Wednesday, September 3, 2014

Chicken shit.

A cop beheads a boy's chicken with a shovel. I think we can all agree this story is horrifying, awful, and fucked up.  He apologizes and will attend the city council meeting to propose change in the city ordinance regarding having chickens, so this mishap doesn't happen again and the boy can have a new chicken. 

A guy (black) gets off work and is going to pick up his kids from daycare. He waited too long, in one spot, in the skyway.  Some cops follow, harass, taser, arrest, take him to jail and take the man's phone for a long period of time, not to mention the trauma they caused him (I imagine having your rights stripped and being tasered is fucking terrifying), and they don't apologize, they show no remorse, and you can bet damn well they won't be going to any meetings to change policy or laws so that they don't repeat the same thing. And so far, are experiencing no consequences, that I know of.  Not as honorable as the chicken murderer's attempt to right his wrong. 

So far, the chicken wins.  This will result in the better treatment for chickens in that town.  Even if the charges were dropped for the man. That is fucked up. 

This post probably is best understood by Minnesotans and our local news. I know there was some kind of community meeting today regarding the man in the skyway.  The mayor of St. Paul promised that "police are there to protect and serve in the community without regard to race." And the head of the St. Paul Police Federation President left a statement that the police acted, "responsibly, respectfully and in accordance with the highest professional standards we expect from our members."

That response isn't an apology, it isn't change, and I am disgusted. I could have sat in that skyway all day.  I guarantee it.




Sunday, August 24, 2014

Four years and counting.

Yesterday,  8-23-2014, was my four year re-birthday into this sober world without drugs and alcohol. I posted this on Facebook:


I posted this on Instagram:


And I posted this on Twitter:


And we went to our camper as a family. I thought it would be awesome and fun. I haven't had all of the kids there at once this summer.

Look at them swimming in Lake Superior, on a windy 63 degree day.  The only people in the water, but they had fun.  No arguing there.


Here three of them are sitting around the fire.  I think we were talking about how soon we were going to leave the next day.  Some of my kids asked this question, every five minutes.


I don't need a parade to celebrate my sobriety birthdays.  Although I'll post it on every social media site  I can think of, which is pretty much the same thing as asking for a parade.

My life in recovery is so much better than my life using drugs.  I can enjoy my friendships (when I can see my friends again). I can enjoy hanging with my kids, (even if some of them can't wait to get away.)  I can enjoy my new life, work, and path.  I am so proud and grateful to be where I am at.  It is more than I ever imagined I would get out of this life.  Thanks Y'all!





Tuesday, August 5, 2014

My whiteness


My rant here is nothing you probably don't already know, but if you don't know, think about it.  

Hopefully we've all heard the statistics of the higher rate we incarcarete people of color, over white folks. We've all seen a documentary, read an article, something that explains it. Whether you believe it or not is up to you. 

Lately I've been thinking about those four times I was pulled over while wasted, and never getting a DUI.  Two of those four times, I was out of the car, doing field sobriety tests.  Touching my nose, following the lights, and whatever else they asked me to do.  

I was drunk, all four times, and I know two times I had cocaine in my pocket.  

When asked, "Have you been drinking tonight?"  My answer was always a solid, "Not at all."  I was pulled over for driving without my lights and/or swerving, or because they told me I smelled like booze, so they did the field sobriety tests on me anyway.  

Why didn't I get breathalyzed and why wasn't I arrested?  For a long time I had believed it was because I am the best drunk field-sobriety tester in the land. I knew how to beat them. I could have taught a class!

Then I figured it was because of my beauty. 

Since working in the drug and alcohol counseling field, in a facility that deals with all cultures, I can say for a fact it was because I'm white....and maybe super good looking. Both privileges that kept me out of real trouble.   Now, I know other white folks, good looking or not, haven't been so lucky and have gotten DUI's.  

But, if I had been a brown woman, you bet I would have been arrested, and sent to jail. 100%. And if you don't believe me, get your license and come on down and do assessments on people of color.  Hear their stories, and understand the HUGE difference in the way folks like me, are treated. It makes me cringe to hear the day after day stories. I often want to ask,  "Well, did you tell them to go fuck themselves?" Of course, that isn't the answer. 

Another thing I think about. While I was using meth,  mostly coming down, I used to scream and swear bloody murder at my family.  I even had a neighbor express his concern to my father-in-law (who lives on my street).  But no one ever called the police.  I can understand that it is probably uncomfortable to call the police on people you have been talking about gardening with for some years, when suddenly things change in their house.  And I can't say for sure if our family was brown, the cops would have been called.  But I bet they would have been.  Nothing against this particular neighbor, but if he didn't call, someone else probably would have. 

