Year Award and feel guilty for working.)

"Thanks mom."

It's really hard to get mad at your child when whatever behavior they have exhibited is something you recognize as being something directly learned from you. And this is exactly something I would do and have done. There are so many of my own personality traits, habits and behaviors that I can't stand. That I constantly make excuses for. Sadly, I'm seeing my children exhibit them more and more. They're lazy, they're procrastinators, they're multi-starters. It's my fault and it bums me out.

On the other hand, maybe this realization is the kick in the ass I need to make some change with myself.

Screw you...no wait, come back...

Clinical depression is a fickle bitch. One minute you're high as a kite, making big plans to conquer the world. The next you're a failure, fighting back the tears. There really isn't much middle ground. And it's exhausting. It's so much easier to just go with it, to do nothing or sleep (or it would be if I didn't have kids). Throw in some chronic physical pain and it really sucks (get my MRI results in June). Sprinkle in some ADHD and, well, you get the picture. I have so much guilt for what my depression puts my family through and yet I am so thankful that I have them. If I didn't have my husband and kids (and friends!), goodness knows where I would be.

Most people don't have a clue what it's like to live with something like depression. They don't understand. I joke. A lot. I hear I'm pretty damn funny. And I wear my funny like a shield. I joke about being lazy, being a procrastinator, being a multi-starter. But in reality, I'm none of these things. It's just that some times, most times, I just feel lost and/or overwhelmed. Some times, like today, I wake up with so many plans (paint the hallway) but things don't go exactly as I envisioned and next thing I know I'm down in the dumps again. Most times I can't even explain how I feel and I certainly can't tell you why I feel the way I do. Don't tell me to cheer up. Don't tell me to get over it. I'm not upset because my favorite TV show got cancelled and I don't have any control over it. If I seem grumpy or distant, just let me be. It's not you and this too shall pass. If you're my friend, just accept that this is a part of me and be there.  Don't give up on inviting me to things. Don't take my moods personal. If you happen to be the one standing there when my flood gates open-just let me rant for a minute or two. Don't roll your eyes on my good days when I'm excited about my plans. Do just listen. Say something funny. Be snarky with me. I don't know, just let me be me.

Sometimes I think it must be frustrating to be my friend or my husband or even my kids. I haven't been on any kind of medication for over a year now and have decided that it's time to go back down that road. There are good days where I'm bouncing off the walls with excitement over my latest plan to paint the whole house in a day, or clean out the garage and have that massive garage sale I've been talking about for years. Or going back to school to finish those last 5 classes. Or finding my sketch books and finally finishing that portfolio for Marvel that I started 20 years ago. Or following through on any one of the many DIY projects that sit in the garage or a closet. Then there are the other days where I'm standoffish, maybe quiet or tired or snarky and just a tiny bit mean. Those are the days that I'm struggling. Struggling to hide that what I really want to do is cry myself to sleep. The days where every failure, past-present-and future, are trying to suffocate me. That's when regret and what-ifs smother the joy I should be having from this amazing life I do have. Because I know my life is amazing. Don't you dare think that I don't.

(Sorry, this just made me chuckle)

The Pinterest and the Popcorn

So a few weeks ago I got this crazy idea that I wanted to send my boy to school on Valentine's Day with something more than the standard store-bought cards and cookies. I had dreams of hand-made cards and home-made baked goods. Then I found the perfect treat on Pinterest. Super easy and kind of fun to make (it's a sticky mess lol). I never got around to the home-made cards, but he's definitely taking a special Valentine to his friends. This is the pin I came across:

Source: shewearsmanyhats.com via Kelli on Pinterest

It was so pretty and looked so yummy that I decided then and there that I was going to make it for Bam's class. I crossed my fingers that it would actually link to something and clicked on the pin. It took me to a wonderful blog called She Wears Many Hats by a woman named Amy Johnson. She calls it Party Popcorn and has all kinds of fun ideas for it.

I followed her directions and used Orville Redenbacher's, Natural Simply Salted and the

Wilton Candy Melts from Michael's.

I popped the popcorn and melted the candy according to their package directions. Then the fun part came. I mixed it with my hands in a large bowl and laid it out on parchment paper to dry.

It was dry enough to handle (but still sticky) in about 30-45 minutes.

It was too much of a mess to try and get the popcorn into balls so I just scooped it into the cute Valentine bags that I had found at the Dollar Tree.



I had Bam sign the back of the cards, punched a hole in them and used curling ribbon to secure the cards and the bags.

I do need to point out that two bags of popped corn and one bag of candy melts only made 8 of these cute little bags. Since I need 30 of these, I will be making a trip to Michael's in the morning for more candy melts (it's always a bummer to HAVE to go to Michael's).

I may buy enough to make some to keep at home.

Big, bang fizzle...

So my blog really started out like a fire cracker, a big BOOM...and then a fizzle...

I've been doing so many things that are actually blog worthy that I haven't had time to blog about them (this is a good thing). I still have lots of unfinished projects, such as the boy's Lego table (just have to glue the bases on), the Craigslist china hutch (have the primer, will probably get the paint tomorrow), and the ongoing saga of my decluttering (in my defense, this is a HUGE project and I have made 4 thrift store dumps in the past month).

In the midst of all this I have gotten a J.O.B. That's right, I'm a workin' woman now. It just so happens that the job is at one of my all time favorite places-Tarjay. Yes, I am one of THEM:

I work in the logistics department on the flow team. For all you lay persons out there, I'm a stock person. It's not nearly as glamorous as it sounds but, believe it or not, I enjoy it. I've always enjoyed (mostly) physical labor and I really am just using it as a means to get my foot in the door at a company that I would like to work for.

