Maybe I'm Not Cut Out...

...to be a mother.

I think about that all the time.

When I am exhausted from picking up the house for the umpteenth time that day, which so happens to be every day.

When I've repeated myself a bazillion times and the task still hasn't been completed.

When I get so angry that I start yelling at everyone, including the cats and the dog.

When, instead of getting up and making the kids do what I've told them to do twelve times, I just sit there and decide it will just be easier to do it myself.

When my kids talk back to me in my own tone of voice with words they've heard out of my mouth.

When I feel like I'm alone in the fight to raise them into functioning adults.

When I realize that it's thirty minutes until bedtime and I *still* haven't served dinner.

When I see the scads of laundry all over the house.

Then I think about:

When we let the house be messy and enjoyed a movie together.

When they've repeated themselves a bazillion times so they could learn something.

When they get so excited they can't help but yell about it.

When I do it myself and they come to help, unasked.

When my kids talk back to me in my own tone of voice with words they've heard out of my mouth.

When I see them doing what I've instilled in them with people outside of our home.

When they just want macaroni and cheese and hot dogs for dinner and we ate dessert first.

When I fold their clothes and notice how the clothes keep getting bigger and I shed a tear for how short my time with them is.

I have finally come to realize that I'm not cut out to be a mother, I'm cut out to be a human being with feelings. Feelings are messy. Reactions aren't always right. My kids won't be perfect.

We're all going to screw up. Sometimes as a group, sometimes individually. Mistakes will happen, but we can always make amends. Always.

I have a love hate relationship with parenting and I've figured out, that's okay.

When you're juggling fifteen balls at once you're sure to drop a couple from time to time, make sure they bounce!

~Kim

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