And someone probably should have. 

I am so grateful for recovery.

The stories I hear every single day, about the ticketing of homeless people for loitering.  Tickets they have to pay or they get arrested. People getting pulled over or stopped just walking down the street for no reason. Having some weed or something in their pocket, catching a 5th degree possession charge. And god forbid you are an addict, of course you are going to have weed or something in your pocket.  Being put on probation for that, and any mistake or ticket or anything, lands you in jail.  So you get more and more possession charges.  You do jail time for this, instead of treatment.  Your house gets raided.  Your dog gets shot.  You get harassed by the police. They roughly put you in the back of the squad.   And worse. 

Your kids get taken away.  Your license gets taken away.  You get a felony so you can't get a job.  You can't get an apartment.  You can't do ANYTHING but be on public assistance. If you don't lose that because of your addiction.  Not to mention, the regular shame that comes with that. The loss of pride, hope, and the feeling of safety. All because of color. 

I still don't have a good understanding of the way the laws work and what the punishments are.  It is a lot to learn.


I had to read this for my last practicum. I got it from iTunes to listen in the car, which started on Chapter Four, so that part sucked. I suggest you read the entire book.

I just want to attest to the fact that in my short time in the field, the pages of that book are absolutely true. It really happens. It IS happening. I see it. I've read about it and believed it happened, But NOW I see it in action. And I can't believe the pain it causes other humans, just because of color. It is a complete failure of our system.

I see folks trying to do the right thing, and they have so many more hurdles than you can imagine.  So many reasons to give up. I had EVERYTHING handed to me when I sobered up. I didn't have to find housing. I didn't have to get my kids back. I got to go to school. Save my house. I had so many people reach out and help me. (Thank you). I had my own hurdles and paid some here and there. Recovery can be hard at times. Stress can trigger relapse.  I have had nothing like what I have seen. 

Do you know that each application for a Section 8 house or apartment is a non-refundable $60?  That is a shit-ton of money for people who are broke. And the vouchers can take up to TWO YEARS to get. Can't get your kids back unless you have a stable home.  Until I started working in this field, I did not know this.  When I got sober, I was starting the Section 8 paperwork when my dad saved my house.  Where would we have gone while waiting for housing?  There is a very good chance I would have given up, and just got high.  Because, what the fuck.  

It is hard for an addict to do the right thing when the outside forces are in our favor.  It is harder when the outside forces work against us.  

Am I supposed to feel bad because I'm white?  No fucking way. But I understand that there is a lot of shit that comes with it which isn't exactly fair. I can't fix it alone. I can acknowledge it, and not contribute to it. Any chance I can help, I will. Maybe someday we can change it if we are more aware how our country still uses people.   


So yeah, I could have gotten "on paper" and under the radar of the county, state or federal authorities when I got pulled over those times.  Probation, random drug tests, maybe child protection, and a lot of hurdles and hoops to jump through. But I didn't.  And that is privilege. 




Friday, August 1, 2014

Living in a month from now.

It's 10:42 PM on a Friday night and I'm doing what any 43 year old mother does. I'm in bed, in the dark, crying because my youngest boys are going to middle school in 4 and 1/2 weeks. 

I cried with my oldest. I cried with my middle boy. And I'll cry with these guys even more. 

Because I know the changes that happen when they are sent into that building. I know how they come out. They go in sweet, nice, friendly angels who want to hang out with their folks. They come out bitter, angry, snotty, know-it-all kids who don't want to be seen with their folks. 

I know they come back to us when they are older and done with this stage. But I'll sure miss them when they are gone. I'm not ready. It feels like the school is coming to abduct my babies. I fucking hate it. 



Wednesday, July 30, 2014

Extreme guide to parenting.

The best feeling in the world is learning your 11 year old kid is at a friend's house and gets a text from his own dad, quoting a not-so appropriate scene from the Dave Chapelle show, word for word, because they watch it together, and then the friend's dad sees that said text message. There is no explaining your way out of that one. 

Anyone relate?  Of course you don't. Because that shit is insane and only happens in my family, I think.  

I can't take Bob's phone away because he is an adult.

Please just know we would never let your kid watch that show, and no kid should watch it.  It is no good for anyone.  Dave Chapelle would agree, and I think that is why he quit.  No, only my kids get the pleasure of having a dad as a friend who will always choose humor over appropriateness.  But don't worry, they have heard me freak out about this stuff and know to keep it to themselves. 

We embarrass our kids in very different ways.   

I'm Rick James, bitch…  

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

I spend a lot of time getting into arguments

You can look for the bad, or look for the good....you'll find plenty of both.

My last intern supervisor would say that to the clients on the mornings she was in charge of the spiel of doing a daily 10th step. I loved it every time she said it.

