It's Getting Real

I will always support abuse survivors. Always. This is a non-negotiable thing about me. I'm about to get very real here, so if reality scares you, run away now.

I'm an abuse survivor.  Do you know how long that took to admit?  Do you know how long it took for me to admit it OUT LOUD?  I like to think I'm a strong person and strong people don't let themselves be abused, right? That is so so so wrong. I cannot even tell you how wrong that is.  I'm an abuse survivor and I was never hit or molested or assaulted. It was all emotional and I carry it with me to this day.

To be fair, all forms of abuse are emotional. If you're hit, you carry mental scars long after the bruises fade. The same goes for sexual abuse. Emotional abuse is purely mental and is hard to prove and even harder for people outside of the abuse to understand.  How can you tell someone that your step-dad lost his shit because you put the toilet paper roll on the wrong way? Or used the wrong spoon? Or ate the last fucking cookie?  How can anyone understand what it feels like to have a 6'4'' 200 pound man looming over you yelling that you're a stupid loser, a failure, a worthless piece of shit when you're 15 years old, 4'11'' and 115 pounds? Or watching him do the same to your sister and your mother?

I didn't. Tell anyone, that is. Why not? I was a child at the time, for one. For another, when you're in it, sometimes it doesn't seem as bad as it is.  It's also really really hard to fight back when you don't think you're worth fighting for. I really didn't realize how bad it was until I left for college. There I was in my apartment and all of a sudden I realized I was happy, not walking on eggshells, and not afraid I'd choose the wrong utensil in the drawer.  Getting out from it was the ONLY way I decided to never go back. My sister was in it for way longer; it took him crossing an uncrossable line for my mom to leave, and I've never regretted that line getting crossed because IT MADE HER LEAVE.

True story: when The Bastard started showing his true colors, my mom went to a marriage counselor. She told said counselor what's being going on, how he didn't act that way when they were dating, and she didn't understand what was going on. The counselor said, "Well, you must be doing something to make him so mad." Yes, ladies and gents, the abuse was reinforced by someone who was supposed to help. So my mom stayed longer than she would have.

Anyway, back to the abuse survivor stuff.  In the grand scheme of things, it was bad, really bad, but it was SO MUCH BETTER than what some other people go through. He's good with money and helps pay for his daughters' stuff, including the mortgage on the house. He hasn't ever physically threatened us. Some women fear for their lives even AFTER they leave. It's hard to leave, period.  You have no idea what it's like until you're abused, so for people to say, "why didn't they just leave?" is infuriating. First, you're blaming the victim. Second, you just don't understand.

I carry scars of those years still. My husband yelled at our daughter once (not badly and certainly not in an abusive way, just a parent losing their patience) but it triggered an anxiety attack. It was all I could do to keep myself from speeding downstairs and scooping up my daughters and running.  I was up in my room pacing and wringing my hands and hyperventilating when my husband discovered me, since I didn't want my kids to see me and freak out.  Total panic and just because of a raised voice.  I avoid conflict, sometimes by lying or agreeing to something I don't agree with, because in my experience disagreeing with someone only leads to me in tears on the floor.  I don't share easily with people because letting someone in means giving them ammunition to hurt me.

So what is the point of all this?  Don't blame the victims of abuse for what they do or don't do.  Don't sit there and judge a victim of abuse when they are trying to tell you how it feels.  It's really easy to sit and read about abuse in a news article, but until you are in it, you have no fucking right to judge. None. They are doing what they think is best for them, sometimes in order to SURVIVE, so be supportive.

If you are a victim of abuse, please don't be afraid to speak out.  For all the things I carry with me that are bad, I came out of that with good things too. I don't intimidate easily.  I may avoid conflict, but if I'm in a conflict, I don't back down.  Name calling doesn't work on me either.  I can also spot a creeper and manipulator in a nanosecond. I've learned to only let positive people in my life and try to avoid negative ones. Speaking out about it will help those who are still in it or have gotten out but feel alone. It's scary, I know, but can be cathartic as well.

I have managed to move on from that time.  I never see him any more and I don't even really hate him.  Hate takes too much energy. I just don't think about him unless I have to (and that's the best revenge since abuse is all about control and he has absolutely ZERO control over me now). People say you have to forgive (Jesus says it too) and I think there's truth in that. You can't move on and heal if you stew and hate. It can take a long time to move on. A really really really long time. I never thought I'd stop being angry, but I have. It kinda snuck up on me. I hope, if you're a survivor, it sneaks up on you too, but until then, do what you have to do to process all of the emotions you carry around. You are not alone.

