This Is Hard...

I mainly use social media as an outlet for my sense-of-humor.  Unlike most, I do want to see pictures of your children and spectacular vacations.  I do not want to see that you are a bigot.  Controversy, and the very thought of being attacked for my point-of-view, terrifies me.  I do not want to offend anyone regardless of the fact many offend me (and poor Marcus gets to hear all about it when he comes home).  For me, social media is not the time or place for arguments and such anonymous, typed-out, meme-producing vitriol takes away from the oftentimes very serious subject matter.  Sadly, that subject matter is even more oftentimes about the senseless loss of life.

I cannot explain why the 49 people who lost their lives at a nightclub in Orlando has affected me so deeply, especially given the number of daily terrorist attacks worldwide.  When the Paris attacks happened I was saddened and wanted to write but didn't.  When the San Bernardino shootings occurred I wanted to speak-out but didn't.  I remember watching social media and was astounded at the divisiveness events such as those created.  I wanted it to be known that I am a woman, liberal, gun-owning, tax-paying, college educated, mother, anti-feminist, hard-working, bra-burning, welfare/social services proponent, breast feeding advocate, Christian, believer of Evolution Theory, I-don't-care-who-uses-the-restroom-stall-next-to-me, Climate Change activist, and lover of ALL peoples (despite differences) but I was too scared to say it.

I have quite a few family and friends who are part of the LGBQT community and maybe that is why the Orlando shootings have hurt so deeply.  No matter your sexuality, the weekend is a time for rest and relaxation.  At one point for me, that meant bars and nightclubs.  Personally, I enjoyed the gay bars the most because that was where I could go and dance and not be harassed.  I also secretly relished the glowing admiration of my shoes or nails by the regular patrons.  It was also a sign of a potential significant other's character if he could go to a gay bar and not feel uncomfortable.

I've been reading some of the thoughts my more tolerant social media friends have had to say on the subject of the Orlando murders and one thing has occurred to me:  To not voice an opinion is to validate the hatred.  To not voice an opinion is to sit back and indirectly teach my children that hatred is tolerable.  I cannot stand for it any longer.

So, here is where I do stand, and here is where you can take issue:  I do not care if you are a law-abiding gun-owner because I am one as well (and a liberal to boot, imagine that?!).  I do not care if you are afraid of your right to the Second Amendment being taken away because it never will be.  I do not care if you find homosexuality to be a sin because "...love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love..." (Lin-Manuel Miranda, 2016).  I do not care if you believe all Muslims are evil because they are not.

I do care about stopping these atrocities and getting guns out of the hands of those who want to kill me or anyone I love.  I do care that with inactivity this will directly affect me one day and I will lose a loved one.  I do care that my FUCKING (sorry, mamma bear coming out) FOUR YEAR OLD participates in ACTIVE SHOOTER drills at her school.  I do care that your supposed Christian beliefs hold you to certain truths but not to all.  Finally, I do care that I am raising children who may one day be the difference.  I pray that they find their passion and become genuine, kind, and compassionate unlike so many.

Making Friends: A Sad Story

As my many adoring fans know (Hi, mom!), we've moved a few times in the past three years.  In 2013 we left the comforts of Fredericksburg, VA and moved to Jacksonville, NC.  My impression of Jacksonville as a whole can be summed-up in a contemptuous facial expression and we'll leave it at that.  This past summer we moved to Williamsburg, VA and I have enjoyed this change of scenery so much more.  This, however, is not the point of the post.  Making friends is the point of this post.  Every so often someone will ask if I've made any friends and every single time the answer is "no."

Making friends as an adult is f*cking hard.  It's not like I can get up in someone's face and ask if they want to play hide-and-seek with me, thus initiating a lifelong friendship.  Making friends is made even harder when you're an introvert.  For starters, I truly enjoy spending my time at home no matter how much I want to murder all of the living creatures that reside in it.  Putting myself out there is hard when I don't physically go anywhere, anyway.  I also feel like I'm a victim of "Resting B*tch Face" and, given my propensity for absolute silence, this can certainly only be viewed by outsiders as unfriendly.  Then, when I do come out of my shell, I tend to talk about things nobody cares about and probably tell them highly inappropriate information that leaves them wondering who the hell they just came into contact with and whether the authorities should be involved (and if I've asked them to play hide-and-seek the authorities will certainly be getting involved).

We lived in Jacksonville for three years and I can count on no fingers how many friends I made.  I was friendly and tried putting myself out there.  One time I was asked to join a mom running group that rotated homes and watched each other's children.  I went once.  That was hard.  I gave myself pep talks the whole night before and while driving over the next morning.  For me to go to a complete stranger's home and try and make myself comfortable is vomit inducing but I did it.  It's moments like these that I rely heavily on my children as a sort of shield.  If you see me in public, white knuckling my child's shoulder and constantly stroking her hair it's because I'm highly uncomfortable and somehow, she's protecting me from the horrors of human contact. 

