Why Can't Boys Be Girly?

I recently posted a picture to Facebook that received some back lash. The picture was of my son wearing make up. I've actually posted pictures of my son wearing lipstick and playing with make up brushes before, but this time he was wearing a full face of make up. I knew my dad would say something, so I tried to head that off with a funny caption. I said "I know, I know, he looks ridiculous. It's my fault, I didn't do his brows and everyone knows they tie the face together."

When bub was a baby, I never wore make up. The man I was dating at the time saw it as, like, deception. Which is just straight idiotic, because if you think my eyelids are just naturally bronze and shimmery, that's on you. After we broke up, one of the first things I bought was make up, and bub was old enough to notice.

He always watches me do my make up, and wants to wear it. I always tell him no, except if it's lipstick that I know he won't be able to stand any longer than it takes for me to take his picture. Not because he's a boy, but because I don't think it's appropriate for a kid his age to wear a ton of make up. Last year, I got two new sets of make up brushes for Christmas and I gave them to him. He loves pretending to do his make up.

He loves being pampered, too. Lush is his favorite store in the world. He sits perfectly still when he asks me to paint his nails, and doesn't move until they are dry. He watches me do face masks with jealousy, because I believe his little skin is perfect enough that he doesn't need it.

Well, the other night I decided to cave, and make it fun for both of us. I told him he got to do my make up, then I would do his the same way I do mine normally, and we would do masks after. He was ecstatic. After dinner he ran straight into the bathroom and told me to get my ball (beauty blender). I took Snapchats of us laughing as he smacked me in the face with the beauty blender and put lipstick on my chin. I took pictures of him posing before I blended out the highlighter. I took pictures of after, with him so freaking happy about his blue lipstick. I loved the last one so much that I posted it.

It comes down to this: if/when I have a daughter, I will never tell her that she can't do something because it's "for boys". Except maybe peeing standing up. That's just to reduce the mess though. I am never, ever going to tell my son that he can't do something or like something because it's "for girls".

He has always played with "girls" toys. He's had a kitchen and baby dolls and all kinds of stuff. Right now, he's obsessed with Paw Patrol. Specifically with Everest. If you've never seen the show (you lucky bastard), Everest is a girl dog. One of only two girl dogs on Paw Patrol. Paw Patrol licensed stuff is EVERYWHERE. However, Everest is not on any of the "boy" stuff. Only the "girl" stuff. So my son owns so much pink stuff. Everything I can get my hands on, because Everest is hard to find. He has a pink blanket, pink slippers, pink snow boots, even underwear I bought in the girls section because one pair of them had Everest on it. Guess what? HE DOESN'T CARE. HE IS THREE YEARS OLD.

I get a little angry when I talk about this. My kid is three and he likes what he likes. I don't give a shit what anyone thinks about me as a parent because I did my son's make up and buy him underwear from the girls section in Walmart. What fires me up is that we do not tell girls that they can't do boy things. We don't tell girls that they can't wear blue or play with trucks or like bugs or superheroes. We tell boys they can't like things that have traditionally been viewed as girly, but not the other way around. In fact, we encourage little girls and stifle little boys. Why? Two words. Internalized misogyny.

Women have been taught our entire lives that we are not good enough. We're not tall enough or thin enough of pretty enough, but using make up or working out a lot or wearing revealing clothing somehow make us 'less than'. When boys do things that are traditionally girly and we tell them it's wrong, we're telling them that being girly and being feminine is wrong, because that is what we have been told our entire lives, and I refuse to participate in that.

So go ahead, think I'm a terrible mother because I let my son wear make up (once!). I don't give a shit. What I do care about is whether he grows up to be a decent human being who treats other people with respect, and I think he will.

I Win.

Guys. I did it. I won. I finally - FINALLY - beat my depression.

At least, for the moment.

Time to share a secret! I've been off my meds for a couple months now. Prozac helped me a ton. It helped me realize what my base line for happiness *should* be, so then I just needed to figure out how to get there.

I've been doing a really good job managing my anxiety lately, but I do take Xanax when it gets to be too much. It's usually only once or twice a month, max, that I have to rely on that. Considering that two short years ago I was having anxiety attacks almost every day, I count that in the win column.

But it's always the depression that comes back, and it comes back with a vengeance. I go off my meds because I feel fine, and then I spiral until I hit the bottom of a pit and curl into a ball of weeping shame at the bottom.

Not. This. Time.

See, that could have easily happened today. It almost did. It would have, but I decided not to let it.

