Dan at Single Dad Laughing wrote a post on perfection, or really the act of showing how imperfect we really are. Being real. It’s hard for a lot of us to be real. I know I’ve struggled with it my entire life. Sometimes now? I think I’m too real. That maybe a part of me need to go back to pretending. That it’d be easier for those around me. I don’t know that it’s the answer either. Either way, today, I thought I’d show you all some of my imperfectness. If you’d like to share, that’d be great too.
I ignored all of the signs that my husband was unhappy in our marriage. I’m only really looking at it now, in therapy. Three weeks before our divorce is final. I think I believed that it would be okay, because we’d been together forever.
I used to picture us as little old people, hanging out on porch chairs together. Bugging our kids and grand-kids together. I didn’t look at today, because I was so focused on someday. Maybe if I’d looked at today a bit more, I’d still be married.
I put my kids in the hippy school, because it’s a great program, but I am so far from being a hippy that it’s almost funny. I guess it would be funnier if I wasn’t secretly judging the parents. I don’t fit in, that has been made clear over and over and over again. To hide the fact that it hurts, I judge them and their hippy ways, in my head.
Some days I get sad when no one comments on posts. Some days I wonder why I bother with comments at all, since it’s almost a physical need for me to write.
A woman at BlogHer09 told me that she didn’t believe a parenting blog, with fake names and no photos, was a real blog. Someone I really admired basically told me I wasn’t a real writer because I don’t post photos. I’ve let that comment haunt me for over a year. Even though I spoke at the keynote that year and heard tons of lovely things said about me and my post, that one comment is what stuck with me.
I work at home. Yet every time one of the girls has a school field trip, I feel guilty that I can’t take time to be a part of it. I work contract. I only get paid for hours I work. Yet I hate that I have to make the decision to support us, instead of going to downtown day, going to the museum or attending field day.
I over think. To the point where I sometimes give myself panic attacks. I try not too, but I do. Some nights I don’t sleep at all, because I can’t stop thinking. It’s easy for others to tell me to just think of lovely pretty things, in fact sometimes people do. They don’t have my brain though. They haven’t lived through some of the things I have. Some of those things are horrible. Things that haunt me, give me nightmares, taunt me and make me well…over think. If I had an off switch, I swear I’d use it.
I say things in the heat of the crazy, that I don’t even mean. I know some people say, you wouldn’t say it if you didn’t mean it. With me, it’s when my head is so crazy that I truly say things I don’t mean.
I suffer from Depression. I’ve had a few good months. In fact, I’ve gone about four months now, which is the longest it’s been in years between bouts of it. I also know, it’s not really gone.
I’m not very good with my money. I was when I had more. I’m just not now.
I do not like cooking. It’s too much work. It doesn’t come natural too me.
I’m sarcastic.
I’m lazy.
I don’t care if my house is super clean. It’s clean enough. It’s semi-presentable. But it’s also very lived in. I have three children under nine years old. I’m a single mom. I have a long haired seven year old Australian Shepard that sheds everywhere. I don’t mind lived in. I don’t care if your house is spotless. I don’t judge others for that. I just don’t see a need for it.
I watch too much TV and I play on Twitter way too much. I honestly don’t care to change that. Not at this point in my life.
I wish more than anything that I lived in California. I feel like I settled with Logan too easily on that. I feel like I should have fought the decision that was made for me. I hate myself for giving up at the time that I did, because I’m not sure I can make it here.
I trust people too easily in some respects. I say things I shouldn’t and then I’m made out to be the asshole in a situation gone bad. Sometimes it is my fault. I can be an asshole. Sometimes it’s not my fault.
I feel guilty for things beyond my control. I apologize for things that I perceive I did wrong, whether I did or not.
I don’t like confrontation. Friend. Family. It doesn’t matter. When I do it in a friend situation, I’m then done talking about it. That has lost me some friends. Because I’m too stubborn for my own dam good. When I don’t do it, when I should, that is just as bad.
I am terrified of dentists. To the point of just never going, even though I have major work needed right now.
