I Really Don't...

fit in anywhere.

Really, I don't.

First off, hello again! It's been a while. Trying to do anything right now is a challenge, an uphill battle. Today, though, I'm winning, so here I am.

I thought about this a lot recently. I don't fit anywhere. I'm a 40 something mom with three kids. One just decided to up and become an adult on me this past February, the second decided it was legal driving age for him just today, and the third...Holy shit...the third is going to be the one who puts me in an early grave. The pre-teen hell she's putting me through better not be a precursor of things to come!

If you're doing the math, that's quite a spread between my kids. I fall between the older moms of kids my oldest's age and the younger moms of kids my youngest's age.

Now don't get me wrong, there's a few moms my age that fall into having kids in these age ranges, but their lives are very different than mine.

There's nothing wrong there, we're all built differently. I'm not who I was twenty years ago. Twenty years ago I was out-going, social, and very very busy.

Sorry, had to run for a moment, the Patriarch came running upstairs yelling about the basement flooding...But that is for another post.

Anyhow, I'm not sure when it crept in, but it did creep.

I had plans of being the mom who baked the cookies with the neatly appointed house. The PTA mom who volunteered for everything. The "soccer mom" who hosted team meals at her house. The cool mom who went out for drinks with her other mom friends. The responsible mom that everyone was jealous of.

Yep, I wanted to be all of those things. Instead, I'm aloof, lonely (self-induced), and depressed.

I've decided I've had enough and, hopefully, the next month I can work on getting it straightened out. I miss the old me, but I still don't think I will fit in with the "mom mold" of this era. It's just not who I am.

The coolest thing about that is that it's okay. There might be times where I lament it, but in the end, it really is okay.

~Kim

The Five Reasons I Get Out Of Bed Every Day #5

You guys.

This was the easiest one, really.

My goal in life is to change the world. Not too big of a deal.

While I know that may seem like a lofty goal, I start small.

You, the one reading this right now. Know that you're one of the reasons I get out of bed in the morning. I want to make you laugh. I want to make you cry. I want you to know that you're not alone in your struggles. I want my small triumphs to empower you to make your own.

If I make just one of you feel a little less alone in the world, then I've achieved a part of my goal.

If I've ever inspired you to do something outside of your comfort zone, then I consider my getting out of bed that day a success.

If my stories made you smile or laugh out loud, then I've scored one for the good guys!

While writing this blog is a great outlet for me, I hope for greater things than that for it.

You, Dear Reader, are in the top five!

Thanks!

~Kim

photo credit: Earth (license)

I Love Mornings...

that are full of chaos!

Okay, no, I really don't.

This morning was atypical. The little one is convinced she sprained her ankle last week, so we wrapped it up last night before bed (I made a concession usually I don't feed the hypochondria). Nothing to pin the ACE bandage with, so I neatly tucked it into itself and had her put on a long sock to keep it in place. Viola!

Then the cough medicine, because when she has a slight cough, in her mind, it's the Bubonic Plague and she's dying.

Fast forward to this morning...I should have known when I woke up, all hell was going to break loose because B was already up and watching Furious 7. Rarely does he wake up before me. Usually, it takes an act of God to get him out of bed in the morning (or some water...or an air horn).

I was in the downstairs bathroom and the little one woke up, went upstairs to my bathroom, then proceeds to fall down the last five steps...While I'm stuck on the toilet...She's screaming, B's screaming at her trying to get her to hear him, and I'm yelling from the bathroom because I have NO idea what's going on out there!

I finally get out of the bathroom, she's in her bed, in the dark, under a blanket, not making a sound. Nothing. No sobbing, no breathing hard, nothing.

So I say, "Are you okay?"

*silence*

"D! Are you okay?!"

Meekly, "Yes,"

"What happened?"

"I don't know. I fell down the steps."

"How many?"

"I don't know."

"All of them?"

"No."

"Most of them?"

"I don't know."

She's fine, her butt's a little sore, but she's fine.

Then B walks out the door for school. I look at him and he's wearing all K's clothes. We've had the conversation, nay, discussion, nay, screaming match on several occasions about not going into his brother's room while he's at school and borrowing his clothes a bazillion and a half times.

"How many times do I have to tell you to stay out of your brother's room and to STOP wearing his clothes?" I screech after him as he's walking away to go to school.

He ignores me. Big surprise.

Fast forward a little more (this portion was uneventful and boring YAY!) and my phone rings as I'm loading D into the car to take her to school.

Quietly, "Mom?"

"Hey, what's up?"

"Can you bring me a pair of pants? These have a hole in them."

*laughter* *snorting* *chortling*

"Mom?"

*takes a deep breath* *loses it again*

"You'll have to wait until after I drop D off at school."

"Okay." *click*

HAHAHAHAHA Karma! I love you so dearly right now...

Get D to school, drop off the pants, drop off treats I had promised some classes at the middle school, and I get back in the car to four missed phone calls.

One was The Patriarch and the other three were D. First voicemail she left was forty-seven seconds of silence. The second was something like this:

"Hi Mommy. You forgot *forced cough* to give me my cough medicine before I left for school. Can you *forced cough* please bring it up to school? I love you. Bye."