I've been having some roadblocks getting my financial aid sorted for school. When it finally showed that my 2015 tax transcripts had been received, I breathed a sigh of relief. And then yesterday I went into the financial aid office just to double check. They said everything was fine and they would email me in about two weeks to let me know what I'm being awarded as far as aid. Hooray! So when I checked for that email today and it showed that my 2015 tax transcripts were still needed, I wasn't sure if I wanted to scream or cry.

I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but Normal Hailey is a total psycho when it comes to stuff. I'm a total control freak and I want to have everything planned out to the last possible detail so that I can anticipate everything that's happening. Normal Hailey is the one who decided to take on a 15 credit hour course load first semester, in addition to working full time, being a single mom, running this blog, writing a book, singing a ton, having a social life and having a boyfriend. Had Normal Hailey been around while I was in middle and high school, I would have been a straight A student with a perfect attendance record. I would have graduated valedictorian of my class and gotten a full ride to the Ivy League of my choice. I would have held down a part time job, been involved in extracurricular activities, and probably been in student government.

But Normal Hailey road back seat to my depression for the past 16 years.

Today, after seeing that I needed to turn in more paperwork, I broke down. I started crying at my desk, which is super embarrassing when you're the receptionist and anyone can walk in. I vented to a co-worker. I texted my mom and told her I was going to withdrawn from school because there's no way I can come up with $2065 by August 23rd.

Then the thoughts started. "You were such an idiot to think you could actually do this. You're so pathetic. You know you should have just given bub up for adoption when he was born, so he could have a family that actually knows how to do literally anything. You're nothing. You're never going to be anything. You're so pathetic."

And on and on and on.

And that was when I stopped. I shook my head, shook myself out of it, and decided to stop feeling sorry for myself and actually fucking do something about it. I looked up the number on the SLCC website for the financial aid office, and even though it said that they wouldn't talk to me about anything specific over the phone, I decided not to let that deter me.

I went to my car, and I called. Right off the bat, I apologized to the girl who answered the phone. I explained that I was very frustrated with the situation and was going to try my best not to let my emotions get the best of me. I explained everything to her, how many times I've gone in and been told there wasn't a counselor to see and that there wasn't anything they could do if I didn't have the paperwork. And then I asked what I needed to do and... guys, I was stunned.

"Oh, it looks like we just need a signature on page 2 of your tax transcript. That's all we're missing. You can come in and sign it or bring in your signed copy, or email or fax it to us. Whatever works best. After that, everything will really be in and we'll be able to get your paperwork processed and your aid awarded."

Guys, it was literally that fucking easy. 

I took the paper in after work. That's it. That's all it was.

If I had listened to my depression, I would have withdrawn from my classes and felt like shit. Instead, I won.

I fucking won.

DIY Face Mask

I'm always a little skeptical of things on the internet saying to put household items on your face. However, I've been breaking out a ton so I decided to try one of the things that I'd read online, since none of my normal stuff seems to be working.

I loved it so much, guys. It's my go-to, from now on and it was so simple.

Take honey, sugar, a little bit of cinnamon and mix them together. You can add a little bit of water to thin it out, but be stingy. It can get super thin super fast. That's what ended up happening to me and I had to add more sugar and honey and ended up making a ton on accident.

Just apply a layer to your face, leave it on for about ten minutes, scrub it in and then rinse it off with lukewarm water.

My skin feels amazing now.

Since I made too much, I just grabbed my soap molds and poured the rest in there and stuck it in the freezer so I'll be good to go next time.

Let me know your go-to DIY in the comments!

Qualifiers.

I've been lucky. I've never really had to deal with mom-shaming. I've heard of The Mommy Wars, sure, but I've generally found that everyone is just trying to get through the insanity that is motherhood. I have friends whose parenting styles differ from mine, of course, but I've always just figured that different things work for different people and that was the end of it.

Until I joined a Single Mom Support Group on Facebook.

A couple weeks ago, my baby daddy had to cancel his visitation. Normally this isn't a huge deal, but my son has been having some behavioral issues stemming directly from the fact that he doesn't see his dad much.

My son is picking fights at preschool. He's throwing fits constantly. Bedtime is a nightmare. He usually screams for his dad for at least a half an hour.

So I was frustrated. While I love all my mom friends, none of them are single parents. My cousin is a single mom, but her son's father is very involved, so she doesn't have to deal with this particular issue.

I vented, saying I was upset for my son and upset for me, since I only get 12 hours a month for myself.

Of course, I love my son and love spending time with him. But as a full time single mom, there are times when I'm desperate for a break.

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. I was immediately met with criticism, saying that I should be lucky I even get 12 hours a month. Comments going on and on about how easy I have it because I have a baby daddy who is involved.

Comments saying I'm not really a single mom.

