I’m Offended

No, really…I’m not. But you are.

Of course you’re not offended Ashley, you’re a middle class white girl…. you’re not gay, you aren’t a single mother, you’re actually a stay at home mother – so the wage gap between men and women doesn’t apply to you. You aren’t an illegal immigrant, you aren’t handicapped and neither are your children. You aren’t cultured, your mind is as small as the town you were born and raised in and continue to live in. Your life is perfectly fine, so why don’t you sit down and let us worry about social rights.

Ah…there we are. The root of this problem. Because I am all of those things…my voice shouldn’t be heard. My vote shouldn’t count. I shouldn’t have a say in any of it because I don’t understand the hardships of other’s lives. Trump supporters are all bible thumping bigots, they’re small minded people who hate women and gays but above all…they’re incredibly intolerant. A beastly bunch of deplorables.

Gotchya! Glad we have that cleared up.

Clearly I’m on the list of offenders, so before you read this blog – please note that if your mind has already been made (and it has) …I don’t actually believe I’m going to change it. I’m writing this because I’ve been asked to, I’ve been asked by an Anti-Trump friend to write why (when she has known me to have such liberal views) I voted for President Trump.

I’m already anticipating the comments about my insensitivity complete with a link for me to click on to prove that I am in fact wrong. So, don’t disappoint folks…send me links to factual websites that I will not read.

Well that’s rude. You won’t even hear us out?

No young one, it’s not rude…its honest. You’re being too sensitive.

What’s wrong with being sensitive? What’s wrong with showing we care? That we’re humans with hearts and empathy?

Nothing wrong with being sensitive, nothing wrong with being a decent and kind human being. And there is nothing wrong with putting yourself in someone else’s shoes and trying to feel what they feel. You should, we all should. It’s what separates us from animals.

What you think I voted for and what I know I voted for are two very different things.

  1. You think I voted for Trump because I don’t care about women’s rights.

Trump hates women, he degrades them…he’s a pig. I don’t want my daughter growing up thinking some man can ‘grab her by the pussy’ just because he wants to. What message does that send to her? Do you know what that does to her self-confidence? Her self-respect? He is the president of the United States, a man of power – and we chose this woman-grabbing animal as a role model for our children?

Let’s start from the bottom of that and work our way up, shall we?

Trump is not the role model for your daughter. Your daughter’s role model should be YOU. If your daughter feels like an idiot in a room full of men…that’s on you. If you blame Trump for your daughter’s lack of self-worth – shame on you. If her self-respect revolves around what a man says or does, shame on you. If her self-confidence plummets because 20 years ago Donald Trump grabbed a woman by the pussy, shame on you. If you haven’t taught your daughter to kick a man in the balls, whether he is the President of the United States or your piece of shit neighbor down the street, when he grabs her body – SHAME. ON. YOU.

I have failed my children if I have left it up to anyone but their father and I to determine their self-worth for them. We have failed if we have not taught them how to love themselves, despite what the world’s opinion might be. Despite what the world might teach them.

This type of nurturing, this morality and love….it all comes from home. If you can’t provide it, the American people have not failed – the president has not failed – YOU HAVE FAILED. Take responsibility for your own life and your own children and stop demanding others to reach your standards. Try setting your own moral bar and aiming for it. The better you are, the better your children will be. Stop waiting for the world to be a safe and tolerant place for your children, and start BEING their safe and tolerant place.

The Women’s March that was held the day after the inauguration, I was against it.

Why? Why are you so against women gathering to fight for your rights as a woman? To celebrate being a woman. To fight against inequality between men and women. Why would you be against that?

Good question.

I realize there were valid reasons for women to march (the wage gap, for example) however I still felt it was a waste of time and resources, honestly. You probably helped economically in that you stayed in hotels, ate at restaurants, used various forms of transportation…I mean, you also destroyed the streets and littered the hell out of the cities you went to…but all in the name of a good cause, right? You also forgot to not be hypocritical, therefore in my eyes, it was an over-all fail.

If you didn’t know this already, I am pro-choice. I strongly believe in a woman’s right to choose what she does or doesn’t do with her body. So why would I be so against a march that brought positive attention to a topic that I stand firmly on?

Tell me, at your women’s march…were all of the women equal? Were all female voices allowed to be heard? Could the women on your march hold up a sign that read “Make America Great Again”?

What about women who are pro-life? Are they covered under your umbrella of feminism? Is their opinion not admirable enough for you? Is it too “manly” of a view point?

Your march was bull because you support only the women who follow your rules. You are not empowering women to have a voice of their own and it’s unfortunate that you think otherwise. I did not attend or support your march, because you did not make a place for this woman to walk in it.

I voted for Trump because I am confident that in 8 years (yeah, 8) abortion will still be legal. However, if you make the choice to have an abortion – I believe you’ll soon have to pay for it yourself, as tax payer money will no longer be used to perform them. I also support this. But make no mistake ladies, you will still have this choice. Of course, my vote wouldn’t have changed if this choice was taken away. Social issues are not MY number one priority right now, even if they are important to me.

Women are empowered. We’re free and we’re equal. If I had to choose a group of people to empower right now it would be teachers. Parents run schools, letting their kids get away with being disrespectful little assholes and defending their actions with excuses. Your child’s teacher has the tools to make up where you fail, to be a role model in addition to you…or maybe his family life is hard right now and his teacher is the only solid daily role model he has right now.  Instead of arguing every punishment your child gets at school, try reinforcing the punishment instead. Try being a united front with his teacher. Standing behind your child’s teacher and supporting him/her IS the same thing as standing behind your child.

Don’t like common core? Yeah…me either. I voted to get rid of common core. But some things are a fact of life, and your kid still needs to get their shit done. They still need to learn it, his teacher still needs to teach it. Don’t punish her for shit she can’t change.

Ladies, we’re fine. Start empowering PEOPLE if you want to make a difference in young lives.

 

  1. You think my vote means I am against the LGBT community.

???????

I won’t say its “All going to be ok” …because I can’t promise that. I wouldn’t even know what a promise like that would look like or how I would deliver it with confidence. What I will tell you confidently is that we will never go back to where we’ve started. We’ve come too far.

“Yeah, we have come very far – but because people fought for it. Now we have to fight for it again!!”

Ok, I hear you…just let me get this out…

Most people don’t care that you’re gay. Most people care about you being gay the same way that they care about me being straight. They don’t give a shit.

“Wow…what a small-minded thing to say Ashley”

No…it’s not. You need to get rid of the “If you’re not with us, you’re against us” mentality. Plenty of gay people voted for Trump. Sure, there are many people who voted for Trump that are against equal marriage rights…but I am telling you – most of them do not give a shit if you are gay or straight. Our vote for Trump is NOT an attack on your sexual orientation. We do not want to stop you from love, sex, marriage, divorce or children – or anything else that results from a relationship between two people.

I don’t know what hardships you’ve faced – maybe you were called derogatory names by awful people at your school, maybe when you came out the people you thought were your friends no longer stood by your side. Maybe you were disowned and abandoned by your family.

I can’t help you with all of that, it’s beyond my understanding – what I can tell you is that however you came to your parents – whether it be by adoption or birth – they were supposed to love you on the highest level and in your every form. If your parents were so weak minded that they crippled to society’s judgments or a biblical belief and disowned you for who you are – not a choice you made – but for who you are…then that is their fault. They are cowards. Society didn’t fail you, your parents did.

I have trust in my peers and in my generation to right this wrong. I have faith that they are raising their children to be tolerant and accepting. I have seen good people with strong anti-LGBT minds ignore their feelings and show acceptance and kindness instead of intolerance. It can be done, and its done all the time. Our children are born with a clean slate, shame on any parent who tarnishes it with their own hate.

But to me, right now, LGBT rights are not my first priority. It does not mean that I am against you. And just because there are people who don’t understand you, or don’t want to understand you – it doesn’t mean they are going to fight against you either.

  1. You voted for Trump, you’re practically the KKK.

Go away.