Seriously? My little hypochondriac is getting ridiculously out of control.

So what do I do? Go home, get the cough syrup, and go to the school to give it to her.

Why? Because I'm a sucker.

Meanwhile, I'm talking to my exhausted husband who had been working for forty-eight hours and just finally returned to his out of town apartment to eat, shower, and sleep. My head cold is in full swing and I'm bitching to him about how I'm tired and the kids are driving me nuts. He laughs and tells me he loves me.

I love him too, but I'm a little jealous that he gets to go to a quiet apartment and doesn't have to clean up all the crap that's piled up for the three days I was sick.

My kids. My husband. My life.

Never dull!

~Kim

photo credit: Medical (license)
Jeans (license)

The Five Reasons I Get Out Of Bed Every Day #4

Me.

Simply put, I get out of bed every day for me.

I remind myself every day that I have to take care of myself. Easier said than done.

Most days, I don't want to get out of bed, but I do.

As you've seen up to this point, I have three very good reasons to do that.

This reason is equally important. I have something to contribute to the world.

I'm a teacher, I'm a writer, I'm a parent, I'm a friend, I'm a wife, and so much more. All of those things come together to make me a pretty awesome puzzle. I wouldn't be who I am without even just one of those pieces. I'm still far from complete.

I discover something new about myself all the time. I'm not ready to decide that that's all for me.

Depression is a nasty monster that hides in the dark places in the back of your mind. The places that you don't ever let anyone see. The crevices that are embarrassing, hateful, slovenly, and lonely. I don't want to be defined as any of those things.

So, I swing my feet over the edge of the bed every morning for myself. To remind myself that those ugly places are just a portion of who I am.

It's always said that you have to take care of yourself first and that's one of my small victories every day.

It's a struggle to remind myself that I want more than to sit in bed and wallow. I want to remember the great things my kids have done. I want to be present.

I get out of bed every day for myself, to remind me that I am a bad ass warrior.

I am important.

~Kim

photo credit: Rage In the Dark (license)
Goddess Nike (license)

The Five Reasons I Get Out Of Bed Every Day. #3

This one is simple.

It's my husband.

He has tolerated more bull shit from me than anyone should have to. Seriously.

All of the weird pregnancy cravings. The crying fits because I couldn't find socks (his favorite pregnancy story to tell people). Working away from his family so we can have everything we need or want. Pulling endless hours at work. This list goes on and on.

Don't get me wrong. The past twenty years hasn't been sunshine and rainbows the entire time. In fact, a large chunk of it was spent angry, depressed, and arguing. (You can read about that here.)

Our is a love at first sight story. Yeah I hear you groaning, but it's true.

The minute he walked into the bar where I worked, I saw him and knew right then he was the one I wanted to marry.

When he didn't hit on me, after countless openings, I didn't become discouraged. I kept advancing and before he left, I asked for his phone number.

I waited a whole day before I called him. I was pretty proud of myself for not succumbing to the urges to phone him immediately that night. I was strong...

We talked for two hours that first night. It wasn't deep or meaningful, I couldn't even tell you the topics of conversation, but it was a start. Any logic left my body.

He was my dreamboat in Wranglers, a black felt cowboy hat, and cow skin boots.

He picked me up for our first date in his Chevy Blazer. He conveniently left out that it was older than me, had no exhaust, and rust everywhere. Turns out, I didn't care.

After dinner and drinks he brought me home and we sat in his truck and talked. I will never forget it. Here's how the conversation went.

B: There's something I need to tell you.
Me: Who is she? I'll kick her ass.
B: *chuckles* No, it's not like that at all.
Me: Then what?
B: *snickers and waits*
Me: C'mon! Out with it.
B: *smiles his smile that still makes my eyes flutter and my belly swim*
Me: You're married? You're a criminal?
B: Nope. *long dramatic pause* I'm gay.
Me: No you're not!
B: No, I'm just 20.
Me: Jesus! Seriously?!

I met him in a bar, and am not a pro at spotting fake IDs. He's said he was 23, just a year older than me. It lied! So his big secret was that he was younger than me.

He courted me for weeks, walking me up to my door, kissing me good night, and leaving as gentlemanly as he had been on all of our dates. No advances, no innuendos, nothing.

In my adult life, I hadn't dated (nor slept with) anyone like him. It was like the old cliché: Hook, line, and sinker.

That started the best love story of my life.

Twenty years later, sometimes we forget those moments, but you can see them now and again under a veil of looks or touches or words.

Sometimes, I'm not a very good wife to him. I think most marriages go through that. Ours goes through it often. When depression sneaks in and I can barely function, let alone cook a fantastic supper, it dulls everything around me, including the love of my life.

After several (early) years of hearing, "Just wake up and say, 'I'm going to be happy today' and you'll be fine," or 'Depression isn't real," he finally came to the realization that it is indeed real and his wife suffers from it.

Clicking the link above will take you to that side story. Oddly, love endures.