Go for a walk

This is one of the best pieces of advice I can give you as a parent. Sleep training, potty training, discipline, manners, empathy, everything you need to teach your children basically, are so subjective that there is no one way to do them. But this little jewel never fails.

My day today started horribly. I was so tired last night that I fell asleep without turning the monitor handset on. I awoke to my three year old standing next to the bed telling me the toddler was crying. I immediately felt horrible. How long had she been crying? She needed something and I wasn't there to help her. I got up and brought both kids in to 'help' me dress. When I went to get the girls dressed, I noticed that Josie (toddler) had pooped at some point in the night. I immediately panicked. She has super sensitive skin and if she wears a poop filled diaper for too long she gets diaper rash. Sometimes you can't avoid it no matter how quickly you change her. I scooped her up and opened her diaper. Yep, super red and she was obviously in pain. How long had I laid blissfully asleep while my daughter cried for me and sat in her own poop?! The guilt increased exponentially.  I started wiping her, which made her shriek and cry because her bottom was so sore. Swallowing tears myself, I got her clean, apologizing profusely the entire time, and slathered her with diaper ointment.

During this whole diaper thing, Elizabeth (the preschooler) was trying to get dressed but was upset by Josie's crying. So she started crying. The crying didn't stop, from either of them, a sign that they were hungry. Hangry really. They cried on the way downstairs.  Elizabeth kept asking me for a hug and Josie didn't want to be set down. I had to make breakfast with two crying children each needing my love but knowing that if I could just get food in their mouths they'd be fine. Elizabeth was "NOT HUNGRY!!" while simultaneously demanding bread and Josie had a sore diaper region and was starving.

It was one of those occasions you either laugh or cry. I tried to laugh, but I hadn't had breakfast yet either and really needed some coffee.

My husband had taken his car in for maintenance so he took mine to work this morning, which left me no car. I was out of coffee, so I used a delivery service to bring me Starbucks. I know, I know, but I was desperate. They were late. Now my plans of the girls drinking a smoothie for snack and then going for a walk had to wait until they delivered the damn stuff. I tried to cancel it, but couldn't. I asked for an update and got nothing. During all of this, Josie was crying on and off probably because of the diaper rash and Elizabeth was demanding I play with her or that I hold her. When I did hold her, Josie got jealous and would cry and try to push Elizabeth off. Everything was just going so GREAT.

FINALLY they delivered the goods. I turned on a movie (screen time!!!!!) and they drank their smoothies while I inhaled my coffee. And then, when Josie started crying for no reason, we went for a walk.

There is something about just getting outside that settles everyone, me included.  Josie likes to walk now, so she toddled along with us, Elizabeth running ahead and then running back. The sun was shining and the breeze blowing and the crying stopped.

When you just can't seem to make the day go right and you feel like all you want to do is run away, go for a walk. It will work, I promise.  Even if you cry the whole time, the kids will calm down and work out some of their energy. It's totally worth it.

Two is Enough

When my eldest daughter was the age of my youngest daughter all I could think of having another one. I saw my baby girl becoming a toddler girl; all of a sudden, she was a preschooler. I missed the days when I could hold her and she'd sleep on me. When I was her whole world, her comfort, her warmth, even her food.  She used to listen to me sing as a newborn. It was one of the most amazing things. I would hold her and rock her and sing to her, and she would just stare at me, enraptured. It always calmed her.

Yes, I missed having a baby to cuddle and snuggle with. I even missed, slightly, feeling the growth of a baby in my womb. No matter how I grouse about pregnancy, there is something magical about it that nothing will ever match. There is no feeling on this Earth like the first time you feel a child move inside of you. Even with ultrasounds and knowing that there is something in there, feeling the baby move makes it real.

Things are different this time around. It always is with a second baby. There is no way you can have the same experience as with the first simply because it's the second.  They are a new person. A different person. And you have an older child running about who also needs you, so this new baby doesn't get the same quality snuggles or mommy time. It's just a sad fact. But you love this new person, just as much as the first child.

But this time, I don't want a new baby to snuggle. I saw a woman a few weeks ago who had two boys about the age of my girls and who was VERY pregnant. I couldn't help but stare in horror at the thought of having another baby right now. If I were to become pregnant, I think I might cry.  After almost 4 years of being completely tethered to one infant or another, I'm finally coming back into the world.  I'm no longer breastfeeding anyone, the younger one is walking and beginning to talk, and I can leave both of them with babysitters and know that they will be fine.  There is only one nap a day, instead of two, so I can take them places and have fun without worrying about one child or another missing a nap. I'm emerging and I am not looking back.