I don't practice it.

I was going to say "I don't always practice it," but that's a fucking lie. I constantly forget. 

If you caught my last post and the comments that were left, and my response to those comments, you can clearly see where I need work focusing on what is good. Or at least ignoring what I think is wrong. I could have easily let that go and realize that it's not my job to correct, fix, or get people to agree with me. But I see what was wrong with what is said, and defend, defend, defend myself. 

She did have a valid opinion. Any opinion is valid. I DO freak out when people disagree with me. Even shit that doesn't matter. Sometimes I focus on it like crazy. And every time, instead of keeping my big mouth shut, I make it worse. 

I've gotten to a point where I've defended myself so much, that almost every sporting, school, any event I go to, there is someone to avoid. Everywhere I go!  If you tell me something I don't like, I'll let you have it. Who wins?  Not me, that's for sure. 

There is a point where I need to stick up for myself or my family. And there are many reasons to defend what is right or unjust.  When people don't understand the illnesses. When people are being mistreated and controlled.  These are reasons to get angry and do something.  But there are times to accept a situation for what it is, who it is coming from and keep my big trap shut.   If I think my kids are being treated poorly, watch the fuck out.   Or if people don't see me how I think they should. I always have to have the last word. THIS HAS NEVER WORKED OUT FOR ME!  And if it does work out, I usually don't feel good about it.  

I try to keep my cool. But I'm a raging, passionate bitch at heart (sorry for the degrading "bitch" word ladies. But it fits here.). So it is hard for me to keep my cool. 

There is some of that which I need to balance in there. I certainly don't want to get walked on. But I don't need to be the one who loses her cool. I can decide I am right about anything.  But I don't have to make everyone believe it.  Lord knows I have tried.

You see people doing these "100 days of happiness challenges" where they post something that makes them happy in their day. I'm just going to try and start living that way. There is so much truth to counting your blessings. Living with gratitude.  Focusing on the good and changing your thoughts. 

I pledge more than 100 days. But I'll start with today. Just today. I erased all of those comments from my last blog post that were negative. 

In the time it has taken me to write this post (three days) I have contacted the head of the LaCrosse association to complain about the coach who gets under my skin, argued about how a deck should be built, (two topics I know nothing about) and nagged at Bob and my daughter more times than I can count. What the fuck have I learned so far?

I'll start today over and try again.


Sunday, July 20, 2014

I'm normal

I've arrived. Graduated, employed, chaos gone, normalcy in place.

I'm bored. 

And this is how I know I am still addicted, because this is the feeling that is most unsettling to me, and my biggest trigger. I've got my ducks in a row. My kids are busy with friends, sports and a bunch of other shit that will work itself out. I've worked on letting go of so much, that I worry about little. I don't have a significant other, but a roommate. I have a life like a lot of people, some who are healthy. 

My time is still filled up. This is the first evening this week that I didn't have something going on. I saw my friends last weekend. But that balls-to-the-wall, stress-filled wonder-life that I had when I was going to school, with all the pressure of homework hanging over my head, while my family went through crisis after crisis, is gone...for now.

I am not suggesting that I will create a crisis, (which is what I COULD do). And I'm not going to start using drugs, or have plastic surgery or get a boyfriend to create some drama...although the last two could be fun!  I just get incredibly bored with normal. I still haven't worked out being comfortable with with it.

I know this is a issue for people in early recovery.  And it can be a issue for us all the way through.

Since I've been sober, this is the most "normal" (I hate that word when used to represent a life) I have been. This is the most normal I've ever been. And the most free. So THIS is the test for someone who has that little nasty addiction illness living in her brain. If one wanted to NOT practice "one day at a time," one could wonder how am I going to proceed normally, without fucking it up?  

I look at these a lot:


(I couldn't get them to show up very well.) But these are scars in between my thighs, right above my knees. I was smoking meth out of a glass bubble (sorry to trigger the tweakers) and I dropped it and tried to catch it between my bare legs. Needless to say,  it burned me really bad. And the scars are still there. BUT I didn't break the bubble, so it wasn't in vain.  I have those scars, and my faint scars on my arms from my mad arm picking days. I can look at those and remember what the wrong kind of chaos can bring. 

The folks I work with come in drowning in the wrong kind of chaos. I can smell the fumes of their addiction. I can see the sad, sick, desperate twinkle in their eyes. I get a rush from that. I don't know if that is good or bad. But it certainly is a reminder that although my "normal" might seem boring, it is so much nicer than quitting again.  And most certainly better than the wrong kind of chaos. 

And that is how I get through "normal."  Besides, I'm sure a storm is a-brewing right around the corner. 