4. Ok…but if you voted for Trump you must be a little racist.

Well, I voted for Obama twice….so this argument is starting to really annoy me. However, I’ll give you some credit –  it’s hard to not become even the slightest bit racist when the media is so interested in covering the Black Lives Matter movement. Which is a joke, by the way. A sick fucking joke that no one should be proud of. Martin Luther King would be rolling in his grave right now if he saw what those idiots were doing. Maybe it’s not all bad? Maybe they’re actually accomplishing something? Who knows! All I see are a bunch of rotten brats destroying their communities one broken window and burning car at a time. They’re wasting everybody’s time, no one is taking them seriously and they are endangering the lives of hardworking American citizens and service men and women. I don’t know why any African American would actually want to be represented by them.

Trump is NOT racist, nor do his supporters believe him to be. The KKK represents me the same way the young African American man taking a baseball bat to his local Starbucks represents his race. Do not hate the Trump voter, hate the media…they are only showing the extremists of each group.

We DID NOT vote for Trump because of social rights.

Democrats are a large group of people that pride themselves in their individuality. Republicans are no different. Liberals, conservatives…they are no different. Blacks, whites, Hispanics…no different.

While you’re asking me to look at you and not see a gay person, but instead just a person…I am also asking you to look at me and assume there is more to me than a vote – and that my vote wasn’t made in hate.

So…

If you didn’t like any of that, you’re really not going to like this.

I voted for Trump to see our Veterans treated better, to see our service men and women start getting the respect they fucking deserve, to ensure our 2nd amendment rights, for better health care, to protect our borders, to change our tax laws, to get rid of common core, to get the undeserving off welfare, to strengthen small business, to change how we import and export our goods, to get rid of illegal immigrants and so we can build that fucking wall.

Don’t like those reasons? Still offended? Probably at this point your most recently offended by my “get rid of illegal immigrants and build the fucking wall” remarks, assumingly.

Well, I will stand by that. I will stand by all of my remarks. The same way I have defended social rights the last two elections. The same way I voted twice for Obama so I could see my friends and family members get to legally love and marry whoever they wanted to. The same way I stood proud in front of two amazing women and officiated their wedding for them.

Your parades saved lives. Young people struggling with acceptance saw your pride and your flag and realized they had nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to hide. Your movements have helped more than just the LGBT community – they gave families more time with their loved ones who may or may not have been suicidal. Your actions are admirable. I am not trying to silence or oppress you! I am not asking you to stop empowering each other or to shut up!

I do not pretend to represent all Trump supporters but I will stand by my vote because while the minorities of our country raised their voices, demanded equality, held picket signs, marched in parades, held rallies – I listened. I heard you. Everyone heard you. We answered you! You HAVE NOT been ignored. People of every race, gender and financial standing have stepped up and fought for you. Advocated for you and with you.

And you progressed.

You progressed while everything else fell to shit. You can debate that if you’d like, but you’ll get nothing back from me. I am tired of debating it. Our country has ignored our needs in exchange for our wants, and make no mistake that social rights were also my wants.

But they are no longer my first priority.

So, I am going to finish this with saying that it is NOT selfish for the majority to ask for what they want, to fight for what they want and to demand that they be heard…even if you think they’ve been heard enough. Even if you think it’s unfair or unnecessary. We too have a right to feel safe and heard.

I will not feel guilt for voting for what I want or for what our country needs. I will not feel guilt for doing what I think is best for my family and our country.

So many people fought for you, so many of them, even when the problems weren’t directly their own. Don’t shame them now for fighting for their own wants, beliefs and rights. Do not demote them to hateful and spew your prejudices on such a diverse group of voters when so many of them have stood so firmly and proudly in your corner.

You say you’re offended by my vote.

I say your intolerance is showing.

Pit & Peak – Goodbye 2016

I sat down to write a “Goodbye 2016” blog and I came up with two different versions – one that was ridiculous and sarcastic, and another that was serious and (I think) heartfelt. I won’t be posting either. I can’t pretend to understand the level of loss that many of you experienced, or be so callous as to say “its all going to be ok” or “it will get better”… and I can’t brush it all under the rug by bitching about life with the kids and pretending like nothing happened worth being grateful for.

This year was a year of life, proving to us that it will go on whether we are ready for it to or not – whether we want it to or not, and it certainly didn’t care if we were all aboard before it kept moving. There was great loss and lots to be thankful for, I am humbled by both sides of it.

Every night at dinner my family goes around the table and we first tell each other the worst part of our day, and end it with the best part of our day. The pit and peak. It opens up some pretty interesting discussions and allows us as a family to solve problems and celebrate small victories.

This year I lost a friendship that was very important to me. It was my fault.

That is my pit of 2016.

This year we were able to give our kiddos the summer of a lifetime, one that was all ours and required them to do nothing but act their age, get dirty and sit around bonfires. Even if they are too young to remember our summer – it will go down as some of the best times of my life.

They are my peak of 2016.

 I hope your pits are shallow and your peaks are high, best of luck in 2017 <3

Thanks for visiting MadStella!! <3

Getting my kids off to school…

It was one of those mornings where I turned the coffee maker on and then stood there in my pink bathrobe and stared at it the entire time it brewed. Slippers on my feet, hair in my face, empty mug in my hand…just staring, waiting for some hot liquid help.

Like every other morning, the kids woke up with the energy of Christmas elves on crack. Running around, chasing dogs, shooting my back with Nerf darts and doing everything but eating their God damned breakfast.

I always start the school year out with blueberry pancakes, French toast, waffles or some other hot breakfast to get them ready for the day.

December? They get fruit and grain cereal bars or cereal.

Our mornings have a routine, an order…a system. It should take 30 minutes tops and it goes as follows….

  1. Eat Breakfast
  2. Brush Teeth
  3. Get Dressed
  4. Hair
  5. Boots, gloves, coat
  6. Wait for Bus

So why does it take us a full two hours to get ready for school?

Because this is how my kids interpret the routine…

  1. Eat Breakfast = Don’t eat breakfast. Fight with my sibling. Complain that his cup is bigger, her bowl has more cereal in it. Spill my bowl of cereal. Dump my cup of milk on my library book. Play tug of war with the spoons. Go under the table, bump my head…cry. Bring toys to the table and play with them instead of eating my breakfast. Open my mouth and show my sister my half chewed food to gross her out. Sing Christmas songs. Put the puppy on my lap. Get up and leave the table completely to play with Legos in my room. Complain my cereal is too soggy.

 

  1. Brush Teeth = Use entire tube of toothpaste, get as little as you can on the brush. Travel around the house brushing my teeth. Get yelled at for running with a toothbrush in my mouth. Brush my teeth as close to my brother as possible, spit in the sink at the same exact time. Fight with my sister because there isn’t enough room. Yell for my mom because my sister just spit her toothpaste all over my hand. Push and shove each other until someone falls and gets hurt. Do not get any spit in the sink, cover as much surface area as possible – aim for mirror.

 

  1. Get Dressed = Put on clothes as if I’ve never put on clothes before. Put my head through my shirt sleeve. Try to put pants on two legs at a time. Lay on the floor and scream because I’ve hogtied myself in my clothing. Don’t put on clothes mommy laid out for me, the princess costume is better. Storm trooper costume is cooler. Stand in my room naked and pouting when I realize mommy put out jeans instead of comfy pants. Stomp feet and cry “Why do I have to wear this?” Watch cartoons instead.

 

  1. Hair = When mommy gets out the hairbrush, run. Scream when my hair is being brushed, even if its not tangled, just scream. Cry if I can. Walk around the house while mommy is trying to put my hair in a pony tail. Do not…I repeat…DO NOT sit still. Complain my pony tail is too tight. Take hair out of pony tail…run. Repeat until mommy has to tackle me to the ground.

 

  1. Boots, Coat & Gloves = Pretend we don’t know what any of these things are. Watch mommy look for matching gloves and boots, and remember to stuff them in random places when I get home from school so we can watch her search the next day too. Try not to let mommy notice that I didn’t put my underwear on until my boots are on. Lay down while mommy tries to put my coat on me. Ask questions about heaven but pay no attention to the reply, just ask again later. Complain that I’m too hot in my coat. Run away with one boot on. Remind mommy it’s my snack day while she zips my coat. Ask why “shit” is a swear word but “poop” isnt. Try to figure out how one watches ones mouth. Once all my snow gear is on, begin to remove different articles at random.

