There, But For The Grace Of God

I read a lot. I mean, a LOT. I haven't made much time for the novels that are piled in my closet, probably because I prefer getting lost in a good story without being interrupted. We all know THAT won't happen. But I read lots of blogs, and news articles. And since becoming closely involved with an amazing group of writers, I read most of what they post online, and most of what they share. I trust their choices in reading material for the most part, and more often than not, I greatly enjoy what they suggest.

Many of the posts I have read are stories that were inspired by pain. I find it comforting, on behalf of many of my friends, that they find some healing in the expression of their pain.

Today, as I was reading about the inner struggle of one of these amazing writers, I was hit by a realization: 

I DON'T STRUGGLE WITH SELF DOUBT. 

I'm not sure I ever realized before what an incredible blessing that is. It isn't that I haven't experienced pain. Maybe I haven't endured the kind of pain some of these courageous writers have battled through, like sexual abuse, drug addiction and clinical depression, but I have known hardship and pain. But there was never any question in my mind or in my heart that I would bounce back and come out better than before. 

I don't know where my confidence comes from. I'm not sure if it's something my parents taught me, but considering my mother's own struggles with self esteem, I would guess her influence is not solely responsible for my titanium backbone. She DID always keep me accountable for my actions, and taught my siblings and me to be responsible for each other, so I guess that surely was the basis for my strong character and my fierce integrity. But the KNOWING I would never be held down, that is something of a mystery. 

I have written before about betrayal. I have been betrayed more times than the typical human should ever have to know. Some people, (like my mother), might think I have ALLOWED this betrayal to happen. It has been suggested (by my mother), that I am too nice, and too trusting, and too forgiving, and that's what leads people to screw me over. That suggestion comes from people who have a need to lay blame. It comes from the mindset of someone who thinks it's easier to be suspicious and bitchy, and keep people on the outside, than to ever be "made a fool of". Frankly, when people screw me over, I don't ever feel like a fool. I think, "How sad to be them". 

With all the rollercoaster of lifetime experiences I have survived, a lesser person may have buckled. A person who struggles with self doubt might have shut down and withdrawn. I have even heard too many stories of people who have taken their own lives over much more seemingly benign struggles than I have conquered. While all those stories leave me feeling horribly sad for those who tell them, it also makes me feel intense gratitude for the strength with which I have been blessed. 

Each of us has our own threshold for pain. Each of us has our own tolerance level for hardship. There is no doubt that what we are all able to endure is completely relative to our strengths. But it makes me wonder why one person can be so much better able to withstand a struggle than the next. Why do some people struggle so terribly, while others breeze through trauma? 

The only explanation I can wrap my head around is, it's simply by the grace of God that I am able to survive it all, unscathed. Or for those who don't believe, it's pure luck. However a person may choose to look at it, it's a gift for which I am eternally grateful.

During times of extreme stress, including (but not limited to), parenting a severely autistic child, (comparable to the stress of combat soldiers), some folks might think I am a perfect candidate for anti anxiety meds, anti depressants, cold, hard drugs...but I've never had to head down that road. I do reach for a glass (or a bottle), of wine from time to time, and I have certainly had my days where a good, stiff vodka cocktail would take the edge off. But for the most part, I really handle it all while standing on my own two feet. (And walking a straight line:) But I don't EVER, under any circumstances think that makes me better than the person who DOES need extra help. On the contrary, it makes me feel intensely grateful to have been so blessed. And it makes me want more than anything to be able to help those who DON'T find it so easy to rise above.

When I write about the challenges of my life, you can be sure there will be a point in the story where I survive. For me, the survival comes easy. The more I read about the inner struggles of so many others, the more grateful I find myself feeling for the ease with which I achieve that survival. It has taken me many years to realize how very blessed I am. Living within the bubble of my own existence, I never had the privilege of knowing so many people who fought so vehemently through hardships I have never faced, and who, by whatever means necessary, made it out alive. In addition to my gratitude for my own strength, I am also thankful for coming to know such brave and giving individuals, who share their stories in an effort to heal their aching souls, and to extend a hand to anyone else who might be hurting too. I'm not sure if others who read these blogs realize how much strength and courage it takes for some of these writers to share their stories. I wonder if some of the readers ever take a moment to really appreciate how much of a writer's soul goes into what they share. Not me, but the writers who really battle with the stories they share, and pull it all together to share them anyway.

As for me, I'm a tank. I'm a Phoenix. I'm the Honey Badger. I felt the need to put my epiphany into words. I don't ever want to take my strength for granted. I don't ever want to forget how easily survival comes to me, or how very difficult it is for others. I want to remember EVERY DAY to be grateful for who I am and what I have, and for the truly remarkable friends I have made, who share their lives in the written word. Those friends may have no idea what a gift they are, and how much I am affected by what they write. But by sharing these thoughts, I hope they will know how very much I appreciate who they are, and what they do. I am a better person for knowing them. I am a more grateful person. I am richer in all the ways that matter most. By sharing these thoughts, I hope I can remind even one more person to appreciate what others endure, and be thankful for every day we survive. It's all a gift. 

Fuck You, Tina Marie Ernspiker

It actually killed a few of my brain cells to even have read your post, Ms. Ernspiker, but after seeing so much reaction to it, I simply felt there was no way I could NOT weigh in.

