I feel compelled to blog, though I don't know where to begin. Should I be witty? Should I be candid? Should I just stream of consciousness this post? There's so much and nothing at all in my head right now. But where to start?
The quest to actually follow through on my New Years resolutions has fallen way, way short. Mostly this is because life has demanded my attention be focused elsewhere, and all at once. The people in white lab coats say that the human brain is not capable of actually, literally multitasking. I don't think they did those scans on full time moms with full time jobs. Or maybe my brain is just really good at switching between tasks.
...Which, come to think of it, is not necessarily true. Because I forget a LOT of stuff most of the time. I drop balls like a novice juggler. Hell, I'm not even making decent analogies right now.
Speaking of brains, The Nugget was recently diagnosed with ADHD (inattentive type) and ODD (for those of you who don't know, that's oppositional defiant disorder. The first step on the path to conduct disorder. For those of you who don't know what conduct disorder is, introduce yourself to most of the habitual offenders in our prison system today). I won't even begin to wax knowledgable about either of these disorders, because I'm still learning all I can about these disorders. But looking back on my poor sweet boy's life, in perspective and through the lenses of these labels, so, so much makes sense now.
There's a certain level of comfort in finally having a label for the thing that has made parenting The Nugget for these last 11 years so difficult. He couldn't remember to do basic tasks, like shutting the front door or to change his socks. He was almost four before he was fully potty trained. He was almost nine before he learned to tie his shoes without help.
Then there were the issues at daycare and at school. Every new school year, I braced myself for the onslaught of notes and conferences that seemed to always accompany The Nugget through school. Every week - sometimes every day - there was a new note. Really, though, it wasn't a new note so much the same note on a different day tinged with a growing frustration that The Nugget just couldn't seem to get his shit together.
Before that, it was at least once a week that he was being sent home from daycare because his behavior was just so abysmal the teachers couldn't control him.
And nothing seemed to work to change the behavior. No amount of punishment or reward; begging or bribing would make The Nugget behave. I remember one time, when The Nugget was about four or so, when, sobbing with frustration about being reprimanded again, he wailed, "but Mama! I'm being haved!" For him, he really was trying. He was being his version of "haved". I didn't know then what I know now. And now that I know, the story isn't as cute anymore.
I chalked it up to The Nugget being a boy. The Monkey outgrew all of this behavior, surely The Nugget would, too! Then I chalked it up to the teacher being an asshole, but then The Nugget had some really fantastic teachers and I couldn't use that as an excuse anymore. I clung desperately to the idea that maybe he was just Huck Finn and why on earth would I want to change that? I was in serious denial that there was something actually wrong with him.
And now I have a label; I have a reason for it all. But that label and the reason don't make things any easier. In fact, I have a tremendous amount of guilt in letting it go on for as long as I did before I really truly insisted on getting him tested. Though, letting it go on and letting his record get supremely thick helped us skip right through all the bureaucratic bullshit red tape. We passed go. We collected our diagnoses. He has an education plan which will help get him through elementary school, at least.
Depending on what you're reading, the root causes for ADHD and ODD aren't entirely clear, but they do know that it happens in the brain - whether it's a structural cause or a chemical imbalance is still a matter of debate. They don't know exactly what contributes to these defects - everything from maternal consumption of caffeine and nicotine while pregnant to genetic factors have been cited - but everyone seems to now agree that it's not just teachers and parents looking to medicate kids to the point of zombie-hood.
The Nugget's... actually, let me pause. He deserves to be spoken of as something more than an anecdote. The Nugget's name is Liam... the version of ADHD that Liam has is the inattentive type. We're luckier than some folks there because he really doesn't need medication. He's capable of sitting still. He's capable of focusing some of the time (and only if there are absolutely no distractions). He has some mild tics and socialization issues, but nothing that is considered clinical (just borderline) in that arena. Liam also has a very difficult time processing his emotions in a "normal" way, and suffers a fair amount of anxiety most of the time.
But what makes a disorder like this more difficult for families like ours is there's no outward appearance of abnormality. There's nothing that screams "my child has special needs! Back the fuck off and show him some respect!" because he looks normal. People expect him to be able to operate on the same level as most folks. He just can't. He can fake it. He can find ways to cope in the world. But he will. Never. Be. Normal. And folks will just keep on wondering why the weird kid is weird.
That's a hard pill to swallow as a mama. Especially at this stage of the game. My child has special needs. My child will never be normal. My child will always struggle in the world. My child will always have to work extra hard. My child will often be at a loss to explain why he did something and why it was wrong (or why it was right) and will get in trouble for it. Because he looks normal.
------
I don't know how to sum this post up. It's open-ended, I suppose, because there's still so much left to learn. I'm still grieving for my boy and am still processing all of this information in a space of grief. No, he's not dying - and I am lucky for that! And he doesn't have a terminal illness. But his life is, and always was, inexorably changed.
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
A new year and new resolutions -- 12 Things Edition
Ah yes. It's a fresh year. It feels good, this clean slate. For several months now, I've been processing changes. For me, it takes a great deal of time to process any kind of change because, for so many years, I simply didn't like change and would avoid it at any cost. Now, I kind of dig change, but I'm a stubborn so and so, and won't readily admit when habits of mine need to go away.
Usually the pattern goes like this (it's almost always in conversation form)
Me: Yeah, it's really rather selfish of me to keep buying so many books. I haven't finished the last 20 I bought.
Brain: But you work hard and take care of your family. You deserve a treat.