And it's name is grad school...if I get in, that is. 

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

Meet Chelsie Charmed!

I have my first guest blogger. How cool is that?  Meet Chelsie Charmed.  Her blog is at The Life Of A Recovering Addict.  She is a young woman in recovery.  And she is on her journey of sharing what that looks like in her life, and describes herself this way:

"Hey there, I'm a 24 year old University Student studying in psychology which I absolutely love.  The human mind and behavior fascinate me.  I have a great curiosity about how it all works.  Why we do the things we do?  I'm hoping to become a counselor once I'm done.  I have a great compassion for others and I'm always trying to put myself in someone else's shoes to understand them better, some might say I'm an empath.  I love reading, writing and drawing.  I want to eventually write a book and be a successful author.  Also, I love music.  I dream to one day travel all over, but mostly to Paris, Rome and London.  Animal Rights is a cause close to my heart.  I have an amazing bond with my mom which means the world to me.  All in all, I'm definitely a caffeine driven Blogger."

And here is her most awesome post that she shared with us:


I often put myself down like I'm not good enough and I forget how amazing I really am. This is something that affects so many aspects of my life. I tend to get hurt easily by others criticisms and I cant openly admit anything negative about myself without it impacting my self esteem in a bad way. So let this be a reminder to myself of just how far I've come. Their are times where I still catch myself in awe of how much my life has changed in the last 5 years and this really helps me realize I'm not a nobody but that I am a strong independent survivor.

This is a list of stuff I've gone through and made it on the other side since getting sober and doesn't include all the shit I went through that drove me to drug abuse in the first place. I've been sober over 6 years, well I think, I don't really keep track of that anymore. Anyways after I got sober I got a part time job to afford my own place again, I went back to high school and graduated with an 85% average and then got accepted to all the universities I had applied to. As amazing as that was that meant I was going to be alone for the first time and although I had moved out when I was 15 for a couple years before moving back to my moms, I had never truly been alone. My boyfriend had been with me ever since I had moved out at 15. We were together for 6 years, imagine that but we ended up growing a part, just like that. Lovers one day strangers the next. Well at least that how it feels. I decided to quit drugs and got sober but he didn't and then lied about it, after so much of trying to help him and stick it through I kinda gave up and became distant. Leaving for university meant I was going to be alone for the very first time and that really terrified me. All on my own in a new city, the idea was absolutely terrifying, but I did it. I made the choice and followed through with it. I made it all on my own and it was so liberating. It boosted my confidence and proved to myself and everyone else that ever doubted me that I could make it and that I DID!


After 8 months of being on my own I met someone who I ended up spending 3 years with. The damaged he caused to my confidence ran deep. He made me feel like I couldn't make it without him and I couldn't see a life beyond him. I thought I'd never ever have the strength to leave him. I had tried more than once but I always ended up going back. After trying to leave a couple times and it not working I had finally given up on that idea completely when I reconnected with an old friend at Christmas. All the while thinking that although this man was amazing and perfect for me I doubted I could really leave my boyfriend. I just couldn't see myself living without him. It wasn't just about not wanting to be alone anymore (I had the opportunity to not be alone and be with someone else plenty of times), I was emotionally invested and I knew leaving him would really hurt and it ended up hurting more then I thought it would. But I did it, I packed my stuff and left. I made the plans to go through with it and although I kept thinking I'd back out any minute, I didn't. I stayed strong and followed my instincts. The pain afterwards was almost unbearable and it took an enormous amount of strength to deal with and not go back.


Also when I found out I was pregnant I got really scared that I'd have to give up on my dreams. I was scared of my life changing in ways I wasn't really ready for. I had just moved in with that old friend I had reconnected with (and absolutely fallen in love with) and I needed time to grieve my past relationship, adjust and rebuild my new relationship (still kinda do need those things). I needed, and still need, stability. I was so worried about losing everything I had invested in my education, all the money and the time. It was a pretty significant amount but I pulled my big girl pants on and decided to face the situation head on (well not without some groaning and moaning on my part, lol). I sat down and figured a way to make my education work with this unexpected surprise on the way. Not to mention that after I got over the fear of losing things that were important to me at the time I got pretty excited when I realized exactly what I was gaining. Now I even have this fierce determination to protect and give this child the best life possible, its not so much about me anymore. Its weird how my way of thinking changed all of a sudden and I can only just imagine how much more that feeling is going to set in once my baby is actually born. Its hard and scary but I'm making it work because I'm strong, determined, resourceful and caring. So this will all work out, I'll make sure of it!

I would also like to add that all these accomplishments wouldn't of been possible without the support from the people closest to me. It made all the difference and I would like to thank you from the bottom of my heart <3<3<3

So if you want to read more of this and other posts, GO TO HER BLOG!

