Children, Family, Truth

Dear Mom Who Thinks I Need to Vaccinate My Kids Against Measles

My sentiments, exactly. Thank you, Levi!

Levi Quackenboss

shutterstock_157245107Guest Post by Lazarus T. Jones

Yeah, I’m totally going there. I know this vaccination subject is pretty touchy with the undertones of intolerance, discrimination, and bigotry and all, but after seeing a letter written to a “mom who decided not to vaccinate her kids against measles,” I just couldn’t sit by while parents are thrown under the bus and innocent kiddos get sick and die.

To be perfectly frank, I was a bit offended that this letter wasn’t written to dads too but for the sake of prioritizing stupid, there are more important things to address…like the fact that kids in this country do not “get sick and die” from measles. Hello? When was the last time a kid died from measles in America? Here’s a clue…it wasn’t yesterday. Disney ain’t deadly and neither are the measles.

So here goes.

Dear Mom who thinks I should vaccinate…

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Friends, Truth

Recovered Shitter

In my rapid descent to dating hell, I went through a bartender phase. As you can imagine, it did not go well.

Bartenders are a rough bunch, and Mr. Hmmm was no exception. He was sober when I met him, and very well spoken. Beeeeeautiful, black, built and bald. My absolute favorite, and a Holy Grail in my small white town. He created quite a stir.

He had a weakness for farmers… and I certainly can hold my own. He was charming, smart and funny. We went out a few times and then he shit in my bed.

Game Over. Gross. I would have taken the horror to my grave if I hadn’t been approached by another woman in the bar one night, to tell me she’d gone out with him the week before and he’d shit in her bed. True story.

Imagine the hilarity that ensued after reading an article my dear Beautymom sent me.

I’m really happy he’s in recovery. It’s one thing to be a drunk. It’s entirely another if you’re going around shitting yourself  and defiling Egyptian cotton.

Dear Lord, please let me die a happy, single old lady; in a house full of cats.

Friends, Happiness, Love, Truth

Whole

broken

I talked to a friend today about feeling broken. It’s human nature to take things that hurt, personally. If I know one thing well, it’s disappointment.

I really have been through hell the past two years. Hell… and I’m talking about the hardcore bitch version of hell, not the painted-on-hands princess sort of idea of what hell may be like. Envision having a bad day, a few hundred times over… That was me. Resiliency had become my uniform. I’d perfected the art of accepting anything and expecting nothing.

I’ve stepped up to the plate again and again after being blown out of the water and devastated by another bad experience. I left plenty of baggage behind while continuing to search for love and happiness. The problem with love and happiness is that it isn’t hiding, and you can’t find it. The problem with real honest-to-goodness committed love is that it has to find you.

That quote that says “Women who chase men, only catch the slow ones”? That’s the gospel.

I’ve come to the conclusion that the problem lies with me and who I choose if the pattern is always repeating. I see a charming snake of a disinterested cheater/liar smile at me and now know that my racing heart is the universe telling me to RUN. My taste is bad so I am choosing to no longer sit at the table.

Some men are equally as vulnerable as we are. Shitty women are just as poisonously bad as shitty men and there are some scary bitches that could make a sympathetic victim out of the biggest douche bag. I know a few… and one in particular came to mind today. I’m reminded again that some men experience the same things we do. They have soft spots, tender feelings and just as much desire as we do to love someone. We need to be just as careful with them as we want them to be with us.

The women that talk about their husband like he’s the best thing since sliced bread? They’re married to one of those nice guys. They’re loved by a healthy man who safeguards her happiness as much as his own. That’s all it takes. I know some very happily married women. It’s awesome and I’m proud. I point to them when I teach my kids about what marriage should look like.

Unfortunately and more often than not… nice girls end up loving the guy who can be the biggest asshole while simultaneously making her feel the most unwanted or insecure… and nice men end up loving the black widow sort of entrails-eating women we don’t like either. Ask any woman. We all know a woman who’s skeletons make us feel SO much better about our own full closet. I may have done some crazy shit in my time, but I know a few women who’s secrets make me blush and that’s saying something.

What it really boils down to is this: there are some really bad people out there. There are some really great people too. I know a few men that give me absolute faith in their gender. My happily married friends are inspirational.  My baby sister loves and is adored by, her husband. I know the finest women.