I am scared I will be alone. I am scared I will never get to have another baby. Frankly, I am just scared.
I’m not perfect. Not by any means. I wonder if anyone really is? I wonder whose idea of perfection matters anyway? Who says they get to decide?
Yesterday was brutal. I am so thankful that it’s over. YAY TUESDAY!!!!! Ahem.
-We have one tooth!!!!! Only what, three more molars to go? Whatever, he slept and I in turn, slept too.
-The sleeping thing was really good. I tend to get a bit too spazzy and emotional and down right dumb with my thinking when I don’t sleep for days at a time. See above: yesterdays brutal comment.
-I am completely unimpressed by new television shows this season. Hopefully No Ordinary Family will be good tonight. The girls and I are really hoping. Luckily, the returning shows seem to be good.
-Did you guys see The Amazing Race? The watermelon catapult part? We were watching that on Sunday and Bailey says, look mama, it’s like they are playing Angry Birds in real life. I am still laughing at that. She’s a funny girl.
-We may have a serious Angry Bird addiction in my house.
-Every time I type the word are, on my iPhone, I first type ate. Then I have to go back and fix it. I don’t know if I just have fat fingers, or what the freaking problem is. But it annoys me. Mostly because it happens every single freaking time. In other news, I use the word are, a bit too often.
-My middle child, the oh so lovely Bailey, can’t seem to decide what she wants to be for Halloween. Every day she has a new idea. Some of them are completely off the wall. I am not capable of making her into an iPhone. Or a candy corn. Sorry baby girl, but mama only does store bought costumes. The rate she’s going though, she’ll get whatever is left at Target on October 30th.
-When I asked you all last week about cell phones, it was because I’ve been thinking about when to get Morgan one. Most of you said 13 or 14, which wasn’t really surprising. I used to say 12. Yet life has changed and we’ve had a few things happen, where I wished she had one now. That being said, I’ve decided to wait another year. Will I wait until she’s 10? Unlikely. Her dad and I are on a family plan. When his contract is up next summer, she will get his number and a phone. But for her 9th birthday, she’s probably getting the skateboard she wants.
-I was in line at Starbucks this morning, when a guy heard the barista say, you want the usual? After I told her yes please, he says man that must be embarrassing that they know your drink. My response was, no it’s nice and helpful actually. It makes me wonder about people though. I find it odd that he would think that somehow that is embarrassing. That they know my drink. Yet he seemingly finds nothing wrong with his 55 year old self, flirting with a 19 year old cashier. I’m the one who should be embarrassed? Yeah, I don’t think so. I’ve gone to the same Starbucks for years. They know my drink. They also know my kids names and their favorite drinks. That? Is just called good service.
-So? How’s your Tuesday going?
I have been trying to write a post for my tiny son, for almost a week now. It’s hard. Because I want it to be perfect and sweet and funny. Yet, he’s not sleeping, because of two year old molars, so in turn I’m not sleeping. It limits my ability to write coherently.
On Saturday, Harrison turned two. Which is just shocking too me. I don’t know how this keeps happening, this growing up thing. No matter what I do though, they just keep doing it.
I remember the day they told me he would be a boy. I remember it, like it was yesterday. I laughed and laughed and when the doctor asked me why, I said: been there, done that dude. The doctor was unaware of Bailey’s story, so I had to then explain. My doctor of course, said: oh no, this one really is a boy. She then again, showed me his parts on the little bitty screen. Okay doc, I said. The truth is, once you’ve had a delivery room surprise, you never believe it again. (Even now, six years later, when someone tells me, oh I’m having a girl…I still think well okay, sure, whatever.) It didn’t matter to me either way. Yet, I sensed he was a boy.
It seems like just yesterday he was a tiny newborn all cuddled on my shoulder. Now, I can only get him to cuddle at 2am. Which, sadly doesn’t really work for me. In fact, I’m really over the 2am thing. And the 4am thing.
