Tuesday, March 19, 2019
I see you
I see you. I know not everyone does, but I do. I see you stepping in and stepping up, taking on one of the worlds hardest jobs. And I see how much it hurts you. You go unnoticed. You go without being given the rights you should have. Every day there is a 'dad' who is not biologically one, who takes on that role with children who are not biologically his. He doesnt get a thank you from the man whos children he is raising. He isnt noticed for all the hard work he does. For the nights he stays up checking a fever every four hours, for cleaning up the vomit, for dealing with the melt downs, the fights and the tantrums. There is no thank you for stepping in and stepping up. For being at the events, for cooking for the birthday parties and spending money on the toys and the clothes and everything else that comes with having children. And its not right. Its not right that he is corrected and called stepdad. Its not right when these children are corrected when calling him dad. He is their father. You are their father more so than who ever left them behind. I see you. I see all the hard work you do and the love you pour into them. And they see it too. Never forget that they see you.
Saturday, February 17, 2018
Dad
Dad. I've been thinking about this word a lot lately. Often times it seems that just because a person was involved in the creating of a child they believe they are entitled to this name. But why? Solely because the child carries their DNA? Blood, DNA, biological makeup, all these things mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. You know what else means nothing? Money. In the eyes of a child money means nothing. It's not about what you can buy them. It's not even about child support to "support" them. Children don't understand money. What they understand is love and time.
Over the past year I have watched one man go from a person for had held the idea of raising another man's children as an idea he never wanted, to wanting nothing else. I've watched him learn to be a father and a damn good one at that. I've seen him come home from work and read bed time stories. Tuck all three tiny people into bed, get up every morning to dress, fed, and send them off to school. I've watched him throw a load of laundry into the washer and drier. I've watched him struggle to figure out who's shirt goes to who. I've seen him handle the worst of tantrums from the boy, being patient and talking him down from a full melt down. I've seen him enforce rules, and I've seen him smile and laugh while playing with them. He lays down with the boy to watch batman before getting up and making me lunch on my lunch break. He is involved. He goes to doctors appointments, therapy appointments. He plays ball with them outside and keeps every picture they make him. He loves them. He loves them more than I ever thought possible. He calls them his kids. And in turn they call him dad.
While watching him learn I've watched the little people heal. There is no fear in this house. There is no flinching. They speak freeling. They run with no worries of being too loud. Yes they fight and bicker. They argue and they back talk. They push our buttons as hard as they can because they are children. But they respect us. They know they can only go so far before they are punished. But punishment in this house is grounding. It's doing chores. It's loosing privileges. And some times its a nose in the corner. Very rarely there is a spanking but because that often times results in a negative effect of our children it is saved as a last resort. In this house our children are free to be themselves and to grow and learn. We do not talk down to them, but instead talk to them as individual people, with respect, and love. We never put them down and when they say they are sorry for being bad we correct them. It's not that they are being a bad child, it is that they have done something that was not ok. And never in this house do we down play the issues that the boy and G have. We also do not let them use their issues as excuses and try our best to teach them that blaming other people is not the solution.
In this year I have seen progress. I have fallen in love in more with this amazing man that just fell into out lives, fitting so perfectly you would have thought he had been here all along. And while most days I love to admire him and cherish him, there are days where the past lingers in my mind and I get angry. Which is why the word Dad has been floating about. While watching one man become the best dad a kid could ask for, I've watched another nearly disappear.
Weeks without calls, months without visits. When visits come they are short. The last one only a few hours and the one before the boy didn't even want to go. He said "I want to stay here with you and daddy". The little people have gone from asking every day about their father to not asking at all. The two little ones don't ask when they will see him again at all. G still struggles some times but even now it seems that she is moving on. As an adult I can easily see what is happening. There is no longer a responsibility of children. Only the need to make his own relationship work. And one day my children will know that. They will see things as an adult and know they were put on the back burner for someone else. They will learn of the times he was in town but didn't see them. And when they ask me I tell them the truth. They will learn that they can't trust him or count on him, just as I did. I pray the little ones forget the things that have been done to them and only remember his absance. As for G, I pray she always knows how much I love her. I pray she sees that the person who is raising her loves her more than she could possibly imagine. Because she has not and will not forget the past.
It's difficult some times watching the way the man loves his children. Difficult because I love them just as much and find it nearly impossible to understand why someone wouldn't want a relationship with them. Neither one of us would go weeks at a time without even a phone call. And while we enjoy the times their Grandparents take them for a night, we miss them. I am happy, so incredibly happy that they have this man as their dad. My heart swells when L rans to him saying dad. It's the best sound in the world to me. And when Eian says daddy my heart swells again. They see him. They see his love and his dedication to us and that is what I need to keep fighting the anger that flares up when another week goes by with no word from the man who holds the believed entitlement to the name dad.
Over the past year I have watched one man go from a person for had held the idea of raising another man's children as an idea he never wanted, to wanting nothing else. I've watched him learn to be a father and a damn good one at that. I've seen him come home from work and read bed time stories. Tuck all three tiny people into bed, get up every morning to dress, fed, and send them off to school. I've watched him throw a load of laundry into the washer and drier. I've watched him struggle to figure out who's shirt goes to who. I've seen him handle the worst of tantrums from the boy, being patient and talking him down from a full melt down. I've seen him enforce rules, and I've seen him smile and laugh while playing with them. He lays down with the boy to watch batman before getting up and making me lunch on my lunch break. He is involved. He goes to doctors appointments, therapy appointments. He plays ball with them outside and keeps every picture they make him. He loves them. He loves them more than I ever thought possible. He calls them his kids. And in turn they call him dad.