Me: Do I need a treat every single week?! Amazon hasn't charged me my annual prime fee, I spend so much on there!
Brain: See! You're saving money!
Me: No I'm not!
Brain: No, really. You are. Jeff Bezos might send you a Christmas card.
Me: Really? You think so?
Brain: You're one of his best customers. I'm sure he will.
Me: That would be SO COOL. (clicks "add to cart")
Brain: (look of smug satisfaction)
Lather, rinse, repeat until I start leaving my debit card at home and change my Paypal password to something I can't remember. Ever.
So, for all of cyberspace, I am putting my resolutions out there. I expect you to hold me accountable, Interwebs -- all five of you who might read my blog.
1) Cliched as it is: to lose weight. I have set a goal of four pounds a month for a year. That's 48 pounds that I want to lose by this time next year. 12 pounds off what I really need to lose in order to be at my weight when I got pregnant with the monkey. Which was still a good 20 pounds off from what I need to weigh and be at the appropriate weight for my height.
And those numbers might be off, truth be told. I haven't gotten on a scale in two months because eating holidays and all that. But I'm going to start with 48 pounds.
2) In consideration of goal number 1, to cut out all the excess sugar in my diet. I will make exceptions for coffee and tea, but this means no soda, redbull (ACK! Kill me now!), candy, or other sweets.
3) In consideration of goals number 1 and 2: to cut out all the carb snacking that happens in my life. This means no trips to the snack baskets at work and to bring in healthy snacks for myself. Since I don't usually eat lunch at work, I must also endeavor to bring in healthy options to eat for lunch.
4) In consideration of goals 1-3: to exercise at least three times per week, gradually working up to five times per week. This one is going to be tough for me considering how much I hate mornings, so I know I won't wake up in time to actually go for a walk or do any yoga. And I don't get much down time before 10 at night. Right now, I don't have the excuse of the weather being too hot. It's perfectly lovely walking weather. I just need to f-bombing get my lazy tush out of the house.
5) Once a week, preferably twice, I will not make dinner and I will tell everyone -- even the Lady Gray -- that they have to fend for themselves so I can disappear into the studio and be creative. It doesn't matter what I create, so long as I create.
6) Not to overcommit: time, money, energy, resources. NO will be my key word of the year.
7) To actively work toward my goal of having a creative business. This means that that #5 and #6 need to happen. It also means I need to follow through on some of those classes I signed up for, work on my web sites, work on products and work on a business plan. It also means that I need to be more organized, thoughtful and productive.
8) To listen more attentively and to give my attention. The electronic devices will get put away and I will focus.
9) To save money each month. This means I'll have to forgo my Christmas card from Mr. Bezos, I suppose, but it'll be worth it in the long run. It also means that I'll have to plan meals for the week and only shop for the meals, rather than whatever strikes my fancy at any given time; look for specials and deals and learn to tell myself no. Instant gratification only lasts for an instant anyway.
10) To really quit smoking. Good lord does this need to happen. No more cheating just at work. No more using stress as an excuse to buy a pack of cigarettes. I have an e-cig, I need to use it.
11) To find opportunities for volunteerism and to give back to the world.
12) To spend more time with my family -- this includes my family up north, my family here and Jeff's family. I need to make an effort to see them and spend time with them. There's precious little time that each of us is allotted on this sphere, so I need to make the most of it with the people that I love.
----
Because I've run out of "things", here are some other goals: to get ready every Sunday for the week ahead at work. To get to bed at a reasonable time so I wake up refreshed. To use what little time I have available each day to work toward achieving my goals. To remember that, in order to be able to give to my family, I need to, first, give to myself. To remember that I am worth love -- my own especially -- and to make the effort to love myself a bit more (this does not mean go shopping every week. It means that I need to honor each phase that I'm in, dwell in my heart a little bit more, and take time out for me). I also need to remember that I cannot and should not control the people in my life or their behavior. I need to love and respect my loved ones for who they are right now, not who I think they should be.
It's going to be tough to make all of this happen. There will be a fair amount of pity partying happening, methinks. Theoretically, I shouldn't try to do all of this at once since so much change might seem daunting and I'll just quit. But you know what? I use that as a damn crutch. And, like my dentist said (as she was filling my very first cavities), "go big or go home, huh?" Damn straight, Doc. Damn straight.
Wish me luck!
Usually the pattern goes like this (it's almost always in conversation form)
Me: Yeah, it's really rather selfish of me to keep buying so many books. I haven't finished the last 20 I bought.
Brain: But you work hard and take care of your family. You deserve a treat.
Me: Do I need a treat every single week?! Amazon hasn't charged me my annual prime fee, I spend so much on there!
Brain: See! You're saving money!
Me: No I'm not!
Brain: No, really. You are. Jeff Bezos might send you a Christmas card.
Me: Really? You think so?
Brain: You're one of his best customers. I'm sure he will.
Me: That would be SO COOL. (clicks "add to cart")
Brain: (look of smug satisfaction)
Lather, rinse, repeat until I start leaving my debit card at home and change my Paypal password to something I can't remember. Ever.
So, for all of cyberspace, I am putting my resolutions out there. I expect you to hold me accountable, Interwebs -- all five of you who might read my blog.
1) Cliched as it is: to lose weight. I have set a goal of four pounds a month for a year. That's 48 pounds that I want to lose by this time next year. 12 pounds off what I really need to lose in order to be at my weight when I got pregnant with the monkey. Which was still a good 20 pounds off from what I need to weigh and be at the appropriate weight for my height.