Pretend mommy is speaking a foreign language when she says things like “C’mon!! The bus is going to be here any second!!”, “Stand up”, “Sit down”, “Stop moving”, “Get back here”, “Oh my God, I’m going to lose it”, “Put your socks back on!!”, “Ew! Don’t wipe that on your sister!!”, “What’s in your pocket?”, “No…no! no!!!”

  1. Wait for bus = When we hear the bus coming down the road – announce I have to pee really, really bad. Throw snowballs at my sister, aim for her face. Step in dog poop. Tackle my brother to the ground. Make a snow angel. Trip on the way to the bus. Cry. Watch as mommy runs down the snowy driveway in her bathrobe and slippers to pick me up off the ground because I’ve forgotten how to use my legs. Let her console me while the line of traffic builds up behind the bus. Try to talk her into driving us to school. Ask her if I can bring a toy to school. Tell her she shouldn’t wear slippers in the snow.

 Give her big hugs before I get on the bus. As the bus drives away and mommy waves goodbye – remove hat, coat and gloves so my teachers think I was sent to school in just a t-shirt. When the bus is almost out of site, make a mental note to teach mommy how to wave with five fingers instead of one.

Thanks for visiting MadStella!!! <3

 

 

PTSD, Anxiety and Autism (Guest Blogger)

Living with PTSD, Anxiety and Autism.

By: Anonymous

So where to begin. I love my husband, my kids, my dogs and my Job. But I hate some of the things that come with it. All everyone ever wants is happy healthy kids.  Enough money to pay their bills and to wake up every day with the ones they love.

I’ve woken up some days not knowing when I would talk to my husband again. I wake up now to him having cold sweats and bad nightmares. I wake up to him grabbing my arm and sobbing. I’ve seen my husband wake up, grab a gun and walk around our house outside because he thought he saw someone. My husband has PTSD and is waiting on back surgery, and one of my children has been diagnosed with Autism.

My nights consist of waking up to a child that I love that doesn’t sleep. My child was just diagnosed with autism and not everyone in the family believes it. They think he’s fine and he will grow out of it. How is a child supposed to grow out of it? That comment always baffles me.

Three times a week he has therapy. I take my four-year-old to preschool. Some days I take my step-son and his brother to school. Most days I run on 3-4 hours of sleep. I work 46 hours a week and my husband works 40+ hours a week. He deals with the VA, and I deal with well…EVERYTHING. Some days it feels like too much to bare and other days I feel like I can carry the weight of the world.

I’ve always been the strong one, the funny one, the happy one, the one who’s always there for everyone. Well this is how I see it. On a day to day basis I have to be the strong one. I sleep three maybe four hours a night – and certainly not all in a row.

My son was recently diagnosed with autism. I know I’ve already said that, but it doesn’t matter how many times I say it – or how many times I don’t say it, it’s still my reality. It’s still something that needs to be said. It means something to me, it means something to us. Before his diagnosis, autism was just a word…now it’s my life.

Autism. It’s something a parent fears. We fear it because it’s different, it’s not something that’s programed in us to know how to deal with it. For me, Autism means giving up control. I am a bit of a control freak and that’s something I have just come to terms with. If I can’t control a situation – I panic. My mind begins to race with the what if’s. Though my son babbles, I worry he won’t ever learn to speak. He is two and says no words as of yet.

I worry that my son will be that kid that gets picked on at school. I worry that my son will never really get to experience life. It’s something I think we as parents always fear for our children but when something unexpected happens it scares the living hell out of you. But on top of that you also have to face the reality of your husband having PTSD as well, you’re relied on to be the “strong” one. The one who isn’t scared of anything.

Well I’m here to tell you that’s not true.

My family is my EVERYTHING and I would do anything for them. I gave up my dream of becoming a cop. Some people may say that’s insane, but try having the stress of your loved one being in a war zone for a year not knowing if he will come home. I could never in my life do that to him. To have him sit at home every night wondering if the mother of his children, his wife will make it home that night. If that kiss every morning is his last. My husband is truly my world.

He fought for me and won. He fought to give me a life we’ve always wanted and I really do love my life. But some days are way harder than others. My husband is my rock. He is the ying to my yang. When I am stressed out he knows to tread lightly and how to calm me down. When he is stressed out I know how to calm him down.

Most days I love coming home. That’s all I can ever think about, but there’s always that 1% of the time I just want to sit in my van and cry, or take a nap, or just enjoy the silence. I NEVER know what I’m going to be walking into when I come home. I never know if my husband is in the right state of mind and if the little one is just going to be chill or a raging asshole (Yeah I said it, and I know you have too).

Life at home can be stressful, especially when your child doesn’t talk and screams at the top of his lungs because you don’t know what he wants. When you try to stay on trying to teach him sign language but he doesn’t have the patience to try to learn. When all he wants to do is rock in the recliner or lay on the floor with his trucks. When your child is so picky all he will eat is Pop-tarts, Graham crackers, puffs yogurt bites and baby food, it’s a struggle.

When he fights you on everyday things you tend to stay inside and become a hermit. It’s not easy to go places when your son throws a fit no matter where you go. My husband and I have to take turns on who gets to go to the store and who stays home. We NEVER go to other people’s houses with the kids because let’s face it – I can’t handle the stress of my kids possibly fucking something up in someone’s home, nor can I take the fact that I won’t be able to just relax. It’s hard for people to understand the struggle of day to day life when you go to work and come home.

When you choose to stay home because you know how difficult your child can be. You know that not everyone can handle it. I’m not sure how many people my son has scared away because he is a lot of work. Sometimes all we want to do is just go to the store together but can’t. We rely solely on one person to watch our kids during the day and that said person is the only one we can look to if we want a night out. It’s just too much to put on one person. So, we choose to stay in.

Adults should be able to get away guilt free and have time together at least once a month to just breathe. But sometimes not everyone gets that or believes in that.

Since our youngest was born – my husband and I have never been able to sleep in our bed alone. Well, besides the week he was in the NICU, but that doesn’t count because lord knows neither of us could sleep. Life definitely took a turn the moment our youngest finally came home. My kids have never been easy. Neither have ever slept through the night. The oldest started when he turned two but that was when the youngest was born. So, for four years I haven’t slept a full night’s sleep. Side note, some days I feel like a 50’s housewife. Like I’m supposed to do everything when it comes to cooking and cleaning and taking care of every need of the kids and my husband but also working a full-time job. I can’t do everything on my own. I’m not super mom.

I just want people to know I feel the stares. I feel you looking while I’m trying to stay calm as my husband has a freak out because there’s too many people in a store while my son screams at the top of his lungs because he can’t run away from us. I feel the dirty looks I get because my son has my phone or his tablet when we do go into a store because it’s the only way he will stay calm. He gets too over stimulated and just freaks out. I see the dirty looks and confusion, I see you looking at my child when he doesn’t speak and only sounds come out. I hear the remarks that you make when my husband has a panic attack.

All I simply want people to know is that you truly never know what is going on in someone’s life. Behind someone’s smile is pain. Behind that pain is a parent who just wants the best for their children. Someone who just wants to see the good.

****

If you have a story you’d like published, e-mail me at madstella04@yahoo.com and we’ll talk about it 🙂

Thank you for visiting MadStella <3

 

Broken (Guest Blogger)

Broken Relationships, Broken Home, and Broken Child – It doesn’t have to be!

By: “Wicked”

Where did it all go wrong, the relationship ends, the homes are separate and there is a child/children in the middle of it all – WRONG!!!

Let’s start at the beginning, you meet someone, date, fall in love, have a relationship, get married, or maybe not but you do have a child.  That child is now your entire world for of both you and you do all you can to take care of the child. 

Until……the relationship ends, you hate each other, you don’t want to be together, you can’t even stand to look at each other and that is where it all goes downhill.  It doesn’t matter what the child’s age is, baby, toddler, young child, teen, young adult or even older.  They are still your child and how you behave affects them one way or another. But now you have conditions:

·         You want the child on specific days.

·         You won’t change your schedule for the other parent

·         You’re not paying child support

·         You’re not paying for health insurance

·         You’re not paying for activities the child wants to be a part of

·         You don’t want the child to be around your ex’s new partner

·         The new partner can’t attend the child’s events

·         You won’t allow your ex to have the child on holidays

·         You won’t make any changes for the betterment of the child

·         And the list goes on and on

When the hell did that child that you love so much become all about you and what you want?   I’ll tell you when, when you realized that it takes two to make a relationship work and two to make it fail. In your eyes your ex made it fail, you did nothing wrong and therefore you are bitter.  In reality its both your fault as IT TAKES TWO!!  Either way your bitterness is now being taken out on the child that you love so much and it’s apparent that the child is not your priority of love – but now your WEAPON of HATE!!

