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