While watching him learn I've watched the little people heal. There is no fear in this house. There is no flinching. They speak freeling. They run with no worries of being too loud. Yes they fight and bicker. They argue and they back talk. They push our buttons as hard as they can because they are children. But they respect us. They know they can only go so far before they are punished. But punishment in this house is grounding. It's doing chores. It's loosing privileges. And some times its a nose in the corner. Very rarely there is a spanking but because that often times results in a negative effect of our children it is saved as a last resort. In this house our children are free to be themselves and to grow and learn. We do not talk down to them, but instead talk to them as individual people, with respect, and love. We never put them down and when they say they are sorry for being bad we correct them. It's not that they are being a bad child, it is that they have done something that was not ok. And never in this house do we down play the issues that the boy and G have. We also do not let them use their issues as excuses and try our best to teach them that blaming other people is not the solution.
In this year I have seen progress. I have fallen in love in more with this amazing man that just fell into out lives, fitting so perfectly you would have thought he had been here all along. And while most days I love to admire him and cherish him, there are days where the past lingers in my mind and I get angry. Which is why the word Dad has been floating about. While watching one man become the best dad a kid could ask for, I've watched another nearly disappear.
Weeks without calls, months without visits. When visits come they are short. The last one only a few hours and the one before the boy didn't even want to go. He said "I want to stay here with you and daddy". The little people have gone from asking every day about their father to not asking at all. The two little ones don't ask when they will see him again at all. G still struggles some times but even now it seems that she is moving on. As an adult I can easily see what is happening. There is no longer a responsibility of children. Only the need to make his own relationship work. And one day my children will know that. They will see things as an adult and know they were put on the back burner for someone else. They will learn of the times he was in town but didn't see them. And when they ask me I tell them the truth. They will learn that they can't trust him or count on him, just as I did. I pray the little ones forget the things that have been done to them and only remember his absance. As for G, I pray she always knows how much I love her. I pray she sees that the person who is raising her loves her more than she could possibly imagine. Because she has not and will not forget the past.
It's difficult some times watching the way the man loves his children. Difficult because I love them just as much and find it nearly impossible to understand why someone wouldn't want a relationship with them. Neither one of us would go weeks at a time without even a phone call. And while we enjoy the times their Grandparents take them for a night, we miss them. I am happy, so incredibly happy that they have this man as their dad. My heart swells when L rans to him saying dad. It's the best sound in the world to me. And when Eian says daddy my heart swells again. They see him. They see his love and his dedication to us and that is what I need to keep fighting the anger that flares up when another week goes by with no word from the man who holds the believed entitlement to the name dad.
Thursday, December 7, 2017
Whoa.
OK, who needs a quick recap? Everyone? OK cool. Divorced (hell yea), in school, changed major from science to English, annnnnd moving in less than two weeks in with the man. We caught up? OK cool. So, I'm laying here in bed, Ladies G and L completely out. One of them did cough but no voices so I'm going to assume they finally fell asleep, and I'm reading random crap on facebook as always. I keep thinking, go shower, study for finals, do something other than lay here, but then another story pops up. My brain goes "Oh Piece of Candy!" and 45 minutes later here we are. So why am I writing this? Well two reasons, one since I plan on being an English major I think I should make an effort to focus on this blog that a very tiny amount of people read whenever I post it on facebook and two HOLYMOLYOFSAINTFRANCIS. This story I just read made me want to share this.
So this woman marries this guy who basically starts cheating on her 3 months into the marriage. OK fantastic he can rot. But she finds out by snooping on his phone. Now I'm not saying that I snoop on the mans phone. I dont...exactly. I look at his phone and his texts because he is HORRIBLE about telling me anything his mother has said. EVER. Also he has this really weird love of taking pictures of me (and himself when drunk) while I am sleeping. I didnt like it at first but now I love it even though he never does it anymore. Anyways back to point. So i quite innocently take his phone while we are out to dinner (lunch break sushi!!!) because I took a video of him a few weeks back and his mother wanted me to send it to her. He flips his shit. I mean yanks his phone back from me the moment I'm off guard, opens up his browser and starts closing web pages like they are bombs. Now me being me and having my past life of hell, i start thinking "what the hell kind of porn were you looking at??? "Was he not joking about toe sucking? I thought it was joke?" Quickly though my brain begins to work and I realize something else is up. So I ask. He wont tell me, actually gets kind of defensive about it. Now I feel like crap for trying to take his phone to send something to his mother. He's been on it more recently playing this game downloaded. We sit, I feel bad, he now feels bad and so he says "I was looking at the sale JC Penny had going on." O...k...? What am I supposed to do with that? I bring up the fact that I have never opened his browser and looked at it. He gives me a pointed look. Anyone remember the scene in Inside Out where the mom looks at the dad and he looks like a deer and headlights going "what women what??" Yea. That was me. And then like the light bulb they used to convince Riley to run away (Sir E is obsessed with this movie right now) it hits me. His mom asked him if he was getting me a ring for Christmas because JC Penny was having a sale. He told her (and me) he was not getting me a ring for Christmas. He did say he was looking. And has sense put a pass code on his phone until after Christmas because I wont stop trying to steal it. He loves me. I hate surprises. I just wanna know. I wonder if his mom would give me his bank statements...OK I know that's bad and this woman who snooped on her husbands phone was able to justify her actions because he was cheating man whore and I cant because my boyfriend may or may not be buying me a ring and hating surprises is not justifiable under those circumstances. But can you blame me? I mean really, knowing when he could very well be asking me to marry him could be right behind that pass code locked phone that I figured out the pass code to. Assuming he didnt change it because I did tell him I knew. See I'm honest. But still! I just wanna know. Ugh I guess this has been enough rambling and I should go see if Sir E has finally given it up to the sleep gods.