And those numbers might be off, truth be told. I haven't gotten on a scale in two months because eating holidays and all that. But I'm going to start with 48 pounds.
2) In consideration of goal number 1, to cut out all the excess sugar in my diet. I will make exceptions for coffee and tea, but this means no soda, redbull (ACK! Kill me now!), candy, or other sweets.
3) In consideration of goals number 1 and 2: to cut out all the carb snacking that happens in my life. This means no trips to the snack baskets at work and to bring in healthy snacks for myself. Since I don't usually eat lunch at work, I must also endeavor to bring in healthy options to eat for lunch.
4) In consideration of goals 1-3: to exercise at least three times per week, gradually working up to five times per week. This one is going to be tough for me considering how much I hate mornings, so I know I won't wake up in time to actually go for a walk or do any yoga. And I don't get much down time before 10 at night. Right now, I don't have the excuse of the weather being too hot. It's perfectly lovely walking weather. I just need to f-bombing get my lazy tush out of the house.
5) Once a week, preferably twice, I will not make dinner and I will tell everyone -- even the Lady Gray -- that they have to fend for themselves so I can disappear into the studio and be creative. It doesn't matter what I create, so long as I create.
6) Not to overcommit: time, money, energy, resources. NO will be my key word of the year.
7) To actively work toward my goal of having a creative business. This means that that #5 and #6 need to happen. It also means I need to follow through on some of those classes I signed up for, work on my web sites, work on products and work on a business plan. It also means that I need to be more organized, thoughtful and productive.
8) To listen more attentively and to give my attention. The electronic devices will get put away and I will focus.
9) To save money each month. This means I'll have to forgo my Christmas card from Mr. Bezos, I suppose, but it'll be worth it in the long run. It also means that I'll have to plan meals for the week and only shop for the meals, rather than whatever strikes my fancy at any given time; look for specials and deals and learn to tell myself no. Instant gratification only lasts for an instant anyway.
10) To really quit smoking. Good lord does this need to happen. No more cheating just at work. No more using stress as an excuse to buy a pack of cigarettes. I have an e-cig, I need to use it.
11) To find opportunities for volunteerism and to give back to the world.
12) To spend more time with my family -- this includes my family up north, my family here and Jeff's family. I need to make an effort to see them and spend time with them. There's precious little time that each of us is allotted on this sphere, so I need to make the most of it with the people that I love.
----
Because I've run out of "things", here are some other goals: to get ready every Sunday for the week ahead at work. To get to bed at a reasonable time so I wake up refreshed. To use what little time I have available each day to work toward achieving my goals. To remember that, in order to be able to give to my family, I need to, first, give to myself. To remember that I am worth love -- my own especially -- and to make the effort to love myself a bit more (this does not mean go shopping every week. It means that I need to honor each phase that I'm in, dwell in my heart a little bit more, and take time out for me). I also need to remember that I cannot and should not control the people in my life or their behavior. I need to love and respect my loved ones for who they are right now, not who I think they should be.
It's going to be tough to make all of this happen. There will be a fair amount of pity partying happening, methinks. Theoretically, I shouldn't try to do all of this at once since so much change might seem daunting and I'll just quit. But you know what? I use that as a damn crutch. And, like my dentist said (as she was filling my very first cavities), "go big or go home, huh?" Damn straight, Doc. Damn straight.
Wish me luck!
Sunday, December 29, 2013
Well hello! Sit down. Have a cup of tea with me. Let's catch up.
I have been, as usual, missing from my blog spot. There's been a lot going on, what with the holidays and such. But Christmas has come and gone and the new year is right around the corner. It's time to clean out the old and begin fresh and new.
I've been considering an overhaul of this space -- or to scrap this one and start anew. Well, I won't scrap this blog, because so many wonderful memories and rambling thoughts have been shared here. But, as time goes on, my priorities and goal have shifted. And maybe it's time for this space to shift with me.
This isn't to say that I've lost sight of my "two" year plan (which is edging closer to five years now) or my life lists. Those things still simmer in the back of my mind and I am cognizant that every decision, no matter how big or small, that I make brings me closer to my goals.
We're three days away from 2014 and I'm excited about it, for once. Usually, the new year makes me rather melancholy. I don't know why, but it does. This year, I see nothing but bright lights and shiny futures ahead for all.
So while I won't scrap this place, that has been so special to me for a few years, I'll reserve it now strictly for random life updates, pictures and goals. I am going to start another blog, that I will link to through here (should those of you that check in here wish to read it) that I'll fill with my more controversial thought processes: namely sex, politics, religion and my relationships.
I'll catch you on the flip side.
Namaste
I've been considering an overhaul of this space -- or to scrap this one and start anew. Well, I won't scrap this blog, because so many wonderful memories and rambling thoughts have been shared here. But, as time goes on, my priorities and goal have shifted. And maybe it's time for this space to shift with me.
This isn't to say that I've lost sight of my "two" year plan (which is edging closer to five years now) or my life lists. Those things still simmer in the back of my mind and I am cognizant that every decision, no matter how big or small, that I make brings me closer to my goals.
We're three days away from 2014 and I'm excited about it, for once. Usually, the new year makes me rather melancholy. I don't know why, but it does. This year, I see nothing but bright lights and shiny futures ahead for all.
So while I won't scrap this place, that has been so special to me for a few years, I'll reserve it now strictly for random life updates, pictures and goals. I am going to start another blog, that I will link to through here (should those of you that check in here wish to read it) that I'll fill with my more controversial thought processes: namely sex, politics, religion and my relationships.
I'll catch you on the flip side.