I loved my babies, but two is enough. In fact, I told my husband that if I, at some point in the future, suggest having another baby, he should just buy me a puppy, so that I remember what it's like with a newborn.  For now though, I will hug my girls as often as they let me and keep my uterus on lock down. Two babies is enough.

It Starts with Pregnancy

It does. It really really does. It's hard enough to be a woman and judged on all the things women are 'supposed' to be, but then you get pregnant and the wave of unasked for judgement and advice increases exponentially. It's insane what complete strangers feel obligated to tell you or admonish you about. Complete. Strangers. And it's just because you're pregnant, I can't find any other connection. And let's not forget about well-meaning family members and friends. They all have advice, too.

I know several women who are pregnant right now and are going through all the same shit I had to go through when I was pregnant with each of my daughters. What is that you ask?

1. Invading personal space.  Yes, that's right. People you have never met want to touch you. Not on the shoulder or back or arm. On your damned stomach. They don't ask they just come reaching for you and your pregnant brain starts playing the theme from 'Psycho' as you stare at that hand coming closer and closer. You have a split second to decide how to react. Do you bite it? Scream? Politely decline? However you react, the toucher is ALWAYS offended, as if THEY were the ones who were touched inappropriately and without permission. Get the hell away from me, lady. You touch me and you'll lose that arm.

2.  The belly.  OMG, all the weight issues women have about themselves are infinitely worse when they are pregnant. Now, everyone has an opinion. I don't care WHO you are, do not ever, ever, ever, ever tell a woman she looks huge when she's pregnant. She knows this. She is the pregnant one. She knows exactly what she looks like. During my second pregnancy, I was living with my mother-in-law and then her parents who came to visit for Christmas AND THEN STAYED TO SEE THE NEW BABY.  That was two moths worth of in-laws. Every damn morning when I went into the kitchen for breakfast, my husband's grandfather would look at me up and down and tell me that I got bigger overnight. Every. Damn. Day. Thank you, loving grandfather. THANK YOU.  In addition to this, women gain weight during pregnancy. Some gain a lot even though they're extremely healthy in their eating habits.  Some don't gain any. Don't assume that if a woman is already up 40 pounds by her second trimester that she's eating nothing but chocolate. She may be living on salads and quinoa, for all you know.

I found this on that newfangled 'internet.'

3. Food. "Should you be eating/drinking that? I heard that [insert food/beverage here] was bad for the baby." IS IT?! I DIDN'T KNOW THAT.  I HAVE NEVER READ ANYTHING ON THE INTERNET EVER.  Added to this advice is the fact that you are always starving when you're pregnant. Always. I don't care if you ate an entire quart of ice cream ten minutes ago, now you are hungry again and you want ...pizza, yeah. Pizza. So you try to curb the pizza craving by eating a nice salad because of vitamins and shit, but then you throw it up as soon as you eat it.  So you try some fruit.  Nope, that's rejected too.  Ok, pizza it is. Sometimes all you can do is eat what you physically CAN eat without barfing. Don't judge the pregnant woman for drinking that coffee or eating that muffin.  I was on a vacation with my husbands family during the later part of my first trimester and suffering from morning sickness. Every time I puked, I got to hear "it was all that FAT you ate for breakfast!" or "you shouldn't eat such sugary food."  What sugary food? I had one Twinkie three hours ago. That did not make me puke, thank you. Stop judging me.

4. Birth plans. "Are you getting an epidural? You shouldn't and here's why."  Thank you stranger on the bus. Yes, I LOVE discussing my personal medical choices with you. I would absolutely LOVE hearing your gruesome birth story. I'm so not terrified enough already.  You are helping me so much.

No more! Please!

5. Breastfeeding.  Breast is best! Yes, it might be, but it's also totally fine to use formula. I breastfed each baby for a full year. A whole damn year! Let me tell you something: breastfeeding is not something that happens naturally, it tends to hurt a lot in the beginning, and it keeps you tethered to your baby as long as you are doing it. And pumping. Pumping is the worst. So, while I managed to do it for a full year, I can completely and totally understand why someone would just say "fuck this shit" and use formula. Parenting is hard enough, thank you, without having to dick around with just basic feeding.  Not to mention mothers who need medication that isn't safe for the baby or have poor supply issues or whatever. Never ever judge a woman for not breastfeeding. And yes, this conversation happens before the baby is born. A lot.