I may not be a big, fancy, schmancy blogger like yourself, and truthfully, I only started blogging, mostly on Facebook, a little over two years ago. But what I have to say has value, even if it is buried in profanity.

There may be only a comparitively few people who check in to read my thoughts, but among them are a good number of folks who are helped by the things I share. I have written a great deal about the struggles through which I accompany my son on his autism journey. I have written about just trying to keep breathing in a hateful, broken marriage, and I write about the hardship of divorce. All of those situations can be pretty FUCKworthy. More importantly, everything I write about is real. Truthful. Genuine. Authentic. And I don't feel the need to sugar coat or gloss over the fuckity fucks because a tightass, pompous, holier-than-thou douchewad expresses a belief that my choice of colorful language  may indicate I am somehow less intelligent than she is. Does my language portray me as a neanderthal? Considering the positive changes I help bring to so many, anyone who might choose to believe me to be somehow intellectually beneath themselves, strictly based on my very sailor-like potty mouth would actually be making more of a statement about his or her own narrow mind.

I make a very conscious effort to keep from passing judgment on others. I slip. I'm human. But I would never presume to turn my nose up at anyone, simply because they DON'T swear. I don't roll my eyes and declare them to be uptight, goody-goodies. And yet, you feel you are somehow above me, and in a position to assume, and then post the judgment, that by using vocabulary you, yourself are uncomfortable with, I am trying to bait my readers with sensational language. Perhaps if you would pull that giant pole out from up your ass, you could stop squinting long enough to see that there are lots of intelligent words between all the bastards and cocksuckas.

I have family and dear friends who are ministers and devoted, churchgoing people. When I am in their presence, or in personal conversations with them, I show the utmost respect to their views, and curb my vocabulary. But on my blog, on my Facebook page, it's my chapel. I'm free to express myself as my thoughts and feelings pour out of my head and my soul. Do you know why I write it exactly as I feel it? Because it's real. It's human. People want to relate to experiences that are real. They don't want to read something that is heavily coated in whatever you deem to be PROPER, so they can feel like they are somehow not good enough, or that they are failing because they can't hold it together quite as well as you seem to be.

There are so many aspects of my life that would have made a lesser person break a long time ago. But I talk about it all. I write about it as a way of relieving myself of some of the weight of all the stress. I also write for other people who are just trying to keep breathing, and just need to know that on the days they feel like they a failing at life, there are other people who are not getting it all right either. And most of the time, my honest expression comes out in the very colorful sound of the streets of Brooklyn. Because I'm from the streets of Brooklyn. Glorious, badass, holier-than-thou-tightasses-would-never-survive Brooklyn.

Before I drop my mic on your snobby ass, I would just like to respond to a few of your points:

Yes, you ARE being self righteous.
If you're going to compare writers who swear, to a presumably suicidal rodent, you should do the research and realize it is a fallicy, and really just an adorable little creature. So thank you:)
Just because you are able to express yourself without swearing, doesn't make you better than anyone, and doesn't make anyone want to be LIKE you.
Yes, I CAN write honestly without swearing. But I prefer to write exactly as I speak, as if we were all sitting around the coffee table, freely and comfortably. No worries. No judgment.
I don't give a fat, flying rat's ass if you ever visit my blog. Nobody will miss you.
And I'm just going to keep my own blog rated F, for...well, you know.

Becoming the Phoenix

Going through divorce is hard. Every fight and painful event that led up to the divorce was harder. I'm sure HIS side of the story would paint me horribly. Some of it would be true. But one thing that is ABSOLUTELY true:

I never cheated.

He can NOT say the same.

I have come a long way since finding out the truth. Upon making the devastating discovery, I fell into a depression that consumed me for a while. I was stunned for a bit, and didn't have a clue what I was going to do. We have kids. I wanted him to leave, but I needed him to stay. It was a monumental inner struggle that lasted over two years, until he finally moved out. Those two years were ugly in many ways, but the transformation that took place in ME, as a woman, as an individual, can only be compared to the Phoenix, rising from the ashes.

Discovering the man who promised to love me forever was, in fact, loving someone else, knocked the wind out of me. It pulled the floor out from under me. There is a grieving process that takes place when you are mourning the loss of "happily ever after", (which I now FULLY believe is an impossibly elusive myth). It is very much like mourning the death of a loved one. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance...they are all there to some degree. I could probably have added devastation, self loathing, temporary schizophrenic tendencies, and near homocidal rage, among other emotions. But once the tornado died down, I emerged, like a hunk of carbon rich rock that endured the intense heat and pressure occurring 100 miles beneath the surface of the earth, a shining diamond, precious and infinitely stronger than before.

Some of that tornado left me feeling empty. So much of what I felt and did was a reaction to feeling so deeply betrayed. And because I knew HER, (let's not go there today), it was even harder. I wanted to know everything.

How long was it going on?

How far did it go?

Did anyone else know?

Was I being laughed at?