So this woman marries this guy who basically starts cheating on her 3 months into the marriage. OK fantastic he can rot. But she finds out by snooping on his phone. Now I'm not saying that I snoop on the mans phone. I dont...exactly. I look at his phone and his texts because he is HORRIBLE about telling me anything his mother has said. EVER. Also he has this really weird love of taking pictures of me (and himself when drunk) while I am sleeping. I didnt like it at first but now I love it even though he never does it anymore. Anyways back to point. So i quite innocently take his phone while we are out to dinner (lunch break sushi!!!) because I took a video of him a few weeks back and his mother wanted me to send it to her. He flips his shit. I mean yanks his phone back from me the moment I'm off guard, opens up his browser and starts closing web pages like they are bombs. Now me being me and having my past life of hell, i start thinking "what the hell kind of porn were you looking at??? "Was he not joking about toe sucking? I thought it was joke?" Quickly though my brain begins to work and I realize something else is up. So I ask. He wont tell me, actually gets kind of defensive about it. Now I feel like crap for trying to take his phone to send something to his mother. He's been on it more recently playing this game downloaded. We sit, I feel bad, he now feels bad and so he says "I was looking at the sale JC Penny had going on." O...k...? What am I supposed to do with that? I bring up the fact that I have never opened his browser and looked at it. He gives me a pointed look. Anyone remember the scene in Inside Out where the mom looks at the dad and he looks like a deer and headlights going "what women what??" Yea. That was me. And then like the light bulb they used to convince Riley to run away (Sir E is obsessed with this movie right now) it hits me. His mom asked him if he was getting me a ring for Christmas because JC Penny was having a sale. He told her (and me) he was not getting me a ring for Christmas. He did say he was looking. And has sense put a pass code on his phone until after Christmas because I wont stop trying to steal it. He loves me. I hate surprises. I just wanna know. I wonder if his mom would give me his bank statements...OK I know that's bad and this woman who snooped on her husbands phone was able to justify her actions because he was cheating man whore and I cant because my boyfriend may or may not be buying me a ring and hating surprises is not justifiable under those circumstances. But can you blame me? I mean really, knowing when he could very well be asking me to marry him could be right behind that pass code locked phone that I figured out the pass code to. Assuming he didnt change it because I did tell him I knew. See I'm honest. But still! I just wanna know. Ugh I guess this has been enough rambling and I should go see if Sir E has finally given it up to the sleep gods.
Thursday, May 18, 2017
I'm angry. Don't ever for a second think that I am not. I'm angry for what has happened to me, to my children, for the situations we were put in. I'm angry. I want so terribly bad to be hateful and resentful. I want to scream some times. And some times I do. Its not really about me though, when I break down in the bathroom for those few seconds. When I have to walk away or hold my tongue. I'm not angry for what was said to me. For even really what was done to me fully. I'm angry because my children mean everything to me and the damage that was inflicted onto them is still there. I see it when they get angry. They snap. They yell, they scream. They shut down and refuse to communicate. The call each other names, try to manipulate each other, even hit each other at times. Not in the normal child manor either. I'm angry because while they are my priority, they are not someone else's.
If you came to this blog in hopes of getting the details on what happened leading up to my divorce, I am sorry to say you will be highly disappointed. I actually wrote a post, stating everything in what I considered to be a decent and well said manor, never truly speaking negatively against my ex husband, however after having several close friends and family read it, I have decided against posting it for now. I'm not afraid to tell people my story, but I am afraid. Let that simmer for a minute.
I have PTSD. Not from war, not from a tragic accident, or anything like that, but from 9 years of marriage. I see a therapist (who I need to call while I'm thinking about it), who sits and listens to me. She is my out lit for this angry. She helps me deal with it. Gives me advice on how to handle it. I've always been one to keep it all bundled up inside, but I don't want to do that. Here's why. Anger leads to hate. And hate is a bad place to go. As much as there are times that I want to be so hateful and just blurt out everything I've had to keep inside for 9 years, I can not and I will not be that person. I will not be that person because of my children.
Now when I say I have PTSD, I do mean that. I have always disliked that term because it can be used so loosely. I've seen people use it as a crutch, as an excuse and its why up until now I have never used it to describe what happened to me when something triggers me. Triggers me. What does that mean? Well heres an example. Some time before the divorce, while my ex still lived with me but we were considered separate, I was coming home from work. I had his car. It started shaking, horribly and honestly felt like a wheel was about to fall off. I called Shawn knowing he was heading to Bald Knob, which is where I was. (I will go into details about him shortly for those who have no idea who that is.) I pulled over at Harps and waited for him. My heart was racing. Not because I was worried about my car, but because the clock was ticking. I had already gotten off late. I needed to get home before my phone was blown up with text and calls. Shawn comes and sure enough I had a few bolts loose in my back tire. I thank him, so incredibly grateful he had been able to help. At this point its 1030. I'm sick to my stomach as the phone rings. I tell him what happened and hes annoyed. Hes mad. I go home. Last week I was driving by Harps on my way home. I thought about that night. How I was still so happy to of had him as a friend then. That he came and helped me. And then it hit me. The phone call. I got nervous and anxious, suddenly set back months ago and feeling and thinking about how I was going to go home to him. I told myself over and over again he isnt there. Its over, its finalized, you have nothing to be scared of and yet there I was, sweating and shaking and wanting to scream. Wanting to turn around. I should have called Shawn, or my mother, or sister, but just like any other time that something triggers me, I cant speak. My mouth seems to seal itself shut every time it happens. Its frustrating for me because in my head I'm screaming to talk. Just say one word, but I cant. I've had to shut my mouth for so long its become a defense mechanism that I cant seem to get over. But I'm trying.