Do you think you are hurting your ex – hell no you are hurting the child.  You have put your child in the middle of your feud because your relationship ended for whatever reason.  You make it difficult for your child to do anything with the other parent without being drilled when they get home.  What did they do, who went, where, when did you get back and so on.  WHY – WHY – WHY would you do that to your child?  Who cares who was there, what they were doing or where they went.  And when you’re all done drilling your child and have put them off to bed you’re sure to start texting your ex to tell them how you feel about what they did with “your” child.  I guess you forgot it is their child as well and they as the other parent can decide what they can and can’t do and who they will socialize with. 

What you should be concerned about is did your child had a good time with the other parent and they want to share with you what they did without being worried they are going to be made to feel bad because they did have fun.  That is what you need to worry about and your child’s own emotions during this difficult time that they are not feeling at fault for anything.  That they should not have to choose one parent over the other.

All of the above whether it is one parent or both – your both hurting that child and they are going to remember that for the rest of their lives.  I am not expecting anyone to be perfect during a difficult time in their own emotional roller coaster but I am expecting that as you gather your wits you put your feelings towards your ex on the back burner when it comes to your child.

You also need to stop and think about how your actions are going to affect future events for your child as they grow up.  Both parents are going to move on in whatever form works best for them.  They may remarry, have a life partner or maybe not have anyone at all.  Either way it happens it is not the child’s fault and should never factor into life events.  You as both parents should be adult enough to get over your own insecurities and be a part of your child’s life.  Accept or at least be polite to those in your ex’s life.  Don’t tell your child who can and cannot attend their events, it’s not up to you to design the guest list.  If they have an issue with your ex or your ex’s life style or friends, keep your mouth shut.  And NEVER NEVER allow your child to speak disrespectfully of the other parent.

Bottom line your relationship is over and you are moving on and so is your ex, for the sake of your child no matter the age, drop your drama at the door.  You can certainly pick it back up when you leave and carry on with it away from your child if that is what makes you happy. 

A huge thank-you to my first guest blogger, “Wicked”!! If anyone else is interested in writing for MadStella, please feel free to e-mail me at madstella04@yahoo.com

Thank-you for visiting MadStella!!

 

 

Guest Bloggers!!!

Hey everyone! It’s been a while since I’ve written anything – partly because I haven’t felt inspired to write anything, and mostly because with the election and everything going on – I’ve not had many nice things to say, so I opted for silence! Maturity hasn’t always been my strongest suit (according to my therapist) but should I ever see her judgmental ass again – I at least have the past few months of “nothing nice to say, say nothing at all” to point at and reference when she wonders if I’ve evolved at all.

Also, I’ve been very busy celebrating America becoming great again!!!!!!! Yaaayyyy!!!!!!!

(Maturity is over-rated)

Anyway – Guest bloggers!

A few people have approached me in recent weeks asking how I started my blog because they too are interested in starting one. I love it when people are interested in writing, it’s pretty cathartic to get your thoughts down on paper. To be honest though, starting up a blog was annoying – there are still a lot of blogging terms I don’t quite understand (ex: plugins?).

So I explained what I could about starting up a website – but mostly I just sounded ridiculous and uneducated so I kept ending it with “Dude, I don’t know! I’ll help you any way I can – but if you’re on the fence and just want to get a feel for blogging before committing to a website– you’re more than welcome to guest blog on MadStella”

I was surprised to find many of them were actually interested, I was more surprised at how little I actually knew about blogging.

Anywho…

I’ll still be writing, I’ll still be blogging – but now some of my local buddies will be doing it with me too. So far those who have asked to do so, have also asked to remain anonymous – and that will be respected of course. Although, I hope they get so much support and love that they reveal themselves and start doing what they were clearly born to do – write.

So, this is not just a “heads up” to my subscribers about guest bloggers coming to MadStella but also an invitation to anyone who wants to write something longer than what is common for a Facebook post, or if anyone has any ideas, stories, advice – anything they’ve written and want published but just want to ship it out without the hassle of coming up with a domain name (that’s actually the easiest part), or don’t want to start a blog at all and just have something on your mind you want published – send it my way and we’ll talk. Everything will remain anonymous (if that’s what you want), not too sure how you will remain anonymous to me – but if you come up with a clever email account that doesn’t have your last name attached to it – I promise I lack the motivation to look into it any further.

The guest bloggers know I won’t change anything they write without their permission and I won’t give feedback if they don’t want it. I’ll take the post down should they decide they want it taken down (but it’s the internet folks, once its out – its out) And I’m going to sit on your article for at least 24 hours incase you have a change of heart. I won’t post certain material, but I think most of you know at this point that it has to be pretty extreme for me to blush or dub “unacceptable”

Most of all I just know there are people out there who are writers and should be writers and aren’t because it’s just scary and vulnerable to put your shit out there for the world to judge. (Ok, not the world – more like Oswego County, MadStella is such a tiny blog with almost no platform, so don’t expect any huge response) I’ve gotten some harsh feedback for sure, but I’ve also received more support than I could have ever imagined – and I’d love for others to feel that too. My hope is that by them writing here, they’ll eventually start writing for their own blogs and fall in love with it as I have. Until then, I’m excited to hear from some of you…

Madstella04@yahoo.com

And hopefully I’ll be posting the first guest blogger’s article tomorrow, its all ready to go!

Thanks for visiting MadStella!!

You don’t sit down for what you believe in, you stand up.

imageOh man. I said I would never do this again. I said I would never blog about anything controversial ever, ever again. Yet here I am, looking at a picture of Colin Kaepernick and getting all sorts of flustered and agitated and taking it out on my poor keyboard.

I got called ‘just another ignorant white girl’ for not caring that there were no black nominations at the Oscars this year. The mother who ‘looked away for two seconds’ and her kid managed to scramble his way into a silverback gorilla pit – I was told not to judge her. And I was told it was probably best to keep my opinion about transgender bathrooms to myself even though no one even knows where I stand on the matter. Just don’t talk about it. Shh.

So now I ask, am I allowed to talk about this douche nozzle, 3rd string quarterback loser Colin Kaepernick who refuses to stand for the National Anthem? Can I talk about this without being blasted as a racist? I think I can…but can you?

I am so sick of people ditching their patriotism in the name of doing something “noble” or “brave”

There is nothing noble or brave about intentionally sitting for our Nation’s Anthem. They say actions speak louder than words, Kaepernick did both. And his action spoke louder than his words.

His words say that he is tired of our country “oppressing black people and people of color”

His actions say he doesn’t give a shit about our country’s sacrifices. His actions say he is entitled. Spoiled. Unappreciative.

Strong words need to be accompanied by appropriate action if you want them to actually mean something to someone. How he could have handled this situation – is he could have actually done something to help the situation. He did nothing. Absolutely nothing. He drew attention to an already hot-topic in the most disrespectful way possible.

No one saw him as a representation of an oppressed black man sitting proud for what he believed in while thousands of others stood with their hands over their hearts and sang about the land of the free and the home of the brave. All they saw was a boy sitting in his timeout chair and holding his breath because mommy wasn’t paying enough attention to him.

He could have done so many things. So many. And this is what he chose?

And let’s forget that he is black and his parents are white. Let’s forget that he has millions of dollars at his disposal to do with that he pleases. Let’s forget about him being an NFL football player and that he proved to be a hypocrite of the greatest kind when he was fined $11,000 for calling a fellow player a f*****g N****r. Let’s file all of that worthless information deep in the back of our brains because none of it matters. None. Of. That. Shit. Matters.

I’ve tried saying this before, and the message didn’t get through to some. So let’s try it again…

It does not matter if you are white or black – you alone control yourself and your actions, these actions are 100% a reflection of yourself. It does not matter if you are rich or poor – money does not and cannot buy character. It does not matter if you were bullied or if your parents were big piles of shit and neglected you or worse. Sure, these could be explanations for the way you live your life, the choices you make – but they are not acceptable excuses for poor and ignorant behavior. The real problem with our country right now is that there are too many grown-ups (of all ages and ethnicities) acting like grown-ups instead of actually being grown-ups.