Harrison is all boy. Complete boy. If there was a need for a picture and definition of all boy, he would be it. He is destructive, loud and dirty. In love with cars, trucks, balls and trains. He can throw a baseball farther than I ever will be able too. He is strong and sturdy. He eats absolutely everything. When he falls, he jumps back up and says, woooaaa cool. He can also be the sweetest, most loving child in the world.
He does this funny thing when he wants something. He gets this little smile, shows off one dimple and cocks his head. Then he says all sweetly, mama pwease? His eyes literally sparkle when he does this. It’s very hard to resist.
We play a game every night at dinner, on the nights that the kids are with me. It’s called High/Low. I stole it from a movie years ago. Around the time Morgan was born. We each say our high and low of the day. In the past few weeks Harrison has started adding in his own. Trains. Cars. MAYER!!! Swings. The park. Candy. Those are generally his highs. Nap, is every single day, his low. It cracks me up.
On Saturday, while we looked at trains with his cousin, I asked him how old he was today. Uhhhh mine fwur he said, holding up three fingers. Yeah, not quite buddy.
Oh my baby boy, you are not four. You are just two. Please slow down I want to tell him, but I know it does no good.
Blog broke yesterday. Longest hour ever.
All hail blog fixer Mommy Geekology.
New car has tire sensor. Nice.
Free screw removal service. Budget saved!
Sweetney’s post. Feeling not so alone.
Southwest Airlines, no flight change fee.
Fall weather. Fall TV. Fall food.
All of you, for sharing recipes.
Big Bang Theory, Thursday night laughs.
Warmer blankets on all our beds.
My kids, they make me laugh.
My baby boy in footy pjs.
Harrison’s last day, one years old.
Angry Birds. Three stars. Level nine.
Only nine more levels to go!
This post is brought to you by Van Morrison on my iPad and Six Word Fridays.
Did you know you could use breadcrumbs for more than just making meatballs?
I didn’t. Not until yesterday. Seriously. My best friends are still laughing at me, I’m pretty sure. I was shocked to learn it has other uses.
I am not what one would call a cooking type person. Meaning, I am just now learning how to cook. I have about four recipes that I’ve perfected over the years…three of which are my moms. What I mean is, I have four things I make well. I’m not joking. You may think I am, but I’m really, truly not. BBQ chicken. Spaghetti sauce. Chili. Chicken fajitas. Those are my four things. The rest of the time? We eat out. Or we eat cereal, grilled cheese, chicken quesadillas or breakfast for dinner. I am a big fan of it. The eating out.
Just so you know, my kids aren’t deprived. They eat tons of veggies and fruit. They are healthy, active kids. Their dad was the cook in the house. So…yeah. Moving on.
There is this whole budget thing I’m working on. So I’ve put a kibosh on eating out. Like at all. Which is sad, because I really enjoy eating out. By the way, I’ve failed at the budget this month…I’ll explain more on that another day though.
I’ve taking up cooking this month. It’s gone okay. I’ve made some good things. I’ve made some nasty things. Nights where we ate cereal are becoming a bit farther between though. I’m a work in progress. I have taken to scouring the internet for good, easy, semi-cheap recipies. I ask my best friends for ideas all the time. I send them recipes and ask, do you think I could make this? I’m surprised they are still talking to me.
This is where you all come in. I need help. I need ideas. As someone who has spent, oh my entire life avoiding cooking, this is hard for me. What do you cook? What are some easy recipes that you love? What are your standbys?
Things to know about me… I am eeeked out by raw chicken. The only way I will use it (and I do often) is boneless skinless chicken breasts. That being said, we eat mostly chicken. We do eat some fish. Although, I’m a complete fish brat…because I was raised near an ocean. Ahem. We also eat beef, but I know nothing about it.
I do not like soup.
I am not really a fan of things made in the crock pot. Normally. I do on occasion use it for spaghetti sauce or chili, if I know the evening will be crazy. Mostly it just takes up cupboard space.
I don’t believe I own a food processor anymore. I also do not have the money to buy one right now. If this cooking stuff works out, I’m sure I could ask my mommy for one for Christmas.
I have one kid who won’t eat pizza. One who won’t each chicken nuggets. Neither of the girls will eat Mac N Cheese in any form. The boy however will eat absolutely anything.