Social media made it a THOUSAND times worse. We had all "blocked" each other on every social media outlet. I had no way of knowing if THEY were connected online. While he was still living at home, I wanted to know if he was in contact with her, but I was shut out. I couldn't check his phone or his computer. I found myself constantly driving past her house, and looking for where he parked his truck. The NEED to know had taken me over. I was so frustrated by NOT knowing, I would often find myself sitting on the floor in my bedroom, crying, unable to breathe, having chest pains. I was eating baby aspirin to keep from giving myself a stroke, because even though I felt like the world was completely falling apart, I still had kids who needed me. I was not much good to them for a few months. I would cry, and my daughter would cry. I felt like I was suffocating.

My daughter's face was what ultimately pushed me on my feet. I don't remember what it was she needed me for, but I do remember telling her, "Mommy just can't come down right now". And the look on her face was NOT of sadness or disappointment. It was a look of understanding. She understood that I was feeling so devastated, I couldn't drag my ass out of bed to interact with my kids because HE was home. I was teaching my daughter that when life gets too hard, it's best to just check out for a while. She was ten years old, and I was teaching her it was ok to just give up. I couldn't live with that.

And that was the day I made the choice to JUST STOP CARING.

I wasn't going to care if he was with her. I wouldn't care where he was. I wouldn't care if he lived or died. It was the greatest choice I made in the entire process.

I have to tell you, it WAS NOT easy. Most people don't realize how very much we are in control of how we will feel about a given situation. It really is as simple as CHOOSING to feel one way or another. But then, we have to COMMIT to feeling it. It takes careful thought, and every ounce of strength we possess, but it can be done. I did it. I completely convinced myself that I just no longer cared if he was with her. He might have been living under the same roof as I was, but he was not WITH me in any way. He had completely disconnected. So it didn't matter if he was with her. When I felt the urge to drive past her house, I would take a deep breath and swallow it down. Many times, I would tell myself out loud, "I just don't care where he is. You DON'T need to know. It doesn't change anything." I stopped asking him where he was working, I stopped checking his pockets, I started breathing again. I focused on my kids, and I focused on me. I began to heal.

Because I had no smoking gun, no naked photos, I wanted more than anything to believe I could be wrong. I wanted to hold out hope that we could fix this. I found out the hard way, he had other plans. When he snuck out in the middle of the day, I was blindsided. But because I had begun to condition myself to life without him, even while he was still here, I was better able to handle the blow.

At some time early in the process, I had started an anonymous Facebook page, to talk about my life. I talked about my kids, about autism, and about the failing marriage. I couldn't talk about any of what I was going through on my personal FB page. Nobody wanted to hear me "airing my dirty laundry" in such a public forum. But anonymously, I found people who could relate to my story, and that gave me strength, too. Life as a parent makes it difficult sometimes to have friends of our own. Being a parent to an autistic child makes having friends even harder. There was no one to talk to. My FB page saved me. I have found friends there whose presence in my life has become invaluable. There are frequent visitors to my page who are truly a part of my life. And there are so many people who relate to my story because it has happened to them. Every day, I hear a new story of betrayal. It breaks me all over again, each time a friend is hurting the way I was hurting. I want to fix it. I want to help them. I want to kick the significant other in the nads. I want to write the homewrecking whore's phone number across the cybersphere, and I want to go full on, Carrie Underwood-Louisville-slugger on the bastard's car. I won't do any such thing. But I want to help. I want to make it easier on my friends.

To that end, I have made a list of a few things the "recently betrayed" might consider, upon finding themselves in that emotional tornado:

1) Double check your privacy settings on your personal page. Make sure you check off the most private setting, where only your CLOSE friends can see what you post. And then post NOTHING about what you're going through.

2) Go through every person on your friends list, (yes, this is tedious, but worth the peace of mind), and edit the "friends list" setting to allow access ONLY to those you are comfortable with. If there are people you don't want to unfriend, but are not sure of how much you want them to see, switch them to "restricted".

3) Create an alternate account, in a name no one you know will associate with you. Then you can still search for those who have you blocked.

4) DON'T USE THE ALTERNATE ACCOUNT TO SEARCH FOR THOSE WHO HAVE YOU BLOCKED. Unless it's absolutely necessary. It sucks a piece of your soul when you get consumed by the investigating. And chances are, they have tightened up their privacy settings too, and you won't be able to see anything anyway.

5) MOST IMPORTANTLY, there will come a time when you realize this situation is eating you alive. This is when you will have to make the choice to stop caring. It is the hardest thing you will ever do, but the best thing you can do for your inner peace. Every time you feel the need to search, or stalk, or even peek, breathe deeply and tell yourself that neither of them should have that much power over you. If you feel like you have to constantly be wondering if they are in contact, or you always have to be searching and checking, it will eliminate any chance you might have to feel at peace. You have no idea how important that is.

Recently, my brother and SIL stayed at my house for a weekend. Early on a Saturday morning, my SIL got me out of the house to go Walmart shopping. As soon as we pulled out of the driveway, she asked, "Where does he live? Let's go see if that bitch's car is there." I told her "I really have no need to know. I decided a long time ago that if he doesn't want me, it's HIS loss, and it just doesn't matter who he's with". She told me she couldn't believe I could be so calm, and that SHE would need to know everything they were doing, and would probably have beaten the shit out of them both. Yup. I get it. It's what I WANTED to do. But I can't go to jail. My kids deserve a happy, peaceful mom, and I deserve that for myself. Those two assholes have taken enough from me and my kids. I won't let them have my happiness and my peace.

