Welcome to Yard Sale Hell! Or Not?

April 25, 2013 By 1 Comment

music-cds-435cs041212This spring, my family and I decided to take on a little spring project that includes revamping a 100-year-old building that is filled with junk.  The building is large, and was used long ago as a store, serving biscuits and hot coffee to the miners that mined for gold and copper in my neck of the woods during the late 1800′s and early 1900′s.

Unfortunately, for the last 50 years however, it has been ‘that place’ where I store everything and anything that I don’t have room for in my home. If I didn’t need it, didn’t want it, or wanted to get rid of something ridiculous that my husband that was suitable home décor, it went to the shed.  Stealthily, I would sneak out there with boxes and totes to hide all the unwanted items.   

My kids decided that we should get rid of all the stuff and have a yard sale to raise money for their softball team.  My father in law, decided that as we were cleaning 100 years worth of stuff, we would separate out the metal so they could recycle that to be used for their team as well.  And so, the process began.  And holy crap, did I realize that we had a lot of stuff.  Dirty, old, junky, stuff.  And of course, there were plenty of other things in that shed – that had probably been there 100 years that were worth some sort of money if only I knew what it was I was looking at.  It was one of those days when I wished the crew from American Pickers would stop by and help me sort through the stuff.  (They didn’t!)

There were old CD’s an Atari gaming system, about 500 tapes (does anyone remember those), old radios and plenty of items leftover from my husband’s childhood.  Along with dishes and light fixtures, clothes, nails and knick- knacks, old bottles and things that I didn’t even know existed.  All this stuff was toppled with more stuff, and cleaning out the old shed turned into a 2 day feat that left me dirty and tired and nostalgic.

It also left quite a bit of stuff in numerous piles strewn about the yard.  Environmental chaos.  And I honestly didn’t feel like I had the energy left to host a yard sale and certainly didn’t want to bicker about prices or have my yard turned into a flea market.  So I did a little research and with the helps of a friend found out that many of the items found in the shed could be sold (easily) at MusicMagpie.com  and others on Ebay.  And most of the stuff (aside from the metal that is STILL sitting in a recycle pile) was happily thrown away.

Getting rid of things you don’t need, want or use anymore really is a liberating feeling.  And I believe that discarding old things makes rooms for new things.  Even though we rarely used the shed, there was a part of my brain that knew all that stuff was sitting there stagnant in the shed.  Cleaning it out, and having a fresh space to start over with – felt like quite an achievement.  And making a little bit of money by selling some of these treasures online and otherwise, well that was just the icing on the cake.

Now, if only I could get my UPS man carpenter husband to finish replacing the rotten wood and get the new tin on the roof, my kids would have a great place to party!  (Or maybe I would have a wonderful place to exercise)  The only problem is that every time I am in that building by myself, I get a waft of the scent of biscuits and coffee and hear hoof-beats in the distance.  (Must be my imagination playing with me!)

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Can a Licensed Professional Counselor Get You OUT of the Mom Funk

March 28, 2013 By Leave a Comment

CLIPART_OF_83319_SMJPG-2A few weeks ago, I wrote my article about the Mom Funk.  (If you haven’t read the article check it out!) The article was inspired by my waking up one rainy morning at 6:15 am, rushing to the kitchen and realizing that making peanut butter sandwiches that early in the day – for other people (no matter how much I love those other people) was a tad depressing.  After all, I do the same thing every day, at the same time every day.  (Although some days, I make ham sandwiches instead of peanut butter, which is kind of exciting!)  I was so overwhelmed that I started looking for help, which led me to this north Carolina licensed professional counselor.

Did peanut butter sandwiches, mounting laundry piles, a sink full of dishes, smelly arm-pits, physical exhaustion, a lack of creativity and motivation really mean that I needed professional help?  I don’t know.  But I do know this.

Here’s the thing.  Life is monotonous.  For women, for mothers – and hell, even for fathers and our children and teenagers - life is often about settling into routine that works.  But just because it works doesn’t mean that it is fulfilling, or satisfying, or that it prompts us to be at our best creatively and emotionally.

Prolonged, the feeling of being stuck in a rut can lead to all sorts of anxiety disorders, stress problems, and even depression.  When those feelings strike – its easy to feel like a total failure because the reality is – we all have so much to be grateful for.  How can we feel stuck in a rut, or bored, or restless, or depressed, or anxious – when we have so much abundance in our lives.

That is my number one pet peeve with self-help.  Often, it doesn’t tell us that it is okay to feel bad.  We are reminded to choose our destiny, choose our thoughts, take control of our own happiness to the point that when we don’t have those ‘cushy unicorn feelings’ we feel like failures.