I'm sure at this point your minds are running wild with what could have happened. I will tell you one thing, but I promise you it doesnt even touch the surface of it all. Mental abuse can be just as bad as the physical at times. I will walk around for the next 7 years with these scars you can not see. I will walk around for the next 7 years fighting this. Having this. Dealing with this. With the flash backs, the low self esteem, the being scared to ask for anything. For 7 years I'll fight the thought that I HAVE to order the cheapest thing on the menu. For 7 years I will fight my brain when it tells my mouth to seal itself shut over the smallest and simplest of things. 7 years, thats how long it takes for the damage to be undone...or so Shawn tells me.
Shawn. You've seen me tag him (those on my facebook) in post and a few pictures. Shawn became my best friend in a very short span of time. He was there to go to break with me. There to lighten up the mood when I sat quietly on the back of his truck. He was there to joke with, to make the closing shifts better. He was there to come help when I was drowning in customers. My first words to him where full of sass. I called him a princess followed by a cupcake. We clicked. He never looked at me as an option, only as a friend, until I became an option. I told him from the start if he didnt want this he could walk away. He didnt know fully what he was getting into until one day when I completely broke down, crying against his chest. I wasnt miserable, I was just full of so much anger. I told him had an out. I told him he would be taking on me, with all the damage, and 3 tiny and confused children who also had damage. We were damaged. And he didnt have to do this. He didnt have to stick by me. We could be friends again if thats what he wanted. I said this as strong as I could but in the back of my mind I knew I would be heart broken. I would be loosing my best friend, because I couldnt nor did I want to go back. He said he knew what he was getting into and he wanted it. All of it. Me, them, the dog, the two cats, the noise, the crazy, the break downs and the melt downs. He wanted it. Hes never been a fan of the quiet anyways. And he's stuck to that. He took care of L for two days straight while she was sick and had to stay home. She pushed her limits on the last day, feeling better, and he stood his ground against her. He stood his ground against L!!! The one who just lets it all roll off her back, The one who is a battle and pushes those limits until she breaks them. He stood his ground against her. He did not yell. He did not lay a hand on her, he simply took her toys. Told her she was out of options. He didnt back down. Then he kept G. My sweet shy little G. They hung out all day, and never once butted heads. He tells me he enjoys his time with them (just bring coloring books next time!). They climb all over him like the tiny crazy Monkeys that they are. But they dont drive him up the wall (not yet anyways). He is there for them and he is there for me. In ways I can not even begin to describe.
I didnt want to meet someone. I didnt want to date, or get close to someone, especially not right after ending a marriage, though if I'm honest, that marriage had been over for two years. I just had to stop. I had to stop being afraid, stop trying to take care of someone who was giving me nothing back. And when I did stop, and I told myself I would never do this again, I found my best friend. I looked up one night when it was freezing outside, and there he sat, next to me in his truck. And I fought it. I fought it hard. I viewed myself as useless. Not deserving of someones time or effort. But then something changed. I stopped letting the fear rule me. Now I still struggle with this fear that has been embedded into me, but slowly its going away. 7 years. Thats how long it will take.
I prayed a lot, I prayed hard. I dropped to my knees, put my head to the floor and I prayed. I needed clarity. Every time I did this I got the answer I needed. I was calmed. I felt safe and I knew without a doubt I was doing what was right for me and for them. Every door seems to have opened for me. Im getting ready to start, my in a healthy relationship that I have zero intentions of ending, my children, though at times incredibly sad at times when they realize their father is not around, are happy. They are relaxed at home, able to be children and speak their minds. And they adore Shawn. Always happy to go see him, do things with him. And while yes I have all this anger, I am working on making sure that it does not, and will not rule my life. I have work to do that is far more important than what was done in my past.
If you came to this blog in hopes of getting the details on what happened leading up to my divorce, I am sorry to say you will be highly disappointed. I actually wrote a post, stating everything in what I considered to be a decent and well said manor, never truly speaking negatively against my ex husband, however after having several close friends and family read it, I have decided against posting it for now. I'm not afraid to tell people my story, but I am afraid. Let that simmer for a minute.
I have PTSD. Not from war, not from a tragic accident, or anything like that, but from 9 years of marriage. I see a therapist (who I need to call while I'm thinking about it), who sits and listens to me. She is my out lit for this angry. She helps me deal with it. Gives me advice on how to handle it. I've always been one to keep it all bundled up inside, but I don't want to do that. Here's why. Anger leads to hate. And hate is a bad place to go. As much as there are times that I want to be so hateful and just blurt out everything I've had to keep inside for 9 years, I can not and I will not be that person. I will not be that person because of my children.