To anyone who is going through this pain, you will get through it. It's going to suck for a long time before it gets better, but it WILL get better. And always keep in mind you are NOT alone. There are others who have been there, and can be an example of coming out so much better on the other side, or maybe they will just be a shoulder. Or an ear. Just know, it gets better. And if it makes you feel better, start an anonymous FB page and call it "Flushing the Catfish", or "The Trash Takes ITSELF Out". Or maybe YOUR page could be "Rebuilding After The Fire". Whatever you need to do, to convince yourself there can be life after betrayal, do that. And don't forget to dance:)

Autism...And ONLY The Version Of Autism I Know Personally

A long time ago, (three years, really), I opened up a Facebook account, and dug my way out of extreme loneliness. I have written before about how isolating the life of an autism parent can be. In all honesty, parenting ALL kids can leave us isolated if we don't find our own outlets for social interaction, but for parents of children with disabilities, (or DIFFERING abilities, because God forbid someone should be offended), I promise you, the struggle is VASTLY different. This post is not about who "has it hardest". There are just challenges that come with parenting a child with...um...challenges, that you can't fathom unless you experience that challenge. If you think I'm wrong, come on over for a weekend. You can wear my shoes.

I don't mean to tell this part of the story because I need sympathy, pity, donations, a pat on the back...I tell this as a matter of fact. It just is. But I needed to state that matter of fact, to set up what I really want to talk about.

Dignity.

I tell true stories about what goes on in our lives. To be honest, autism is probably a small part of our lives, but it does manage to touch every other aspect, so it becomes bigger than it seems to be. My own child is severely autistic. His level of understanding is probably less than that of a two year old, and he has NO COMPREHENSION of social media or opinions of others. If I see another child pointing at my son and laughing, or making comments, it rips me to my core, but it doesn't affect my son in the slightest manner. What others think or say has no meaning to my boy. He could see a group of kids pointing at him, and he would simply continue smiling in his way because that scene from Rudolph is still playing in his head. He doesn't understand the concept of shame, embarrassment, cruelty, or anything else that has the potential to emotionally hurt him.

When I tell stories of having to clean sheets almost every day because my 14 year old son is a bed wetter, I don't tell those stories because my son is too cognitively impaired to be embarrassed by them. I tell them because there are too many parents out there who are isolated, and they have no one. And when they are going through some of these same struggles, they think they are doing something wrong. They feel like they are failing. They are NOT failing. Like me, they simply haven't found a solution yet. Maybe there IS no solution. There are lots of folks who would disagree, (I'm currently divorcing one of them), but the people who are loudest with their criticism, are often the most silent when you ask for help, or an answer to the problem. (And before we go off on THAT tangent, I have tried limiting his liquid intake and waking him up in the middle of the night. We just end up with a thirsty kid who doesn't always go back to sleep.) Bed wetting is just one example of something that is a little harder for our kids to overcome, but it was the first example that popped in my head of a story that might be embarrassing to the average NT (neurotypical) kid. It means nothing to my child.

I also tell the true stories because there are lots of folks out there who have very misguided views on what life with autism might be like. There are the exhausting "Rain Man" references, (a movie character who wasn't even autistic...), the horror stories that are told in an effort to compel folks to open their wallets and change laws, (even if these stories make you sick, they are a necessary evil, because they make it possible for our kids to get help when they need it, so simmer down), and there are the beautifully painted rainbows and butterflies stories, that only emphasize the most positive and heart swelling moments we experience. And then there are the real life stories.

When I first logged onto Facebook and found other parents who were talking about some of what we were going through, I was elated!! I found people I could talk to who weren't judging me, or telling me I was wrong about everything. There were people who didn't second guess every, single fucking choice I made for my son. These people weren't calling me every time the news was about to report the latest "cause of autism" or the "latest autism treatment" (that we had tried, unsuccessfully four years earlier). These people just "got it". As I continued to interact with some of the public autism related pages, I began to realize that I had something helpful to say. So many of the parents I encountered were just starting out on this autism parenting path, and were struggling with so much of what I had already overcome. I realized I could make a positive difference. I had no idea how big a difference I would be making in my own life, and how many others would find comfort in what I had to say, but I knew I was meant to do this.

When I tell the stories of the hardships and the joys, (because I promise you, there are plenty of both), I am careful to consider the possible ways my son could be impacted by our public story. Believe me, I WISH I could ask his permission before discussing our private moments on such a public forum. But I can't. I am not trading my child's dignity for a chance at helping someone else. I am helping someone else feel less alone, offering solutions wherever I can, and hopefully educating those who have no clear understanding of the reality that some people would prefer to hide. Providing this reality to people who might otherwise have no way of knowing the truth is my way of clearing a path of greater understanding and acceptance for my boy, exactly as he is.