Namaste
Monday, September 16, 2013
I'm such a fucking hipster
And I say "fuck" a lot. I need to stop that. My grandmother might read this blog one day.
Then again, I say "fuck" around her, too.
I'm going to Hell.
And in other news, check an item off of my life list -- I am now the proud owner of a MacBook. Well, sorta. My job technically owns the MacBook, but since I work for my parents and will probably never, ever leave, I'm probably going to be buried with this thing.
And with the addition of a MacBook to my iCollection, I officially own an iPod, iPhone, iPad (regular and mini) and MacBook.
Did I mention my vast collection of scarves. Also, I own a pair of black chucks. And yes, my glasses are black rimmed. See? I told you I'm a hipster.
When the box arrived today at work, it was sort of anticlimactic, actually. I had yearned for years for a MacBook that the yearning had sort of become my thing. I plotted and planned and contrived different ways to get a MacBook, and there it was. On my desk. It took a full two hours before I actually felt like opening it.
What am I going to do now that this goal is off my list? Granted, I have seven thousand other goals on my life list, but this was high on my radar. Superficial, yes, but a goal within my grasp.
It got me thinking, though, that so much of my life list is rather superficial. But the superficiality is what makes the goals realistic and tangible. Getting the item off of the list, though, wasn't nearly as satisfying as I had hoped. That part made me sad. I was more giddy ordering the MacBook than I was getting it. Maybe it's a sign that I'm evolving -- I don't want things anymore, I want experience. Or maybe it's because, as a pretty consummate Apple fangurl, I'm Appled out.
But it's easy enough to put the MacBook down and focus on what's important: making my little girl say "mommy" again and hanging out with The Trolls; and gazing at my beloved next to me, while I think about how lucky I truly am.
Then again, I say "fuck" around her, too.
I'm going to Hell.
And in other news, check an item off of my life list -- I am now the proud owner of a MacBook. Well, sorta. My job technically owns the MacBook, but since I work for my parents and will probably never, ever leave, I'm probably going to be buried with this thing.
And with the addition of a MacBook to my iCollection, I officially own an iPod, iPhone, iPad (regular and mini) and MacBook.
Did I mention my vast collection of scarves. Also, I own a pair of black chucks. And yes, my glasses are black rimmed. See? I told you I'm a hipster.
When the box arrived today at work, it was sort of anticlimactic, actually. I had yearned for years for a MacBook that the yearning had sort of become my thing. I plotted and planned and contrived different ways to get a MacBook, and there it was. On my desk. It took a full two hours before I actually felt like opening it.
What am I going to do now that this goal is off my list? Granted, I have seven thousand other goals on my life list, but this was high on my radar. Superficial, yes, but a goal within my grasp.
It got me thinking, though, that so much of my life list is rather superficial. But the superficiality is what makes the goals realistic and tangible. Getting the item off of the list, though, wasn't nearly as satisfying as I had hoped. That part made me sad. I was more giddy ordering the MacBook than I was getting it. Maybe it's a sign that I'm evolving -- I don't want things anymore, I want experience. Or maybe it's because, as a pretty consummate Apple fangurl, I'm Appled out.
But it's easy enough to put the MacBook down and focus on what's important: making my little girl say "mommy" again and hanging out with The Trolls; and gazing at my beloved next to me, while I think about how lucky I truly am.
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Comparing Apples to Agent Orange -- How Not to Be a Dick
One of the most solid pieces of advice that any person anywhere will ever hear is never to compare their last relationship to the one they're currently in. It's just bad news all the way around. But we're also human beings, so we're going to do exactly the opposite of the thing we're not supposed to do.
As a rule -- at least this time around -- I don't compare The Fiancee™ to The Ex. There's no comparison. The Fiancee™ is far and away the better of the two. I may reflect back on the previous relationship to make sure I'm not repeating mistakes or clearing out the detritus from some leftover baggage, but I usually don't compare.
Until I had a baby with The Fiancee™. Ever since I had The Bean, a constant thought runs through my head, "I wish I'd had The Trolls with The Fiancee™". He's such a fantastic and remarkable father. He's hands on. He reads. He listens. He's all the things The Ex isn't. Every time I have to send The Trolls off with The Ex, I cringe and count the seconds 'til they're back home with us, because The Ex is just a shit.
(I'm probably going to regret typing that last sentence -- and then publishing it in a public forum -- especially if The Trolls ever find out I have a blog, but... well... First Amendment and all that).
But really why I take to my blog is not to extoll the virtues of my beloved, but to speak to all The Exes out there. Call it Sady's Rules for Not Being a Dick and Everyone Will Be Happy.
1) Visitation: the children should always come first. Sure, every now-and-again there are going to be times when you have to work late or you need a break, but as the non-custodial parent, when you have an opportunity to see your children, you should take it. You shouldn't blow them off for, oh I don't know, a tour (you're a forty-year-old wanna-be rock star who is never going to be a famous musician. Just come to grips with that already, wouldja?)
If you can't make a scheduled visit, call the other parent NOT the children. Messages like that should not be delivered to or through the kids.
If you need to reschedule a visit, call the other parent NOT the children.
If you want to see the children, call the other parent NOT the children.
Stick to the prearranged schedule unless there's an emergency. Schools frown upon unexcused tardies and your ex gets really annoyed having to wait around for you.
2) Call the children: by all means, call the children. Regularly. Several times a day, even. There's no need to speak to the other parent if you're just calling to say, "hi."