Eighteen-year-olds are fighting in wars. Soldiers are kissing their husbands and wives and children goodbye not knowing if they will ever see them again. That’s brave. That’s being.

And this millionaire pussy is safely sitting on an NFL bench crying about how life isn’t fair? That’s acting.

You can choose to be brave like a soldier. You can choose to be ungrateful like Kaepernick. You can choose to live a noble life with a 9-5er. You can choose to be a good person, a kind person and a respectful one. You can choose to be in any political party you want. You can choose to vote Trump or Hilary. You can choose to agree with the war, or not.

But what you cannot do, under any circumstances, is choose to not support our troops and our country.

Standing with our hands over our hearts and looking at the American Flag while we take a few minutes to reflect, to be humble, to be proud, to be appreciative and thankful for our country and those who are keeping it safe and secure is one of the easiest ways to show your support – to show that you care.

Shame on anyone who chooses to twist it into something else. Shame on anyone who dangles our flag in front of your face and tells you that it owes you something, that it needs to prove its worth before you can stand for it.

“When there is significant change – and I feel like that flag represents what it is supposed to represent, and this country is representing people the way it’s supposed to – I’ll stand” – Colin Kaepernick

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Don’t worry Col, no one is waiting for you to stand. No one wants to stand with someone who picks and chooses when it’s the right time to support our country anyway. You keep sitting on your ass waiting for things to happen and the rest of us will forge ahead as good Americans, we’ll fight for change in the racial divide and try to come out on top as it’s what we all want. We’ll stand up for what’s right without you. You could have done something great on your big fancy platform, and instead you chose to be inconsequential. Such a shame.image

Rest your legs young man, get comfy on that bench, because no one cares if you sit or stand Kaepernick…no one cares.

 

Thanks for visting MadStella <3

Is The Bus Here Yet????

Hate to see you go, but love to watch you leave.

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Its not that I hate summer, I love summer. I’m good at summer – I fucking rocked this summer. I took my kids on 15 camping trips. And no, that wasn’t a typo – I went on FIFTEEN camping trips with my children. Fourteen of them were done via tent, and oh how I enjoyed that one weekend in a camper.

“Why did you go on fifteen camping trips, Ashley?”

...Because these guys are fun.
…Because these guys are fun.

Well, it actually starts off as kind of a sad story so I’m going to spare you the depressing details – For now.

Just know that there was a purpose, the ending is happy and I don’t just have an obsession with sleeping on a blow-up mattress.

So anyway, why am I so happy that summer is over?

Because I’ve bonded to my children too much – or they’ve bonded to me too much. Either way, we’ve bonded and now mama needs some personal space.

Summers with children are not for the faint of heart. You know all of those little battles you fought all school year? Homework, bed times, soccer practices, time schedules…it was all in preparation for the war.

Summer Vacation.

And there are no winners.image

Boredom. Heat. Sand in places there shouldn’t be sand. Packing to go…everywhere, because everywhere you go in the summer you have to pack dry clothes, food, drinks, bug spray, sunscreen…

Parents stop being their children’s happy place and become their dumping ground. A place to plop their big steamy piles of boredom, whining and annoyances.image

Bed times get hazy. You can try to stick with the school-time bed-time, but this doesn’t always work. As in…it doesn’t ever work.

Why? Because the sun is still fucking ablaze at 9:30PM and no matter what level of darkening blinds you buy for their bedrooms – they still know the truth.

“Mommy, why am I going to bed when it’s still light out?”

Because mommy wants time away from you and your questions.

“Because its summer”

“Why?”

“Why is it summer or why is the sun out late in summer?

“Why both”

“Uh…because that’s the season we’re in and the sun doesn’t understand bed time”

“Why?”

“Because God hates mommy”

“WHAT!?!??!?!”

“I’m just kidding. It’s a joke. Stop crying. There, There. Go to bed”

Seriously though, why the hell is the sun out so late when I want my little angels to go the eff to sleep?

And why is it impossible for my daughter to make a s’more without getting melted marshmallow in my hair, her hair and on the screen door of the tent?

I’ve made too many damn s’mores this summer. They say you are what you eat – if that’s true then my daughter is a s’more, my son is a hotdog, my husband is potato salad and I’m a peach mango vodka on the rocks with a splash of cranberry.image

(You didn’t think I did 15 camping trips sober, did you?)

“What are we going to do today?

“I’m bored”

“Can we go play with….”

“Can *insert name of child you’ve never heard of before* come over and spend the night?”

“Can we go to the zoo”

“The beach?”

“Fishing?”

…Jesus Christ. Leave. Me. Alone.

Most of these questions were asked two inches from my face at 6:45 in the morning with only one of my eyes open and the morning breath of two children wafting in my face.

If they weren’t 100% entertained, they were 100% miserable.

My kids loved to hate each other this summer. And when they did play together, nicely, and for any length of time….my husband and I were too stunned to use the time wisely (like refilling our drinks) we just sat and stared with our mouths agape until someone touched someone and that someone didn’t want to be touched and the bitching ensued.image

Fifteen camping trips.

Fifteen times I packed, unpacked, set up, took down.

The trip to Lake George was great, mostly because it was this particular trip that we discovered children’s Dramamine. My 6-year-old gets really car sick so we figured for our longest trip we’d give it a try. And since we’re big on sharing, I decided to slip my 4-year-old a little somethin-somethin too. It was the best car ride ever.

Pharmacist: “Given his age, its perfectly safe for him to take 1-2 tablets but its going to make him very drowsy, so I’d start with ½ a tablet”

Yeah. Sure lady.image

“Ash, look at them – I feel a little bad”

“Don’t feel bad! Look how happy they are!”

*Pan to back seat* …….smiling, googly eyed, slow blinking, fast blinking, silence…

“They’re stoned”

“They’re happy”

*Looks in rearview mirror again*

“They do seem pretty happy”

“See? They’re fine. Just turn up the music and drive”

Before you go judging my judgment…anything after 20 minutes of driving and my son requires all four windows down, the AC cranked and a puke bucket in his lap. I wasn’t about to travel 4 hours into the twisty-twirly mountains with him completely lucid. And my daughter, well…like I said, she was a bonus.

What? Is that bad parenting or something? C’mon – like you’ve never slipped your kid Benadryl before bed to help them with their “night-time allergies”

No?

Yeah, me either.

I’m telling you – Summer Vacation, the heat, the whining – it makes bad things happen.

For instance, this summer we learned that my son loves anything sung by Miley Cyrus, and my daughter loves rap music. Bad things happen in high heat. Poor choices are made.

Is it my fault Stella knows the words to ‘Grillz’ better than Nelly? Or is it summer vacations fault??

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Yeah, yeah ok…that ones on me.

But this heat, man. It was brutal this summer. And no rain?? Da Fuq!

We made the best of it though. I crammed my big pasty ass into a make-shift bathing suit and splashed in the water with the gremlins. I blew up hundreds of water balloons (no seriously, in one of our many water balloon fights there were actually 500 water balloons) My kids could kick your ass in cornhole and could give you a run for your money in a game of fris-beer.

I held both my daughter’s hands while she shit in the woods.

“I thought you said you only had to pee???”

“Me changed me mind”

While my parenting was on par, I still had apologies to make when mama got a little too aggressive with the water hose. He’s 6 years old, not a toddler – I thought he could handle a little water to the face.

Whatever.

I’m done.

I’m so done.

Time to slap their backpacks on and put them in the driveway. I’m counting down to the first day of school the same way my kids do for Christmas.

I even have an advent calendar.

It’s made of Jell-O.

It’s in my freezer.

Sometimes my treats are lime flavored with a kick of tequila, sometimes they are watermelon with a hint of rum. The big one though, you know…the one I’m opening on September 7th…that one tastes like fire and balls.

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Sure there were good memories, fun times, precious family moments, big laughs…but I won’t bore you with those.

Just know that I did my job. I ditched social media, I never once looked down at my phone and I lived in the moment. I gave my kids a summer that most can only dream of. It was spent in the water, in the woods, on bicycles, 4-wheelers, around campfires and in tents. It was spent with sparklers and boat rides and telling spooky stories on the fly with a flashlight under my face.