Now, there are some folks, who disagree. There are people who are high functioning autistic individuals who are offended when some parents tell the true story. I absolutely respect the right of these folks to object. I believe that if a child is able to understand the impact of their story being told, they should be included in the process of deciding what parts of the story are made public. At least, that's how I feel about my own contributions to the conversation. If I am telling about something relating to my older son, I discuss it with him. Even though my daughter is not on Facebook, and doesn't read anything I have to say, she is aware that I sometimes talk about how much she drives me crazy, and she thinks it's pretty funny. I chose from the very beginning to tell my story anonymously, because I DIDN'T want people in our personal circles to have the opportunity to think they knew us better than they actually did. I didn't want them to feel they had a deeper perspective from which to judge us, (and they WOULD). And I felt the need to protect everyone in the story, including my most vocal critic, who has thankfully exited the building:) Telling the truth and sharing a difficult story with people who can relate is a therapeutic and cathartic outlet. It is also life changing, and in some cases, life saving, to find someone with whom we can relate. It is never my intention to purposefully or thoughtlessly paint anyone in a negative light.

I understand how some of these folks who are offended can find fault with those of us who share our truth. I understand that by talking about the difficulties that some of us live with every day, the general public can be misunderstanding, and lump every autistic person under a single, umbrella category. To me, this is only another reason we HAVE TO speak up and tell the truth. There IS no umbrella category. When we say "If you've met one person with autism, you've met ONE person with autism", it is the truest and most accurate way to describe how very different and completely INDIVIDUAL each person with autism really is. By telling my story, it is NOT my intention to imply that EVERY person with autism experiences the same challenges as my child. It is simply my intention to find one other person who will read it and say, "Me too". I need that. They need that. Every person who ever struggles with ANY challenge needs to know there is someone out there who can say, "Me too". It is inherently human to NOT want to feel alone.

My own child will be dependent for the rest of his life. I don't say this as a complaint. It is simply a fact. He is a dependent, but he is NEVER a burden. Not to me. Not to his brother or his sister. It is my joy and my privilege to be his mother and to care for him until I take my last breath. I have had these conversations with my oldest and my youngest. They both understand and insist that their brother will always be loved and cared for, no matter what should ever happen to me. I ask them both, "But what if you marry someone who doesn't really want to be responsible for your autistic brother?" The answer I get from them both, "Why would I EVER marry someone who didn't completely accept that I am responsible for my brother?" I included this conversation here because it needs to be completely understood, no matter how difficult our days might sometimes be, my autistic child is loved, wanted and cherished every single day of his life. Every. Day.

Sometimes life with autism is hard. Sometimes it's really hard. But here's a newsflash: parenting EVERY child is hard. The hardships of autism aren't "worse"...they are different. The hardship of a challenge is relative to the capacity a parent has for facing that challenge. So my own level of strength might deem our challenges rather small in comparison to those of the more easily flustered parent of an average, NT child.

But I'm never trying to make a comparison. That's kind of the whole point.

The people who take offense to how I share my story are certainly free to express their opinion. I pray every day for the miracle that would allow my son to tell me he is upset by the sharing of our story. If that day should ever come, I'll be happy to explain to him how badly his mom needed to find these people who understood. I'll gladly tell him how many other parents were helped by the sharing of our experience. I'll be proud to tell him how many people were educated by the stories I told. And if he should choose to hate me for making these choices on his behalf, I will accept the consequences of my actions.

I know for a fact that sharing my story has helped people. I know it has helped ME. I am certain it has helped to shine a light that will illuminate a path for my son and others. If people choose to be offended by that, I'm sorry, but that's a choice they will have to live with. I don't disrespect your right to feel the way you do, so please don't crap all over mine.

For now, I'm just going to keep doing what I do, and pray the folks who need to hear my story will somehow find their way to it. The folks who are offended by what I share are free to NOT READ IT. And to anyone who finds their ANONYMOUS part in the story to be unpleasant, in the immortal words of Anne Lamott, "If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better".

Now I'm just going to light the campfire and we can all sing Kumbaya. Or you can leave my campsite. Eeny meeny.

Dear Future Test Pilot,

I mentioned in a recent post that I was not opposed to someday finding love again. It's not among my greatest hopes and dreams. I won't set myself up for that kind of disappointment. Although, if it should stumble into my life, I'm not so arrogant as to turn my nose up at it. But because I have been so hurt, so many times, I think I can safely say, the road for the man who is unfortunate enough to be the one with whom I "test the waters" of romance, will not be an easy one.

I don't have any intention of signing up for any online dating sites. They may work for some folks, but I once had a friend who had quite a few horror stories, and more than one (or twenty) booty call incidences, and I really just have no interest in sifting through. If it's going to happen for me, it will happen the old fashioned way. Or not.

Since I won't be filling out a "dating profile", I thought I would put together a few guidelines so the poor soul won't have to go in completely on the blind:

1) If we are casually dating, (dinner, movies, a drink now and then), your privacy is all yours. The moment you think you might want an exclusive relationship, it's all cards on the table. No secrets. No lies. If you have a secret passcode on your phone, your computer, your tablet, or any other means of hiding shit, in my head, you are a sneaky, lying snake. It doesn't matter how much you're not. It's either full disclosure, or don't let the door hit ya where the Good Lord split ya. I know you shouldn't be punished for the sins of another man, but you will be. This is non-negotiable.