Now, I've been alone through all of this. Through the newborn sleepless nights, I didn't have a co-parent to lean on when all I wanted to do was cry. Through teething, through his asthma diagnoses and his horrible allergies. Through taking him to the ER because I thought he was dying when he had croup. Through my sweet little baby being prescribed an EpiPen and having to deal with the thought that I might have to use it one day. To breaking him of his pacifier, potty training, breaking from co-sleeping.

It has always been me. Alone.

Yes, his dad takes him for a few hours every other week (when he can), but that doesn't mean I'm not alone.

There was no one there to stare at him, wide awake, at 4 in the morning when he was a newborn. No one to marvel at the beautiful thing we made together.

There is no one there on the nights that he screams for his dad and lashes out at me with tiny hands and feet, punches and kicks that land like tiny daggers because the beautiful thing you made wants nothing to do with you.

There shouldn't be qualifiers to what does or does not make you a "real" single mom. And another person's struggles do not cancel mine out.

I'm allowed to be frustrated and upset. I am a single mom, and I'm doing the best that I can. Don't you dare tell me I'm not.

Clearing The Fog

I'm trying to be back, everyone.

I'm gonna try really hard.

I can't make any promises though.


Today, I signed up for my college classes. I spoke with my advisor and she said I need 62 credit hours to complete my AS in Social Work. That includes my generals and course-specific classes before I transfer to a 4 year university to complete my BS (which I'm trying not to laugh at). After that, it's on to grad school for my Master's degree.

Holy shit, guys.

I'm taking 16 credit hours this semester. So many people have told me to lighten my load, start out easy since I've been out of school for 6 years and I've never been in college. Also because I'm working full time and crushing it* at this single mom thing.

(*I am not crushing it. I'm drowning, just like every other mom in the world)

I know myself, though. I know I'm a procrastinator and that I work better under pressure. I *have* to take on a full course load or I won't do it.

I have a lot of balls in the air right now. In addition to going to college, working full time, being a single mom to the best little boy in the world (I'm biased), and trying to stay on top of my house, I'm also doing a bunch of other shit simply because I want to.

I'm trying to get this blog going again. I'm going to start going to my writer's group again, so I can actually get a book written and maybe make some friends along the way. I just auditioned for the Voice (on Snapchat) and will hear about that at the end of September. I also (finally) have a healthy social life.

I have friends, guys.

Some of you may remember that my best friends all ditched me almost two years ago when I opened up about how bad my depression had gotten. I don't have to worry about that any more.

I have a Village now. I'm friends with an amazing couple that I wouldn't have met if it wasn't for my son. Our boys are best friends, and I love their entire family to death.

I'm so much closer with my family, and that includes my "adopted" family, the people I love because I choose to, not because of blood. I actually just threw a pretty huge (30 people) bbq just so we could all be surrounded by people we love, and who love us back.

I'm so much closer with my "cousin", who comes over at least one night a week.

I have a boyfriend now, which is pretty cool. He's been my biggest cheerleader in regards to me going to college, even before we were together.

I have a lot going on, and it can get kind of overwhelming and be a lot to handle. I'm currently working up a color-coded Excel spreadsheet to help me work out how to best manage everything.

The only, ONLY, reason I'm able to do all of this is because I'm medicated. I'm saying this because of the stigma around being medicated for your mental health. Let me make one thing clear.

Admitting you need help does not mean you are weak. It means you are strong enough to realize that something is not right.

I take Prozac, every single day, for my anxiety and depression. Because of that, the fog that I've lived in since I was 8 years old is clearing. My depression and anxiety do not control my every move. As soon as that fog started to clear, I returned to being the little girl who was adamant that she would not stay home from school because she wanted to get her 'perfect attendance' pencil. Y'all, I don't even like pencils.

Being level has made me realize that I'm still that person who was so freaking proud when she got straight As, who was reading to the class in kindergarten and doing college-level math in the 4th grade. I'm still the girl who looked around at the world and realized that life is what I make it, and I want to make it something great.

So this is where I'm starting.

Mom's on Tinder

A few weeks ago, my mom set me up with a guy she works with. Everything was going great, until he decided to go back to his ex girlfriend. After he ended things, my mom suggested I let her take over my online dating apps. I'd mentioned it to her before because I read something online where a guy did that and ended up going on the best dates ever. So I agreed, and we just got around to setting up the profiles today. She has total control over who she says yes and no to, and over the messages. So far she's gotten way more matches than I normally get (because I get bored and just left-swipe everyone), and has struck up quite a few conversations. The funniest thing was when she swiped left on a guy because "there are small children living in his beard. You just know there are." I mostly just laughed at her reactions, but it made me a little anxious too. We have completely different taste in guys for me. I guess we'll see where this goes!