I spent 8 hours (EIGHT HOURS) in a swamp searching for two friggen painted turtles for them to enter in a turtle race. The turtle race took 3 hours. Yes…3 hours. I invested 11 hours into a fucking turtle race. Not only that, but I’m the moron that caught the turtles 4 days before the race. They were lucky to be alive when it came time to race in their heat.

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Next year we’re catching snapping turtles weeks in advance and feeding them nothing but painted turtles beforehand…that should liven things up on race day. *My brother in laws idea*

Now it’s time for these kids to get the hell out of my house. Peace out, children. Hope you enjoy the lunch I made you, crust cut off and everything. Just the way you fucking like it.

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“But mommy, school doesn’t start for a couple more weeks – why are we waiting for the bus?”

*slurps advent calendar*

 

Thanks for visiting MadStella!! <3

 

 

 

If Her Purse Could Talk

 

Hang with me here, ok?

My Coach purse has given me 10 years of loyal servitude. It’s the fanciest thing I own, and that’s why I finally let her go into retirement. She has seen too much. She has been set on sticky bar bathroom floors while her drunk owner did her business, and she was there for the birth of my children.

I’m pretty sure she hates me, and if my purse could talk, well…

Its 7:15 and the human has finally woken up, look at her in her plaid robe and fuzzy slippers. She’s a mess. I can already tell we aren’t showering today.

Her husband calls her Ashley, I call her The Disaster. You have no idea what I’ve been through with this bitch. Did you know she once drove over me with her mini-van in a DMV parking lot?

“Kids, breakfast is ready” She calls out.

“Cocoa Puffs!! Yayyy!!!”

Ah, yes. She worked real hard for their most important meal of the day, didn’t she?

“She has more than me”

“I do not – hey! Give it back! Mom! He took my cereal!”

“Stop fighting over it, it’s going to…damn it! Someone grab me a towel please”

…This is about the time I zone out because they’ll be bickering and cleaning up milk messes for the next hour anyway. The Disaster is about to zone out too. She’ll drink her coffee and stare at something for an inappropriate amount of time until the caffeine kicks in. And, ah – yes, right on time – apparently the throw blanket on the couch has caught her attention today.

During this time she ignores the kids using their spoons as swords and the dogs barking that they want to go outside. Nope, she’s zoned…there is no getting her back until…oh – yep, ok, she’s good now.

“Where are we going mommy?”

I’m wondering the same thing, because The Disaster just put on a bra which means we’re about to vacate the premises.

“Guys get dressed we have to go to the grocery store”

Wtf. I hate grocery day.

“Can we get candy?”

She’ll say no.

“No, not today, maybe another day though – ok?”

That’s a lie. Ten bucks says they come home with at least two packs of gum.

“Please mommy??”

“No honey, not today. Please go brush your teeth and get dressed”

The Disaster will pretend to clean up breakfast, but give up mid-way when she catches a glimpse of something horrifying. For a moment she looks terrified, like she’s just caught an intruder in her home – but the fear dissolves into reluctant acceptance when she realizes its only her reflection in the dining room mirror. You’d think she’d do something about it – maybe throw on some eye liner or mascara. But no…The Disaster will just assume that I, a coach purse, will be enough style to class up her yoga pants and NY Giants sweatshirt.

Even I can’t do some things.

While The Disaster changes out of pajamas into – let’s face it – fancier pajamas, the gremlins will have taken their sheets off their mattresses and their mattresses of their beds and built a fort. I already saw the little one smuggle the box of fruit snacks under her shirt, there is no way she hasn’t gone through them all by now. I hope The Disaster remembers to add them to the list, cause the little one will get super pissed without her Disney fruit snacks.

“Ok guys! You ready?” She’ll call out, cause she’s dumb. Its seriously the dumbest and most frequent question she asks. ‘Are you ready?’ When the hell have they ever been ready?

The 5 year old male will come out of his bedroom in football pants, a football jersey, his helmet and of course…his football. The 3-year-old tiny female will have no clothes on, her teeth will be stuck together from the fruit snack binge – and even though she’ll look like a disturbed little clown in her make-up – at least she’s put in more effort than The Disaster.

“No…no, no no! Please go change, you aren’t wearing that to the grocery store”

“Why not?!?”

“Because you’re naked!!”

For some reason, The Disaster will actually argue with the tiny female over this for quite some time. The young male will go back to his room and play with his Legos while his female house companions figure their shit out.

In about 3 hours, they will be on their way to the grocery store. The young male will be dressed appropriately, while the tiny female will look like the Princess section of the Disney Store threw up on her. The Disaster, well, we’re lucky her Crocs match.

“I’m hot”

“How long is this going to take?”

“Not long, we just need milk and bread”

“Mommy I’m cold”

“How are you cold? I’m dying mom. Can I take my coat off?”

“No buddy, keep your coat on. We’ll be there in less than ten minutes”

The Disaster will turn the music up to drown out the gremlins and I will sit here wondering when she’ll notice she’s left her windshield wipers on full blast when there isn’t a speck of moisture in the air.

When we get to the grocery store, she’ll spend another ten minutes putting coats and shoes back on the children and another five trying to talk the tiny female into sitting in the cart.

When she finally makes it into the grocery store, with both children walking on either side of her, she’ll make the grave mistake of veering to the left. Everything on her list (milk and bread) is to the right.

Why…why did you go left? You know that’s where the….

“Donuts!! Mommy can we get a donut??”

Christ.

“Yes, but only if you sit in the cart to eat it”

Ah, bribery – The Disasters way of parenting the tiny female.

Squeals of excitement ensue, and the tiny female is placed on top of me until she bitches loud and long enough for the Disaster to dig me out from beneath her.

“Here babe, can you hold mommy’s purse please?”

Awesome. Fucking Awesome.

“Yay!!!”

I’m covered in frosting before the donut is even handed to the tiny female, don’t ask me how it’s possible – but it is, because it happened.

“Try and finish your donuts while we’re shopping”

“How come?”

So your thief ass mother doesn’t have to pay for them.

“Just because”

Mm-hmm

“Star Wars cereal!!!! Mommy can we get it?”

Not a chance kid, mama isn’t paying full price for name brand cereal. You can have Moon Battle cereal.

“No, what about this one – the little character on the front kind of looks like star wars, right?”

Wrong.

“Um…not really mommy, but that’s ok. I don’t need it”

The young male is good, look at those puppy dog eyes. See how The Disaster looks at him? Guilt written all over her face. Or maybe that’s left over donut, because yeah, she ate one too – in like, 2 bites.

“Ok, go ahead”

For the next 45 minutes, the Star Wars box of cereal will never leave the young male’s hands and will be used as a Machine gun. He will shoot everything and everyone in the store. Some of the nicer customers will play along and say “Oh – ya got me!” while others (my kind of people) will give the young male a tight smile and give The Disaster a look that says ‘are you even watching your kid? He just shot me like, 5 times with a box of cereal’

The Disaster will give them a look right back that says ‘I’m covered in stolen donut, does it look like I care? Fuck off’

The tiny female will grab everything within reaching distance, not grabbing distance, reaching distance – because her hands are so sticky she literally just as to come in contact with something in order to toss it into the cart.

“Oh honey, cover your mouth if you think your going to…”

Ohmygod…

“Sneeze…oh, wow…that’s….icky”

That’s all I get? You’re monster in pigtails just donut-sneezed all over me and all I get is a “that’s icky??”

Bitch that’s disgusting!

Oh, awesome…great – so now we’re just going to continue shopping like you didn’t just wipe her snotty nasty face with your sweatshirt sleeve? Wow…wooowww.

“Mommy what are those?” The young male asks.

“Um…Small toilet bowl brushes”

“It says ‘tampons’”

Told you not to teach him how to read. No good has come of it.

“What are they for?”

Yeah, mom. What are they for?

“Girl stuff”

“IM A DURL!! ME WANT SOME TOO!”

“Ok, honey – someday you can have some”

The young male will protest and demand that he gets tampons too. The Disaster will promise to give him some someday.

It isn’t until they are in line at the register that the tiny female will pipe in again, loudly.

“Me a ‘durl’ because I have a ‘bagina’ mommy?”