2) I had a life before I met you. If you are jealous of any part of that life, adios. I won't apologize or pretend it never happened. I'm not throwing out my wedding album or the video, because my daughter deserves to know that there was once a time when her parents were very much in love. And I deserve to have that memory as well. It was a beautiful time in my life, which is the reason it was all so painful when it ended so badly. That part is over, but it will always be a part of who I've become. It might be a source of irritation, but I promise you, that broken union is largely responsible for the confident, happy woman I am. However, if you are kind enough to build me a firepit, we can pull that giant wedding photo out from behind the wall unit, and roast marshmallows over it:)

3) I have kids. Don't let this point being number 3 fool you. This is the most important thing about me. You will never come before my children. Because I am a kickass mother, my children will always be respectful of you, and any place you may earn in my life, but I am their mother before I am anything. If that's a problem, Just. Don't. Even.

4) I have a big family. They are needy. They are a little off the wall. (Ok...a lot.) They are loud. (Although, I am probably the loudest.) I have said on numerous occasions, our family soundtrack is from Ringling Brothers. My mom has such an intense resting bitch face, you might flinch when she walks in the room. At least until she sees you treating me well. Should she pick up a different vibe from you, just run.

5) While all 3 of my kids are equally important to me, my oldest and youngest, have and will move away, respectively. My middle child is severely autistic, minimally verbal, and completely dependent. He will always be with me. There will never be an empty nest. There will never be romantic traveling in our golden years. My ex is probably someday going to be enjoying all the freedom that comes with an empty nest. He has most of the benefits of that now. I don't give a shit. My boy will be with me until I take my last breath. He's a good boy, most of the time, and entertains himself. But he's mine. I brought him into this world, and I will guide him through it until my body ceases to carry me.

6) Because my boy can't tell me what happens during the course of his day, I don't have any options for working full time. I don't have anyone I trust to care for him, I won't ask my daughter to give up her childhood to care for him, and I can't afford to pay for child care. If you enjoy a rich lifestyle, I won't be able to contribute to that fund. I love going out and having fun like anyone might. But I've learned to live without it.

7) Flowers are nice. But if you want to impress me, Beringers White Zinfandel. I don't want more expensive wine. I just want what I love.

8) I love Christmas. I love to decorate BIG!!! If you ever move me, wherever I live will depend on whether or not I can light up the front lawn like a landing strip for Santa and his team, If you are on board with helping me string lights around the free world so my house would shame Clark Griswold, we'll be good:)

9) I am a decent cook. Some things I make really well. Some things I will never get right. But I am tired. I appreciate surprise Chinese food.

10) I have internet friends. I love them. Really love them. If this is silly to you, just keep on walking. Their friendship is real. How I feel when I talk to them is real. How we hold each other up is real. Don't disrespect the people in the screen.

11) There may come a time when we choose to be intimate. This may be very tricky. I have pushed out three children, (the largest of whom was 9 pounds 10 ounces). I have reached a point in my life where sneezing has become a hazard. It has been a REALLY long time since any man has ventured down that road, and I'm relatively sure, opening that door would result in a dust storm of epic proportions. So between the faulty bladder and the possibility of Operation Desert Storm, you may need a raincoat, or a dust mask. Or both.

12) I am a part time blogger. If you are good to me, and prefer I keep the details of our (future) relationship out of the public eye, I can respect your wishes. If you are a douche, I will bury you. Not actually...I always remain within the confines of the law. But if you disrespect me, the story of you that I tell, will be truthful, and you will be sorry you were a douche. So don't be a douche.

As for the rest, you will have to figure it all out as we go. In one of those ancient mating rituals of asking questions. To my face.

And yes...all the above guidelines apply to me as well. Do unto others. And shit.

We've Been Poisoned By These Fairy Tales

I recently posted a picture on Facebook, of a frog (or toad) that chose to grace the wall outside my front door. I had some laughs with my friends, and we looked up the folklore concerning frogs among different cultures. There were also a lot of "Prince Charming" comments. Considering the fairy tales that most of us grew up watching and listening to, it was certainly a logical turn for the conversation to take.

My own "Prince Charming" tale led me to believe, WAY BEFORE the marriage was over, that Don Henley was SO VERY RIGHT, and we HAVE been poisoned by these fairy tales. We grew up being told by our parents, and our grandparents, and Walt Disney, that if we wish hard enough, and behave in JUST the right way, some day, our prince will come. Considering how many unions actually end badly, I think it's safe to say that a lot of us make mistakes. The "Prince" turns out to be not quite as "princely" as we had hoped, and many of the "princesses" don't hold up their end of the bargain either. But I will tell you my theory on exactly why these tragic endings occur. No matter how many relationships go the distance, those fortunate, "happily ever after" success stories don't happen because somebody was "Prince Charming". Want to know how I know?

It's because THAT FUCKER IS DEAD.

There is NO SUCH THING as Prince Fucking Charming.

I wish I could describe to you how badly I want to shout that from the mountain tops!

There are LOTS of people who find love, and those couples will grow old together, and hold hands, and welcome children, and grandchildren. The very lucky ones will be around to share in the joy of great grandchildren. But there are lots of people who are NOT so lucky. I'm not even sure that "lucky" is the term I want to apply here, because some folks NEVER find a partner with whom they will share a life. Does that mean they have FAILED at life?