Monday, July 7, 2014

Grad school

I have applied to graduate school for my MA, LPCC. This stands for a masters in Licensed Professional Clinical Counseling. 

Why?  Because I love my job. I absolutely love it. But we drug and alcohol counselors don't make a lot of money. I am sick of being broke in my life. As I was figuring out how I was going to work full time, with child support, and I would have less money than he gets from his disability, I decided to make a change. 

Because I am still married to Bob, and he is 100% permanently and totally disabled from the Marine Corps, I get money to go to school. EVEN grad school. So...I called off my divorce, and applied as soon as I could fill out the forms to start this fall.

Yeah...I know. There might be something really sick about it. Sick and wrong. Or brilliant.  

I can finish in three years. So I have decided to put myself into a better financial position before I'm on my own. Let's face it, I'm lucky to have this opportunity. And he is willing to go along with it. 

As for our relationship, it's friendly. I'm not angry, he's not angry. In fact, since I started my job, he has stayed out of bed and been with the kids, or running errands, or small projects. MORE than dishes and laundry!

And guess what?  He feels better. He doesn't rock back and forth as much.  He is more his old self. He is sleeping better. I've noticed a big change, and so have the kids.  I am so happy for him.

I had to CHEW my tongue until it bled as not to say, "I told you so!"

Okay, I totally fucking said that to him. You know I did.

Please don't say things like, "I'm glad you are working it out together!" Because that is not what this is about. It isn't a romantic up and down love affair.  He gets a benefit for his service that extends to me, and I'm going to take it. The kids will be older when we do finally divorce, and I'll be in a better position, which will put him in a better position. As long as we can be friendly, which has a lot to do with my tolerance, it will be fine. After 22 years, what's 3 more?

And as for those of you who might be disgusted or even devastated by this news, oh well. It is, what it is. I'm excited.  I was going to wait until 2015 to go back to school, but I'll be FORTY-FOUR this year.  My clock is ticking.  I'm going for it. 

Sunday, June 29, 2014

Living wage

My dad has always paid a living wage at his small business. In fact, he starts everyone out at roughly $15 an hour, with zero experience. And they get raised up fast. Most of his employees make around $20.00-$22.00 an hour. Pretty much matches the starting wage of my field. Is my work more important?  Hell no. Everyone's work is important.


Always working.
Many people have called him overly generous for paying that much. Some even call that act stupid, or a bad business move. He has only taken from that company what he needs. And not one cent more. Ever. He lives in a decent house on White Bear Lake, not the fanciest or most modern, but nice. We grew up comfortable. He rarely takes trips anymore. He has a really nice truck. But nothing outrageous. He has made (and been robbed of,  including by me) more money than I'll say. But he bounces back, and keeps the business going for his employees. 

So to hear that the big businesses like IKEA and others are going to start raising their minimum wages is great, although they still aren't living wages. 

In my dad's situation, the problem with paying workers a living wage, who are in a field that normally doesn't get a living wage, is that they get used to a standard of living which isn't at extreme poverty level, and the way it should be. So my 73 year old father feels as though he can't retire, because what will happen to his guys?  How will they support their families when wages are so low everywhere else?  His has a unique business that offers knowledge in unique skills. Not transferable to anywhere which will come even close to the same pay scale. 

So he has been trapped with a decision to keep going so these families can keep going, or close up shop and say, "good luck."  He wants to find them work first.  

He will also tell you that he's working because he doesn't want to quit.  Which is total bullshit.  He doesn't know HOW to quit, because he can't leave people hanging.  

So for personal reasons, (I'd be glad anyhow) I'm thrilled to see greedy companies raising their pay for their employees, even though it isn't enough.  My dad needs to retire and enjoy life for what he has left. Maybe if more places do this, he will be able to rest easy knowing there are places out there who offer better pay. And his guys will make it without him. 

There are some hardcore codependency issues my old man has. And he has relationship issues with family members that would shock the shit out of you. But there is this side of him that sets an example of being a business man, who cares more about his employees than he does the years he has left. That is admirable to me. And very sad. 

I just want him to retire and have fun. I don't want him to go from bending over a table, welding a handrail together, to a wheelchair. I'll push him around all day if he'll let me. But I want him to have some years with good quality of life. He deserves it.

This HAS to be his last summer working.  My codependency can't handle it another year.  

And so that is my personal reason why raising wages is important. Because we've been doing it for years. 

Thursday, June 26, 2014

Feeling shamed and a Kitty

Hey Y'all!  

I had a impromptu dinner tonight with a friend of mind who is also in recovery. I was talking to her about my latest endeavors, and how I feel about this and about that. I didn't have a particularly good day today, so basically I was bitching. 