My advice is short and simple!  Talk it out.  Talk to a friend, your mother, your aunt.  If your neighbor will stand at the fence long enough to listen to you rant – then use her ears as a sounding board.  See a counselor, or a therapist if you are truly overwhelmed with your duties in life, or need to be redirected to find inspiration.  Lean on your spouse.  Have a conversation with your dog or your kitty cat.  Use Facebook as a place to vent so that you feel less alone, because you will be surprised at the amount of people who come out of the woodwork to say, “HEY, ME TOOOOO!”  And this, feels validating.

My friends, we all have problems or issues.  There are times when each of us needs someone to lean on.  If you don’t know who to turn to, look for a counselor – or email me, and I will at the very least try to make you laugh!

 

**This is a sponsored post, but all opinions, advice and ideas are my own**

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Habemus Papam – Lessons for All of Us

March 13, 2013 By Leave a Comment

The pope.

If someone were to ask me a week ago what the Pope’s name was, I would have said – with some authority – Pope John Paul the (insert number).  I grew up a long time ago, during the John Paul Pope eras, and under the influence of Catholic churches.  We went to mass, not church.  Much of what was said during church was in Latin.  We had CCD, and didn’t go to church on Wednesdays.

Now, I live immersed in the Bible Belt.  Fire and brimstone Baptist churches on nearly every corner.  So far, my family and I have not found a fit that works for us – which by  no means, indicates that we are ungodly.

The last few days however, have re-introduced me to something that I feel is so incredibly lost in this world. 

As the Cardinals were locked in choosing the new Pope, I would watch with a whimsical heart the people gathered around the Sistine Chapel, with binoculars in the square outside.  As the puffs of black smoke, indicating no decision had been made, stoked out of the chimneys, even from thousands of miles away, I could feel the emotion.  The connection.  The deep and emotional bond to what in some form or another is a part of our history as humanity.

And I have to say that it was breathtaking. 

While the media felt there was a need to transcribe and talk, and over evaluate and translate every thing being said and done, the truth is that a watchful eye – a Godly heart (from any religion or belief system) needed no outside assistance to be understood.

Despite the fact that the new Victor of Christ has been systematically elected in a process virtually untouched from centuries ago,  just TODAY – the truth is it probably feels much like it did centuries ago.

The beauty in the ceremony and the tradition, is not something that we see today.  Even presidential elections are riddled with corrections to history that seem to make them nothing but a necessary evil of being elected as the President of the United States.  I expect no distractions from this election, which was likely sincerely led by Godly intervention and ASKING – as we too often encounter in so many other areas of life today, from beauty pageants to local elections.

There are so few things in this world that we, the people – haven’t screwed up.  There are so few things in life, in which our worlds from one continent to another collide so effortlessly.  This isnt being turned into a South American versus a European ‘thing.’  It is a only being seen as a part of of our unity to one another.  A unity that spans language, and time, and follows tradition. 

For me, watching this unfold has nothing to do with religion, or choosing a church, or believing in God.  It has to do with waiting for something as simple as white puffs of brilliant smoke to pipe from a chimney to alert the world that a new leader has been chosen.  And then, the immediate reception with people cheering and booming Habemus Papam, from the courtyards surrounding the Sistine Chapel.  I wish I could have experienced what it was like in that moment to actually be there.

Pope Francis is here.  His name, probably rightfully so for the world we live in today - defined means simplicity and humility and poverty.

I believe that each of us could afford a little more simplicity and humility in our lives.  And I do think at times, that whatever (and regardless of) our spiritual beliefs, many of us – have become poverty-stricken spiritually - lacking values and ignoring our connection to the singular thread that at some level, at some point in ALL OF OUR HISTORY - binds each of us to one another.

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Confession – I Suffer From Dentist Dental Dread

March 7, 2013 By 4 Comments

dental imageI can still remember the name of my childhood dentist.  His name was Dr. Pincock, and I hated him.  Back then – you know in the days when parents could care less what kind of bed side manner a physician had with their children, nothing like those at Orem Dentist ,I would sit in his chair as quietly as possible while he did whatever it was he did with my teeth.  We never got cool coins after cleanings, got berated for having cavities and certainly didn’t have movies to watch while we lain helpless  in the chair.

We DID have laughing gas – and that’s about the only thing I can remember enjoying about my dental visits. In fact there are some days now that I wish I had a tank of laughing gas I could attach to.  