I managed to pull off a baby shower for my eldest daughter who is expecting my first grandbaby in April. It's still so bizarre to think that I'm going to be a grandma but it's all good, I'm going to be the coolest grandma this world has ever seen.

 

For the baby shower I actually followed through on some cute Pinterest ideas:

 



 

This is a Wishing Tree. See the cute zebra tag hanging on the left? Guests left wishes for the baby on them and hung them on the tree. They will go in her baby book as a reminder of all the awesome friends who came and their wishes for her. All I did was spray paint a branch the gardeners had chopped off and put it in a pot I wasn't using. The pink stuff around the bottom of it is Easter basket filler from Joann's (not the grass stuff, the kids actually thought it was cotton candy lol).

 

 

The cheetah print water bottles are just Arrowhead bottles wrapped with Duct tape from Target.

While I didn't follow through on ALL the cool things I wanted to do for the shower, we had a good time and I count it as a success.

 

 

Another big success that has happened over the past three weeks is that I finally have the boy sleeping in his own bed. Those of you who know me and him, you know this is huge. The hubby is always traveling for work so I've always just caved and let the kids crowd me out of my own bed. No more I tell ya!

 

Well, since I don't have to work tomorrow I can let myself stay up and waste time on the internet (love that place). Now that I've gotten my blog fix, I hear a dumb Facebook game calling my name.

 

Peace out.

30 day organizing challenge.

This is just a quick post about a 30 day organizing your home challenge that I found on a really cool blog that I intend to visit often. The blog is called Design Build Love (it's a husband/wife team) and you can find it HERE.

Because I have such a hard time focusing on and finishing things (adult ADHD anyone?), I've learned that I do a lot better when someone gives me a list of directions and goals (I guess that's why I did so well in the Navy lol).

I'll post updates on my progress to hold myself accountable.

75 minutes of other things...

I told you I'd let you know how the 75 minutes of decluttering in the garage and master bedroom went today so here it is....

It didn't.

And I have to admit that I'm ok with that because I accomplished other things and I'm trying to focus on what I have accomplished rather than what I have not. I finished the PTA newsletter to be printed and given to teachers on Monday. I made it most of the way through a giant bag of crap (papers, receipts, etc.) that has been mocking me for at least two months. I made it to three stores to return things I bought for Christmas presents but realized it was overkill while I was wrapping things Christmas Eve (to the tune of $85). I used my Toys R Us rewards bucks before they expired for Brandon's birthday present ($11!). I do have to go back to Toys R Us tomorrow to use the $6 that is good starting tomorrow (using it for a $6 green Lego base plate). I scored a Lego Creationary expansion pack for $1.98 while there. I cleaned the kitchen. I cooked dinner (HUGE). I picked up a great, all wood, coffee table I found on Craigslist for $30. For Brandon's birthday present I am making him a DIY Lego table. I am super excited about this and can't wait to give it to him. I'm going to do it Monday while he's at school (stay tuned for a tutorial blog post). Tomorrow is going to be pretty busy (XMA at 10 am, Tastefully Simple party at 2 pm) but I think I should be able to squeeze in some garage time.  All in all, today was a good day.

I just spent 15 minutes trying to find a quote that I thought I had pinned on Pinterest that is one of my new mantras in life. It went something like "Look to how far you have come rather than to how far you still have to go." I really think this has been one of my problems, one of my "mental blocks" to accomplishing or finished things. I'm always overwhelmed by how much there's left to do instead of focusing on how much I have done. Not any more dammit. I will always be a clutter bug, I will probably always be a procrastinator but no longer will I be a "multi-starter". I have come far and I will continue to move forward.

The storm before the calm...

You wouldn't know by looking at my house that I have been working on clearing things out and getting rid of all the unloved clutter because this house is a mess with a capital M! 

Luckily, I'm still holding on to my motivation.

As I looked around at the mess this evening while making dinner, fighting with the 2nd grader about homework, switching out the laundry, cleaning the cat box, and all the lovely activities that lead up to bedtime it dawned on me that I am going in way too many directions at the same time. Last week I started pulling the piles of stuff that have been thrown into the master bedroom closet over the past few months and now there are piles of stuff all over my room. Granted they're mostly sorted and ready to put away or get rid of piles but they're piles nonetheless. In the kitchen I've started pulling things out of cupboards and drawers and putting them into the same kind of piles all over the counters. The dining room table is various piles of paperwork and craft stuff that I'm in the middle of sorting. My office, aka. the front room, is, well...let's not go there just yet.

I hate to admit it but I am beginning to clearly see why 

my husband calls me a "multi-starter". 

I NEED TO FOCUS.

One thing that absolutely has to get worked on is the garage. I'm not talking completely empty, with all my dream shelves and labeled tote boxes, I just need everything in neat stacks and pushed to the walls for now to make room for my fabulous and FREE Craigslist find that I'm picking up on Tuesday.          I can't be specific because it's a surprise for the hubby and who knows if he might sneak over to read my blog (yeah right but better safe than sorry). So tomorrow, after coffee with the principal and what feels like a thousand errands, I vow to spend at least 1 hour in the garage tomorrow. I should be able to spend more time than that but the one useful thing I used while being a Mary Kay lady is 

"under promise and over deliver".

I will also commit to spending 15 minutes in my bedroom, working on the piles in there. 

This post is getting too long and I'm getting to tired. 

I'll let you know tomorrow how the 75 minutes I just committed to "decluttering" goes.

BTW-I'm going to bed with a dirty kitchen. Pbbbt!

I may need to print this out and display it in my kitchen for some extra motivation.