Now when I say I have PTSD, I do mean that. I have always disliked that term because it can be used so loosely. I've seen people use it as a crutch, as an excuse and its why up until now I have never used it to describe what happened to me when something triggers me. Triggers me. What does that mean? Well heres an example. Some time before the divorce, while my ex still lived with me but we were considered separate, I was coming home from work. I had his car. It started shaking, horribly and honestly felt like a wheel was about to fall off. I called Shawn knowing he was heading to Bald Knob, which is where I was. (I will go into details about him shortly for those who have no idea who that is.) I pulled over at Harps and waited for him. My heart was racing. Not because I was worried about my car, but because the clock was ticking. I had already gotten off late. I needed to get home before my phone was blown up with text and calls. Shawn comes and sure enough I had a few bolts loose in my back tire. I thank him, so incredibly grateful he had been able to help. At this point its 1030. I'm sick to my stomach as the phone rings. I tell him what happened and hes annoyed. Hes mad. I go home. Last week I was driving by Harps on my way home. I thought about that night. How I was still so happy to of had him as a friend then. That he came and helped me. And then it hit me. The phone call. I got nervous and anxious, suddenly set back months ago and feeling and thinking about how I was going to go home to him. I told myself over and over again he isnt there. Its over, its finalized, you have nothing to be scared of and yet there I was, sweating and shaking and wanting to scream. Wanting to turn around. I should have called Shawn, or my mother, or sister, but just like any other time that something triggers me, I cant speak. My mouth seems to seal itself shut every time it happens. Its frustrating for me because in my head I'm screaming to talk. Just say one word, but I cant. I've had to shut my mouth for so long its become a defense mechanism that I cant seem to get over. But I'm trying.
I'm sure at this point your minds are running wild with what could have happened. I will tell you one thing, but I promise you it doesnt even touch the surface of it all. Mental abuse can be just as bad as the physical at times. I will walk around for the next 7 years with these scars you can not see. I will walk around for the next 7 years fighting this. Having this. Dealing with this. With the flash backs, the low self esteem, the being scared to ask for anything. For 7 years I'll fight the thought that I HAVE to order the cheapest thing on the menu. For 7 years I will fight my brain when it tells my mouth to seal itself shut over the smallest and simplest of things. 7 years, thats how long it takes for the damage to be undone...or so Shawn tells me.
Shawn. You've seen me tag him (those on my facebook) in post and a few pictures. Shawn became my best friend in a very short span of time. He was there to go to break with me. There to lighten up the mood when I sat quietly on the back of his truck. He was there to joke with, to make the closing shifts better. He was there to come help when I was drowning in customers. My first words to him where full of sass. I called him a princess followed by a cupcake. We clicked. He never looked at me as an option, only as a friend, until I became an option. I told him from the start if he didnt want this he could walk away. He didnt know fully what he was getting into until one day when I completely broke down, crying against his chest. I wasnt miserable, I was just full of so much anger. I told him had an out. I told him he would be taking on me, with all the damage, and 3 tiny and confused children who also had damage. We were damaged. And he didnt have to do this. He didnt have to stick by me. We could be friends again if thats what he wanted. I said this as strong as I could but in the back of my mind I knew I would be heart broken. I would be loosing my best friend, because I couldnt nor did I want to go back. He said he knew what he was getting into and he wanted it. All of it. Me, them, the dog, the two cats, the noise, the crazy, the break downs and the melt downs. He wanted it. Hes never been a fan of the quiet anyways. And he's stuck to that. He took care of L for two days straight while she was sick and had to stay home. She pushed her limits on the last day, feeling better, and he stood his ground against her. He stood his ground against L!!! The one who just lets it all roll off her back, The one who is a battle and pushes those limits until she breaks them. He stood his ground against her. He did not yell. He did not lay a hand on her, he simply took her toys. Told her she was out of options. He didnt back down. Then he kept G. My sweet shy little G. They hung out all day, and never once butted heads. He tells me he enjoys his time with them (just bring coloring books next time!). They climb all over him like the tiny crazy Monkeys that they are. But they dont drive him up the wall (not yet anyways). He is there for them and he is there for me. In ways I can not even begin to describe.
I didnt want to meet someone. I didnt want to date, or get close to someone, especially not right after ending a marriage, though if I'm honest, that marriage had been over for two years. I just had to stop. I had to stop being afraid, stop trying to take care of someone who was giving me nothing back. And when I did stop, and I told myself I would never do this again, I found my best friend. I looked up one night when it was freezing outside, and there he sat, next to me in his truck. And I fought it. I fought it hard. I viewed myself as useless. Not deserving of someones time or effort. But then something changed. I stopped letting the fear rule me. Now I still struggle with this fear that has been embedded into me, but slowly its going away. 7 years. Thats how long it will take.
I prayed a lot, I prayed hard. I dropped to my knees, put my head to the floor and I prayed. I needed clarity. Every time I did this I got the answer I needed. I was calmed. I felt safe and I knew without a doubt I was doing what was right for me and for them. Every door seems to have opened for me. Im getting ready to start, my in a healthy relationship that I have zero intentions of ending, my children, though at times incredibly sad at times when they realize their father is not around, are happy. They are relaxed at home, able to be children and speak their minds. And they adore Shawn. Always happy to go see him, do things with him. And while yes I have all this anger, I am working on making sure that it does not, and will not rule my life. I have work to do that is far more important than what was done in my past.
Saturday, March 14, 2015
Potty Training A Boy 101
The time has come for Sir E to the learn the ins and out of the potty. He is 15 months and as is the norm for my husband and I, it is potty training time. A few months ago I let Sir E pick out a potty and some underwear. We have since then moved into a lovely 4 bedroom home all hard wood floors expect in the kids bedrooms. We have tons of room and it is amazing. Now that the snow has finally left and the temperatures are warming up, we are finally set to potty train, so here are a few tips for potty training a boy because trust me it is so much more complicated than it is for a girl.
Step one, purchase a potty.
Step two purchase a second potty because the first one which was in the shape of a race car and only cost around 5 dollars will prove to be a horrible buy. Yes the boy loved it. Yes he picked it out, but trust me hes never gonna pee in it no matter how well you delicately sit him on it. No pee shield means no pee in the potty.
Step three place a towel under potty.
Step four place potty some place other than bathroom. Trust me going to the bathroom every 30 minutes will get old, ours is in the kitchen.