Funny thing is that I have NEVER ever really gotten over my fear of the dentist.  I started having adult dental issues when I was pregnant with my twins.  I had to have 2 teeth pulled, and of course – they used the short-term Novocaine so that it would be safe during pregnancy.  I can remember cancelling, not showing and rescheduling this appointment six million times.  Finally, I did it – but I it took me over an hour to get to the appointment because the dreaded ’fear diarrhea’ hit me and I had to stop at least 8 times to use gross bathrooms.  (Which is difficult enough when you ARENT pregnant)

Over the last year, I have had a multitude of dental issues.  I use the excuse that dental work is expensive as a reason not to get these issues taken care of.  And I even lived for  months with the sort of excruciating pain that disables people.  I visited with my doctor, had a CT scan, met with a neurologist and was diagnosed with some sort of neuralgia.  Turns out, all the pain and misery that I was going through was really due to yet another tooth.  Apparently, all it would take to end this cycle of pain and taking way too much ibuprofen was to have the tooth pulled.  Simple, right?

The funny thing is that once I had the appointment to get the tooth pulled, all the pain went away.  So I figured I didn’t really need to have it yanked after all.  This is what people with irrational fears do – they make excuses and find reasons to avoid their fears.  So, I waited.

I’m sure you can guess where I am going with this.  About a month ago, the tooth, face, head, neck pain all returned with a fury.  Instead of calling the dentist, I do what I always do – and started using every home remedy from vinegar to hot sauce, turmeric and aspirin – to try to cure the pain.  Eventually, I made an appointment for this past Monday.  I had literally talk myself in to it.  My mother in law offered to give me a Xanax before my appointment to help ease my fear.

Sounds stupid – but this fear, is REAL!  REAL I tell ya.  I can break out in a cold sweat just thinking about it.  As fate would have it, I got an appointment reminder Sunday evening that my daughter had a orthodontist appointment the  next morning, at the exact same time that I was scheduled to have this stupid tooth pulled.  So I did what any person living in denial and fear would do.  I cancelled MY appointment again.

I really hate myself for being this afraid of the dentist.  I also really hate the discomfort I live with all because of a tooth.  I also am having a hard time rationalizing this dental dread.  I can easily call and make the appointment – but the reality is, I might not go.

Maybe I need someone to come and hold my hand.  Maybe I need copious amounts of laughing gas.  Maybe I need Xanax.  Or maybe, I could just woman up a little – realize that I survived birthing 4 kids and engorged boobs, and just go have this tooth pulled.  I know that this fear of the dentist, which I can only blame on Dr. Pincock, is much more frightening than actually having the tooth pulled.

So today, I am asking for help!  Rub my hair and tell me it will be okay.  Remind me that people get teeth pulled every day.  Offer to come with me and hold my hand.  Tell me the wonderful stories of your own dental experiences.  You know, treat me like a big baby and don’t judge me because I am admitting raw, carnal fear of something that rationally, I realize is ridiculous.

Anyone else afraid of the dentist?  Or is there something else lurking in your psyche that makes you turn into a 2-year-old looking for the monster under the bed?

 

(Yo, this is a sponsored post!  But all opinons, ideas and fears are completely my own!)

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The Mom Funk

March 4, 2013 By 8 Comments

Behind the mask of every mother there is at some point an undefinable emotion curdling under the surface that reeks of sour milk.

It hits each of us at random times, and no matter what – we, as women, refuse to talk about it with anyone but our closest friends – and sometimes we dont even trust them worried that they will think if we reveal our feelings, they will think we are an ass.  Instead, we put on our happy faces, cart the kids to school, show up at their games and performances, cook them dinner, wash their laundry and smile and coo as much as possible – hoping that no one will notice.  We even take it one step further by perpetuating our lies and denying our feelings that along the parental path we are slowly but surely forgetting who we are by defining ourselves by our children.

This emotion, this state of mind if you will is called “the Mom Funk!”

imagesCASBAD1HUnfortunately, the mom funk hits and then suddenly all of those day-to-day duties such as changing diapers and filling the fridge with yummy foods and kissing sweet-smelling foreheads goodnight, doesn’t make us all that happy.  Even children laughing in another room and colorful drawings brought home from a kindergarten classroom can do little to stir the soul of a mother who is in the mom funk.

Sadly, because we are nearly forced and programmed by societal expectations to always be grateful, loving creatures, who are supposed to feel constantly showered with blessings from above simply because we have children to call our own, the mom funk goes without cure.

And moms in the funk, ashamed of feeling sick and tired of doing everything for everyone (but herself) hides behind the mask of motherhood and pretends that she is happy.  Still smiling on cue.  Still pretending to listen.  Still getting up in the morning and cutting the crust off peanut butter and jelly sandwiches so that no one will notice she is fading on the inside like a shadow does when thunderclouds roll in.