Our culture wants to help pregnant women, I think. Most of the advice comes from a good place, but it just comes across as judgey.  And pregnant women can't help the puking.  Or the hormonal rage that happens when you try to touch her without permission. Please do everyone a favor and commiserate with her but only offer advice when asked.  Most women are intelligent and have doctors and books and the internet to turn to for things and are more than capable of making decisions that are best for them.

It's the snot.

I can handle most of the gross stuff involved with parenting pretty well.  I had two c-sections, survived the recovery and the post-partum disgustness that comes with being post-partum.  Clots people.  Clots. (Mom's you know what I'm talking about).  But then my kids get sick and I freaking lose it.

See, I used to work with animals, before I became a teacher.  I was in the trenches.  I would clean out cages that looked like twenty animals had diarrhea in them when it was just a tiny cute little puppy.  I cleaned those cages without flinching.  Poop apparently doesn't bother me.  Vomit either.  Or urine.  Or the really gross stuff that pops out of anal glands.  I'm sorry if you just Googled anal glands, that stuff is pretty gross. I watched the vet I worked for perform surgeries.  Not only surgeries, but hysterectomies where he removed infected cat uteruses.  Do you know what that looks like?  It's a big long tube thing that is full of pus.  I watched him do this and didn't feel nauseas at all. As a kid, I always thought it would be the poop stuff that would get me, but I was wrong.

It's snot.  I get completely and utterly grossed out by freaking snot.  I cannot stand the stuff.  Elizabeth pooped in her pants, no problem.  Wait, she just dug out a booger?  GET AWAY FROM ME.  So I dread colds.  I dread them so much.  I knew that with the start of preschool that illness would make it's way into our house.  It's inevitable.  They go to school and touch toys and each other with their germy hands and then the house is infected.  I worked at my daughters preschool last Thursday and I got An Illness.  Oh yes, it deserves capital letters.

From me, it spread to Elizabeth and then to Josie.  Aside from feeling like I was drowning from all the snot, I was forced to wipe runny noses and watch in horror as my almost three year old wiped her runny nose on my shirt.  And I had to do it with sympathy and love because that's what moms DO.

It's snot guys.  I can't stand the snot.

Introduction

I've never blogged before, so bear with me until I figure this out.  I guess I start with who I am?

See, this is the part about blogging I have a hard time with.  I don't like talking about myself.  I just can't understand why anyone would want to read about a stay-at-home mom with two kids.  But I'll do the best I can to give you an idea about my background and why I'm writing a blog in the first place.

I'm, as stated above, am a stay-at-home mother of two.  My husband works a white collar job that fortunately allows me to stay home with my kids.  I've always wanted to stay home and raise my children, probably because I watched my mom work her ass off to keep us clothed and fed and as a result was forced to leave us with strangers or on our own for large amounts of time.  I never felt the lack of a stay-at-home mom, but I did see how much she hated leaving us to go work at one of her three jobs.  I didn't want to have to do that.  And somehow, my life has turned out in such a way that I don't have to.

I grew up in Orange County, California.  No, Orange County is not all rich white people.  There are some places where there are rich white people, but there are also large areas of horrendous poverty.  I live in a wealthy suburb, the same one I went to high school in.  After high school, I went to college in Northern California. Once done there, I went to grad school back down here and got a Masters in Teaching.

It took years of subbing before I was hired as a teacher in one of the poorest cities in Orange County:  Santa Ana.  I worked for three years with the lowest scoring students in the district.  The average reading level in my classes was first or second grade.  The first year I went home crying about 75% of the time because it felt like everything I was doing was pointless.  The kids were mean and were so unlike the honors kids of my classes in high school or the kids I subbed for in the wealthier cities, it was like teaching aliens.  The second year I met one of the best teachers I've ever known and things got better.  I still had kids who didn't want to be there and who were rowdy and could be mean, but now I was learning how to teach them.  Their scores improved.  I became a better teacher.

Then I had a baby.  I loved teaching, but once I held my baby girl, I knew I loved her more.  I gave up my career to care for her full time and have never looked back.  I am a highly educated woman who chose to stay at home with her kids.

I'm highly educated and I'm opinionated.  I'm afraid that I'll share some opinions of mine that you won't agree with.  I'm not sorry for that, I don't apologize for not agreeing with everyone.  My hope for this blog is that it is a place I can share my thoughts and ideas honestly with you and you feel the same.  I hope that if I say something you disagree with that we can just agree to disagree.  So much of the internet is full of hate and anger, I would like this place to be a place of honesty, acceptance, and happiness.