Anyway, that afternoon after I left the first and last running group I'll ever join, I got the distinct impression one in the group didn't like me.  The second time I tried to go I was running late and when I got to the house nobody answered the door.  Later, I saw the person who was at the house (the one whom I gathered was not a fan of mine) was posting pictures on Facebook at about the same time I was standing at the door with my two girls in tow, a lunch for them packed.  No matter how unsubstantiated my feelings were, my paranoid-self just knew that she did not answer the door on purpose and I felt like I had entered the Mean Girls club.  Of course, the fact that she was surrounded by about five children with the TV turned-on meant absolutely nothing to me.  Needless to say the girls and I continued our regular, solo, running routine though deviated slightly on the days I knew the mom running group would be in the neighborhood.

So, yes, my attempts at making friends have been nothing short of pathetic.  I've met plenty of women here in Williamsburg that I think would make great friends but how do I put myself out there?  I've met other mom's at some of the girls' activities and we've hit if off but how does one ask another woman for her digits?  What if, after spending more time together she realizes what a weirdo-with-really-strong-opinions-about-almost-everything I am?  It's like dating but way, way worse because I'm probably not even getting free dinner out of the deal.  I've been seeing a dermatologist for the past few months and today I realized we had a lot in common.  But, again, how do I ask if she wants to be my friend?  Should I do it as she's looking between my butt cheeks for abnormal moles or should I wait until later?  Later.

Pissed

Back to feeling like a failure.  Jo's temper tantrums have escalated and my own as well.  I feel bad for myself, for Jo, and for Alex who is witness to the almost daily battles.  I know as the moment progresses and Jo continues down her path of not listening and continual screaming and kicking that it will go one of two ways:  I will be successful or I will cross-over and tantrum along with her.  95% of the time it is the former and 100% of that time I fall into a mother induced depression as I know my actions are affecting all.

Currently, Jo is asleep in the bed that she tore apart after a 45 minute battle that began when I asked her to return an item she had taken from her sister.  Until she kicked me in the groin I was able to more or less hold it together.  At that point I screamed, she screamed, and Alex went downstairs to escape.

I am pissed.  I am pissed because I don't know what to do for Jo.  I am pissed because I know my actions are inappropriate for helping her.  I am pissed because I will be judged for this behavior of mine.  I am pissed because no matter how successful I feel one day I take a giant leap back the next.

Dear Husband

Dear Husband,

If you do not have a youngest daughter by the time you get home from work do not be surprised.  She would not, WOULD NOT, get out of bed until after 8 this morning.  Although, to her credit, she was technically the first of the children out of bed when she briefly got out to scream and writhe around on the floor because I turned on the little lamp.  Once her stance on morning lighting was thoroughly discussed she got back into bed, stuffing herself and all of her lovies as far under the covers as possible.  I was set to let her ride in the car wearing pajamas but, eventually, she did get out of bed and got herself dressed.  There was a slight issue with her cowgirl boots being 1/4 of an inch unzipped which led to them being taken away completely.  After she got over the loss of the boots, she made her way to the breakfast table where her attitude slightly changed upon seeing the delicious donut her older sister was eating.  She came thisclose to not getting a donut.  The ride to and from dropping off her sister at school was fairly uneventful.  However, upon returning home, she refused to get out of the car because I killed a spider with her rain boot and she wanted to do it with her bare hands.  At the moment, TV is not an option and so she is going around finding things that she thinks will bother me.  For example, she yells "I'm going to mess this up!" and she moves the pumpkins on the fireplace around.  Currently, she has put herself in her room so I will sit here while I can and sip my coffee and eat my own donut.

Love,
Your Wife Who Will Be Running Away Soon

High Aspirations

Tonight we are getting Alexandra ready for her first day of pre-kindergarten. I put together a little sign for her to hold like every other parent does (I have no original thought) and I wanted to include a line stating what she wanted to be when she grew up. Her response? A "grown-up" and a "dishwasher."

Needless to say I did not include that line.

Not For The Faint Of Heart

I have not posted much about the house we moved into but, suffice to say, it's been a stressful draining depressing interesting adventure.  The entire house is in need of updating and that's not even including the massive amount of outside work that needs to be completed.

Prior to moving in I stressed the importance of a few items being taken care of before I even considered staying one night.  We installed new carpet on the second floor and had the entire second floor painted.  That made a big difference and I've been dealing with the less than ideal bathrooms and such.

However, I think it's time the bathrooms start receiving their long overdue makeover.  It isn't because the girl's sink is completely broken and therefore can't be used.  Nor is it because in the master bathroom the tub isn't even hooked-up to water.  No, it's because the toilets can't handle little girl poops and, as I write this I gag, I found myself this evening cutting up poop in order for it to flush down the toilet.

I refuse to live my life cutting poop.  We will be getting new toilets this weekend.

Sick Babies

Both kiddos have been sick lately and as such have come to expect certain pleasantries like vaporub on their backs, extra love and attention, and a coveted spot in bed with mommy.  Also, as it just so happens, it seems like every time the girls are sick Marcus is on travel and therefore I'm left alone running between bathrooms trying to take temperatures and provide medicine without cross contamination.

I don't usually let the girls sleep with me but when they're sick it's just easier to take care of them as they wake constantly and cry for me.  Alex was in bed with me for a few days, down with a fever, followed closely by Jo who developed a high fever and runny nose.  Despite having only been sick for one night by the time Marcus was back home, Jo must have grown accustomed to her new status as co-sleeper in mommy's bed because at dinner the night Marcus came home she asked "Is daddy going to sleep in our bed?"

As it just so happens, later that night daddy slept in Jo's bed and she came into bed with me.