I know this.  I have been in the mom funk many times.  I am currently in the mom funk, where I wish I could lock myself away for a 3 day stretch and do nothing that involves doing something for anyone else.  At this very moment, I resent spending my entire waking hours doing for others, driving my kids around, and feel caught up in a scene from GroundHog day the moment my feet hit the floor in the morning.  It’s hard to be excited about the day ahead when you know exactly what to expect – and have become so regimented that you even drink your coffee at the same time each day.

Truth is, that just because you feel the mom funk from time to time, doesn’t mean you are an awful person or horrible undeserving mom.  You are, after all, a human being – separate from your children. 

But moms cannot do endure the mind funk without beating themselves into smithereens.

We tend to take the mom funk even further and internalize every sad story we have ever heard to make ourselves feel even worse about feeling stuck in the mom funk.  We start wondering what kind of asshole could be tired of holding hands with her daughter, or having in-depth conversations with her teenager – especially when there are so many women in this world without kids, with sick kids, or who have lost kids.  Then we wonder what the hell is wrong with us for feeling so ungrateful, so tired, so exhausted and so unenthused about motherhood.  Every god damn book we have ever read prepares us for the notion that motherhood is the mack daddy experience of a good life, right?  So we face palm ourselves even further into the mom funk.

I am huge proponent of the fact that we shouldnt find our own gratitude by measuring another’s misfortune. 

And I also believe, wholeheartedly, that if we were a little more honest with one another and sent out the “hey I am in the mom funk signal” to other women – we would be able to get passed this phase before it turns into depression, or before we lose ourselves.

We would realize that we are normal to have these feelings.

We would be able to understand that in order to GIVE to others, we have to first GIVE to ourselves.  Just like when our cars are out of gas they don’t run, when moms are out of fuel – they too break down on the side of the motherhood road.

So many of us remain quiet and dishonest and ashamed of feeling what we feel.

And I am here to tell you that it is okay.  It is okay to sit down some days and wonder why in the world you had kids.  It is okay to not feel like talking to your children, and it is okay to be overwhelmed and frustrated and bored with motherhood.  There is a major difference between being busy, and being fulfilled.  Most of us are busy.  Not as many are fulfilled.  And your children cannot do that for you – only you can do that for yourself. 

With experience and several bouts of the mom funk, I now realize that in order to be the mom I want to be, I have to take time to recharge me.  Sure, this may mean that there a few days where the kids don’t get as much mommy attention – because mommy is trying to pay attention to herself.  We have to rearrange our thinking to see this hiatus as not selfish, but as a way to stop being SELF-LESS.  Think about the difference between being selfish and SELF-LESS.  When you are self-less, what is it that you have to earnestly offer your children.

I am working through my current mom funk as best I can.  And in a few days, or maybe a few hours – it will pass.  Your own mom funk will pass, if you pay those feelings attention and commit to doing something for yourself.  And by all means – cut yourself a break. 

If you are in a mom funk, then dont mull around and beat yourself up.  If you cannot admit it to your friends or your husband than email me at momspirational@live.com and we can work through it together.  I promise, I won’t judge.  Because the mom funk my friends is REAL!!!!!

 

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Pocketful of Joules – Blogger Winter Swap

March 2, 2013 By 3 Comments

296925_350131478402580_1223385214_nI hate winter.  And I hate mail.

Winter is cold and the mail only seems to deliver me bills, or fancy catalogs filled with things that I cannot afford to buy.

So when Joules over at Pocketful of Joules, (which by the way if you havent checked her out, YOU NEED TO) was looking for participants in her winter blogger swap, of course I opted in.  Imagine, getting something in the mail that would make the trek through the cold wind to the mailbox actually worth it!!!!  Plus, I am a firm believer that on our worst days, or when the world feels like it is about to cave in around us – the Universe will always come through with something good, exciting, happy, and fun that reminds you are a worth it.

Sadly, being a participant – it meant I had to send out a gift to.  And I am the worlds biggest procrastinator.  I did finally get my gift out – a few days late of course, and received my gift the same day. 

In the game, we were supposed to figure out who sent us the gift.  And I will be honest, I have no idea.  I know that the person who send out my winter care package likes cinammon because there were cinammon muffins and candles, and she must be pretty awesome since she sent me some cinammon latte as well.  I love candles, and have already burned through both the candles she sent.  I am thinking that my mystery blogger may have also known that I am slightly diabetic at times (did you know cinammon helps regulate blood sugar) although I dont think I ever admitted that on my blog.  Perhaps she is a psychic.  Whihc would be totally cool, because I have always wanted a psychic reading.