But if the other parent needs to speak to you, the polite thing to do is take the call. If you don't want to talk to your ex, that's fine. Shoot him or her a text message. He or she would probably prefer it since he or she didn't want to talk to you, either. Talking to your ex is a necessary evil when you have children together.
3) Scheduling a visit: as a matter of fact, you do need to speak to your ex if you want to see your children. Your ex should not have to keep the children's schedules indefinitely open in the hopes that you'll find time in your schedule to see them. I know, I know. You hate feeling like you have to ask permission to see your kids, but you know what? You do need to make sure that they don't already have plans. Suck it up, Cupcake.
4) Don't trash talk: sure, you hate your ex. She or he hates you, too. That's why the two of you aren't together. Keep the trash talking between you and the voice in your head. The children don't need to be caught in the crossfire.
5) Child Support: I've got news for you, Buttercup -- child support is necessary. You don't get to arbitrarily decide that you'll buy the kids something in lieu of paying child support. It doesn't work that way. Child support goes toward the cost of raising children and, in most cases, doesn't even begin to cover what your ex has to pay toward their cost of living. Children are fucking expensive.
And if you think you're just spiting your ex by not paying, well, think again. You're just a dick that likes to hurt your own kids. NOT paying child support prevents your ex from doing things for the kids -- like get them braces or pay for sports.
It's not "extra money", by the way. It's money that is very, very needed. But even if it is extra money and your ex chooses to spend it on hookers and blow, he or she can. He or she has already paid the mortgage, the light bill and put food in the children's bellies. You're simply paying your ex back a small portion of what he or she has already spent on the children.
And let's just address this while we're at it: your ex cannot ask his or her parents to help. It's your job to support your children.Your ex's current is not responsible for the financial burden of your children, either. He or she does it because he or she loves your kids -- and you should be goddamned grateful for that and not take it for granted.
Oh and side note: if you can afford to take time off from work to go on fucking tour, you better make sure that you've paid your child support. Dick.
(Item five is especially touchy for me, since The Ex -- who only is required (by our mutual agreement... for now) to pay $300 a month for two kids hasn't paid a dime since October 2012. All points covered are all arguments he used to justify not paying).
6) Don't be super-happy-funtime-parent: Seriously, just don't. Don't be the parent that the kids get to have all the fun with while your ex is the one that has to make them eat their vegetables and do their homework. Because, you know what? The next time you have a weekend with your kids, your ex may just send them over all hopped up on Mountain Dew and bags of sugar. You'd deserve it.
7) Don't be a dick to your kids: don't say things like "you're just like your mother" or "you're stupid" or "you're fat and lazy." Saying those kinds of things is a sure fire way to get yourself a one-way ticket to The-Kids-Are-Permanently-Busy-and-Can-Never-See-You-Again-ville.
8) Blending families: make sure that the children have a place of their own in your home -- especially if you're living with someone who already has kids. There's nothing quite so sure to guarantee to make a child require years and years of therapy as one or both of their parents making their "biological" child feel like a red-headed step-child.
9) Do what you say you're going to do. And don't argue about it if it's not convenient for you anymore. You made your bed, now lay in it.
As a rule -- at least this time around -- I don't compare The Fiancee™ to The Ex. There's no comparison. The Fiancee™ is far and away the better of the two. I may reflect back on the previous relationship to make sure I'm not repeating mistakes or clearing out the detritus from some leftover baggage, but I usually don't compare.
Until I had a baby with The Fiancee™. Ever since I had The Bean, a constant thought runs through my head, "I wish I'd had The Trolls with The Fiancee™". He's such a fantastic and remarkable father. He's hands on. He reads. He listens. He's all the things The Ex isn't. Every time I have to send The Trolls off with The Ex, I cringe and count the seconds 'til they're back home with us, because The Ex is just a shit.
(I'm probably going to regret typing that last sentence -- and then publishing it in a public forum -- especially if The Trolls ever find out I have a blog, but... well... First Amendment and all that).
But really why I take to my blog is not to extoll the virtues of my beloved, but to speak to all The Exes out there. Call it Sady's Rules for Not Being a Dick and Everyone Will Be Happy.
1) Visitation: the children should always come first. Sure, every now-and-again there are going to be times when you have to work late or you need a break, but as the non-custodial parent, when you have an opportunity to see your children, you should take it. You shouldn't blow them off for, oh I don't know, a tour (you're a forty-year-old wanna-be rock star who is never going to be a famous musician. Just come to grips with that already, wouldja?)
If you can't make a scheduled visit, call the other parent NOT the children. Messages like that should not be delivered to or through the kids.
If you need to reschedule a visit, call the other parent NOT the children.
If you want to see the children, call the other parent NOT the children.
Stick to the prearranged schedule unless there's an emergency. Schools frown upon unexcused tardies and your ex gets really annoyed having to wait around for you.
2) Call the children: by all means, call the children. Regularly. Several times a day, even. There's no need to speak to the other parent if you're just calling to say, "hi."
But if the other parent needs to speak to you, the polite thing to do is take the call. If you don't want to talk to your ex, that's fine. Shoot him or her a text message. He or she would probably prefer it since he or she didn't want to talk to you, either. Talking to your ex is a necessary evil when you have children together.
3) Scheduling a visit: as a matter of fact, you do need to speak to your ex if you want to see your children. Your ex should not have to keep the children's schedules indefinitely open in the hopes that you'll find time in your schedule to see them. I know, I know. You hate feeling like you have to ask permission to see your kids, but you know what? You do need to make sure that they don't already have plans. Suck it up, Cupcake.