Step five get use to the randomness that is a male penis. The interesting thing about a vagina is that it does nothing. Seriously, when little girls sit and pee you can stare at the bottom of the potty all day long waiting for that little trickle and their vaginas stay the same, but the penis....oh no, that is a whole other ball game. Get use to it.
Step six do not leave boy unattended on potty. Seriously the moment your back turns he will pee and you wont be there to aim his penis down and it will go everywhere which leads me to...
Step seven aim penis down. Yea, your gonna have to touch it and odds are he wont like it. Every time he pees your gonna have to aim that sucker down until he finally gets the hang of doing it himself.
Step eight get use to watching in horror as your sweet innocent child grabs himself. Yea...
Step nine get some food. Unlike little girls it would appear as if the only way to keep that bottom placed on the potty for more than two seconds is food. Gets snacks, let him eat, he will pee.
Step ten he will tell you he needs to go potty. You will smile in delight and sat him down. He will smile at you and that is the moment that you need to prepare yourself, because he is about to run. Little boys love being naked. They love letting it all hang out there and be free (hey we all do lets not lie). The moment that tiny precious grin comes brace yourself. He will quickly jump up from the potty and take off down the hall. Good luck catching him, dont worry though if he has sisters and you lose him simply follow their horrified screams of "NAKED BABY!!!!"
So in closing, potty training a boy will be different. Enjoy it and occasionally let him run through the house shrieking in joy naked, because at some point society wont find it cute and he will only be toddler for so longer.
Step one, purchase a potty.
Step two purchase a second potty because the first one which was in the shape of a race car and only cost around 5 dollars will prove to be a horrible buy. Yes the boy loved it. Yes he picked it out, but trust me hes never gonna pee in it no matter how well you delicately sit him on it. No pee shield means no pee in the potty.
Step three place a towel under potty.
Step four place potty some place other than bathroom. Trust me going to the bathroom every 30 minutes will get old, ours is in the kitchen.
Step five get use to the randomness that is a male penis. The interesting thing about a vagina is that it does nothing. Seriously, when little girls sit and pee you can stare at the bottom of the potty all day long waiting for that little trickle and their vaginas stay the same, but the penis....oh no, that is a whole other ball game. Get use to it.
Step six do not leave boy unattended on potty. Seriously the moment your back turns he will pee and you wont be there to aim his penis down and it will go everywhere which leads me to...
Step seven aim penis down. Yea, your gonna have to touch it and odds are he wont like it. Every time he pees your gonna have to aim that sucker down until he finally gets the hang of doing it himself.
Step eight get use to watching in horror as your sweet innocent child grabs himself. Yea...
Step nine get some food. Unlike little girls it would appear as if the only way to keep that bottom placed on the potty for more than two seconds is food. Gets snacks, let him eat, he will pee.
Step ten he will tell you he needs to go potty. You will smile in delight and sat him down. He will smile at you and that is the moment that you need to prepare yourself, because he is about to run. Little boys love being naked. They love letting it all hang out there and be free (hey we all do lets not lie). The moment that tiny precious grin comes brace yourself. He will quickly jump up from the potty and take off down the hall. Good luck catching him, dont worry though if he has sisters and you lose him simply follow their horrified screams of "NAKED BABY!!!!"
So in closing, potty training a boy will be different. Enjoy it and occasionally let him run through the house shrieking in joy naked, because at some point society wont find it cute and he will only be toddler for so longer.
Friday, December 19, 2014
Size 12
Today my sister brought me a pair of jeans that were too big for her. She is a tiny thing even when "shes not". They were a size 11/12. I told her they would probably fit me in a few weeks or so since I am constantly loosing more and more weight. Well I tried them on and to my absolute amazement they fit! I cant remember when I was able to wear a size 12! Surely at some point in the past 4 years I did, but it hasnt been since Lady L made her appearance at the least. From there my mother took me shopping. Size 12 in dress and pants. It made me feel absolutely amazing.
The last time I stepped into a dressing room I was ready to cry. Nothing fit me. It was all too small, too tight. I had to keep going up in pants sizes until finally I had no choice but to go into the plus size section. This was in March/April. I found a pair of 18s that fit in the waist but were loose every where else. I also got a pair of 16W. They weren't too terribly loose in the legs which is why I liked them. Slowly I was able to fit back into a pair of my old jeans so long as I had the button undone. A few months later I was able to button them which lead to my other pants slowly becoming looser in the waist. My mother gave me a pair of size 14 jeans and as of late they have been falling off. To put on size 12 and have them fit me without a struggle is such a wonderful confidence booster, I braved the dresses. I found two I absolutely love and can not wait to wear. I have NEVER had the confidence to wear a dress. This does not mean that I have not owned them, I just never had the confidence to wear them. I tried on all my new clothes (2 dresses, a pair of jeans, 2 long sleeved shirts, a blouse, and a sweater) for my husband and the Ladies to see. The Ladies, being sweet little things, were wowed by my clothes, exclaiming "Mommy you look beautiful!" or my favorite from Lady L "You look fabulous." I felt it too.