Truth is, I have never been good at board games like Clue, and I always flip to the back of mystery books to see the ending because I am impatient.  So I cannot guess who sent me my gift.  But I can say this, IT MADE MY DAY!  It came in the mail on a blustery day, and was the ONLY thing in the mailbox (which means no bills YAY!)  So to whomever my mystery blogger swapper was – here is a big, virtual, hug!

I love that Joules takes the time to do these little things that equate to random acts of kindness.  That makes her pretty hot in my book.  And I am even more grateful that someone in this great big world thought to send little old anonymous me, who she didnt know a gift in the mail.  Can you say win-win!

So Joules – WHO WAS MY MYSTERY MATCH UP?

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I am NOT Menstruating and I am MAD Not Hormonal! (Dammit!)

March 1, 2013 By 7 Comments

Dad is having a conversation with Teen spawn 1, and she gets immediately pissed because he isn’t saying what she wants to hear.  (Normal, right!)

As she saunters off to her room, sticking her ear plugs back in her ears, rolling her eyes and slamming the door with just enough force to get her point across, but not enough force to break the door of the hinges, her dad looks over at me and says in a whisper his pupils round and black,

“Is she on her period?” 

PMS-XenaREALLY?  What difference does that make if she is or isn’t?

Why is that every time a woman acts in a way a man doesn’t like, it is automatically blamed on the fact that she is a hormonal mess.  “Oh, it must be that time of the month!”

Last week, during one of my many emotional days where the worries of my world come crashing in like a ton of bricks and I couldn’t hold in the tears any longer – my husband says, “What’s wrong with you – is it that time of the month?”  And no, it wasnt!  I was just feeling slightly overwhelmed and in need of a partner who would take me seriously and not just write off my moods on a standard part of female physiology.

Men talk about the poor stigmas that they are held to all the time.  Oh my gosh, make fun of a man because he doesn’t know how to load the dishwasher, or because he gags when changing a shitty diaper – and dads everywhere are up in arms shouting ‘discrimination,’ and ‘man-abuse.’

When I posted my article about “the Nothing Box,” one man commented that this would only add to the idiocy of how men are portrayed.

Make fun of your husband because he can look in the refrigerator for the mustard and although its sitting right in front of him, he cannot find it – and people will say you are a mean heartless wife and someone will throw a pity party for your husband because he is obviously married to such a bitch.  (Or accuse you of over reacting because you are on your period!)

Yet, women – who have been menstruating since forever – are seemingly unable to live the fact down periods automatically equate to over emotional sappy drips who need to be handled with kit gloves.  “Oh, she’s upset again so she MUST be on her period.”  “OMG, she is yelling at the kids tonight, she must be PMSing!”  “Oh hell, she isn’t interested in having sex with me, she must be a bloody mess!”

And then, we – as women – are automatically discarded for our feelings.  This is sooooo not fair.  It would be like women deciding that mens feelings aren’t worth listening to simply because they have a penis.  (Which, yes, there might be a connection there – but that’s a blog for another day)

Gawf!  It couldn’t be that we actually HAVE emotions.  It isn’t that we actually have these feelings of worry, or frustration, or loneliness, or of being overwhelmed, or of pain, or anger – it’s just that we are on our periods – or are about to get our periods.  We are simply over reacting because menstruation is looming or because we are wearing a tampon.

Raising 4 girls, I have told them many times over – having a period doesn’t give you a get out of jail free card.

You will be expected to go to school, to work.  You will still have to play in softball tournaments, you will still have to shower and follow the rules of life.  Your period is simply part of you.  Every day, millions upon millions of women show up to their jobs bleeding from their uterus.  They take care of their kids just like they do any other day of the week even though they are bleeding like a stuffed pig and cramping like they are about to deliver a watermelon from their vagina.  They go into Target bathrooms with their toddlers and are forced to answer questions about why their pee is orange, or red, or has ‘stuff’ in it by nosy children because privacy – even during your period – is hard to come by.

Women pay their bills on their period, drive their cars, do the laundry, cook dinner, and pretty much carry on about their normal business.  The annoying and constant feeling of gushing warm fluids from your girl parts, while uncomfortable – doesn’t stop a woman from doing what women do.  And it doesn’t make them a vehicle of over-sensitivity, or irrational.

Just because a woman is on her period doesn’t automatically mean that her feelings don’t count any more.  Her period is not an excuse for thinking her husband is an asshole, or for being pissed at her kids for not listening.  Maybe, just maybe – these are just her feelings and maybe, just maybe – her feelings have NOTHING to do with her period.  (Although I’d like to see how men would act if they had to deal with periods!)

