Please Stop...

...bullying other people to elevate your self-esteem or self-worth.


Yep, I bet you had NO idea you're doing this. All those clever memes you're posting on social media are going against what you say you believe in. I'm just as guilty as everyone else.

"Real Women Have Curves."

"Real Men Love Women With Curves."

"Don't Support Gay Marriage? I Don't Support Your Stupidity."

They're everywhere. Every. Where. When we have opposing views, we can, some times, get so passionate that we forget that there are targets in those memes. There is no reason we can't have civil conversations about things. Just because someone doesn't fit into what you think is right doesn't mean they're ignorant. If they're too thin, over weight, gay, straight, devout Catholic, devout Muslim, Atheist, Pagan, has red hair, has purple hair, is covered in tattoos, rides a motorcycle, carries a gun, doesn't carry a gun, swears, doesn't swear, isn't Claire Huxtable, isn't June Cleaver, or whatever it is you do/don't believe, doesn't mean you should put hateful text out into the universe.

If you are SO passionate about something, put it out into the universe in a POSITIVE way.

My Grandma always said, "You catch more flies with honey than vinegar."

We're all real, we're all going through life, but, most of all, we're all human!

I'm going to try to be more mindful.

~Kim

 
I realize this is my second post on the topic today, but it's what's in my brain. It's important!
  

Putting other people...

...down in order to elevate yourself is wrong.

Doing that is a testament to a lack of self-confidence and/or self esteem, or that one person is worth less than another. In either case, the action is wrong.

I see lots of memes across Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, etc. purporting that "Real" someone or other is better because of "X."

OR

Those messages spread hate. Yep, they spread hate like wildfire.

What may seems like an innocent way to make yourself feel better about your body style, your hair, your eyes, or your paycheck is a simply calling something else wrong, ugly, or worthless. It's veiled in positive words, but if you're the person that's thin, tall, etc., it's hurtful. 

You never know what someone is going through. Post responsibly.

~Kim

If You're Happy And You Know It...

...You're not me.

So, we've moved. Things are settling in nicely for the family. Everyone, except me.

I feel it. I feel it every single day. The kids have adjusted well, they've all made new friends. Party invites have been had, sports have begun, and play dates (I hate that phrase) have been scheduled (another word I hate in this circumstance). The kids are happy, they get to spend more time with Dad.

I'm doing my normal stuff, running kids here and there, getting everyone around for school every day, and cleaning up after everyone.

I'm back in the rut. Normally, the rut isn't a big deal, but *I'm* not adjusting well to the move.

Before we moved, I had lots of friends, people I'd see at the ball fields, basketball games, around town. I wouldn't say I had a huge social life, but I had people I could escape with when I needed it.

Here I don't.

This is a smaller town, quite a bit smaller than the one we moved from. It's one of those towns where everyone knows everyone and a lot of them are related. Outsiders are precisely that: Outsiders.

I was at a soccer game a couple of weeks ago. I sat on the sidelines in my chairs. Two sets of parents, from our school, sat on either side of me. They talked across me the entire game. Not once did they talk TO me. Not once.

Wow!

That is not what I'm used to at all.

So what's happened is I've rolled into some sort of depression. I wouldn't say clinical, because it's very circumstantial (while I do have a bit of clinical depression, that's not the problem here and I am aware of that).

It's really weird being aware of the problem, knowing what can be done about it, but not being able to do anything about it at all.

~Kim

My Heart Is Full..

...and it's not just blood.

The oldest teenager in my house gave me warm fuzzies this morning.

Yup, he talked to me without rolling his eyes, dripping with attitude, and even laughed.

The coolest part, we talked about school!

Usually, when school or grades come up, it's me lecturing about homework or studying or just plain not being an asshole in class.

This morning it was an uneventful conversation about what he could do better and how he feels about his grades and classes.

We laughed, we smiled, and we joked. It was awesome!

It proves, that even though I feel like I'm doing it all wrong, I AM doing something right.

He knows he can talk to me when he's ready. I just have to remember that he's not always ready.

It was small, but it was awesome.

It made my day.

Just talk to your kids. Please, just talk to them about everything. More importantly, LISTEN. Listen to them when they talk. About anything. No matter how small.

It's hard, as a parent, to listen. Sometimes it's almost impossible, but you HAVE to.

My kids aren't perfect, and I don't purport to know everything about their lives, but I guaran-damn-tee, I know a lot more than I would if I didn't listen to silly things. Silly things such as what they picked to have for lunch and why they don't like tomatoes, or the hole in their sock made their toe hurt, or that *Suzie* said that their hair looked funny today.

Listening to those things leads to the big things, such as; "*Joey* carries a condom in his wallet just in case he gets lucky. That's so stupid." Or "We walked by this house and they asked if we wanted some pot."

It leads to conversations about sex, drugs, friends, driving, school, love, hate, bullying....All of it.

Another tidbit of information that goes along with listening; reaction.

How you react to what they're telling you will either shut them down completely or open the door for teachable moments and life changing conversations.

It's so hard, but I try not to freak out when they tell me something big, or about a bad choice they made, or something they heard that makes my skin crawl.

It makes a difference. It makes a HUGE difference.