Am I a hopeless case?
It came up simply. Last night, while I was bathing Harrison, the girls happened upon the first two minutes of the news. They’d of turned it off, if the words hadn’t of caught their attention. The words being, Denver Bronco player, Kenny McKinley found dead. It made them stop on the channel and pay attention. Then they heard the word that I’d hoped to not have to explain for a few more years. See Kenny McKinley, twenty-three years old, second year player, wide receiver for the Denver Broncos? He took his own life yesterday. He shot himself.
Suicide. Last night, at bedtime no less, I had to explain suicide to my six and eight year old daughters.
The explanation I used was basically this: Our feelings and our thoughts come from inside our brain. Sometimes peoples thoughts inside their brain get really sad and really sick. This can make them only see bad things. It can make them only feel the bad things. They may not even see that it’s sunny, if they are standing outside. Sometimes it makes them think things that are really mixed up and not quite right. Almost like their brain has a disease. Sometimes people think there isn’t anything they can do to feel better, that no one can help them, that they will never feel better again. So they decide to end their own life. They don’t understand in that moment that someone will help them, if they just ask.
Then we talked about all the ways to help make ourselves feel happy. All the people we talk to when we are sad. We laid in bed and named all the people who we could talk too, people who would help us, if any of us ever felt this way. We named things that made us each happy.
I felt like I was doing okay. Like I was making sense. That it was enough on their level of understanding, without lying or sugar coating it, nor scaring them to death. (Okay bad choice of word…but you get my meaning.)
Then Morgan asked if I’d ever known anyone who committed suicide. I closed my eyes for a moment, wanting to, I don’t know, get divine intervention on what to say or something. Yes. I had to tell her yes.
His name was Andrew.
It’s almost funny timing. Last week, was National Suicide Prevention Week. I had the note of that in my email all of last week. I wanted to write about Andrew, but I just never made myself do it. I guess now is time.
We’d been friends since Kindergarten. He was the life of the party. The ADD, class clown, do anything, try anything once or maybe twice, friend. I don’t have many childhood memories that don’t include him.
We didn’t know anything was wrong. Maybe there were signs. Maybe we missed them. But back then, at nineteen years old? We were probably a little dense. Whatever it was, he hid it well. There were six of us who were best friends. We did everything together. None of us knew. Looking back, I think we all saw things that were a bit off. Yet, each of those things, on their own, weren’t big signs.
February, 1999. One morning, he left the dorm room he shared with our friend Chris. He said to Chris, hey man, BBall tonight, right? Chris said yes. He though Andrew was going to class. He didn’t. He went to his childhood home. Took his dad’s gun. Went into his bedroom and shot himself. He left no note. He left no reason. No understanding. There were no drugs in his system and no sign that a single thing was wrong with him. One day he was there, the next gone.
His parents were shattered. When his dad died a few years back, his mom said, he just never got over loosing Andrew. His little brother was crushed. He is a Navy man now. A strong man. A caring man. A good son and husband and a great dad to a little girl named Drew. A man his big brother would have been very proud of.
We were crushed. Me, Logan and our friends. It’s not something that you ever really get over. Not something you can forget. Each day, for the rest of my life, I will wonder if I could have saved him. If there was one thing I could do different in my life, that would be the thing. I’d go back and save him.
Last night, I told my girls about Andrew. I told them a few funny stories. Then I told them the truth. I owed it to them, to know the truth. I owed it to Andrew. He deserves to be remembered. His story needs to be told. Maybe it will only help one person see that suicide isn’t the answer. That there are people out there who will help, if given the chance. That some day, two little girls may hear a story about a person lost forever and wonder why. Two little girls not even born when that person was alive.Two little girls who will say, I wish I could have met him. I wish I could have helped him.
Suicide isn’t the way. There is help. Even if no one you know will help, there is always the Suicide Prevention Hot-line there, waiting to help. Willing to talk. Available with helpful resources. Their info is HERE.
My heart goes out to Kenny McKinley and his entire family today.