4) Don't trash talk: sure, you hate your ex. She or he hates you, too. That's why the two of you aren't together. Keep the trash talking between you and the voice in your head. The children don't need to be caught in the crossfire.
5) Child Support: I've got news for you, Buttercup -- child support is necessary. You don't get to arbitrarily decide that you'll buy the kids something in lieu of paying child support. It doesn't work that way. Child support goes toward the cost of raising children and, in most cases, doesn't even begin to cover what your ex has to pay toward their cost of living. Children are fucking expensive.
And if you think you're just spiting your ex by not paying, well, think again. You're just a dick that likes to hurt your own kids. NOT paying child support prevents your ex from doing things for the kids -- like get them braces or pay for sports.
It's not "extra money", by the way. It's money that is very, very needed. But even if it is extra money and your ex chooses to spend it on hookers and blow, he or she can. He or she has already paid the mortgage, the light bill and put food in the children's bellies. You're simply paying your ex back a small portion of what he or she has already spent on the children.
And let's just address this while we're at it: your ex cannot ask his or her parents to help. It's your job to support your children.Your ex's current is not responsible for the financial burden of your children, either. He or she does it because he or she loves your kids -- and you should be goddamned grateful for that and not take it for granted.
Oh and side note: if you can afford to take time off from work to go on fucking tour, you better make sure that you've paid your child support. Dick.
(Item five is especially touchy for me, since The Ex -- who only is required (by our mutual agreement... for now) to pay $300 a month for two kids hasn't paid a dime since October 2012. All points covered are all arguments he used to justify not paying).
6) Don't be super-happy-funtime-parent: Seriously, just don't. Don't be the parent that the kids get to have all the fun with while your ex is the one that has to make them eat their vegetables and do their homework. Because, you know what? The next time you have a weekend with your kids, your ex may just send them over all hopped up on Mountain Dew and bags of sugar. You'd deserve it.
7) Don't be a dick to your kids: don't say things like "you're just like your mother" or "you're stupid" or "you're fat and lazy." Saying those kinds of things is a sure fire way to get yourself a one-way ticket to The-Kids-Are-Permanently-Busy-and-Can-Never-See-You-Again-ville.
8) Blending families: make sure that the children have a place of their own in your home -- especially if you're living with someone who already has kids. There's nothing quite so sure to guarantee to make a child require years and years of therapy as one or both of their parents making their "biological" child feel like a red-headed step-child.
9) Do what you say you're going to do. And don't argue about it if it's not convenient for you anymore. You made your bed, now lay in it.
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
Oh Internet! You just keep doing you. Thoughts on #unplug
Let me go on the record as saying that I'm as about as old school as you can get and still be even mildly NOT 78 years old. I have Facebook. I have a blog. I even have my own [never updated] web site. But I don't tweet, skype, tumblr or any of that crap. I probably should if I want to get my business off the ground, but I'm kind of lazy and it seems like figuring out what the hell the hashtag is for would take up more time than I'm willing to give it.
Besides, I'm pretty sure the lifespan of anything on the internet is about 35 seconds. So I'm holding out for the day that Twitter becomes Myspace.
But then again, the Internet is hopelessly self-absorbed and Twitter hit the nail on the head by pandering to that element.
Dammit. I guess I'll have to figure out Twitter. But not before I get fully vested in the newest Internet meme: #unplug.
Let me throw an addendum to my previous on-the-record by saying that I REALLY love the concept of this. In case you're not familiar with the how to, here's the premise:
1) Realize that you're hopelessly addicted to anything Internet-related and powerless to your addiction.
2) Seek to make amends to anyone you've wronged.
Oh... wait. That's AA. Moving on...
The premise behind unplugged actually IS acknowledging how hopelessly plugged in we are and how we've kind of lost touch with reality. For instance, every night, The Fiancee™ and I sit on the back porch having a chat and a smoke theoretically catching up about the day and figuring out what the game plan for the night is. But if you were to look through the sliding glass door, you'd see both of us more engaged with our devices than each other. Neither of us are big Internet addicts, but the Internet has kind of stripped us of our ability to have a meaningful dialogue. Or even an unmeaningful dialogue.
It's made it impossible to have an uncomfortable silence.
That's not right, y'all. Not right at all.
So point of unplugging is to pick a time frame (a day, week, month, etc), pick a day to begin it, let all your peeps know you're going off line and then DO IT. Only use your phone for calls and texts. Leave the TV off and your laptops unplugged. Go out and explore a city.
Talk to real live people... in person <---that's the part that terrifies me the most. I live in Florida; people are scary here.
Afterward you can plug back in, but maybe not so much this time. Or maybe you can plug all the way back in, but schedule unplugged moments. Or maybe you'll become a hermit and never plug back in again... until the History Channel shows up with a camera crew to film you for an episode of Mountain Men.
I'm totally down for this because, for real, I'm not that plugged in ANYWAY... and maybe unplugging will help me get over my agoraphobia (I'm pretty sure the only way I'm getting over that is by moving out of this shit hole of a state).
But the irony... the supremely delicious irony of #unplug is that it's an INTERNET MEME. Unplugging has a damn hashtag and people have been tweeting about it. I'm blogging about it. It's a Google+ discussion (or whatever they call it on Google+ I can't figure Google+ out). I expect it'll be showing up in my Facebook feed any day now.
Oh, sweet precious Internet. Never change.
Besides, I'm pretty sure the lifespan of anything on the internet is about 35 seconds. So I'm holding out for the day that Twitter becomes Myspace.