For months I have looked at my grungy clothing in the mirror and thought "what happened?" I own two or three nice shirts, zero pants that fit correctly, and found that the only long sleeve shirts that I have are my maternity shirts. Despite knowing that I had lost weight I wasnt feeling too good about myself simply because I was still battling the "nothing fits!" stage. When my mother told me she wanted to take me shopping I was dreading it. I was happy at the thought of getting out the house and of having some time with her just the two of us, but I wasnt looking forward to the trying on of clothes I was in love with only to find they didnt fit me. And to make matters worse Madam Flo made her appearance out of no where earlier this week. Its never a good idea to go shopping while your vagina is falling out, or more accurately, your body is reminding you there is no baby in it and your last baby is now one and it is demanding you put a baby in it by bleeding profusely for 5 days (or in my case 3 because my Diva cup seems to shorten it which is awesome, yet another reason to go Diva). I however sucked it up and agreed to it without ever letting her think I was worried or that I might bawl my eyes out. Putting on a pair of size 12 jeans, the size my very tiny sister was wearing before she lost her baby weight, had me on cloud nine. Being about to cruise past the larger sizes, and not even think to grab a size XL for shirts was amazing. In fact I only got two items that were an XL, my sweater (because I like my sweaters a little looser) and my blouse (because Ive got big boobs for now, sadly they will deflate when Sir E no longer wants momma milk). That is amazing for me. I happen to be a large in shirts solely because I am big breasted, even at my thinnest, my breast were busting in a medium. I think once Sir E is done nursing and I can really hit it hard at working out I will probably go down a cup size or two, which I wouldnt mind, but pretty sure the girls are gonna be a whole lot of saggy empty sacks...point is I might be able to wear a medium then.
I have to say I could have never made it to this point if it weren't for my Whole30/Paleo lifestyle. As of late I have been incredibly relaxed with my eating and Ive been paying for it. I've bloated, I've had migraines, and my mood has not been pleasant at all times, but I'm trying to get back to where I should be. Life gets busy and some times its just easier to take a little break. The fact that I havent been eating healthy and was still able to fit into size 12s is awesome. I cant wait until I am complaining that they are falling off!
For anyone struggling with their weight or any health issues I am telling It Starts With Food. Live by that saying and that book. The changes are so amazing I cant even begin to tell you. When I eat right, everything changes. I drop weight like I drop glass objects (which is a lot and with ease), my thyroid immediately evens out and starts to lower on its own until I am taking too much of my medication. I can sleep without waking constantly through the night, I wake up early on my own and want to get up! Even the tumors on my nerve in my back seem to ease up in pain. Its a wonderful thing. Try it, you just might be amazed!
The last time I stepped into a dressing room I was ready to cry. Nothing fit me. It was all too small, too tight. I had to keep going up in pants sizes until finally I had no choice but to go into the plus size section. This was in March/April. I found a pair of 18s that fit in the waist but were loose every where else. I also got a pair of 16W. They weren't too terribly loose in the legs which is why I liked them. Slowly I was able to fit back into a pair of my old jeans so long as I had the button undone. A few months later I was able to button them which lead to my other pants slowly becoming looser in the waist. My mother gave me a pair of size 14 jeans and as of late they have been falling off. To put on size 12 and have them fit me without a struggle is such a wonderful confidence booster, I braved the dresses. I found two I absolutely love and can not wait to wear. I have NEVER had the confidence to wear a dress. This does not mean that I have not owned them, I just never had the confidence to wear them. I tried on all my new clothes (2 dresses, a pair of jeans, 2 long sleeved shirts, a blouse, and a sweater) for my husband and the Ladies to see. The Ladies, being sweet little things, were wowed by my clothes, exclaiming "Mommy you look beautiful!" or my favorite from Lady L "You look fabulous." I felt it too.
For months I have looked at my grungy clothing in the mirror and thought "what happened?" I own two or three nice shirts, zero pants that fit correctly, and found that the only long sleeve shirts that I have are my maternity shirts. Despite knowing that I had lost weight I wasnt feeling too good about myself simply because I was still battling the "nothing fits!" stage. When my mother told me she wanted to take me shopping I was dreading it. I was happy at the thought of getting out the house and of having some time with her just the two of us, but I wasnt looking forward to the trying on of clothes I was in love with only to find they didnt fit me. And to make matters worse Madam Flo made her appearance out of no where earlier this week. Its never a good idea to go shopping while your vagina is falling out, or more accurately, your body is reminding you there is no baby in it and your last baby is now one and it is demanding you put a baby in it by bleeding profusely for 5 days (or in my case 3 because my Diva cup seems to shorten it which is awesome, yet another reason to go Diva). I however sucked it up and agreed to it without ever letting her think I was worried or that I might bawl my eyes out. Putting on a pair of size 12 jeans, the size my very tiny sister was wearing before she lost her baby weight, had me on cloud nine. Being about to cruise past the larger sizes, and not even think to grab a size XL for shirts was amazing. In fact I only got two items that were an XL, my sweater (because I like my sweaters a little looser) and my blouse (because Ive got big boobs for now, sadly they will deflate when Sir E no longer wants momma milk). That is amazing for me. I happen to be a large in shirts solely because I am big breasted, even at my thinnest, my breast were busting in a medium. I think once Sir E is done nursing and I can really hit it hard at working out I will probably go down a cup size or two, which I wouldnt mind, but pretty sure the girls are gonna be a whole lot of saggy empty sacks...point is I might be able to wear a medium then.
I have to say I could have never made it to this point if it weren't for my Whole30/Paleo lifestyle. As of late I have been incredibly relaxed with my eating and Ive been paying for it. I've bloated, I've had migraines, and my mood has not been pleasant at all times, but I'm trying to get back to where I should be. Life gets busy and some times its just easier to take a little break. The fact that I havent been eating healthy and was still able to fit into size 12s is awesome. I cant wait until I am complaining that they are falling off!