Sadly enough… if you don’t play the games, you lose the war. It’s tragic, pathetic and unavoidable.

The world is full of broken people but if you’re attracted to people who break you, you need to love yourself enough to be alone until that changes.

Feeling broken sucks and unfortunately there are people in the world who approach love like a contest, a lottery or a war. Save yourself. Just say no to anyone who doesn’t have the best intentions where your heart is concerned.

I’m healing from the disappointment of being wrong, again. Until I can have faith in men again and believe I could love one that tells the truth, I’m ruling out men entirely. I brought a whole bunch of baggage with me this time and I’m blissfully happily single as a result.

Relationships are supposed to feel good and add to your life and that’s not my experience anymore. I’d rather take another walk with my baby. Catch a movie with my teenaged daughter. I’d rather sew the baby a quiet book to play with and learn from. I’d rather plant my garlic.

Basically I’d rather love the people who love me back and not waste any of the time I could be spending with friends on someone who isn’t making the same investment.

I’m single, but I’m whole- not broken. I’m alone, but not lonely. Finally smart, but not naive.

Join me 🙂

Food, Friends, Truth, Whine/Rant

The little things they fail to mention…

In the midst of the painfully uncomfortable parts of pregnancy, there are a few things they fail to mention in the millions of parenting books I’ve borrowed from the library. Most of these details are old news since this is my third baby, but one of them is completely new to me.

Graphic dreams.

Sigh. I’ve had some WILD dreams the duration of my pregnancy, beginning at 16 weeks when I had nightmares of accidentally cooking kittens every night for a week. I was sick over it and finally sat down with my midwife and confessed in horror.

J- I accidentally boiled a kitten in my sleep last night. I was so mortified when I woke up I could hardly look at anyone.

M- It’s completely normal. When you’re pregnant, you wake up in the middle of your REM sleep cycle and you wake up frequently so you remember more of your dreams. The increased estrogen only makes them more realistic.

So I tried to chalk it up to nocturnal insanity brought on by the increased estrogen of growing a baby girl. Until I hit about 20 weeks and started having graphic sexual dreams. Constantly. Trying to shake them was of no use, and this was by no means a vanilla sort of experience.

A quick 15 minute nap turned into skin tingling torture by way of his teeth and misuse of kitchen utensils.

I woke up a dozen times in the middle of the night with beads of sweat on the back of my neck, having escaped from the restraints I’d been tied in… by a friend of mine.

Yeah… oops… they’re never with my boyfriend- and never from experience. I’ve never dated or so much as kissed the poor victim at the center of my unintentional fantasy life. He’s the most respectful guy I know and I would die, die, DIE… if he knew what my subconscious has made him do. The jealousy I deal with from my baby-daddy is already unbearable and I don’t dare add another name to his list of friends I’m not allowed to have. I’ve tried everything to shake it… but as soon as I close my eyes… there he is again.

He told me once how tired he was and I know I turned fifty shades of red just thinking of the long night he’d had at my house, while feeling wholeheartedly guilty and incapable of controlling or curtailing it.

His voice sounds strange in my ears anymore because he’s said some unbelievable things to me in the last 6 months, lol…

My midwife does her best to comfort me while assuring me it’s completely normal. She suggested I Google it so I could see what she meant, and sure enough… I am not the only one.

I do what I can. I watch murderous television and children’s movies. I try my best to put it out of my mind, for fear I’ll make the situation worse. I’ve only told a few of my closest friends who laugh mercilessly and beg for details.

He’s smiling and I’m not pregnant. He’s swinging a spatula at me and I’m breathless and giggling, trying my best to stop smiling while he chases me through the house with the best of carnal intentions… ignoring my shrieking laughter. Gahhhh make it stop!

My poor perfection… the dream guy who extends his already ridiculous hours into my subconscious acrobatics routine nightly while being none the wiser.

I can’t complain too much… it sure beats the heartburn and insomnia… but I may never be able to look him in the face again after last night.