He still does the little things to make me feel special. I'm working on trying to remember to do the little things for him because I want him to know he's one of the reasons I get out of bed every day.

He's given me three of the greatest (albeit sometimes hair-raising) gifts on the planet and my life wouldn't be the same without him in it.

Yes, it sounds like a sappy love story, and it is, but it is much more than that to me.

It's a reason to live.

~Kim

photo credit: Wedding Rings (license)
Cowboys In The Dark (license)

Teaching Your Kids About...

Politics.

It's important, right?

In no time, they'll be bestowed the civil duty of casting their vote and in the age of voter decline, we need to teach them that their voice matters.

This can become a pretty sticky situation if you choose to impart only your beliefs on your children (age appropriately of course) rather than talk to them about important issues, teach them how to educate themselves, and let them make their own decisions.

This is probably one of the most (and some times least) effective ways of parenting for me.

By raising independent thinkers, I'm setting myself up.

I have one child who supports Donald Trump. We've had several conversations about it and it's been a series of comical errors.

I do not support Donald Trump. This makes our conversations very challenging because I want to shut him down and tell him that Donald is a blithering idiot, but I don't.

Instead, I ask him questions.

"What do you like about him?"

"What does he believe that you believe?"

"How is he going to make the country better for you?"

As he answers, we discuss. I try very hard to keep an open mind, because I want him to learn to be open minded. When he comes out with things such as, "He speaks his mind," I often counter with questions such as, "What specifically did he speak his mind about?" Questions like these make him think. They make him actually listen to what is being said, analyze it, and make a decision.

Yay, critical thinking!

Our conversations started out with things such as, "Well, he's rich, and he's famous."

They have evolved into, "Did you hear what he said about *insert random thing here*?"

Then we talk about the other candidates. We talk about Hillary Clinton, her stance on the issues, and what she plans to do for our country.

We talk about what it means to be a public figure. We've also talked about how nominees make tons of promises they may never be able to bring to fruition because there's a balance system in place.

He knows I'm a Sanders supporter. He knows why. We've talked about women's rights, immigrants, financial reform, and a plethora of other topics.

The best thing you can do for your kids when it comes to politics (and they're old enough to understand the issues unlike my nine year old who thinks a girl president would "kick butt") is educate them. Let them draw their own conclusions and DO NOT under any circumstances push what you think they should believe on them.

While we get a plethora of beliefs and morality from our family, pushing them blindly into what adults believe isn't going to solve any of the world's problems. They're eventually going to be adults who need to learn how to research, educate themselves, and make informed decisions.

Teach them how to think for themselves and they will run the world!

~Kim


photo credit:
Voter via Free Images(license)
New York Primary 2016 via photopin (license)

We've Got Spirit...

Yes we do! We've got spirit! How 'bout you!

If you ever went to a high school football game, you've either chanted it for your team or heard it chanted.

I've got no spirit.

None.

I feel a little guilty because I'm not out supporting the local high school on Friday nights, freezing my ass off, cheering on the football team. Not guilty enough to change the fact, but a little bit.

I'm all for supporting schools, as long as I don't have to be involved.

I used to be involved in everything. PTA, classroom volunteering, and all the other crazy stuff that moms do.

Now, I have no desire to do any of it. I'll buy the kids spirit wear. I'll send money for stuff. I'll even let my kids sell the outrageously priced fundraising stuff to people we know. I'm also about to vote yes for a referendum in our school district that will up my property taxes because I know they need it to keep our schools functional.

I WORK in the school system. Very part-time and relatively unattached, but I'm in the schools.

I figured out why.

I'm bitter.

It's not the school's fault. It's my expectation's fault.

I had expectations for my kids.

One is busting his ass to live up to them (even though I never specifically shared them with him, just keep shoving him in the direction I'm hoping is best for him).

One is fighting the system.

And the other one is just too young for me to know yet.

Let me tell you what I'm bitter about.

I'm bitter that my oldest son is disabled (and don't feed me the bullshit about "differently abled"). I'm bitter that he's so smart, but his ears don't work very well and that's made life hard for him. I'm bitter that he can't successfully go to the local high school and has to live far from home to get the opportunities that he deserves. I'm bitter that most (I know several who don't fit this bill) see a kid who's got a deaf accent and is socially awkward instead of a kid who's good at sports and just wants to fit in. I'm bitter that he may actually be talented enough to go beyond and they no amount of school spirit will help him overcome the obstacles he'll have to maneuver around.

I'm bitter that my middle son is such a challenge. Yep, you read that right. Now here's why. He's smart, but thinks he's dumb. He's lazy (like his mother was back in the day). He was supposed to be different. Yep, you read that right too. He was supposed to be my reward for struggling with the oldest one. I'm bitter because no amount of school spirit will solve any of the issues that I have worked so hard and failed to improve.

I'm bitter that my daughter is just like me. She's athletic. She's smart. She's doing well in school. She's social. I'm terrified about her future.

Most of all, I'm bitter that I'm bitter.

I'm supposed to be this parent who is capable of raising her children without ranklement.

~Kim

photo credit:
Megaphones
Lemons