She kindly and wisely listened to me for a bit and then she said something that threw me off. She explained that many years ago, her therapist told her husband that every time he pointed out a mistake she made or a correction she should make, she felt shame, which came back to him as fear and anger. Because she's alcoholic, she looked at life through lenses of shame. 

I have been thinking about this HARD. 

Is it because we have this brain disease?  How we were raised?  Is it because we are trying to recover the shit that is done to us as women? Or is it just the way some people are?  There is probably some truth to all of this.

I'm really going to start paying attention to this. Because I can be having a great day, or a great relationship with someone, and someone will say something simple to me, like, "you didn't fill out your application right for this, you missed THIS whole section," and if they don't say it to me with rainbows and butterflies shooting out of their orifices, I assume they think I'm stupid, and I feel shamed. So guess how I respond?  I write an email. Or a text. Or I talk about them behind their back, and of course, OF COURSE, I blog about it. 

What good has that gotten me so far?  Zero good. Because MOST of the time, that person has said a TON of nice stuff to me that would lead me to believe they don't think I'm stupid.  I can hear thirty compliments and one put-down and that put-down will get me spinning for days from feeling shamed.  

Like a broken record, I will again remind you that I still operate in a world where I need to feel liked.  It just didn't occur to me that it stems from a shame issue.  It totally makes sense. 

Forever a work in progress. 

Thanks, dinner buddy.

By the way, I got a kitten for my daughter's birthday. His name is Atticus. A.K.A., Kitty. He is a goof.  




Tuesday, May 27, 2014

A little birdie told me…(you didn't think I was TOTALLY going away)

I've heard word that a certain folk thinks I stopped writing in this blog at my lawyer's advice.  Not true.  My lawyer doesn't even know I have a blog.  It didn't come up in our conversations.  I did it because you have all heard me bitch about Bob for long enough. I want to blab about the rage, anger, hurt, happiness, staying sober, and every single feeling I have during this process here, more than anything.  But I don't want to hurt my kids, because he is their father.

So I will keep the matters of this divorce to myself.  I'll be back when it is over.

Hopefully I'll be back sooner than later.  I hope this goes fast.

DIVORCE SUCKS ASS!


FYI-  I got a JOB!!  

Thursday, May 22, 2014

Goodbye

I have to stop doing this right now because I think it will be best for my family. Maybe I'll be back someday. Maybe sooner than later. Right now I'm not able to write honestly, or positively. So for now, thanks for reading, I appreciate it. 

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

24 hour rule

Bob is a lot of work. Or should I say, taking on his shit is a lot of work. 

One thing you need to know about Bob is that he isn't quiet. He yells when he talks. It doesn't matter what he is talking about. The weather, sports, parenting, whatever the topic. Not in a mean way. Just LOUD.  I am not quite sure WHEN this started, but he yells on the phone, when he talks to anyone, every time. It is so annoying. Really. Not to be insensitive, but it drives me nuts. I'm forever shhhhushing him. 

Last night at a function, (I had already gone home), where my twins and Bob were, one of the facilitators (not understanding his disability) came up to him, in front of our kids, and other people, and told him to stop talking so loud, that she could hear every word he was saying down the hall. He was talking about stamped concrete (don't ask me) with some other dads.  

I'm sure they thought he was drunk or something. But really, it's from anxiety. He can't sit still or talk quiet. It is annoying, but HARMLESS. 

He left that place immediately, humiliated. Didn't they understand what it takes to get him out of the house?  How self conscious he is about is disability?  How scared he is all of the time?  It makes him talk loud, which is better than sleeping in my book. 

Once he got home and told me, I rushed back up there to have a word with her.  She said some other people were reporting that they could hear him complaining about doing a volunteer trip he had participated in twice, when all he said about it was, the weather was freezing, both times he went. That's it.


Who reports stuff like that?  

She said she would apologize to him, but our conversation was cut short.  So, I emailed her. Then I emailed her again. And then again. Then I emailed her boss. 

You see, I know exactly how to play it cool. 

So I've decided, from now on, even when I believe my point of view is right, I'm waiting 24 hours before I react to anyone.  Sticking up for yourself and your people can be necessary  Not allowing yourself to be walked on, bullied, or put down can be important. But if it can wait, and most things can, I think I would have sent less emails had I given it the 24 hours. 

I don't think I handled it wrong, rude, or mean. I just could have maybe written ONE email. Not three. Makes me look a little weird. Well...let's face it. Maybe I am. 

I'll take it as another opportunity to learn and practice good coping skills. I'll let you know how it goes. 