Children, Family, Happiness, Truth, Whine/Rant

Jealousy is the ugliest color.

hifromtheyarden

…….. and I love green. I have beautiful green eyes that I have blessed my children with. My fabulous redheaded Grandmother passed them to me, along with her innate ability to spot a lie carefully wrapped in good intentions… or bad.

I am not one to fuck with and I am not one to question.

Once upon a time, I wasn’t the most faithful girlfriend or wife for that matter. I broke promises and vows without a second thought. I didn’t feel guilty because I had no respect for myself or my integrity. I worked overtime to learn the hard way and paid the ultimate price. I went through every bad scenario you can imagine and some so awful I’ve had people question their legitimacy after I blogged about the horror.

If I learned anything in failing so consistently, it’s that I’m pretty fucking successful when I set my sights on something I want. I began to look at men like my very own box of favorite crayons. I like the dark colors best… Silky smooth and untouched by my playmates. Give me a brand new box of crayons and color me happy. I perfected the sweet smile thrown from lashes lowered and curled with the knowledge they granted me. I can smile the one I want into submission. I know it. Knowing it makes it that much more successful.

Beyond the packaging I’d carefully perfected to entice my prey… I’m smart. I listened. I paid attention. I exploited their weaknesses to my benefit and counted their broken hearts like trophies. I damaged the besotted and was further compromised by the disinterested.

I sold out.

At the end of the long dark road, or at the bottom of the barrel rather, I found myself waking up next to the Vagina Hoarder. Something so simple as him setting my earrings on the night table beside a bed made with sheets so scorching hot the air conditioner couldn’t compete with the rotation of unsuspecting women… his kindness made me second guess myself and wonder if he really could be different? Perhaps one nice guy had slipped through my douche bag radar? He wasn’t my type. He wasn’t my favorite color. He was the broken ass stubby neon orange crayon at the bottom of the box that everybody leaves until all the rest of the colors are broken and thrown away. He was the conquest I could not conquer and the war I couldn’t win.

Jealousy got the best of me and I will never regret anything more than that bad orange crayon.

In learning my lesson the hardest of ways, I moved on and found a great counselor. I never wanted to find myself with a handful of the colors I hated most… and I was exhausted by my failures.

I met someone who was legitimately nice to me, and decided that I should be nice to me too. I learned to treasure the parts of myself that made other people respect me- not the superficial things I wasn’t proud of that purely made them want me. I learned my value and taught the people in my life to value me too. I turned a page. I took a breath. I calmed the fuck down and quit acting like the Queen of Crayons.

Everyone is entitled to burn through a box- but at some point we all have to learn to throw broken shit away. Crayons are a dime a dozen… what you do with them can result in priceless works of art or bullshit scribbled doodles.

When you take a long hard look in the mirror and don’t like what you see? It’s up to you to change it. Get your hands dirty and plant something you can watch grow if you don’t know where to start and need inspiration. Be a blessing in your own life and it all just gets easier.

Jealousy makes you ugly. Jealousy is a purely personal emotion that can destroy relationships, ruin your self esteem and create situations you cannot escape with the best of intentions.

I’m currently overwhelmed by the insecure jealousy of my partner and it depresses me in ways I can’t convey. At a time I should be doing nothing but embroidering tiny Q’s on miniature tshirts and planning for the birth of my dreams… I’m center stage, watching someone ruin their whole life & future based on a couple misguided insecurities. My friends have become a target, my relationships with people who would shovel my snow and help me tie my shoes are criticized and questioned. I am under fire and smiling in the face of a future I didn’t envision and understand people may criticize me for.

I worked too hard to be surrounded by people with knives pointed in my direction. I have faith in the progress I’ve made and the miles I must go before it gets easier. I have it all because I have faith in myself and the strength of my integrity.

My dreams have a way of going up in flames. My best intentions are often misunderstood.

But fuck with my children and the people I love and brace your jealous insecure self- because as zen, sweet and peaceful as I am these days… I am, at my core- your worst fucking nightmare when you forget who I am.

Question the people who love and help me, and you’ll learn what it is to have your motives questioned. Push me to protect my children and you will envy Salman Rushdie and his unending fatwa.

Like my mama always says…

Careful when you give someone an ultimatum… because they just might take it.

Sigh. I’m tired of being disappointed in the people I’m supposed to be able to have faith in.