We talk a lot in my house. Sometimes so much it makes my ears hurt and my brain scream for mercy. It's not always good, but it's good that we talk.

They know it's okay to come to me with anything. They know I won't judge them. They know if it's a problem, I will do everything possible to find a solution. They know that I love them.

That's the most important part; they know that I love them.

~Kim

It's My Life...

...But sure you can tell me how I'm doing it wrong.

Amazingly, this happens more than not.

While I always welcome advice, there is a HUGE difference between giving friendly advice and being downright critical.

I was raised in a critical environment. You see, my family doesn't believe in censors. It's totally true.

I have the same problem too, the only difference between myself and my family is: I'll wait for you to ask me for advice. They don't. They just don't.

If you ask me for advice, I will not sugar coat it. I will, however, try to help you find a solution for whatever your need. If you don't take my advice, that's okay. I won't cry about it.

When someone gives me unsolicited "advice," and then becomes angry because I didn't take it, it pisses me off. First of all, I didn't even ASK you and secondly, fuck off, it's my life!

If I do happen to ask you for advice, this, also, does not give you a license to get angry if I do not use it. It just means I'm looking for multiple ways to tackle a problem and I needed outside perspective.

When my mom tells me, "You're doing it wrong," I get mad. Just because I don't do it like you doesn't mean I'm doing in WRONG, I'm doing it DIFFERENTLY. That's it.

Why is it so hard for people to understand that we are not the same? I will believe, do, think, write, etc., differently than you do. And that's okay!

~Kim

How I broke my marriage...

...and why I decided it deserved to be fixed.

Yes, I broke my marriage, many many years ago. I'm not the only one who broke my marriage, but I can only speak for myself.

I broke my marriage before we even said, "I do."

We lived together very early on in our relationship. I'm talking three weeks after we started dating. Which is, actually in the scheme of things, long before we started having sex. I adored him. I loved him from the moment we met. I chased him.

We started dating and I stopped. I let him chase me. I played super-duper hard to get, after we were together for about a year. When I say hard to get, I mean hard to talk to, hard to show affection to, hard to woo, hard to get into bed. Hard to...anything.

He still chased me. He still tried. He still loved me. In my mind, that made it okay. Okay to deny the one person I loved anything he wanted. I was a selfish bitch.

We had our first son (I would give in just so he would stop hounding me) and sex was completely off the table for almost two years after that. I was depressed. I told him I was depressed and when he told me that depression was all in my head, I stopped. I stopped everything. I stopped trying to explain to him what was going on in my head. I stopped talking about what I was struggling with. I stopped communicating, period.

I went through the daily motions, I never did anything special, I didn't care because I figured he just thought I was a basket case and one day I would just snap out of it. If that's what he thought, fine. He would either stick around and support us (financially), or he would leave and I would figure out how to do it alone.

The harder I pushed him away, the harder he fought to keep me close. I pushed like a Mack truck and he still fought.

We got married. I loved him, I knew I loved him, but I had no idea how much he loved me. I couldn't see the forest for the trees, so to speak.

After we were married, we had our second son. I still pushed him away. I pushed so hard he had started to drink. We moved. He found a job that kept him away from home and I was totally okay with that. I was miserable. He drank more. I disliked it when he came home for even a weekend. He drank. We fought. A lot. We both existed on the same planet, but in completely different worlds. I ignored the fact that he drank. (Somewhere in there my daughter was born)

We fought. All the time. The only time we could be civil to each other was when we were on the telephone thousands of miles apart.

He found another job, better money, farther away.  I was thrilled. More money to try to self-medicate (blowing thousands on shit nobody on God's green earth needs). He drank, I spent every penny we had.

We never talked about anything important because it would always end up in a fight. Him: drunk. Me:Spiteful. Nothing ever gets resolved like that.

It came down to whether I wanted to live in misery (it wasn't even for the kids' sake at this point) or if I wanted to enjoy my life (or did I want it to be our life).

I finally confronted him about his drinking. His immediate defense was to confront me about my spending. I owned it. I told him the truth. It was my way of punishing him for drinking all the time. A couple more arguments and I realized that I wasn't happy in my own skin and I had totally forced that on him. He realized that if he didn't quit drinking, I was walking out the door. (realized in the sense that I told him that's what was going to happen) His argument against my leaving had always been "You'll take a pay cut. Instead of all of my check, you'll only get half." One day, he realized, I didn't care. I was starting to find myself.

In my journey to find myself, I came to the realization that I loved him with all of my heart, even if I didn't like who he was in this particular place in time.

Love.

That was the only reason I needed to fix the unfixable marriage. The only reason.

Sure, we had both changed from when we were in our twenties, but who doesn't? The man I fell in love with was still there and I still loved him.

Once I realized that, I knew my marriage could be saved. I also knew it would take time. Lots of time. Once he sobered up, he understood. He didn't get that it would take time, but he understood that things could be fixed.

It took me a long time to come to terms with things, and a life changing event for another family became one of my own life changing events.

A friend of my boys lost his father unexpectedly. I came to the stark realization that my children only knew a glimpse of their father and it was totally and completely my fault. If my husband had died, they would have few and small memories of who their dad actually was. I couldn't permit that. That was NOT the person I was, nor who I wanted to be.

He had a good job, in another state, so we moved.