The Best/Dumbest DIY

I had a really productive day today, which was especially surprising since I had plans to do absolutely nothing. Instead, I decided to actually decorate my house. I've lived here for a year and a half and had no cute pictures of my little family hung up or anything. Partly because I didn't have any actual printed pictures (but they're super cheap to print) but mostly because I didn't have frames (which are expensive). So today I printed a bunch of pictures at Walmart (they're $00.19 per print) and put pictures in the 5 frames I did have. Then I put pictures in this adorable personalizable (is that a word?) clock that my aunt got me for Christmas... three years ago. I was staring at all the pictures I had left when it hit me. Are you guys ready for this? It's literally the stupidest, smartest thing ever. Ready?

DIY canvas photos.

We all know that we love our kids. Just maybe not "pay $100+ to get your face on a canvas" kind of love. That's where this comes in. I have probably 50 canvases in my house, most are works in progress but I had a few blank ones and it hit me to just fucking mod podge pictures on there. That shit is so versatile. So I arranged a bunch of pictures on 5 different canvases and mod podged them on there, then did a coat on top (cause it dries clear and I think it looks a little more professional) and bam. Whole process took less than like an hour total, didn't break the bank, and looks awesome hanging in my living room. So go forth and put some cute shit on your walls without paying a fortune.

(PS, you can get canvases for pretty cheap at Hobby Lobby. Usually in a pack of 2. You know you're looking for an excuse to go to Hobby Lobby.)

Now here's some pictures.

I thought I'd miss him more

Do you guys want to know my worst "bad mommy" secret?

I don't miss my son when he's gone.

If I'm at work or he's with his dad, I just straight up do not miss him. Occasionally I'll see something that reminds me of him, or another child, and have a moment but then I'll go back to not missing him.

See, when I'm at work, I already have a ton on my plate. I know he's fine at school and if he wasn't, they would call me. If he's home with my mom I think about him a lot more, because it means he's sick, so I worry and just want to be with him. On normal days, though, I just worry about my job.

It was hard at first. When I first went back to work after he was born, he was three months old. I had anxiety attacks every day being away from him and ended up leaving early all the time because I couldn't stand being away from him. I took the job at the daycare and got to be with him for almost a full year before he switched classrooms. Every time he switched he got a little further away, but I had other kids to worry about.

I was really worried when I switched jobs, putting him in school in South Jordan and me at work in Wood's Cross. It pretty much was hard until he stopped crying at drop off. Now he barely notices when I leave and we both like it that way.

And when he's with his dad? It's very rare that I worry. And that is MY time. I get to sit on my couch without answering a constant slew of questions or having toddler feet in my face. I can actually use my gigantic ass flat screen TV for MY shows instead of Doc McStuffins and Super Why. I can go to the store without it being an hour long ordeal between leaving and going home. I can shower in peace! I can eat in peace! I CAN POOP IN PEACE!

Honestly, I thought I'd miss him more when he was gone. But truthfully, I don't. And I don't think that makes me a bad mom, it just makes me a mom who needs a little space.

Birthin a human.

I just realized that I've never done a pregnancy/labor/delivery post so brace yourself bitches.

Pregnancy is horrible. It was exactly 39 weeks of hell and I couldn't wait for it to be over. Except for all of the times I went in to labor early (starting at 21 weeks), then I just wanted my sweet baby to cook a little longer. My morning sickness lasted until I pushed a human out of my body. My feet got so swollen that it literally hurt to walk. I remember hobbling around my office barefoot because my feet were too swollen even for my slippers. And right in the middle of everything, I found myself a single mom, living back at home. I was miserable.

The day I went into labor was pretty great, and my labor was ridiculously easy. I had gone on maternity leave on Monday at my last doctor'sappointment because it's really hard to talk on the phone and try to make sales when you've been in labor for FOUR MONTHS. At least a few times I week I would start having contractions (yes, real ones, not Braxton Hicks. Very different things), they'd get close enough for me to go to the hospital, sometimes they'd give me stuff to stop it, and then I'd be sent on my way. It got very hard to do my job, between the contractions and the vomiting and the peeing constantly, so I took my leave. IT WAS AMAZING. I went to bed early and slept in EVERY DAY. It was my last real time to be just me and not me the mom. So when I went into labor with bub, it was in the comfort of my own home and I didn't have to worry about my water breaking at work. Because it probably would have. My water broke at 9 am on Friday. I was in bed, because it was awesome, and I was switching the side I was laying on because my legs were so very large that if I laid on one side for too long, they would go numb. As I flipped over, I felt a little ~pop~, which I ignored. I tried to go back to sleep but I had to pee, so I got up and went to the bathroom. And that was when the flood gates opened. And I waited. I put on a panty liner, soaked through it in 5 minutes. I put on one of those gigantic pads you use when you come home from the hospital. Soaked through that I'm an hour. That was when I decided to call my mom. I didn't have a car of my own, so I couldn't really get myself to the hospital. I told her what happened and that I was gonna get in the shower and eat and then we could go if she wanted. I felt the most calm I have in my entire life.  Until my mother cane barreling through the door like a bull in a China shop right after I sat down to eat my spaghettios. I sat calmly and ate while she ran around the house like a maniac acting like she knew nothing about birthin no babies. After about five minutes I caved and said we could go, but I'd be pissed if I was hungry. So we get to the hospital and they make me get in the ugly gown with no panties, which is awkward when you have a geyser between your legs. I manage to waddle my pregnant ass over to the hospital bed with my legs closed and get up there so they can check me. By now, this is so routine that I don't even mind that there are about seventy people in the room (okay, slight exaggeration).