I say enough already.  I am so tired of the whole, “She is being a bitch or emotional so she must be on her period.”  Maybe YOU are being an asshole, or maybe YOU are being insensitive, or maybe YOU need to take your head out of your ears and realize that the women in your life are women regardless of where they are on their menstrual cycle.

Maybe we should stop writing off women as hormonal and crazy, because the truth is I think we all do a hell of a job handling our periods – even when we really want to just climb into bed with a heating pad and a DVR full of movies.

And maybe, just maybe – YOU should be able to find the damn bottle of mustard that has been in the exact same place in the fridge since the day you lived in the house.

And NO, before anyone asks, I am not on my period, or PMSing, I am just indulging in my right to have feelings and opinions and to be angry.

 

 

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Stories of Us – Jane Doe

February 26, 2013 By 15 Comments

forgive-yo-self

This weeks Stories of Us post is controversial at best.

It is my desire to share this woman’s story WITHOUT a backlash of judgmental, harsh opinions and religious crucifixion.

Today’s story is about a woman who wishes to remain anonymous, so we will call her Jane Doe.

 

And it is a story about love, motherhood and loss.

When Jane was 17 years old, she got mixed up in the wrong crowd.  She started drinking and partying a little too hard.  Her middle class family and moral upbringing did not change the fact that she had wild oats to sow, regardless of how hard her parents tried to rein her in.  One night, at the age of 17 (which according to CDC statistics around 3/4ths of all high school girls have had sex), she did just that - and found herself pregnant.

There she was 17 years old.  Despite a support system in place, despite friends, despite sex education classes – her fears of being slut shamed and ‘ruining her life’ caused her to make a split second decision to have an abortion.  She walked into the clinic with a good friend of hers, sneaking out one early Saturday morning, only to pass droves of protestors standing outside the clinic with graphic sculptures of fetuses in their hands, pawing at her shoulders, telling her that she was destined to go to hell.

At just a few weeks pregnant, she felt nothing of the baby, and instead felt terrified, alone, ashamed, and desperate to end what she perceived as a nightmare.  When you are 17 – EVERYTHING feels like the end of the world.

The tears that streamed down her face that morning as she walked into the abortion clinic were not shed with sadness or regret.  They were shed with fear.  Fear of being exposed.  Fear of being tortured at school if people found out.  Fear that her parents would disown her.  Fear of what she was about to feel.  Raw, un-throttled and maybe unrealistic fear.  And of course, fear that at her young age she was destined to go to hell.

Because she only had a little bit of money, she said, “she endured the procedure fully awake, feeling that she deserved the pain it would bring her for being such an awful person.!”  “I sat there and did not move, and never once looked at the doctor performing the procedure.’

Back in those days, there were no laws in place that required parental involvement when a young girl sought an abortion.  When she left the clinic just a few hours later, under the judgmental glares of the protestors, she felt empty.  But mostly she admits that she felt relieved.  A few days later, that experience – that she dealt with completely on her own in the sort of way a 17 year olds deal with things was filed way back into her psyche.  Never to be thought of again.  Over.  Done.

From time to time, she would see a baby in the arms of a mother and wonder, but Jane did her very best to push any feelings to the back of her mind.

Fast forward a decade and a half later and this same woman, now successful and in love, married to the man of her dreams - became pregnant.  When the paperwork at her OBGYN asked her how many times she had been pregnant, she lied and said that this was the first time.  She spent the entire 9 months of that pregnancy paralyzed with fear that God was going to punish her by hurting her baby or killing her during childbirth.  She felt undeserving of the baby that grew inside her.  And she went to sleep every night feeling the cold abortion clinic table beneath her, as a doctor who had no name pulled a life from her womb.  Even her husband did not know that she had an abortion at 17.

Today, Jane has 3 kids.  2 boys and 1 girl.  She is a fabulous mother.  An amazing person.  And yet, she tortures herself for a decision that she made in haste so many years ago.  According to the CDC, in 2009, there were 2.6 million Jane Doe’s – many of them young and others older, who chose to end a pregnancy for one reason or another.  It is not up to me or you to decide what is right for someone else.

And these people suffer. 

These people become Jane Doe, the PTA president, the CEO of a company, the parent of healthy kids, the wives of awesome fathers, the so-called ‘perfect people’ who carry a secret deep within themselves.  Many of these women punish themselves daily for their decisions.  Suddenly, when they become mothers and realize the love that they have for their children, they start believing that they are truly monsters for having an abortion – regardless of the circumstances that they were in at the time.