Our marriage was on its way to being restored before this incident happened, so I didn't make this decision for the kids alone. I made it for our family.

It's really difficult to repair something over a long period of time if you cannot show it attention on a regular basis. (ie. for a weeks' time every couple of weeks)

Say you're restoring a piece of furniture, let's say an antique sofa. You can only work on it once a month for a couple of hours. It has to be completely stripped before you can start the restoration process. So you begin by removing the upholstery. You get the fabric carefully removed from the back in the time you have, then you have to stop and wait another three weeks to do more work on it.

After the three weeks has gone by, you revisit your project. You notice where you removed the fabric, and exposed some of the *guts,* has become dusty and inundated with cobwebs. Now you have to spend time cleaning that before you can continue to break down the next part of the upholstery. This time you get one of the cushions clear of the fabric before you have to set it aside for another three weeks. You're two months into the project and you can't even begin to restore the piece yet.

That was the type of challenge we faced when we decided to move. Removing the cobwebs and dust had become more of a job than working on our relationship. It just wasn't feasible. It was taking, what little time there was, away from the kids (who need it more than I could ever). It was time.

So here we are, still working on our marriage, but we're doing it all under one roof. It's messy sometimes, but it's worth it. I'm still working on myself, because my marriage cannot be repaired if I cannot repair myself.

We talk more.

We laugh more.

We're learning to enjoy each others company again.

I try harder.

He tries as hard as he always has.

We're learning to like each other again.

We're learning how to show love to each other again.

 One day at a time.

Hour by hour.

Trial by trial.

I'm learning to be honest without being a bitch.

I'm learning to take his feelings into consideration.

I'm learning how not to be selfish where my marriage is concerned.

He's learning how to open up to me. 

It sounds corny (oh so so so so so so SO corny), but true.

I decided my marriage deserved saving because of love.

~Kim

Square peg...

...in a round hole?

That's how I have spent most of my life.

I have never really fit in to one description. No, it's not because I'm wishy-washy or a waffler, it's because I do what makes me happy (not the eternal, totally found myself happy, but the instant gratification kind of happy).

My blog is sort of the same thing. I write about what is in my head, it doesn't fit the genre descriptions everyone is looking for to classify me.

Why do we have to classify people (blogs/books/music) anyhow?

If it's for ease of use, that's ridiculous. In a world of *ease of use,* society needs a few bumps in the road. It needs outside of the box thinkers, people who dance to the beat of a different drum, all the clichés about people who are just themselves.

I am just myself. Some days, I'm a fuzzy pajama-pant wearing, hair unkempt in a claw clip, no shower-taking kind of gal; others, I'm a perfectly coiffed, well-dressed, hot mama. Sometimes I'm Wal-Mart and sometimes I'm Liz Claiborne. And you know what? That's okay.

Being a chameleon in life is a good thing. Adapting to surroundings and moods are essential in an ever changing life. Being yourself is imperative. It's the MOST important thing you can be. Well, it's the second most important thing you can be.

The MOST important thing you can be is accepting. Accepting that not everyone (or everything) fits into a nice neat package. Sometimes the paper is torn, the bow is lopsided, or the tape is a little loose. Sometimes the wrapping is a different season, color, or pattern than we expected.

There is more to this life than trying to segregate, compartmentalize, or even restructure things (or people) who are different that we think they should be.

So I don't fit into a category (and neither does my blog) and I'm great with that!

~Kim

Time flies...

...when you over sleep!

So this morning, I over slept.

I do it about once a year (maybe twice), and I panic. I have a weird thing about getting the kids to school on time. It's more for me than them, I think. I want my peaceful day to start as early as possible.

Normally, I wake the boys up at 6am. I rolled over and the light from the window wasn't right. Instant panic mode; engaged! I pick up my phone (which is also my alarm)then realize that when the charger went wonky, the battery died and left my phone charging off. My alarm doesn't go off when the phone isn't on.

Huh.

Go figure.

So I bolt out of bed, before I even know what time it actually is, and go hauling ass next door the boys' room. "Wake up! I over slept! It's 7:05!"

Much to my surprise, they both pop right out of bed, quickly get dressed, and grab some breakfast to go. I drop Braedyn at the bus stop, come back home, and see Kolton walking (he would have been on time either way). I offer him a ride. He gratefully accepts.

We were out the door in a record ten minutes.

TEN MINUTES!

When I wake them up on time and they have an hour before they have to leave for school, they can't seem to get their shit together. Wake them up 5 minutes after they normally leave, in a complete and utter panic, and they're up and out the door. No arguments. No "He's wearing my favorite shirt." No "There's nothing for breakfast."

I'm also wide awake and in a good mood! I'm not even mad.

Early bird might get the worm, but the late mom gets the peace of mind.

~Kim

Faith doesn't....

...have to be religious.

First, let's start with a definition of faith (there are a couple, but this is the one I'm working with here):

faith

/fāTH/

noun

noun: faith

 complete trust or confidence in someone or something.

Thank you Google search for making it easy.

Most people associate faith with some type of deity. That works for a lot of people. It keeps them riding the path of the righteous, so to speak. Faith applies to so many areas of life.