Let me back up a little and tell a funny story. I've been in labor and delivery so many times guys. So many med students have seen my vagina. SO MANY. So one night, we go in because I went into labor in WinCo  (must've been all the walking), and we have an awesome nurse. She tells my mom that she has to do a couple different things, like check to see if my water broke (I was 32 weeks pregnant) and stuff, so she asks my mom to hold the little collection thing so she doesn't have to rescrub between different things. My mom says sure and she's sitting there holding the little container while the nice nurse swabs me and goes to put in the sample. And she misses. And hits my mom's hand. Immediately, the nurse jumps up and says "damn it! Not only did I contaminate the sample, I got vagina on your hand!"
We still cry from laughter over that. I brought it up the other day.

Anyway, the nurse goes to check and see how dilated I am and has me lift my hips up. As soon as I do, the aforementioned geyser opens up and amniotic fluid leaks up my entire back. No swabs this time, just a change of sheets. I was dilated to a 4 and my immediate reaction is "I know you can give me an epidural at a 4, so go ahead and hook er up". Except they decide I need to have/feel contractions. Except I've been doing that for FOUR MONTHS AND I DON'T WANNA ANYMORE. So we compromise and they give me some pretty good drugs in my IV along with the pitocin. After they gave me the pitocin, my mom went to get coffee and my aunt Trina decides to prank her and call and say that I'm dilated to a 7 and she needs to come back immediately. We laughed pretty hard, but my mom was not pleased.

I have the lowest tolerance ever for drugs, having never done any in my life. So the nurse says she has to push it in my IV through 2 contractions, and she administers the first dose. My mom says you could see me get high. And then I laugh for 10 minutes straight. I'm nuttier than a fruit cake. I'm laughing so hard the nurse starts laughing and can't administer the next dose until we've all properly calmed down. The drug they gave me was fentanyl, and I'm pretty pissed about it since people use it as a substitute for heroin, but that's in the past so whatever.

Hours tick by pretty slowly and the drugs are wearing off and I'm about to call the nurse for a second dose when she comes in.

"So we have to do a c section..." pause for dramatic effect as everyone in the room starts to freak out a little thinking there's something wrong "...on another patient" room erupts in relieved laughter "so if you want that epidural it's now or never".

I, of course, chose now. I was also terrified of someone sticking a gigantic needle in me, especially since I've heard the numbing shot hurts like hell. Let me tell you, those people are pussies. I barely noticed it, and then I felt nothing and it was wonderful.

I felt two bumps like bub was knocking on the door that was my vagina and then I was dilated to a 10 and I needed to push. After my doctor got there, it was 2 pushes and the tiny human had vacated my body. I don't remember him being handed to me. I don't remember when I started crying. I just remember looking down at this perfect face and sobbing over how beautiful he was and counting all his perfect fingers and toes and then they took him away because he had a fever of 102.7 and I yelled at my mom that if she didn't get me fries now I was gonna murder someone because I was starving to death.

Bub came in to this world wonderfully and fairly uneventfully. I've heard people say that if you can make jokes, you're not in labor. But I was making jokes as I was pushing this beautiful human out of my body. When my doctor came in, I remember thinking that everyone expected me to be scared. So when he asked if I was ready, I pretended to be terrified. But as I looked up at the ceiling as I pushed, I was not afraid. Not of anything. I somehow knew that I could do this, and I was right because now he's almost 3 and he's still alive so I think I'm doing a pretty good job.

Oh, also, my mom held my leg while I pushed then dropped it and I almost fell off the bed, so that was pretty funny. Overall, my labor and delivery was pretty funny.

How was yours?  Tell me in the comments!