When Jane told me her story about her abortion, she heaved heavy tears of pain that shuddered through her body like thunder in the valley.  We sat at a playground, watching our kids play – and her mind was on a child that she never met, and she felt blood on her hands.  Even though she thought she had filed this away with the millions of other mistakes we ALL make as teens, she never realized the impact it would have years later.

Personally, my opinion of Jane did not change when she told me had an abortion at 17.  I reminded her that walking around among us, some our neighbors, some our sisters, some our cousins, teachers, friends and woman we respect - also carry the same secret.  I reminded her that we, as woman, change constantly.  I remind her that at that moment in her life, she did the very best that she could do with the resources that she had.  I reminded her that she deserved her children, her family – and that I did not beleive she was destined for Hell.  I held her in my arms until she let go.

That day, as we left the playground to continue on to Chic-Fi-Le for lunch and some playland – Jane said, “He would be 21 years old this May?”

I have no idea why she said, ‘He” but I was glad that Jane trusted me enough to tell me her secret.

The reality is this. 

We all have opinions about abortion.

And yet, there are millions of us – probably some of us reading this blog, that have had one ourselves.  Our ‘shameful little secret’ that we hold deep inside ourselves because we live in a world that is so quick to judge and crucify one another.  And while I will keep my opinions about abortion private - I will say, that whatever mistakes we make in our past, need to remain in our past.  No matter what you did one day back then, no matter how awful you thought you were, you are a vehicle of change and growth.  Our pasts do not define us, unless we allow them to.  Our pasts make us who we are today.  My parting words to Jane that day – and this was the last time we ever spoke of this, was the same parting words to you that I will end this blog with.

Forgive YOURSELF!  In the words of Maya Angelou, when you know better – you do better. 

 

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Who the Hell Are YOU?

February 25, 2013 By 8 Comments

who are you

I am a little (no a lot) behind.  Sadly, I don’t have any really good excuses for why I am behind – except for the fact that I have 4 kids that have made it their life work to distract me.  Or sing when I start to write.  Or spill milk on the floor when I turn on the computer.  Or decide that they need construction paper 8 minutes before the store closes the night before a project is due.  Or a husband who thinks that I should be having more sex.  I dunno, it just seems that the best plans I have always get slaughtered into smithereens.  So I have become one of those people who wing it, and lie in bed in the wee hours of the night pissed off and frustrated because I have so much to do, or have forgotten 90 things on my to-do list.

Well.  That was a random introduction to this post, huh?  Recently, two of my favorite bloggers, Jenn at My Daily Jennism and The Momisodes have noticed me in some pretty amazing posts.  Jenn, tagged me in a “Who the Hell Are You” post which is essentially a fun game that helps us get to know one another.  My job, is to answer 25 easy peasy questions – then tag people.  So if you are tagged, then you are IT!!!!!!!!! And if you don’t follow ‘da rules’ your washing machine will break, so you best follow along.

Sadly, I am not that exciting.  But here goes….

1.  Where were you born.  I was born way back in 1971, in Silver Spring Maryland at Holy Cross Hospital.  Honestly, I don’t remember much about this day, although I imagine it was pretty damn important!

2.  Were you named after someone?  I think my mom wanted a boy, and was going to name him Stephen.  (With a ph) Then came my vagina.  Then, she was going to name me Andrea (pronounced Andraya) but changed my name to Stephanie before signing the birth certificate.  I’m okay with Stephanie.  Or Stef.  Just call me anything – but mama!

3. How many children do you have?  Four.  Enough said, right?

4. How many pets do you have?  4 dogs, 1 cat, lots of cows and a Mustang.  (I live on a farm)

5. Your worst injury.  My second trimester miscarriage.  That injured my heart deeply.

6.  Do you have a special talent?  Making beautiful kids.  Does that count?  Oh, and writing.  I freelance write for a living when I am not blogging.

7.  Favorite thing to bake.  HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. I don’t like to bake, but I liked to eat baked things.

8. Favorite Fast Food.  It all makes me feel gross, so I try not to eat it.  But I have to admit, every once in a while a Big Mac is the Mac Daddy.

9.   Would you bungee jump? YES!  I would love to.  And maybe one day I will.

10.  What is the first thing you notice about people?  Honestly, and you will think I am a total wacko here…..but their auras if I can see it, and then their face.

11.  When was the last time you cried?  Last week, when I thought my beloved dog was going to die in the yard right in front of me as he choked on a stick, or a rock, or a ball, or something.  I cried, rocked back and forth, covered my ears while my husband saved his life.