I have several friends who believe different things; who have faith that what they do helps them or helps others. I understand all walks of faith. Religious faith, natural faith, healing faith, spiritual faith, they all serve a purpose for individuals. Faith is love, faith is caring, faith is empathy, faith is sympathy, faith is joy, faith is solidarity, faith is many things to many people.

Sometimes, that's all it takes is faith. Studies show in some cases placebos (a harmless pill, medicine, or procedure prescribed more for the psychological benefit to the patient than for any physiological effect [thanks again Google search]) work better than the actual medication or procedure because the person has faith that whatever it is they're doing/taking will work.

Now, I'm not talking the quacks that peddle themselves as faith healers (you know the people I'm talking about "send me all of your money and I'll pray for you and you'll walk again").  I'm talking about real people, people who find themselves drawn to things other than standard Western Medicine or standard Christianity (if you can say there is such a thing).

Whether or not you believe in them is neither here nor their, but by passing judgement and attempting to shake the faith of people who believe differently than yourself, you're doing damage. You're doing damage to something that is ultimately none of your damn business.

I was brought up through the Catholic Church (which is no longer where I fit, not that I'm sure I ever did). When my father died, I lost faith in God (I am two years older than my father was when he died). It's that simple. I've tried over the years to regain that faith to no avail.

I'm generally a good person. I've made mistakes, but I try to do the right thing. I have always tried to have faith in the fact that being a good person will bring good things to me. I'm trying to teach my children that same philosophy.

If I let go of that faith, everything I've done is for naught.

~Kim

Picture this...

...you're on an airplane. The person next to you is sleeping with their head thrown back and mouth gaping open. You hear faint gargling sounds and notice a small pool of drool forming on his business suit. There's a child in front of you who is rocking back and forth in their seat, knocking against your knees and singing "This Is The Song That Never Ends." His mother, who has the same blue eyes and blonde hair and the assaulter in front of you, is trying to get him to stop by ignoring him and reading the latest "Skymall" magazine. You can see the embarrassment and frustration on her face from the gap between the seats.

Have a picture in your mind? Can you feel the tension?

How about this:

The sun is shining bright in the afternoon sky. Gulls are squawking in the distance. Your toes are buried deep enough in the sand that it feels cool against your feet. You're drinking a refreshing tropical drink while listening to your favorite playlist on iTunes. You feel your breath relaxingly coming in and out of your lungs and the beat of your heart is keeping time with the music. The warmth of the sun on your face makes you forget about all of your worries for a while.

What about now? Different picture? Can you feel the joy?

This is why you don't see pictures in my blog.

Words alone stimulate our minds and help us create pictures and feelings. Everyone's picture is different. Everyone's feelings in situations are different. Most of all, everyone's minds work differently.

For example, my favorite author (on the planet) is Stephen King. The images he paints in my mind are amazing....and most likely different than everyone else's. My Roland Deschain is probably completely different than yours. Completely. (If you don't know who Roland Deschain is, you are totally missing out!)

It doesn't mean I won't post something with photos in it from time to time, but my ultimate goal is for you to take my words and turn them into your idea of what I'm talking about, describing, and feeling.

I want my words to move your mind without the restriction of preconceived notions.

~Kim

I Bully...

...my kids, everyday.

Yep, you read that right. I bully my kids every day.

As a parent, we all have different parenting styles. We, also, judge other parents on their parenting methods. If you say you don't, you're lying to yourself. As much as we don't want to admit it, we think what we're doing is the best suited to raise our children into contributing members of society. Some are more successful that others.

Thinking about an incident that happened yesterday afternoon, I've come to the conclusion that part of my parenting style is bullying my kids.

Dani came home from school yesterday with her big brother and refused to mount the stairs, to come into the house, in a screaming fit. She stood in the front yard and screamed like someone was beating her (no one was).

After a few minutes (yep I waited a few minutes to see if she was going to resolve this issue on her own), I walked outside to see what the problem was.

I then started laughing.

Sitting on a step was a grasshopper. Just a garden variety grasshopper. Now, I'm not a bug fan, but I would have just walked up the stairs and maybe let out a yelp when it jumped (un)expectedly.

Her course of action was to scream bloody murder until someone came out and removed the grasshopper to ensure safe passages to the house.

No one did.

I sat on the porch saying things like "It's just a grasshopper, it's not going to kill you," or "Geezus Dani, just walk by it!"

It was my way of trying to teach her that she has to overcome her fears because someone isn't always going to be there to save you.

Mind you, if it was a man-eating lion, I would have taken a different course of action.

So eventually, Daddy came to save the day. He picked up the grasshopper off the step, so that Dani could safely pass, and immediately started walking toward her with it.

She screamed and sprinted into the house yelling mean things at Daddy.

Every time I force my kids to do something they don't want to, I'm a bully. Every time I try to help them overcome a fear, I'm a bully. Every time I want them to try something new, I'm a bully.

What I am teaching them are invaluable lessons about how to DEAL with bullies. If it's something they don't want to do legitimately, they're learning how to stand their ground. If it's something that they are afraid of and it's rational, they're learning how to deal with that fear. They're learning that they don't HAVE to do anything they don't want to do, no matter how BIG the bully is. (As we get older, the bullies get bigger)

We, of course, sat down with Dani talked about grasshoppers and all the good they do, and how they are nothing to be afraid of. She's still skeptical, but I think the next time she sees one, she won't go off half cocked, screaming like a banshee. (One can hope)

Now, some people will choose to go a different route than we have, and that's okay too.