Another thing I noticed about myself is that I can say whatever I want about Bob. But you other folks had better not. Because even during a divorce, I will defend him and his illness. Being sensitive should always be present. Especially in a helping profession. 

Tuesday, May 20, 2014

I put my sports bra on

I put my sports bra on yesterday.  I wore a t-shirt and some yoga pants.  I had my sneakers on and was looking sporty.  I had every intention of going my first day back at the gym.  I even made good food choices.

"We" are timing which salt melts ice the fastest.
But then, there was the science fair shit that is due today.  So, instead of taking time for the gym (or having a REALLY great excuse to NOT have time) I didn't start, on the first day back.

You know how I get. Remember last year's science fair?

So my first day back to the gym, will actually be my second day back, because I skipped my first day.  Remember, getting into terrific shape, is in my top three goals right now.  And my goals are big, so this is no bullshit.

Watch out.  There is a LOT of pretty here.  Big or small.

Monday, May 19, 2014

Since we are talking about Bob

Since I've been talking about Bob lately, (like, forever) I've been thinking about how this blog can affect my family. And…I'll probably bore people with my life for at least another year or so.  

So let's talk divorce some more.

No matter what our mental or chemical health may be or has been,  we would be in this situation with our marriage anyhow. We got married so young.  We have grown up to be completely different people. With different beliefs, different likes, different everything. Different is okay. Unless there is just too much different. 

It seems like when people get divorced, people get mad.  Not ALWAYS true, I know.  I'm trying to NOT get mad. It is very hard for me to not be irrational at times.  When it comes down to it, money, kids, houses, pets, cars, all starts to coming into play.   Even when you think it won't   And when we don't see eye to eye,  I am aghast.  I feel like it is so simple. So does he. But our simples are not matching so well. 

I just said yesterday, we would always be friends. Then things took an ugly turn via text message. And if you know me well, you know I handle those situations like a champion three year old.

I'm stuck for the moment. I don't understand why pain makes people get petty about money,  just to make it hard for the other person.  I thought we both wanted to set up a situation where we could both succeed.  I guess pain makes people use money against each other. I just want to have this house, and be able so support my kids. Maybe I'm being greedy.  But it is best for the family.

So, I will try to make the best of it. Stepford wife?  Please. I'll just try to stay out of his way and hopefully he will stay out of mine. 

The plan is to keep looking for a job, get into shape, and clean my house.  In that order.  

Also, I need to kick up my meetings and kick them up hard. I don't feel like using. But I am starting to feel hopeless. Like everything I keep trying to do just gets harder and harder. Yes, that is self-pity. I'm drowning in it. I have gratitude. But pity is winning. Meeting time. And a JOB!

Divorce is mean. I didn't want it to be. 

Now THAT was some dirty laundry, huh?

Friday, May 16, 2014

Just a photo

Bob got invited to the "Volunteer Breakfast," at the kids' school.  It isn't easy for him to volunteer, because he likes to be home. So I'm glad he's being appreciated.

That is an old photo in the bottom right. I love that one though. We will always be friends. I hope...:)



Tuesday, May 13, 2014

It's my blog and I can post what I want to.

The other day, one of my sweet twins told me that a kid in their school has a mother who won't let him hang out with them because their dad is "psycho."

My guess is that she came to that conclusion because she must read my blog.


Welcome, uninformed person!


I am not sure where you would get the idea that my husband (who is my soon-to-be-ex) is a psycho.  And what a terrible word to teach your child.  If I were ignorant enough to use that word, I would direct it at a person who teaches their child to discriminate against people who are mentally-ill.


The media has done a GREAT job of making our veterans with PTSD look like savages.  I can tell you first hand, that this isn't true.  Yes, there is a higher rate of domestic abuse, divorce, drug addiction, and other nasty things that can come with people who have PTSD. In fact, as you may already know, we are getting divorced.  But importantly, we are IN RECOVERY from drugs and alcohol  And that man has never laid a finger on me.  He may say some things like "my money" or "how are you going to make it without my money" as a way to control me. Only because he wants to remain married.   BUT THAT IS THE WORST OF IT AT MY HOUSE.  I'm the mouthy one here.  For sure.


He wouldn't hurt a fly.  In fact, I have trouble getting him to kill flies.  He won't.  He won't even kill centipedes.  And lets face it, those things NEED TO GO!


In the parking lot at school the other day, I was debating whether I should approach you and educate you.  One of my twins said, "DO IT!"  And one of my twins said, "Please don't mom!"  Pretty true of their little personalities.


The part that sucks is not so much of how you feel about my husband.  But that you would say that to your son, who is a nice kid, and he would repeat it to my kids.  My kids didn't deserve your opinion.  They have enough on their plates.  They are good kids, ask anyone.