I follow a lot of Facebook pages that post uplifting and inspirational photos and quotes. I enjoy feeling uplifted by their positivity as opposed to only seeing the negative posts of all the "offended" Facebookers. I do my best to scroll past the petty and constantly complaining posts that will sometimes dominate my newsfeed. But lately, I find myself feeling perplexed by some of the posts that tend to have a "fairy tale" feel. There are suggestions that I "just haven't found him yet". Or "the love of your life is out there somewhere".

But what if he's not?

What if THIS is all there is?

What if I had my chance, and I blew it?

Ten years ago, the very idea that I might spend the rest of my life alone would have devastated me. I might've needed medication for the anxiety I would've felt at the idea of NOT growing old with "the love of my life". So much has changed since then, and I have to tell you, if nobody else ever comes along, THAT'S FUCKING FINE BY ME!!

I wish my parents would stop looking at me with sympathy. I wish my brothers would stop wracking their brains, trying to think of which of their single friends they want to fix me up with. I wish people would stop suggesting which online dating sites I should explore. Who wants to deal with that shit?!!

For the first time in my life, I am in charge of EVERY...SINGLE...THING I want to do. Finances (or lack, thereof) may dictate most of what I CAN'T do, but nobody else gets to tell me where I should go, what I should be doing, or what time I have to go home. I am seriously DRUNK with power over my own life right now.

I may be living on the balls of my ass at the moment, and as some people have suggested, it sure would be nice to meet someone who I could spend some time with, maybe go out once in a while to see a movie or go out for dinner, and who maybe wouldn't mind sharing the bills. But I have absolutely NO INTENTION of setting myself up on a mission to seek out some mystical "Prince Charming", so I can feel lost, lonely, and like I have somehow failed when it doesn't happen. Frankly, I think we fail ourselves when we put the responsibility of our future happiness in the hands of an IDEA of who we're supposed to end up with, as suggested by a cartoon. That's not fair. It's not fair to put that much pressure on a future partner, and it's surely not fair to set such an impossibly high bar for ourselves.

The reality is, I would love to be a part of a couple. It's been such a long time since I have FELT like a partner, the road has sometimes been really lonely. But walking this quiet road, with only my own thoughts and hopes to keep me company, I have learned something invaluable.

I LOVE myself.

It has taken me all of these 50+ years to realize that no one in my life could make me happy, because ONLY I can make that happen. When I finally stopped trying to be the person SOMEONE ELSE needed me to be, and learned to feel comfortable in exactly who I am, I finally learned what it was to be TRULY HAPPY.

If someday I should meet someone who doesn't mind dealing with all the crazy and dark places in my head that come from being hurt and betrayed, (and THAT will be the topic of my next post...), I'm certainly not closing my heart to the possibility of finding love again. But knowing with all my heart that there is no mythical being out there who will come and "save" me, and that the success of any future relationship will depend completely on an equal investment of dedication from TWO partners, gives me a better chance at succeeding in a future bond. But more importantly than that, I am perfectly content with my own company, and will never feel like I am somehow "less than", or "incomplete" because I am not half of a couple. I am COMPLETE, all by myself. Do you have any idea how freeing that realization is?

Now that I have reached a place on my life's journey where I am perfectly happy with who I am, and will never again feel like being single is the worst thing that could ever have happened to me, my only mission is to make sure my children know their own worth, and that THEY never feel like they are doing something "wrong" because their lives don't measure up to an archaic idea of "happily ever after". I have had a longtime ban on anything "Cinderella" in this house. It really doesn't matter though, because that same fantasy is endorsed in so many other components of life. Television, movies, music...all full of suggestions that "true love" is the answer to all of life's problems. I would say that was all wrong, except it isn't, because when we realize that true love of SELF is the key to finding happiness in this life, THAT'S when true love wins. Only then can we be successful in sharing ourselves on the way to "happily ever after" with another person. Or not. If I manage to successfully drill that into my kids, at the very least by setting an example of it, then I will someday die

My Mother Is A Superbitch, And I Couldn't Be More Proud

As we celebrate Mother's Day, I felt it necessary to pay tribute to my own mother.

My mom comes from a big family. She grew up with four sisters and one brother. She was number 4 in the chronological lineup, and because one of the older siblings was the only brother, my mom was a true middle child. She wasn't the oldest...(the leader), wasn't the youngest, (the spoiled brat), but she was lost, right smack in the middle of the bunch. She was always well behaved, did well in school, and wanted nothing more in her childhood life than to please her mother.

Her dad, who I have never heard a kind word about, died when she was eight years old. From the eight years she knew him, she doesn't have a single happy memory of him. He was a bartender, and often came home drunk, accusing his wife of running around with other men, and often showing her why she shouldn't. She never was, of course. But sometimes, when a person is guilty of betraying the one they are supposed to love, they can try to alleviate their own guilt by projecting it onto the very one they have betrayed.

Because he worked nights, he slept during the day. The house had to be quiet so he could sleep. NOBODY wanted to interrupt his sleep. But in a house with six children, quiet is not an easy feat. On the days he was disturbed, God help the one who was in his line of vision. Very often, it was my mother.

She went to school with terrible bruises on the backs of her legs...so bad, that her brother would often walk behind her, to hide what happened when daddy's sleep was disrupted. He couldn't keep the beatings from happening, but he could keep his sister from feeling ashamed if anyone were to see. He was a good brother.