Bullies will never go away. Teaching our kids how to deal with them is imperative.

~Kim

Playing games is just...

...a pain in the ass.

My 15 year old is a game player. He pushes the boundaries more than anyone else in the family. He's the one who can drive me around the bend in about half a second. He knows what buttons to push to send me off the deep end. My other two reap the benefits of this talent of his.

For example, we have a rule on school nights. All electronics come downstairs to be plugged in and charged over night. This is so that they're not staying up all night on Facebook, text, video chat, etc. I think it's a good rule. He thinks I am idiot.

Last night he came downstairs right before bed to take his night time meds and "get a sweatshirt." Mind you, he's going up to his bedroom, where all of his clothes are, to go to sleep. I'm not a genius, but I knew what was happening. I said, "Where's your phone?"

"It's supposed to be plugged in charging." (Nice word play there so it's not exactly a lie, but not the whole truth)

I went upstairs about 5 minutes later, unplugged his earbuds and brought the phone downstairs. He pretended to be sleeping, because he knew there would be a fight if he was awake.

Fast forward to this morning. He's ready for school and says, "Mom, where's my phone?"

"It's supposed to be plugged in charging." (Touché I think, very proud of myself)

"It's not here! Come on, Mom! Where's my phone?!"

"Well, since you wanted to play games with me, I decided to play a game with you. Fun, huh?"

"No."

He sat on the couch and pouted, without his phone.

He got ready to walk out the door to school and I gave him his phone. "You know what's going to happen next time you decide to play a game like this right?"

"I'll get grounded."

"Yup. Have a good day at school. Love you!"

"Love you too, Mom."

Sadly, it won't be the last time, but at least the next time he'll think twice.

Although, I enjoyed my portion of the game.

~Kim

Let's talk about sex...

baby!

So, just by reading the title of this post you're probably in one of three camps. Either you're cheeks are burning with embarrassment at the thought of talking about sex, you're muttering something about me being a pervert, or you're excited about talking about sex.

I'm sorry to disappoint, but there's not that kind of excitement in this post.

I've been married for fifteen years. We all know sex ebbs and flows through marriage (well, maybe you don't know because you're newly married or not married at all). What I've experienced over the years isn't the typical wane in sex drive.

I'm not a doctor, nor am I a therapist. I can only speak from my experiences. I have never seen a doctor or a therapist on this issue either. Again, I can only speak from experience.

My oldest boy was born before we even got married. He was planned. We weren't worried about what the future held. We were in love, and that's all that mattered. We had coitus (oh thank you Big Bang Theory for bringing that word front and center in my life!) as much as humanly possible. Then baby one came, my sex drive went down the tubes in a hurry. I went, at length, without even a thought of copulation.

My husband, however, did not. He tried and tried, but it just drove me further and further away. It was the thing we argued about the most. What I understand now, that I didn't understand back then, would have made my life a lot easier. It wasn't enough that I was busy taking care of a new baby, who was born very sick, and I was very tired. As far as he was concerned, I was just being a bitch. Having sex with him was part of my job.

Wife Job Description:

Cook, Clean, Take Care of Kids, 

Have Sex When Ever I Desire 

No Matter How YOU Feel.

See, there it is, right there in black and white.

Okay, so no it's not, because no one writes this shit down, you're just expected to know it.

Once he realizes you're not putting out, two things can happen (in some cases both happen while in others only one or the other happen). He gets mad and you fight all the time, but he still expects you to put out. He tries to re-woo you by buying you things and taking you places. 

For me, after birth it was hormonal (I believe), but once everything was back to normal, I wasn't happy.

When I say I wasn't happy, it doesn't mean I didn't laugh or smile, but I wasn't happy. I wasn't happy with him, he wasn't happy with me, so we both existed in misery. I gave in once in a while, hoping that it would smooth things over, but it was just a band-aid. (It's also how we got our second son)

We drifted further and further from each other.

It just wasn't there. Then, another awful truth reared it's ugly head. I pretended it didn't exist, he didn't acknowledge it existed, so we just went on.

We had our daughter. He went to work away from the family. It was a good job, good money, we were on top of the world. Well, as far as anyone else knew, we were.

There came a point where things had to be confronted and decisions had to be made. It was awful, but it started us on our way to falling back in love with each other again.

It sounds corny, but falling back in love is hard work. Especially when you've spent many years not *liking* the person you're in love with.

So, what this long winded post is building up to: Sex isn't just sex, not when you're married. Sex is STILL an emotional connection that can't be bought. It's a lot like respect, it needs to be earned and once it's lost, it is SO hard to get back, but it CAN be revisited.

I know my husband loves me because he changed a deal breaker so I wouldn't walk out the door. While it wasn't an instant fix, it gave me hope. Now that we're under one roof, we're walking a very different path, but it's an oddly happy one.

Not all sunshine and roses, but the sex is better!

~Kim

He who laughs first...

gets the joke the quickest.

Senses of humor seem to be harder and harder to come by. The more we speak only through social media, the more we use emoticons to try to make people understand that we are being silly. Inflection and tone of voice get lost in a sea of words.