But then again, the Internet is hopelessly self-absorbed and Twitter hit the nail on the head by pandering to that element.
Dammit. I guess I'll have to figure out Twitter. But not before I get fully vested in the newest Internet meme: #unplug.
Let me throw an addendum to my previous on-the-record by saying that I REALLY love the concept of this. In case you're not familiar with the how to, here's the premise:
1) Realize that you're hopelessly addicted to anything Internet-related and powerless to your addiction.
2) Seek to make amends to anyone you've wronged.
Oh... wait. That's AA. Moving on...
The premise behind unplugged actually IS acknowledging how hopelessly plugged in we are and how we've kind of lost touch with reality. For instance, every night, The Fiancee™ and I sit on the back porch having a chat and a smoke theoretically catching up about the day and figuring out what the game plan for the night is. But if you were to look through the sliding glass door, you'd see both of us more engaged with our devices than each other. Neither of us are big Internet addicts, but the Internet has kind of stripped us of our ability to have a meaningful dialogue. Or even an unmeaningful dialogue.
It's made it impossible to have an uncomfortable silence.
That's not right, y'all. Not right at all.
So point of unplugging is to pick a time frame (a day, week, month, etc), pick a day to begin it, let all your peeps know you're going off line and then DO IT. Only use your phone for calls and texts. Leave the TV off and your laptops unplugged. Go out and explore a city.
Talk to real live people... in person <---that's the part that terrifies me the most. I live in Florida; people are scary here.
Afterward you can plug back in, but maybe not so much this time. Or maybe you can plug all the way back in, but schedule unplugged moments. Or maybe you'll become a hermit and never plug back in again... until the History Channel shows up with a camera crew to film you for an episode of Mountain Men.
I'm totally down for this because, for real, I'm not that plugged in ANYWAY... and maybe unplugging will help me get over my agoraphobia (I'm pretty sure the only way I'm getting over that is by moving out of this shit hole of a state).
But the irony... the supremely delicious irony of #unplug is that it's an INTERNET MEME. Unplugging has a damn hashtag and people have been tweeting about it. I'm blogging about it. It's a Google+ discussion (or whatever they call it on Google+ I can't figure Google+ out). I expect it'll be showing up in my Facebook feed any day now.
Oh, sweet precious Internet. Never change.
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Vagina. Vagina. Vagina. Uterus.
That blog title is likely to get me some hits, don't you think?
I come from a long, long line of fiercely independent women. I wouldn't go so far as to call it entirely feminist, since we were "feminists" long before that was an actual thing. On my mother's side, we were frontierswomen, blazing trails and breaking laws as we saw fit. My great-grandmother graduated summa cum laude and was a Fullbright scholar and Guggenheim Fellow. On my father's side adversity was overcome and my grandmother, despite having to leave her beloved church because of it, divorced her abusive husband. Before that, she raised six kids while working three jobs to support them.
None of us has been dependent on a man. Ever.
When I first became a mother, I wanted sons. Girls are a pain-in-the-ass (we really are) and I wanted nothing to do with them. I was and am determined to raise my sons to be feminists, to understand and appreciate womanhood and the strength that women possess; to be in awe of it instead of lusting after it.
Aside from the occasional booby jokes, the evidence shows that I'm doing OK in that department. The Monkey is friends with more girls than guys and has a healthy respect for girls. The one girl he has a serious crush on, he won't ask out because "he'd rather have her in his life as a friend than ask her out and risk losing her." The Nugget says things like, "I'm going to make sure my sister only has boyfriends that love her."
Not that she'll need protecting, but it's nice to know that The Nugget is already polishing his guns.
Anyway...
As I got older and American society has degraded back into thinly veiled misogyny, and after birthing a daughter, I realized that merely teaching my sons to be in awe of women is not enough. To raise them to be feminists is not enough. To be loyal and good to their mother and sister is not enough. But I don't know what "enough" is.
Because I'm scared, y'all. I'm scared that women are allowing themselves to be subjugated again. I'm terrified that my daughter's reproductive choices will no longer be rights that she can decide on for herself. There's a distinct possibility that we're heading back to a time when women went to college to find a husband rather than get an education and have a career. As it is, more often than not, women have to choose between having a family and having a career.
That scares me. To no end.
I'm going back to work full time on Friday and leaving The Lady Gray with a nanny. It breaks my heart to have to do this because I'd so much rather spend all day trying to make her smile and now I'll be paying someone else to do that. But that has nothing to do with not wanting a career. If I did end up quitting my job to stay home with her, I'd spend her nap times trying to start up a freelance copywriting/advertising business with a side of hand-made goods on Etsy. Shit... I'd do that even without a baby at home.
Here's the thing, I go without sleep to get work done. I wake up with the baby in the middle of the night. I cook. I clean. I pay my bills. I make more money than The Fiancee™. He gets home from work and waits for dinner to be made. He spends a few precious moments with the baby and then he's in bed and asleep, usually, by 9:30 every night.
This isn't to say that The Fiancee™ is lazy or I'm better than him, but more to say that, as a woman, I'm more capable of getting shit done than most men. Countless studies prove that the tendency for men to think linearly puts them at a disadvantage to women, who can think in broader terms and tackle more at once.
Either that scares men or it makes them think, "Shit. Well, I can just sit back and let her handle it all." Or maybe it's a combination of the two. And it's the fear of the almighty vagina that has the collective man figuring out ways to shut our power down. They're starting with our right to choose what to do with our own bodies -- as if we're so much breeding stock for their holy seed. And now they're going after our right to work, saying that women going out to the work force began the degradation of American society.