When my grandfather died in a tragic accident, my mother's youngest sister was only a year old. He died on her first birthday. I'm pretty sure my mother felt nothing but relief when he passed away. She doesn't talk about it much, and when she does, she looks completely unnerved, as if she feels guilty for never having missed him.

Mom spent the rest of her childhood trying to please her mother. My Nana worked hard, having to earn a living to feed six kids, and as each child became of age to get a job, they each did, and helped with the household expenses. Once my mom was old enough to work, she brought home every paycheck, and handed it all right over to Nana. Nana never dated. She never found someone to help her. She never took a moment for herself, to even try to find love for herself. She focused completely on taking care of her kids. She raised them on the straight and narrow, and grew them into responsible adults. (So much for the runaround hussy Grandpa tried to make her out to be!)

Fast forward to the time when my parents meet, fall in love, get married...all on the way to "happily ever after"...

My dad came into the marriage already divorced, and with a four year old son. My parents took custody of my brother, and I came along next. Then every two years, a brother, a brother and a sister. So five kids in our happy home. Five...wild...wacky kids.

We all got into our fair share of trouble. My mother beat the crap out of us, with whatever household apparatus she could grab quickly...a shoe, a belt, a wooden spoon, a hot wheels track, (those bitches hurt like a...well, a bitch!)...back then, that was how you handled unruly children. She had an almost boomarang-like slipper, and none of us wanted to piss her off when she was standing close to the silverware. We all learned a million lessons, and whatever emotional scars we took away from it all, they were nothing compared to the strength we gained from how much she loved us.

Besides the military style discipline, my mom enjoyed every minute of the fun stuff she gave us. We didn't have much money, but mom always found a way to make things special. She did crafty stuff with us, she cut our sandwiches into holiday themed shapes, she was the Brownie troop leader, she got all the boys to baseball games and practices, let me take guitar lessons at the afterschool center, and made me a candy covered corsage for every birthday. We had special weekend mornings, when we would sit together, drinking tea and eating fresh baked corn muffins with butter and jelly. Sometimes, we would stay up late, and play cards, while we snacked on cold cereal. When I think of those times, I can close my eyes and smell the Cocoa Puffs.

In addition to raising her own five kids, she often had her nieces and nephews with us. As all four of her sisters went through divorce, (one of them 3 times), and headed into the full-time work force, my mom often helped out with summertime child care, and she would be with us all in the yard from right after breakfast, (and making us all clean up the house, make our beds, and whatever else needed to be done), until the moon was high overhead, and our fingers and toes were deeply "pruned". And even though we didn't have much, I always compare her attitude about having extra family to feed, to a line from a song in "Oliver Twist"..."Who cares? What...ever we got, we share!"

I entered my teens, and became a rebel. The stories of my adolescence are definitely the subject of another post, but let's just say, I was NOT an easy teenager. Even after I moved out at almost 18, and spent some time not speaking to my mom, she has always been the "constant" in my life. There was NEVER a time I really needed her and she wasn't there. She told me when I was wrong, and then she told me she loved me anyway.

When I was 18, and I was in the hosptal with a ruptured ovarian cyst, my mother never left my side. When I broke her heart and moved to Texas with my boyfriend, and then a year later, I called her to say he had given me two black eyes for Easter, and I think this was a mistake, she held back her "told ya so" until much later, and she bought me a plane ticket home. When I moved in with that bartender with the gorgeous blue eyes and a motorcycle, she cringed, and still invited him for holiday dinners. When, after seven years together, I told her she was going to be a Nana, and NO, I wouldn't be marrying him right now, she was with me every step of the way. When my boy was four months old, and I told my mom I didn't want to raise my baby with this drunken, cheating asshole anymore, she said, "Come home". Throughout my 22 years wth MAC, she has been there for every important moment...for the good and the bad. Now that I'm on my own again, she is still the one person I know will always be there for me.

Now, don't get me wrong...my mom has made plenty of mistakes. She is crazy as the day is long, and could give lessons in how to be a superbitch. She tends to overanalyze everything, she takes everything personally, and uses anger as a shield when she feels hurt. She was a scapegoat for all her father's anger, and even though he's been gone for over 65 years, she carries a deep defensiveness everywhere she goes because of it. She is insanely jealous, and God help my poor father if he happens to be looking up when a pretty girl walks in the room. And God help the woman who has her hands on my dad or a few seconds too long. Mom would give her left arm to help someone in need, but if you hurt one of her loved ones, she would just as soon cut you without blinking. And even at almost 74 years of age, my mother is NOT a woman to be trifled with. If you ever see her eyes widen, her jaw move forward, and that deep crease between her eyebrows appear, just run.

My mother may have given us our fair share of beatings as kids, but all five of us would kill for her. And dysfunctional as we are, because of how she raised us, we would kill for each other, too. We have a fierce bond because of how she raised us. In a family of five kids, there is something to be said for that kind of loyalty.

There are so many individual stories I could tell to honor my mother, but I think the best way to show my gratitude for all she has done for me, is to continue being the very best mother I possibly can be.  Because of my mother, I know that even though I will make mistakes, there is nothing on this planet I wouldn't do for my kids. And my kids know that. And they know I can go from zero to superbitch if they screw up, and I will hold them accountable. So I guess they can thank Nana. And I can thank her. Thanks, mom.