Being able to *hear* a conversation is becoming a lost art. Heaven forbid we have more conversations face-to-face, where we can actually look someone in the eye while we're talking to them.

I'm as guilty as the next person. I've been known to be lazy and text the boys because I don't want to walk upstairs (don't judge, it happens).

Since noticing this trend, seeing people (people in my family as well) with their noses in their phones/computers/etc., I've instituted family dinners. Every night, whomever is home (because honestly, it's rare all five of us are home on a week night), we sit down at the table. The cell phones, computers, tablets, and television get turned off and put in other rooms.

We talk.

Sometimes more than others, but we talk. I'm teaching the art of good table manners (holy nightmare, Batman). I learn something new almost every night from my kids (and even my husband sometimes). I hope they learn something from me, too.

I've always been a proponent of talking to my kids. I know it drives them nuts sometimes, but they know I will always be there and they can come to me with anything. When I say anything, I mean anything.

So far, they do.

I don't operate under the delusion that I know everything that's going on in their lives. I'm smarter than that, but I DO know a lot more than a lot of parents.

Another person I talk to, almost every day and sometimes several times a day, is my best friend. We're hundreds of miles apart now, but that doesn't stop us! It's these visceral conversations keep me sane, and, oddly, keep me writing. Vocal interactions keep me writing.

Please, talk dirty to me. It doesn't even have to be dirty, just talk. It doesn't even have to be to me, talk to ANYONE. Use your voice rather than your fingers (or thumbs).

Find the joy in interaction again, find your sense of humor. It's lonely, and it misses you!

~Kim

So you wanna...

build a family?

It's been about a month since the big move (yep, I managed to pull it off in two months). We are now a family all under the same roof. Talk about big adjustments.

The kids are enjoying their schools. They've all made friends, have worked their way into sports, and genuinely are happy to have Dad around. You can see the differences, in some ways.

As for me, it's been pretty cool. I've been pleasantly surprised at this transition. So many areas that I thought would be extremely difficult, are not. At all.

I think the worst part is; on his two weeks on, he can't be relied on for anything (if he's even home for more than to sleep).

It's not like it's a bad thing. I mean, it's not fun, but it's not his fault. Being on call twenty-four hours a day for fifteen days makes it hard on him. He feels guilty when he gets called in and someone has a game or something special going on that day. I explained to him that, in the long run, he will get to go to more *stuff* and he has to let it go when he can't.

I try really hard to remind myself to let it go, but sometimes that's hard too. It's so easy to throw a sigh or an eye roll, without even thinking about it, in his direction. It's happened. I have apologized. (Yep I have! Scary, I know!)

He's getting to see how the kids really behave, what uphill battles I faced daily with him gone all the time. He's backed me up for the most part, which is more than I expected. I love surprises (especially good ones)!

Most of all, our dynamic has changed, but that's another post.

What have I learned from this?

Sometimes, a leap of faith is what it takes.

~Kim

All by myself...

don't wanna be...all by myyyyyself!

*cough*
Excuse me.

So it's been a while since I've dropped an entry in here. A lot has been going on. My world is changing drastically.

If you've been following me from the beginning, you know I am a self-proclaimed single-married mom. That's going to change!

In 8 days, I'm moving in with my husband! Oh the insanity!

I'm uprooting the kids and moving to Ohio, where my husband has worked for the last two years. We've scrambled to find a house and to make it work in a very short period of time.

What triggered this move? Well, several things I suppose, but there is one defining thing. One of the boys' friends lost their dad, suddenly and unexpectedly. It threw me for a loop because I had lost my dad at about the same age and equally as sudden and unexpected. I decided at that moment, my kids needed their dad in their lives as much as humanly possible. The only solution for that is to move to where he is.

So, in about two months time I have managed to find a new (temporary until we decide on our dream home) place to live, pack a lot of the house, weed out things that needed to go, have a yard sale, and plan a get together so the kids can see their friends (and me too) before we make the final move. I'm still packing and figuring things out, but the end is nigh.

Soon, I will be the Mordant Matriarch of an intact family. I'm sure the biggest adjustment is going to be for the Patriarch of the family. I mean, he's been living the life of a bachelor (with out the constant partying and women) for a very long time. He has NO IDEA what our house is like on a daily basis. His job can have really weird hours and he can have really weird sleeping habits, but I'm sure we can deal with that.

I'm just wondering who's going to crack first? Me, because he's screwing up my schedule, or him, because, well, because family.

I will try to post some more once we are all in the house (I'm sure I will have tons of comic fodder forthcoming).

The more the merrier, right? RIGHT?!

~Kim

Why what you think...

matters. Tackling labels, stereotyping, and feminism...

~Kim

Laughter is...

good for everything!

On our most recent vacation, I got as good a laugh as an I've ever had.

Kids. Kids make me laugh.