Hehehe

“Yes, honey, that’s why. Shh” The Disaster will whisper. But “Shh” and whispering to the tiny female is code for ‘talk louder, little demon’.

“And brother is a boy because hims gots a Penis?”

“Yes, honey. We’ll talk about it in the car”

“I want a penis”

“Well you can’t have one, please quiet down”

“I WANT A PENIS, I WANT A PENIS, I WANT A….”

The Disaster covers the tiny female’s mouth with her hand and whisper-yells “Fine, ok? We’ll get you one! Please just stop talking!”

The Disaster hasn’t looked up, but she knows everyone is looking at her. How could she not? I mean – who can yell Penis three times in a grocery store and get away with it? No one, that’s who.

“Can we get some gum?”

The Disaster closes her eyes and sighs “yeah, sure…whatever”

I’m happy to be out of the clutches of the tiny female, but we were so close – why in the hell would The Disaster let her get out of the cart to pick her own gum?

“If she gets a penis, does that mean I get a bagina? Cause I don’t want one”

“Shh!!!”

“You’re total comes to $179.63” The cashier says.

“Oh no, I’m sorry – I think I had a coupon for that detergent. Let me just dig it out of my purse”

She has a coupon for that detergent alright, she has all sorts of coupons in many of my little pockets. They’ve all expired at least 3 months ago, but she’ll insist on going through this ‘searching’ process anyway. It will take an annoying amount of time, the tiny female will lay on the floor as if she’s making snow angels and groan about ‘everything taking so long’. The young male will pick a banana out of the bag and continue you his machine-gun assault on the store but only after he’s pushed every button on the credit card machine and rewired their entire payment system.

Once The Disaster has combed through all 400 receipts, bonus cards, expired credit cards, expired coupons, random army men, pens that don’t work, lip gloss she didn’t know she had, gum wrappers, a screw driver, germ-gel, her phone, her pointless wallet, dirty coins, a nail file, a planner, makeup, tweezers and about a million other things that don’t belong in a purse as cool as me – she will announce “Nope, I guess I don’t have it”

You know what else wasn’t in there?

Her dignity.

I knew I was losing my girl years ago…around the first time she lifted the young male’s ass to her face and took a big healthy sniff to see if he had pooped. He had. Dignity, gone.

Once the groceries and children are herded into the car, The Disaster will push the cart into the cart return, turn her back on me and walk away.

I’ll sit, alone in the cart in the parking lot, begging passerby’s to take me. They look…they ponder it, but upon closer inspection of my tattered straps and chocolate (please be chocolate) stains – they simply curl their lips and walk away. Not only do they not want to steal me, but they don’t want to touch me long enough to bring me to lost and found.

Just when I come to terms with my new and better life as a parking lot purse…The Disaster ruins my day when she comes barreling back into the parking lot on two wheels like Fast & Furious: Mom Edition – extracts me from the cart and says “Oh my god, I can’t believe I almost left this here. Everything I need is inside this purse”

Almost? Bitch you did leave me here, and the only thing you need to use inside of me is that hair brush and compact mirror you’ve never opened – guuurl. smh.

The Disaster gets home and realizes she forgot to get milk and bread – so she calls The Idiot to pick some up on his way home from work.

While she’s on the phone, the gremlins will dump me out in search of the gum and penises they were promised.

“Guys – no! Those aren’t swords, please stop. Babe, I gotta go – the kids are opening my tampons and using them as weapons again. Yep, ok – love you too”

The Disaster salvages what she can from the scattered and half opened mini toilet brushes and decides to get started on dinner. No, she didn’t miss lunch – she gave them donuts, remember?

“Can we have a snack?”

“Nope, dinner will be ready soon. Go play”

Please note the chocolate in the corners of The Disasters mouth. Bitch hasn’t stopped snacking. See that decorative jar on the shelf in the kitchen? The one masquerading as a recipe box? That’s where all the name brand chocolate is hidden.

“Can I take your purse to the chicken coop with me mommy?”

FML.

“No babe, leave it in here, that purse was expensive”

Yeah…I was expensive! Remember when you weren’t The Disaster? Remember the good times we had back when you had a job and before you used me as a diaper bag and shoved shitty diapers inside of me at the mall and zipped me closed? Why won’t you just let me die? Why are you so attached to me? Float me out to sea and shoot me with a flaming arrow. Toss me in the dump. Leave me at the gynecologist again. I DON’T CARE! Just let me go…please!

“Please mommy? The chickens love your purse”

“No”

But does she make sure the tiny human listens?

Nooooo.

The chunky hands of a small child wrap around my handle, her deep breathing no longer scares me, and I know I’m about to have 14 baby chicks stuffed into me and I’ll be covered in shit and left in the coop before The Disaster even turns around.

Oh wait…no! Yes!! I’m saved when The Idiot gets home!

The sounds the children will make greeting him will do more damage to my ear drums than what I could do if I had hands and a pencil.

“DADDDDDYYYY!!!!!!”

“Hey guys!” The Idiot will then drop to his knees so he can willingly be physically assaulted by the gremlins. The Tiny female will pull on his beard while the young male steals The Idiots hat.

“Daddy, mommy said I can have a Penis!”

“And she said I can have tampons!”

The Idiot’s eyebrows raise. “Was mommy drinking her special grown-up juice today?”

The Disaster will deny it, and even though I didn’t catch her drinking her special juice – she did make an awful lot of trips to the kitchen and return with nothing.

After greeting The Idiot, The Disaster will ask what everyone wants for dinner.

“I’m not really hungry, babe”

“Milkshakes!!”

“McDonalds!”

“Ok, ham and potatoes it is”

“Nooooo”

“Me no like tatoes”

Why she ever asks this question, I will never understand. To torture herself? To give the children false hope?

While she prepares the ham and potatoes (peels a ham steak out of the plastic and slaps it on a pan, then takes out ‘Steamables’ potatoes from the freezer and shoves the package in the microwave) The miniature assholes will ask her 4,000 questions she doesn’t have the answers to while The Idiot takes a thirty minute bathroom break.

“Dinner is ready guys”

They try to talk about their day, but The Disaster doesn’t even know where to start so she says “It was good, I think” The Idiot will give her a similar answer and the children will refuse to eat anything from their plates.

“I’m not hungry mommy”

“You were starving ten minutes ago”

“What’s this?”

“Green beans”

“No”

“No?”

“Me no like green beans”

“Eat them”

The Disaster doesn’t notice The Idiot feeding the dog his burnt ham beneath the table, nor does she notice the cup of milk she placed too close to the edge of the table in front of the tiny female.

3

2

1…..

“Whoa…”

“Whoops!”

“Aaaahhhhh!!!!”

“It’s ok, just grab a towel…Seriously, someone grab me a towel. Don’t cry, its ok, it’s just milk”

The young male takes this time to dump his plate to the dogs and the Idiot takes mercy on his son and pretends like he doesn’t see him do it.

Milk is cleaned up, plates are cleared and it’s time to get ready for bed.

Bath time is more fighting, splashing and wet children running naked through the house.

“Stop running! Someone is going to get hurt”

By yelling “Stop running” The Disaster has only slowed the children down while they are within sight of her, once they round the corner they are at full speed again.

“Seriously you guys, stop running! Someone is going to get…”

Crack!

“Waaahhhhhhh”

“I didn’t do it!! She fell on her own”

“Damn it, I told you guys someone was going to get hurt!”

“Babe, hey babe?”

“What?!”

“Any chance you know where the kids put my hat?”

The Disaster will stare at her naked and crying children, her lost husband – and decide its time.

The old familiar pop of the cork and the pouring of sweet red wine. The Disaster and I share a look, and for a moment we’re dressed in skinny jeans, boots and a tank top with an ample (but still classy) amount of cleavage spilling out. We’re dancing in front of a live band and…

“Mom!!!”

GAAHHH!!

The Disaster bandages the children, tackles the tiny female to the ground to brush her hair and leaves the teeth brushing and book reading to The Idiot.

“Mommy, I can’t find Bear-Bear!!”

The tiny female oh-so-creatively named her favorite stuffed bear, “Bear-Bear” And if they don’t find Bear-Bear, the tiny female will not be going to bed. For a stuffed animal she loves so much, she sure doesn’t keep a very good eye on the disgusting little treasure.