To Andrew Kevin McConnell, I hope wherever you are buddy, you are at peace.
I am way too tired to form real thoughts this morning. It can really be explained in four simple words: two year old molars. Anyway, I have a few questions for you guys, if you are willing to play along.
1. How old do you think a kid should be for a cell phone? At what age will you let your child have one?
2. What new TV show are you most looking forward to watching. Also? What is your favorite returning show?
3. How often do you change your sheets? Come on fess up. Help me out…I was having an argument about this with someone the other day.
4. What is your go-to dinner? The one you can make with your eyes closed?
5. What is your favorite memory of the summer? The best thing you did, the best thing you saw, whatever.
First sentence: Mayer’s a tow truck.***
One. Eight more days. Father time.
Snorting pigs in hard hats. Mocking.
Bark. Bark. Bark. SQUIRRELS!!!! Bark. Bark.
Halloween chatter. Bat? Witch? Mummy? Butterfly?
Morgan’s dance. Miley song. Ad nauseam.
Chirpity chirp. Too early little birdies.
David Nail: Strangers on a Train.
Words left unspoken. I wait patiently.
Old friend. Careful. Maybe friends again.
This post is brought to you by the goodness of blueberry scones and Six Word Fridays.
*** Mayer is what Harrison still calls Mater from Cars.
I completely stole this idea from Avitable who stole it from Grace. Please, feel free to steal it too.
-Making pancakes
-Running into walls
-Rolling my eyes at people
-Picking the good fruit
-Shopping for children
-Remembering birthdays and anniversary’s and sending cards
-Finding lost items in my house
-Crying
-Listening to my kids
-Mothering
-Swimming
-Wasting time
-Looking at the negative side of life
-Playing the what-if game
-Knowing random song lyrics
-Daydreaming
-Remembering plots of television shows that have been off the air for years. Or nine seasons of CSI. Skillz. I haz them.
-Being a friend. Or well I’m pretty sure I am.
-French braiding hair
-Over reacting
-Over thinking
-Apologizing
-Spazzing out
-Calming down babies
-Entertaining toddlers
-Text messaging
-Reading out loud to my kids
-Driving long distances
-Multi-tasking
-Any office work. I despise it, but I can do it with my eyes closed.
-Making guacamole
-Telling people I love them. And meaning it.
So tell me friends…what are you good at?
These are things I thought about last night. At 2am. When I wasn’t sleeping. I was kind enough to write them down. Because really, these types of things should be shared.
-Someone should invent a bra that has two different cup sizes. They could call the store, Not Just One. Or maybe, Wacky Boobie Holders. Or hi, your boobs are deformed. One of those. I am sick to death of all my bras. Either one boob is too tight and coming out the top, like a little peek at the world. Or one is fine and the other has enough room for me to stick a Kindle in there for it to read. A party could be had in that bra cup. A boobie party. There’d be room for hats too. Maybe I could stick my phone in there. Then I’d be boob calling people instead of butt calling people.
-I can’t get that dam Miley Cyrus song out of my head. Party in the USA. Could Morgan’s dance class have picked a catchier song? Jeebus. The bad part is, I smile now each time I hear the song on the radio. I’ve lost my coolness. I wonder if I ever had coolness. That maybe needs to be a 3am conversation with myself.
-I want a scone.
-Hmmm, I bet by now my cousin is in Greece. Lucky brat. Wish I could go live in Greece for three months. I wonder if I could pretend to be religious enough for a mission to Greece? Doubtful.
-This cup is seriously mildewy. I wonder if that is a word: Mildewy. I bet it would get a ton of WWF points if it is. Maybe I just made up a new word.
-Dam this kid is snoring a lot tonight. I should get up and sleep in her bed. Or move her to her bed. I’d have to get up for that. I really hope she isn’t getting sick.
-I should stop playing Angry Birds and go to bed. Or I should switch to Bejeweled. Maybe I should sleep. I’m going to need a coffee iv drip in the morning. Ohhh, another great company idea.
-Man this is going to be a stupid post.
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