We were having a conversation about what it means to be racist (I know, doesn't sound like a conversation that lends to laughter). I was explaining to 2 of the kids what racism is and how there are differences between what "race" someone is and what "ethnicity" they are sometimes. This lead to a conversation about our family's ethnicity. The conversation was as follows:

B: "So, what are we?"
Me: "We're German on my side of the family and English and French on your dad's side."
Dad: "No, I'm German-Irish."
Me: "That explains a lot."
D: "But I thought we were French. Gramma said she's French."
Me: "Well, I was adopted so my ethnic background is different than Gramma's."
D: "You were adopted? What's that mean?"
Me: "It means, even though Gramma and Grampa raised me, I didn't come from Gramma's belly."
D: <looks quizzically and thoughtfully>
B: "Huh, I didn't know that. (questions about my biological parents here)"
D: <still thinking then looks excitedly and says> "LET'S TELL GRAMMA!"

Hubby was upstairs in the loft and lost it. He was laughing so hard, I was laughing so hard, and Dani's just looking at us all confused.

"Let's tell Gramma." 3 little words that set off a fit of laughter and an explanation of why that's so funny.

I called my mom to tell her what had transpired, she laughed her self silly as well...

Out of the mouths of babes.

~Kim

Stupid is as...

rude does.

I may be a lot of things; a bitch, a mother, a realist, a big mouth, a hot head, but one thing I'm not is RUDE. I cannot STAND rude people.

Recently, I was traveling with my family and we stopped to have lunch at a Denny's. I was tired from being on the road and the kids were going out of their way to see if they could push my buttons, I had HAD IT.

I watched the couple sitting in the booth connected to ours get their food. The woman's eggs weren't how she wanted them. Rather than saying, "Excuse me, my eggs aren't quite right" to the waitress, she says, "This is wrong!" Then proceeds to shove the plate back at the server.

Now, not only is the proclamation inappropriate, she still hasn't identified the problem. As it turns out, her eggs weren't cooked the way she requested, but we don't find that out until much later.

As I sit watching this interaction take place, I think to myself, what's so fucking important about eggs that you need to be rude about it. I waited tables a lot of times in my life. Sixteen years, truth be told. I've encountered one rude person after another.

So after the server's inquired as to what exactly the problem is, the patron replies, "These ain't the way I ordered dem! I want 'em RUNNY in the middle! Do these look runny to you?! They sure ain't, ain't dey?" 

So the server apologizes, rushes to the kitchen after politely letting the gal know she'll bring another plate for her to put the eggs on so she can beginning eating the rest of her meal.

The woman yells behind her "Well, I hope it ain't gonna be cold by tha time you get back!"

What the hell? Was that really necessary to yell at the person who's TRYING to correct the problem? That's just RUDE. R U D E. Rude.

Was anything beyond "I ordered my eggs over easy and these aren't. Can I please get some new ones?" really necessary?

Is it truly necessary to be an asshole when things don't go your way? Sure we all show our ass once in a while, it happens, but, for me anyhow, once we realize we have done such, we at least offer an apology.

Whatever happened to common courtesy? Treating people courteously? I won't say with respect, but respect needs to be earned, in my opinion, but common courtesy doesn't hurt anyone.

You never know what your rude treatment or rude comments do to someone. You can never be sure.

Try to remember; "They're just eggs." Mistakes happen, and odds are pretty good that you're not perfect either.

~Kim

Euphoria is..

finding what was already there.

I've been vacationing with my family. I've spent most of my time here unplugged. I've only taken a couple of phone calls (mostly my mom) and maybe looked at Facebook once a day-ish.

It's been liberating.

I've realized that I spend far too much time "connected" to everything in the world. As if I might miss something, when what I was really missing was right in front of my face.

I was missing the goofy things my kids do, the adoring look of the man I married, and words. Lots of words. I opened books this week. I've read two books so far and am about to tear into my third. My kids seeing me "unplug" has had the same affect on them. There haven't been cries to get on the computer or for me to charge their phones. They've been playing. PLAYING! Outside, all day, everyday.

It's been so relaxing. I've felt giggly and silly and goofy and fun! There have only been a few times when I've felt even the slightest bit annoyed (I mean 3 kids, there's bound to be some annoyances here and there).

We celebrated a birthday while we've been here. It wasn't about parties or gifts for him. It was about having a good time with his family. While he did ask for one thing (and I will make it happen) he wasn't disappointed that he didn't have loads of stuff.

We spend so much of our time trying to give things and do things that we forget the importance of just being. Being happy with what we have. Being happy with who's around us. Being joyful in our own existence. Without all the stuff.

Granted, we're on vacation, but the lesson is still there.

My heart is lighter because I let go.

~Kim

Can't we all just get along...

no really, can't we?

So friendships come and go in our lives. It happens often. People are there, then they're gone. Some of good reason, others out of immature thoughts on what friendship should be.

I have lots of friends. Most of them have become friends from social media or game play, but of course, several are real life friends. Regardless, they're friends.

Not all of my friends are friends of my friends. I do not have one big happy circle of friendship. Some of my friends don't like each other. That's ok. It really is. For several reasons.

The top reason being, I'm a grown up and know all of my friends can't get along. The nice thing about my friends is; they understand this too. They understand the bonds I have formed with my friends have been formed for different reasons. It doesn't revolve around them. If they have a beef with one of my friends, that's their beef, not mine.

Don't drag me into that. I don't need to be involved in that. My friendships are my friendships, your friendships are yours. I don't expect you to dump a friend of yours because I'm angry, had my feelings hurt, or have decided I just don't like that person. I would hope, as a friend of mine, you would reciprocate. You've formed that friendship for whatever reason, and quite frankly, it's none of my business.