The Fiancee™ wants another baby. I don't. I'm not having another one. End of discussion. If, perchance, I did get pregnant again, I would terminate the pregnancy. Because it's my right to do so and I don't want to put my body through that again. Carrying The Lady Gray took a huge toll on my body. I'm still recovering from it and it's not an experience I'd like to relive. He'll be pissed and it might be a breaking point for our relationship, but my right to choose not carry another pregnancy to term is mine alone to decide. As soon as he stops masturbating, I'll let him have a say in my reproductive decision-making.
But here's the really scary part -- women are allowing this shit to happen! We're more concerned with looking good to men than we are about being relegated to the kitchen. How in the hell did that happen? Actually, I know how that happened.
All of this disjointed blogging is to say that we need to raise our children to fight for the equality of the sexes. It's not enough to raise our sons to be feminists. It's not enough to teach them that a woman's reproductive choices are hers. It's not enough to teach them how to cook or to love their sisters. We need to teach our daughters that the fight for our rights is never ending. We need them to not be complacent. We need to teach them that pink was originally a boy color (it was. Look it up). And we need their first word to be vagina.
I come from a long, long line of fiercely independent women. I wouldn't go so far as to call it entirely feminist, since we were "feminists" long before that was an actual thing. On my mother's side, we were frontierswomen, blazing trails and breaking laws as we saw fit. My great-grandmother graduated summa cum laude and was a Fullbright scholar and Guggenheim Fellow. On my father's side adversity was overcome and my grandmother, despite having to leave her beloved church because of it, divorced her abusive husband. Before that, she raised six kids while working three jobs to support them.
None of us has been dependent on a man. Ever.
When I first became a mother, I wanted sons. Girls are a pain-in-the-ass (we really are) and I wanted nothing to do with them. I was and am determined to raise my sons to be feminists, to understand and appreciate womanhood and the strength that women possess; to be in awe of it instead of lusting after it.
Aside from the occasional booby jokes, the evidence shows that I'm doing OK in that department. The Monkey is friends with more girls than guys and has a healthy respect for girls. The one girl he has a serious crush on, he won't ask out because "he'd rather have her in his life as a friend than ask her out and risk losing her." The Nugget says things like, "I'm going to make sure my sister only has boyfriends that love her."
Not that she'll need protecting, but it's nice to know that The Nugget is already polishing his guns.
Anyway...
As I got older and American society has degraded back into thinly veiled misogyny, and after birthing a daughter, I realized that merely teaching my sons to be in awe of women is not enough. To raise them to be feminists is not enough. To be loyal and good to their mother and sister is not enough. But I don't know what "enough" is.
Because I'm scared, y'all. I'm scared that women are allowing themselves to be subjugated again. I'm terrified that my daughter's reproductive choices will no longer be rights that she can decide on for herself. There's a distinct possibility that we're heading back to a time when women went to college to find a husband rather than get an education and have a career. As it is, more often than not, women have to choose between having a family and having a career.
That scares me. To no end.
I'm going back to work full time on Friday and leaving The Lady Gray with a nanny. It breaks my heart to have to do this because I'd so much rather spend all day trying to make her smile and now I'll be paying someone else to do that. But that has nothing to do with not wanting a career. If I did end up quitting my job to stay home with her, I'd spend her nap times trying to start up a freelance copywriting/advertising business with a side of hand-made goods on Etsy. Shit... I'd do that even without a baby at home.
Here's the thing, I go without sleep to get work done. I wake up with the baby in the middle of the night. I cook. I clean. I pay my bills. I make more money than The Fiancee™. He gets home from work and waits for dinner to be made. He spends a few precious moments with the baby and then he's in bed and asleep, usually, by 9:30 every night.
This isn't to say that The Fiancee™ is lazy or I'm better than him, but more to say that, as a woman, I'm more capable of getting shit done than most men. Countless studies prove that the tendency for men to think linearly puts them at a disadvantage to women, who can think in broader terms and tackle more at once.
Either that scares men or it makes them think, "Shit. Well, I can just sit back and let her handle it all." Or maybe it's a combination of the two. And it's the fear of the almighty vagina that has the collective man figuring out ways to shut our power down. They're starting with our right to choose what to do with our own bodies -- as if we're so much breeding stock for their holy seed. And now they're going after our right to work, saying that women going out to the work force began the degradation of American society.
The Fiancee™ wants another baby. I don't. I'm not having another one. End of discussion. If, perchance, I did get pregnant again, I would terminate the pregnancy. Because it's my right to do so and I don't want to put my body through that again. Carrying The Lady Gray took a huge toll on my body. I'm still recovering from it and it's not an experience I'd like to relive. He'll be pissed and it might be a breaking point for our relationship, but my right to choose not carry another pregnancy to term is mine alone to decide. As soon as he stops masturbating, I'll let him have a say in my reproductive decision-making.
But here's the really scary part -- women are allowing this shit to happen! We're more concerned with looking good to men than we are about being relegated to the kitchen. How in the hell did that happen? Actually, I know how that happened.
All of this disjointed blogging is to say that we need to raise our children to fight for the equality of the sexes. It's not enough to raise our sons to be feminists. It's not enough to teach them that a woman's reproductive choices are hers. It's not enough to teach them how to cook or to love their sisters. We need to teach our daughters that the fight for our rights is never ending. We need them to not be complacent. We need to teach them that pink was originally a boy color (it was. Look it up). And we need their first word to be vagina.
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