IOU

I owe you one fully formed blog post. Tonight, my child is vomiting and can't keep water down. Really hope everyone is having a better day than I am.

5 reasons why Leslie Knope is my role model

Yes, I'm aware that she's a fictional character but Leslie Knope is still my role model.

In case you aren't familiar with her, Leslie Knope is Amy Poehler's character on the awesome show Parks and Recreation (which I am currently rewatching for the third time). Here's why she's my role model, and should be yours, too.

1. She's passionate.
Leslie Knope doesn't do anything with less than 100% effort. She knows what she wants to do, and she'll go after it with everything she has, damn the consequences.

2. She's a great friend.
We all want a friend like Leslie and we all want to BE a friend like Leslie. From her strange compliments to her best friend, Ann, who she admittedly loves more than her husband, to the sweet and personalized gifts she gets everyone at Christmas, we all need a bit of Leslie Knope in our friendships.

3. She proved that your biological clock is bullshit.
When the show starts, Leslie is 34 years old. She is also single with no kids. She gets engaged and married to the absolute love of her life (no, not Ann) in season 5 and marries him just a few episodes later. In season 6, at the age of 40, she gets pregnant. Without trying. With triplets. I've focused so hard on settling down in my 20s, but Leslie reminds me that my age is irrelevant. Finding the perfect partner is what matters.

4. She proves that there is more than one kind of soul mate.
If you don't think Leslie and Ben are absolutely perfect for each other, you need to get out of my face right now. They are perfect and also he is perfect with his gigantic nerdy self and if you don't love him then you're wrong. But Ben isn't Leslie's only soul mate. Ann counts too. Being best friends with someone can be very fleeting. I've had many people I've considered my best friend over the years, but I have a friend soul mate, and that's bigger than anything else. Leslie and Ann stood the test of time, and the even harder test of distance, and made it out the other side. Because they're soul mates.

5. She proves that yes, it's possible to have it all.
Leslie is such a relatable character. From her blind persistence in getting things done to her failed relationships, Leslie is one of the most relatable characters on tv. She works hard at a job she's passionate about and eventually ends up exactly where she wanted to be in her career. She also maintains healthy friendships, a loving relationship with her husband, and manages to raise TRIPLETS.

Leslie Knope is the woman we should all aspire to be. Personally, I relate more with April because I hate everyone and everything but secretly also care about everyone and everything, but that's beside the point. Go forth, Leslies of the world.

Also, if you haven't binge watched Parks and Recreation,  do it NOW.

Things I never thought I'd say

Being a boy mom is weird, especially because I'm doing it alone and I don't have a penis. I've heard girls are so much easier, and I'm guessing girl moms don't have to say things like these.

1. Don't growl at the toilet. Or lick it. Or dip your butt in it after you've peed. Or spit in it. Toilet is for going potty only.

2. No, I don't have a penis.
This is a sensitive topic around my house, because telling my son that I don't have a penis causes a huge meltdown from the small one, who insists that I do.

3. Mommy's face doesn't need to be run over with a car right now, thanks.

4. Stop pulling on your penis. That hurts mommy just to look at.

5. I had more, but I can't remember them. I say all kinds of weird shit on a daily basis that I never even fathomed that I would say.

Honestly I'm too tired to remember more, but leave a comment and let me know the weirdest thing you've had to say to your kid(s)!

One of those nights

It's looking like one of those nights where I'm gonna fall asleep with the kidlet, so I figured I'd better write this now, while he's reading his books.

Today, I decided that I am done with real life. I'm done being a grown up with responsibilities and a job and bills and I'm going to sell all my wordy possessions and move to a tropical island.

This is, of course, a lie. I've got shit to do. I've got a mouth to feed that isn't my own. I've got a baby daddy who would be royally pissed if I took our baby and just left. And I've got a kid who loves his dad and would be heartbroken if he had to leave him.

But hey, I can dream. I can dream of living somewhere that's always 80 degrees, while staring out the window at the freezing rain. I can dream of sand under my feet and the ocean licking my toes while I'm wearing high heeled boots to work. I can dream of living somewhere with better air quality, so the kidlet doesn't suffer in the winter when the inversion is bad.

So tonight, I'm going to dream about being on a beach with a drink in my hand, while hopefully only rain falls outside instead of snow.

I am going to do ALL THE THINGS.

In the words of the ever wise Liz Lemon
"Yes to life, yes to lovve, yes to STAYING IN MORE!"

That's basically how I live my life anyway.

Y'all I'm writing this on my phone and it keeps trying to capitalize every single word, or at least the first letter and it's making me a little crazy.