I would never ask you to interact with someone you don't like. I would expect the same of you.

I won't play a school yard bully and say "You can't be my friend if you like so and so." Again, I'm a grown up and would hope you are too.

Take a deep breath. Don't be demanding. Don't feel like the world revolves around you. Remember, people form friendships for different reasons, they keep friendships for different reasons, and they dissolve friendships for different reasons. If you are not they, you cannot dictate their friendships.

~Kim

So yeah...

I'm 40.

Yup, I turned 40 a week ago. Leading up to it, I was depressed and scared. Any end of a decade is scary. I've started to look at it as the beginning of a new decade. I forget to act like I'm 40. I had this vision of what 40 is. What 40 should be. It's not that. Not at all.

I'm still me. Immature, giggly, silly me. I like some of the stuff my kids like. I like some of the stuff my mom likes. I like some of the stuff no one likes.

Yeah, lots of people tell me age is just a number. It's so hard to buy that until it happens. I'm learning to let things go. I'm learning that holding on to things makes you old. I'm trying to laugh more. I'm trying to be what I always thought I should be. Happy.

Nothing in particular has changed, yet everything has changed. My life is still crazy, I'm just trying to find the funny in everything. Funny makes me stress less.

I'm high strung and sometimes it's hard to find the funny. I'm not pulling it off all the time, but I'm pulling it off some of the time.

I'm remembering to treat people like people. Not everyone deserves my respect, but they do deserve courtesy. People tend to blend the 2 words together, but in reality they're very different. I'm trying to remember to be courteous.

40's not too bad so far.

~Kim

Two wrongs don't...

make a right, but four lefts do....

So there's tons of controversy about gay marriage. It's every where. While I'm not gay, it doesn't affect me personally, but it affects millions of people. People. That's what all of the advocates are forgetting are involved here. People, with feelings. People whose feelings maybe different than the majority, but they are feelings just the same.

First of all, what gives any government the right to decide who can fall in love with whom? Oh right...the people who don't want things to change. The status quo is comfortable. Just like it was in the 50s, 60s, and 70s when "white" people were "protected" from "black" people by segregating schools, restaurants, buses, bathrooms, and even drinking fountains. I mean, holy shit! Save me from...another person...a person...say it again, a person! You've got to be kidding me!

We're all people, we all start out as an egg and a sperm. We all have a gestation period of, roughly, nine months. Our parents all had sex to conceive us. I mean, what the hell? This is supposed be a country of freedom. Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness, right? Why does that only seem to apply to white heterosexual people?

Oddly, I'm a white heterosexual person. I treat people respectfully (when they've earned it) and considerately regardless of what color their skin is, who their husband/wife is, and even their social class. Obviously, I notice those things, but unless you give me a reason to be a bitch to you, I won't simply do it because you're not like me.

As long as you're not stealing from me, hurting me, or keeping me from living my life how I see fit, what the fuck do I care what you do? If it doesn't affect you, why do you care if Susan and Sharon want to get married, or Steve and Dillion want to adopt a baby? WHY DO YOU CARE?! Think about it for a minute...

Even if you believe gay people are going to hell, is their marriage sending you to hell? NO! It's not! So WHY does it matter? Religion is not even a factor in this, because your religion doesn't affect anyone except you. This country was founded on religious freedom, so religion arguments are moot. (Read a history book if you think I'm full of shit)

I think purple toenails are pretty and you think pink are pretty. We disagree, but NEITHER affects YOU or ME! If we all believed the same thing, did the same thing, lived the same way, this world would be pretty fucking boring.

Even if being gay was a choice (which, by the way, I don't believe at all), it's THEIR choice, not YOURS.

Get over yourselves, it's not about you.

~Kim

Should auld acquaintance...

be forgot and ne'er brought to mind...

Happy 2014. It's a new year, time for fresh starts and new beginnings. Time to let go of the past and look onto the future. Time to move on.

I've decided I'm not making a resolution this year. They're paltry, ineffective bits of nothing we use to blame our failures on. I'm so ADD I make them, and after midnight hits I've already forgotten what I said I'm going to do in the new year.

What I want to try to do this year is let go. Let go of all the baggage that holds me down. Let go of the cinder block the memory mafia has saddled me with. This isn't going to be a year of new things, it's going to be a year of getting rid of the old.

I'm going to try to stop being angry at people for things that happened (what seems like) a hundred years ago. I'm going to get through this hole in my heart that, to this day, aches for my daddy. I'm going to forget how to be distrustful and live for second (and third and fourth) chances. I'm going to stop using my past as excuses for current situations.

I'm going to try to let go of that irresponsible teenager that still grips my soul sometimes. I'm going to let go of the nasty habits that plague my well-being. I'm going to stop skewing situations and be straight forward.

I know, you're thinking, "That's a list of resolutions if I ever heard one."

My list is quite different that a list of resolutions. My list is a list that will not allow me to blame anything or anyone for failure. It is not something I can "not" do. They're a necessity for me. It's no different than a list of household chores that need to be done.

Yes, they should be forgot...and ne'er, e'er brought to mind.

~Kim