“Ok, people – fan out!”

The Disaster, The Idiot and the young male will frantically sprint to their designated areas of the house (See color coded and laminated map on the fridge) and just when they are about to send out an Amber-Alert, the tiny female confesses that she may have brought him to the store that day.

Because miracles do happen, Bear-Bear is found in the van.

Ah. Poor Bear-Bear, we share a look of comradery as he passes by…a look that says “Sorry buddy…you know I’d kill you, but then who would kill me?”

And then they continue with their bed-time routine….

“Mommy, I’m hungry”

“Then you shouldn’t have fed your food to the dog”

Huh. She knew.

“But he was hungry”

“He has his own food”

“Can I have some candy?”

“No”

“But I’m starving!!!”

“Then breakfast will taste extra good”

::::::tears::::::

“Fine, you guys can each have a banana, no junk food”

The children will set a record and manage to eat their bananas in under an hour. The Disaster and Idiot will then re-brush their teeth and kiss their little loves goodnight.

They only have 2 hours before the tiny female will make her way into their bed, they know this – so they rush to the couch to watch anything with swear words in it. The Idiot and Disaster use this time to salvage brain cells and decompress, and tonight it only takes them 45 minutes to realize they are still watching Dora the Explorer on a loop.

The disaster will sit on the floor and fold clothes and try very hard not to spill her wine on the already stained-beyond-help carpet. The idiot will ice his back, keep track of the remote and try very hard not to say anything to the girl on the floor about the green beans in her hair.

But both will develop turrets, because at least seven times over the next hour, each at random will yell “Get back in bed”, “I mean it this time”, “last warning” and “You’ve had enough to drink”

The Idiot won’t even ask The Disaster why their daughter was promised a penis, or their son a box of tampons – the same way she didn’t question him when he came out of the tiny female’s bedroom tonight sporting two shades of eyeshadow and neon orange fingernails.

“I think they’re finally asleep” The Idiot will whisper.

The Disaster will lift her head and listen carefully. “Yeah, I think you’re right”

“You wanna…”

“I bought tampons today, remember?”

“Oh, right. Well – hey, at least you aren’t pregnant!”

The Disaster and The Idiot will high five at their good fortune and head to bed for a night full of “move overs” and “mommy, she’s squishing me” and “Well, if you slept in your own bed you’d have plenty of room”, “I’m hot”, “I’m cold”, “I’m thirsty”, “I have to go potty”, “Where’s bear-bear!!!”

And the next morning, The Idiot will have earned his name when he says “So – the kids slept through the night, huh? That’s good”image

Thanks for visiting MadStella!! <3

A Letter To Us…

Years ago I watched as my nieces fell in love with their mom. They love her to no end. I also watched as my sister held her newborn daughter for the first time…she had changed, as if out of nowhere and immediately. My sister – the girl I had known for over 20 years was gone and replaced with this new, adult version of herself. She was a mother, and from then on…she would always be a mother.imageMy nieces have only ever known this version of my sister, and while they certainly got the best version of her (the one who is responsible, timely, selfless and with a touch of vomit in her hair)– they didn’t get the one I had always known. They didn’t get the woman I knew (the crazy and wild one – the one up for anything, anytime, anywhere), and they shouldn’t…but it still broke my heart a little bit. Because that girl was cool. She was my best friend, she was my partner in crime…and it seemed as though no one remembered her.image

So I made my sister a scrapbook on her 30th birthday, with strict instructions to wait until her girls turned 18 to give it to them since the scrapbook was a very (very) detailed version of my sister’s life before them. I collected stories and pictures from her childhood friends, teachers, parents, grandparents, family, ex-boyfriends, current friends, acquaintances, ex-friends…even an enemy or two. Anyone, literally anyone, willing to give me any information on my sister – I took it and added it into her scrapbook. The good, the bad, the ugly, the funny, the inappropriate – everything! (Ok, that’s a lie…not everything is in there. I’m her sister, not a snitch)image

My nieces were only given a one-page cameo in the end of it. I wanted them to see a version of their mom that didn’t involve them. And maybe, just maybe, I wanted her and I to take a ride down memory lane and visit the girl we both missed a little bit.image

So for some reason, tonight, I was thinking about that scrapbook – and what a page of it would have looked like had been my scrapbook. The thought turned into a letter to my kids, and the letter to my kids turned into a love letter to myself. All these thoughts and letters turned into this blog post that may or may not make sense, but I know some of you moms out there find yourselves being overlooked…maybe a little forgotten (I know I’m not the only one who sometimes feels like a 17-year-old girl stuck in a grown-up’s body) So, I guess, this one is for us…

image

Dear kids,

Mommy was spontaneous…she climbed trees and jumped off high fences. She rode bikes and 4-wheelers without helmets. She omitted things and pretended not to see “No Trespassing” signs. She snuck booze and boys at campouts and went skinny dipping more than once. She always chose dare and sometimes had trouble with the truth.image

She smoked cigarettes, joints and did beer funnels. She danced by herself and in crowds, she smiled for no reason and sang karaoke. She has had her heart broken and kissed more boys than just your dad. She was a bad friend, a good friend and more often than not – a loyal friend.

She lied to her parents, she snuck out of the house. She felt awkward in dresses and self-conscious when she shouldn’t have. She was an athlete and a B student. She drove too fast and not always quick to do the right thing.

She also picked her nose.
She also picked her nose.

She’s been in the boy’s locker room, she’s had bad haircuts and wished for inconsequential things on falling stars. She has let people down and people have let her down. She had big slumber parties with girlfriends – they swore, they made prank phone calls and they talked about sex.

She fought pimples and puberty, and that girl for that boy. She was so imperfect. She was so perfect.

She fished with the best of them and put her own worms on hooks.image

And man, she rocked that red dress.

She did stuff she’s not proud of, she’s done things she’ll never regret. She let go of people too soon and hung on too long. She’s held grudges and forgiven.

She’s gone on road trips with her bare feet on the dashboard, her hand out the window and Twizzlers in her lap. She screamed at concerts until her throat hurt…and then screamed some more.image

She’s won the Greek Olympics and partied with frat boys.

She has fallen in love, fallen out of love…and fallen right back into it again. She has broken some promises and kept a bunch more. She’s told secrets and will go to her grave with many.

Your mom doesn’t know everything you’ve done…you don’t know everything she’s done. She has a heart and head full of secrets you’ll never know. Things only her middle school best friend knows and will ever know.

Your mom, she wasn’t always a mom. She was a real life person with real life feelings and real life experiences. She did silly things, she did bad things and amazing things.

She used to be selfish. The sun used to rise and set on her and she shined.

Her life wasn’t always dishes, laundry and you.

She doesn’t tell you what to do because she wants to punish you.

She doesn’t ground you because she hates you.

She’s not clueless. She understands. She was you, and someday you will be her. Someday you will understand her. Someday you’ll get why she’s hard, soft and everything in between.

You don’t have to look at your mom and try to see someone else, just know that she WAS someone else. Know that she is more than what you see. Know that she wouldn’t trade being your mom for anything in the world.

The next time you see her, look at her, and know that you don’t know. Know that the woman in front of you wasn’t always punching a time clock and grumbling about chores. She didn’t always sing silly songs and squeal in excitement when someone lost a tooth.

Someone used to kiss her boo-boos and make her PB&J sandwiches. Someone used to ground her and she used to have to ask for permission to do things. She was the center of someone’s world the same way you are the center of hers.

The original Coven

She made someone’s life better, the way you make hers better.

Someone used to make her get up and get dressed for school, they made her shower and brush her teeth. Someone dried her teen tears and hugged her as tightly as she does you.

Trust her with your heart, with your worries, with your burdens…trust her with your fears, and your happiness and your excitement. You think you know her, but you haven’t looked at her long enough to see past her mommy mask. There is a girl, a woman, a real life person under there…use her, believe in her, trust her.

Know that she could write a book about her life, a best seller, with only the stuff you don’t know about her.image

I have loved you your whole life, and I’ll love you for the rest of mine. And when the time comes to look back at my life, you will be in the best clips of the reel. You will have been my favorite chapter.

But oh, my loves, you weren’t the only chapter…

Me, adulting at Hazzys

 

Thanks for visiting MadStella!! <3