12.  Any current worries.  Yes!  Money.  And helping my kindergartener read.

13.  Name 3 drinks you drink regularly.  Coffee, SWEET tea, and water.

14.  What’s your favorite book?  The Sara and Seth Series by Abraham Hicks.

15.  Would you like to be a pirate.  Not really.  They look dirty.  I hate being dirty.

16.  Favorite Smells.  Angel perfume, sandalwood, rose, pine and DREFT.

17.  Why do you blog?  I love freelancing, but most of my work is censored, and regulated and ghostwritten.  Blogging is an outlet where I can be me.

18. What song do you want played at your funeral?  I have no idea.

19.  What is your least favorite thing about yourself.  Actually, I have two things I don’t like about myself.  The first is that I am impatient when I want something.  The second is that I worry too damn much.  Always worrying.

20.  Favorite hobby.  Writing and watching my kids play softball. 

21.  Name Something you’ve done, you never thought you would do?  Raise 4 girls.  Well.  (At least so far)

22.  What do you look for in a friend.  Honesty.  Sense of humor.  Non-judgmental.  If I have to act different to be around you – I would rather be alone.

23.  Favorite Fun things to do?  See number 20.  I know, I am a loser, but I am okay with that at the moment.

24.  Pet peeves.  People who honk, people touching my food, people who give parenting advice that don’t know their ass from their head, dishonesty, snobbyness, people who don’t smile, and people who are mean to kids or animals.  Oh, and wet socks.  Cannot stand wet socks

25.  Whats the last thing that made you laugh?  Today, it was my 5-year-old - asking me if jackwagon was a bad word and if she could use it at school.  That made me laugh.  Oh, and a bitchy little teen who was walking around with her skirt tucked in her underwear showing her arse to the world.  That made me laugh too.

Okay Now for the Hard Part – Tagging Others!

Snarkfest 

Evil Joy

The Momisodes

Comfytown Chronicles

Pocketful of Joules

Life on Peanut Layne

Twins Happen

Debie Hive

Life on Peanut Layne

Socially Media Moms

 

Now go tag some other blogs and lets find out who the hell we are!  And make sure to let them know you tagged them, and link back to this post in yours!

 

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I am Stef

February 15, 2013 By 3 Comments

Recently, one of my favorite blogs and facebook pages published and I am challenge on her blog. Her name is “You know it Happens at your House too, and her blog is fantastic.  If you havent found her yet – please do check her out right here! .  (And no, she’s not paying me to say this because she doesn’t even know I am alive.)

At any rate.  The “I am” Challenge.  Sit quietly (if that is even possible in your house) and start a blank page with “I am.”  Then write, without thought, direction, or restraint.  Be as honest as possible.  Consider that no one else in the entire world has to read it.  You can even burn it when you are done if you so choose.  And allow the feelings in the moment to transpire on the paper.

Since my first “I am” post, I have done many “I am” drafts.  I find that on some days when the world comes crashing in, it is a quick and easy 5 minute way to blow off some steam without taking it out on the kids.  It has also helped me find my creativity, my center at times.  Whenever I feel on edge, instead of turning to wine (which although sounds great – I just dont drink) I write an ‘I am!’ Funny, how when I compare my “I ams” I realize just how multi-faceted (or schizophrenic) my feelings are.

This is the first one I did on the day You Know it Happens at Your House is posted below.  It frightens me to be this honest in the blogosphere without anonymity.  But here goes.

i-am-md

I am Stef.

And I am still trying to figure out exactly who that is, even after 40+ years on this planet.

I am like the water in the ocean, constantly changing – ebbing and flowing, moving and touching the shores of exciting and frightening new places every day of my life – some familiar and some strange.

I am sometimes warm, sometimes cool – sometimes wild and manic and other times soft and gentle as the ocean on a warm summer’s day.   I am God’s chosen spiritual guardian of 4 daughters, and I work constantly to remind myself that this is one of my greatest blessings, even on those many (and I mean many)days when mere things like finger prints, rolling eyes and milk spills on the carpet send me into bouts of frustration that in the aftermath, make me feel like an asshole for getting so upset.

I am a wife, who is secretly more in love with her husband than I imagine he could ever be with me.

I am a writer and a thinker, which sometimes causes me to be my own worst enemy.

I am a dreamer.

  I am a student of life and constantly reminding myself that out of the 4 million possibilities of humans that could have resulted from my parents union, it was ME who came forth.

I am insecure, and worry far too often about everything from whether I am a good enough mother, to whether I will be able to pay the bills each and every month.

I am the tie dyed combination of all of my successes and failures of the past, present and future and am learning day by day to accept and cherish them all, for they are what make me what I am.

 

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