Anywyay, my new year's resoutuion was to do ALL THE THINGS this year, so I'm just gonna list the things I want to do instead of making a real blog because I'm lazy and I just found out there was an episode of Criminal Minds last week that I haven't seen yet and I'm very impatient.

So, this year I am going to:
Learn to crochet (kind of check, I've made half a scarf).
Learn to sew and make myself a bunch of cute skirts and dresses.
Maybe learn to knit, although I tried yesterday and it was the worst hour of my life (haha).
Write. Every day. So far, the goddess Calliope has yet to grace me with her divine wonder, so I've pretty much just worked on this blog rather than any of my 38 books that I've started but hey, I'll get there.
Travel. We're gonna go on so many summer adventures this year. Bub is getting old enough that I can't waste my life in front of the tv any more when it's nice out, and gods know I'm not having anymore children, so it's the perfect time.
Be a duck. I'm gonna stop letting shit bother me and just let it roll off of me like water on a duck.

(The above phrases like "goddess" and "gods" were used because I'm a Greek pagan, y'all)

Alright, it's done, I'm gonna go watch Criminal Minds now.

If you have one good friend.

I've been having a really hard time lately. Like, really fucking hard. Being a single mom is not easy. But having one good friend makes all the difference.

See, I have genuinely wonderful people in my life. I have the best mom, the best family, and wonderful friends. But there is only one person in the entire world that I can tell absolutely everything to. No matter what it is, no matter how personal, or embarrassing, or generally shitty.

It's not that she won't judge me, because she will. In fact, she's the person who will judge me the harshest. But 18+ years of friendship kind of gives her that right.

She gets to tell me when I'm being a bitch. She gets to tell me when I'm not being bitchy enough (not standing up for myself, etc). She also gets to tell me that it's okay. That I'm doing a good job. That yes, being a mom is hard and it's okay if I have a drink or 5.

We have immensely different patenting styles. But at the end of the day, motherhood brings us together. Motherhood should bring us all together. At the end of the day, if you have one good friend, that's the best thing in the world to have.

I'm terrible.

Grr. I haven't been very good about writing every day, and I'm sorry for thay. I'm pretty sure my best friend wants to flay me alive (hey, whatever gets her here). I've just been so exhausted lately. My anxiety and depression are struggling to take power again, and that makes me hyper emotional and constantly exhausted. Yesterday I cried at a commercial for glasses. I've been falling asleep with bub every night, and morning comes way too soon.

But I have to brag a little. A few nights ago, I wrote about how I snapped and made my baby sleep in his bed. For the first time, I've actually stuck to it. Every night, he has to go to sleep in his bed. He usually comes into my bed at some point in the night (last night I didn't even wake up for it) but he always has to start the night in his bed.

He's been killing it. Normally he needs tons of conversations, songs, and for me to pat his back. The past two nights, he hasn't even needed me to sit with him. We just pick out his jim jams, brush his teeth, then he gets in bed and "reads" his books. When he's done, we turn off the lights, I tuck him in, and he goes to bed. Just like that.

It's really bittersweet for me. He has always been independent and wanted his own space, except at bedtime, but it looks like that is coming to an end.

When we got up this morning, he started crying and it took me a full five minutes to realize he was in my bed, and probably at least another two to realize that's where that loud noise was coming from. So I got up, made myself a cup of coffee, got him two seperate breakfast foods (cereal and a muffin) and put a third in the oven (those pop open cinnamon rolls, because I'm a good mom), and tried not to fall asleep on the floor. I put on some Dinotrux and the cutest/worst thing happened.

Now, my mom was always very strict about me saying curse words. I wasn't allowed to say Beevis and Butthead. I had to call it Beevis and the Other Guy. I wasn't allowed to say pissed until I was sixteen. So when a huge spider web (shockarachnids) came up on Dinotrux and my beautiful two year old said "hoooooly crap" in his sweet little baby voice, I did not expect my mother to laugh as hard as she did.

After that we spent the morning playing The Floor is LAVA, which bub is terrible at. Then his dad came to pick him up, the police made a guest appearance, and I ate my weight in junk food after crying for about 30 minutes. Oh, and I caught Pokemon in a graveyard.

So it was a crazy day, and I'm just enjoying the fact that it will soon be over and I can get in bed and watch Sherlock and drink a grown up drink.

Stay safe out there y'all.

Day 5

I know, I skipped a day! I fell asleep putting bub to bed last night.  But today, my prompt is my favorite picture of my best friend. Well, literally every picture of her is my favorite picture because she is a beautiful, talented, brilliant, powerful musk ox. So I picked some of my favorites of us, starting in kindergarten, up to September 2016.

And one of her looking like a hot mama because yowza hahaha.

Shine on you opalescent tree-shark.