For anyone struggling with their weight or any health issues I am telling It Starts With Food. Live by that saying and that book. The changes are so amazing I cant even begin to tell you. When I eat right, everything changes. I drop weight like I drop glass objects (which is a lot and with ease), my thyroid immediately evens out and starts to lower on its own until I am taking too much of my medication. I can sleep without waking constantly through the night, I wake up early on my own and want to get up! Even the tumors on my nerve in my back seem to ease up in pain. Its a wonderful thing. Try it, you just might be amazed!
Monday, December 8, 2014
Little Girls
When I first found out that Lady G was going to be a girl, I was terrified. I knew nothing about little girls. I had always been a tom boy, a guys girl. I liked playing in the dirt, wearing overalls, refusing to conform a wear anything but a sports bra until I was nearly sixteen (I developed breast in the third grade as an fyi). My favorite color was not pink, pink was not in my wardrobe. It wasn't until the ninth grade that I started wearing make up (my cousin dolled me up at the end of gym class one day) and doing girly things wasn't an interest. I told people not to get me pink things for her. I didnt want pink to be her color. I said no to the big bows, no to the pink, no to everything the screamed IT'S A GIRL! And then she came. She was pink all over, soft skin, gorgeous big eyes, and though I said no to laying her on my stomach, she was laid right there on top of me. She looked right up at me and smiled.
I was terrified to touch her. After all the nurses had left I stared at her in her little plastic bed and asked my mother if I could hold her. My mother laughed and told me "Yes! She is yours! You can do whatever you want with her." From then on out my world became pink. I still didnt over do it like some mothers do. Occasionally she had the headband with the bow, but it was never over the top. We pierced her ears and I snuggled her close at night enjoying her sweet smell, her soft little pink skin, and those gorgeous big eyes.
As she grew she acted like most toddlers. Any toy was a fun toy. We collected pink toys over the years and pink blankets. Our home was slowly filled with things that screamed girl, but it was also filled with toys that screamed child. She had legos galore of which she loved. She had books in all shapes and sizes. Over time she began to request Hot Wheels to which she loved as well. When Lady L came I didnt bother to say no pink. We where given a pink bath tub (which Sir E used too). Lady L loved all her sisters old toys but as soon as she was old enough to pointed and bounce up and down she wanted the Hot Wheels. She loves her cars so much she even refuses to share them at times with her siblings.
As Lady G continued on her path of growing into a little person her likes kept changing. The little girl I had tried so hard to keep pink from now demanded it. Dress up clothes in pinks and purple, princess wands and crowns, it all had to be hers. Minni Mouse was her idol as well as every Disney Princess known to man. She wanted me to fix her hair, to put her in dresses, and buy Hello Kitty. Her love of girly things grew and grew. Baby dolls, barbie dolls, a doll house, and clothes for her babies. She had turned into a little girl full blown and it seemed like it happened over night.
Lady L has followed suit though her love for her dear Hot Wheels has never waved. She now wants to play mommy like sissy and dress up to be a princess. They both often ask me "Do I look pretty?" once they have dolled themselves up. I tell them yes very pretty.
But dont let the pink and purple fool you, do not let the glittery shirts blind you, they are more than just pretty little things. The go out in the backyard only to return caked in mud. They dig for buried treasure, hunt for deer like daddy, and as of late have been requesting toy guns. They wear their pink safari hats with pride as they walk about the yard on an adventure, The Beast in tow of course. They fall, they get bumps and bruises, scrapes and cuts, they roll around with each other, tackle one another to the floor, squealing with glee. They are rough and tough little things. They are my sweet little girls and I would not trade them for the world.
I was terrified to touch her. After all the nurses had left I stared at her in her little plastic bed and asked my mother if I could hold her. My mother laughed and told me "Yes! She is yours! You can do whatever you want with her." From then on out my world became pink. I still didnt over do it like some mothers do. Occasionally she had the headband with the bow, but it was never over the top. We pierced her ears and I snuggled her close at night enjoying her sweet smell, her soft little pink skin, and those gorgeous big eyes.
As she grew she acted like most toddlers. Any toy was a fun toy. We collected pink toys over the years and pink blankets. Our home was slowly filled with things that screamed girl, but it was also filled with toys that screamed child. She had legos galore of which she loved. She had books in all shapes and sizes. Over time she began to request Hot Wheels to which she loved as well. When Lady L came I didnt bother to say no pink. We where given a pink bath tub (which Sir E used too). Lady L loved all her sisters old toys but as soon as she was old enough to pointed and bounce up and down she wanted the Hot Wheels. She loves her cars so much she even refuses to share them at times with her siblings.
As Lady G continued on her path of growing into a little person her likes kept changing. The little girl I had tried so hard to keep pink from now demanded it. Dress up clothes in pinks and purple, princess wands and crowns, it all had to be hers. Minni Mouse was her idol as well as every Disney Princess known to man. She wanted me to fix her hair, to put her in dresses, and buy Hello Kitty. Her love of girly things grew and grew. Baby dolls, barbie dolls, a doll house, and clothes for her babies. She had turned into a little girl full blown and it seemed like it happened over night.
Lady L has followed suit though her love for her dear Hot Wheels has never waved. She now wants to play mommy like sissy and dress up to be a princess. They both often ask me "Do I look pretty?" once they have dolled themselves up. I tell them yes very pretty.
But dont let the pink and purple fool you, do not let the glittery shirts blind you, they are more than just pretty little things. The go out in the backyard only to return caked in mud. They dig for buried treasure, hunt for deer like daddy, and as of late have been requesting toy guns. They wear their pink safari hats with pride as they walk about the yard on an adventure, The Beast in tow of course. They fall, they get bumps and bruises, scrapes and cuts, they roll around with each other, tackle one another to the floor, squealing with glee. They are rough and tough little things. They are my sweet little girls and I would not trade them for the world.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)