One last thing.  We can say "Oh, he fought for our country, how could you say that about him?"  But really, mental illness for anyone, in any form, is awful.  And we shouldn't be talking about humans like that at all.  Using words like "psycho, crazy, nuts," doesn't do anything to help anyone.  Words like that spread shame, stigma, and are just plain mean.


Your son is welcome at my house anytime.  But I would be cautious of letting my children hang out with a kid who has parents that teach intolerance and hate.


It IS fun having a blog.

Monday, May 12, 2014

The plan is, a slow plan

Does there ever get to a place in a parent's life where they HONESTLY think," Hey, I know what I'm doing!"

I mean as babies, especially the first, we feel like we are dropped off at a different house, with an alien that we know nothing about, and we are supposed to keep it alive. With no instructions on how to raise that exact kid. People will give all kinds of advice of what worked for THEIR kid. But we want to know what the fuck works for OUR kid. Because every human is different. 

Then they cross issues when they get older, when maybe kids at daycare tell them too much about a topic, giving you a teachable moment you aren't ready for, like something racist or god forbid SEX.  And they get to school, and some asshole kid is picking on them. Or they get their hearts broken, or they start failing classes. Or they are sad about divorce. Or they have a brain disease called addiction. 

No one can tell us how to exactly deal with these issues, the right way, for our very own kids. Let me tell you, if there was a class to get me through each of these topics, I'd be signed up. Because every stage is hard. At least for me, it never gets easy.  And I never feel like I know what to do. It's a crap shoot every time. 

Just about everything I thought I would do for certain situations, has never worked out like I planned. So the plan is, to have no plan.  Sure, the basic stuff I stuck to like sex talks (I have always answered every question honestly, using anatomically correct description) with what I planned to do.  But most things like school night sleepovers, chores, no swearing, eating super healthy, stuff that was pretty important in my head, got thrown out the window.  

I feel like a lot of that has to do with the years I was using, and a co-parent who never wants to be anything but friends with the kids.  So there are no rules.  And if it makes them happy, than that is the plan.  I tried to implement rules, but as soon as I turn my back, they are ignored.  So I gave up.  

Now that I am going to have my own household, things will be changing over here.  I have already started it.  

I have a new plan.  And I am going to go slow with it.  We have to start with chores, because I'll go crazy soon if my house stays like this.  You see, they don't even unload the dishwasher.  No wonder my house is always trashed.  No one has held the accountable for any actions. And no one (well, sometimes my daughter) does anything around here.  Their fault?  No, they haven't been taught or made to.  

Last week we started with unloading the dishwasher.  Everyone takes turns.  I am going to do that for a few WEEKS.  Then we are going to learn how to LOAD the dishwasher.  Then we will move to laundry, dusting, sweeping, the vacuum, raking the yard, cutting the grass, and by the time they are 40-years old, they will have some basic life skills.  

Word to the wise:  Don't be roommates with my kids until I'm done training them.  

One thing at a time. 


Sunday, May 11, 2014

Mother's day blues

I believe I am suffering from P.C.D, or Post-College Depression.  It is where you go from having even the time you take a pee planned out, to having nothing to do.  Like training for a marathon, and then being made to sit still.  I do well with chaos and structure.  I get depressed when I have nothing to do.

It hasn't even been two weeks.  My house is still an over-whelming mess, my kids are worrying me sick, and I have zero energy.  Zero.  I planned on getting SO much done during this time between when I get a job, and school.  All I want to do is sleep.  Fucking depression hits like bricks and messes up my life.  I look for gratitude, which is all around me.  I mean, my friends and my daughter threw me a surprise party with gifts and food and cake.  I have people who love me.  But I'm hitting a dark patch.  Which is normal for me sometimes.

I am weirdly sad this year that I don't have my mom.  I mean, it's been like 27 years since she died.  I've been a million different people since then.  But it would be nice to have her here, to help me through this next part.  To see my family and to be here.  I feel her here more, her memory, I guess.

My dad has been talking a lot about her lately.  Which worries me.  Isn't that what people do before they die?  I think he has finally put enough time between him and the last of his four other wives he married after she died (not all at the same time)  to remember how much he loved her.  They were high-school sweethearts, and she died way too young.  So her memory got shoved aside.  He is feeling her more.  I like to see that, but it makes me sad.  

Her death fucked me up good.  The aftermath fucked me up too.  I had not a skill to cope.  And now, I cannot imagine what it would be like to have her here.  Stopping by, calling on the phone, I'd ask her stupid questions, probably getting annoyed with her advice.  

I want her back.

On that happy note, Happy Mother's day to you. Whether you have kids, don't have kids, or are a guy.  Have a great Mother's day.