Day 3

Parenting is fucking hard, guys. No matter how you look at it, no matter how you swing it, it's fucking hard. I don't think I've ever met a mom who didn't wonder if she was making the right choices or screwing her kids up royally. I don't think I've ever met a mom who wasn't exhausted, whether it was obvious or not. I don't think I've ever met a mom who thought to herself "oh, this parenting thing is so easy. I always make the right choices, my kids never drive me insane. I'm absolutely perfect at this" all the time. If you're a mom who thinks this all the time, we can't be friends because I'm a fucking hot mess.

Now, I don't know how parenting with mental illness vs without stacks up. I can't say if one is harder than the other, and I certainly wouldn't want to act like I have things so much worse because I have mental illness. Parenting is hard no matter what. But, personally, it is definitely harder when I'm having one of my "bad" days vs my "good" days.

Most days, on my good days, I chalk my kid's behavior up to the fact that HE IS ONLY TWO. The hitting, the kicking, the pinching, the screaming, the not using hi words, the melting down over everything, the not listening. All of that. I usually take it as, whatever, he's got a great life, he's just two. I've never so much as popped him in the mouth when he bit me, though I definitely don't judge moms who do. It's just not my parenting style. I tend to try to approach things by being calm and encouraging him to talk. If that doesn't work, I will flat out ignore a fit until he realizes that it gets him no where and he stops.

Days like today, though? Days when I'm stressed about work and about the gas in my van lasting until payday and the fact that I have to pay for two whole weeks of daycare this month when I usually only have to budget for one? Days when my commute kind of sucked and I haven't eaten much and I've just had enough of the day before I get home? Days when my depression tried to stop me from getting out of bed this morning, and told me repeatedly that I'm a piece of shit? Days when my anxiety is waiting like a cobra ready to strike?

Well, those days I lose it.

Now, I don't mean that I beat him or anything like that. I simply will not put up with any shit. So when it was ready for bed and we'd gotten his pjs on and brushed his teeth and read his books and I shut off the light and the screaming started? Not. Fucking. Happening. I tried ignoring him and letting him just cry it out for a minute while I laid next to him (have I mentioned that we co-sleep?), and that got me kicked in the mouth and slapped in the face in pinched in the too chubby abdomen that he used to call home. Nope. I was done.

So I plopped him in his bed, which is still in my room, and told him that from now on, he sleeps in his own bed. There have to be consequences for treating people like that, and that means that he doesn't get to do what he wants to do. He ended up screaming for an hour, throwing himself against the walls, trying to get out of bed and still taking swings at me before my mom came over. She can hear his screams through the walls and can't stand it.



I've gotten really lucky. I have a kick ass support system. My mom knows when I've hit my limit and usually swoops in to help me before I completely lose what is left of my sanity. My best friend is like 500 miles away, and she's got two boys under two. We've been best friends forever and I feel like being moms has brought us closer together, despite the distance. We have very, very different parenting methods, but we never judge each other or tell each other that we're wrong, because we're not. What works for my kid doesn't work for hers, and vice versa. Without being able to vent to her about my mommy frustrations, I think I would have lost my mind by now. She's been there through every stage of my life and understand what it's like inside my head when my mental illness is kicking my ass.

And sometimes, on days like today, we get to do facials "together" and drink "together" and write "together" because of Snapchat and these blogs we're writing. So if you have a mom friend, especially one who understands you and doesn't judge even when you think you're being crazy, hold on to her as tight as you possibly can.

Day 2

Today's challenge is to post a picture of something I ate, so here's my dinner. Home made french fries, and general taos chicken. Didn't taste horrible and was super easy to make. And because my chubby self wants to try to eat healthier, I fried it in coconut oil instead of like... I dunno, other oil? I have very limited cooking experience. But I can actually make some pretty kick ass stuff. Anyway, there's food.

30 Day Blog Challenge.

Hello fellow earthlings, and happy new year. My sister from another mister (and another mother) and I decided to do the 30 day blog challenge together! Obviously I was totally in, because I'm up for anything that will make me feel closer to my best friend who is like 400 miles away. So for day one, we're supposed to include a picture of ourselves and describe how our day went. So... my day was pretty great. My kid let me sleep until 10, which is a freaking miracle. I started the first draft of a cute little ebook that I'm going to self publish. I crocheted a lot of a scarf. I went out to dinner with my mama, then we drove around the park and caught Pokemon. Most though, I just hung out with my kid, which is always great until he's refusing to go to sleep and decides to practice his roundhouse kick. Anyway. that wraps up day one for me and I'm really tired so looking at this screen for any longer doesn't make sense/ Bye now.

dat me ^