So, I have very crazy, involved, cinematic dreams. I am not one for dream interpretation or putting too much meaning into them, besides basic moods they generate. This is unimportant. Where I want to start is that I’ve also been sleeping a lot lately. The way my brain deals with stress is to just turn the fuck off and I have to sleep or lay quietly on my side staring at the wall for a time. It’s always been that way, but recent times have really made this not so desirable quality about my brain very very urgent and important and frequent, much to the chagrin of my partner and children, who don’t like me sleeping all day and then not sleeping at night. AGAIN, not why we’re here.
So, not to bore you with the details of my dream, and trust me this is the quickest way to get to where we’re going, and fully comprehending that hearing about another’s very odd dream is much more exciting to the sharer than the listener, here’s a quick synopsis of the pertinent parts of my dream:
There was a family with many siblings, many generations, and great great wealth. They owned many businesses, both important and small, and had many vanity projects and charity projects and different ways of looking at the world. Some of the members of the family had abdicated their responsibility, let their more business driven or outspoken or “assholeish” members of the family make the decisions about the vast wealth, happy to live on the margins and excess.
Ten years ago, on my 25th birthday, I stood in front of my mirror, very naked and very pregnant and burst into tears because huge, purple, itchy stretchmarks were snaking their way up my belly. Well, wait. That is not technically accurate. I burst into tears because the stretch marks were just the cherry on top of the horrible shit sundae I’d made of my life. I was making a baby with a terrible someone who I KNEW was bad news. I worked a shitty job that kept me for 13 or 14 hours a day sometimes. I was PREGNANT (oops) and even though I was in a (horrible) relationship, I was definitely alone. One of my best friends took me out to dinner that night and I ate a pricey hamburger I could not afford, so she covered my tab. I went home, alone and obviously sober, and wondered if that would be my life in 10 years. Would I be miserable and raising a miserable child, miserably? Would I still be broke and at a dead-end job I hated, needing friends to pay for everything? I could hardly muster enthusiasm for creme brulee anymore, how was I going to get stoked for a man I detested and I life I made for myself that fucking sucked? Continue reading
There are a lot of huge, terrible things in this world. Like, a lot a lot. I don’t have the energy or strength to discuss those right now. So I’m going to rant about something that isn’t truly important but has made my life a sort of living hell. And that thing is LEGO Dimensions, or the worst video game in the world.
My oldest son is 14. Like most teens, he’s obsessed with video games. The autism might make this fixation a little more intense, but I’m sure a lot of parents can feel me on this. Video games for kids are terrible now. Not their content, but this new thing of buying a million add-ons for each game. There’s Disney Infinity and Skylanders. We have an extensive Amiibo collection, which, as far as I can tell, do absolutely nothing. You can unlock special suits and characters, but from what I can gather, you can also unlock those things just by playing the game. But, no, we need to spend $13 a pop for plastic figurines in a variety of characters and variations – Mario, Gold Mario, Fireball Mario, 32-bit Mario in classic colors, 32-bit Mario in modern colors, Mario with his arms in a slightly different postion. Seriously. It’s a load of bullshit. But Cal has always been a Mario freak and we indulge.
I’ve discussed the fact that I (probably) can’t have kids, and how much it sucks. I mean, I’ve mostly come to terms with it – but there is a neverending grieving process involved. I want a daughter who’ll kick ass and end up running the world. I like to imagine her, this funny, smart, brave kid – and all of the things I want to teach her. Since it doesn’t look like I’ll ever get that opportunity, I still want to share my philosophies with y’all, because they’re a damn good way to live your life and I think every child, especially the girl chirren, should have these words of wisdom spoken to them from birth.
Don’t let others define you. Your life is going to be full of people attempting to tell you who you are – they’re going to try to label you so you fit into a category in their life. The problem with that is you can start believing the labels, tailoring who you are to fit someone else, everyone else. You are your own person, you define who you are, labels are bullshit. Embrace all of the wonderful complexity of you and defy anyone who tries to simplify you – their inability to accept life fully is not your problem, don’t reduce yourself to make things easier for the unimaginative.
You make your own joy. Every day, every moment, is filled with choices – choose joy as often as you can. Don’t rely on others to make you happy, you’ll always be disappointed. But if you’re already happy, you’ll shine brighter than everyone around you. Find what brings you peace and happiness and pursue it fiercely. Encourage others to do the same. Be a beacon of joy.
Don’t hide from pain. You’re going to get hurt – physically, mentally, emotionally. Don’t let the fear of pain keep you from chasing life. You might end up with some scars, be proud of them. A scar means you won, you survived, you’re still here. Scars are never ugly. Protect yourself as best you can, but at the end of the day, take the risk for what you want. Continue reading
-Play my guitar at 11pm
-Yell, “I CAN MAKE ALL THIS NOISE BECAUSE MY KID ISN’T HERE!” at times when I know my roommates aren’t sleeping. Continue reading
This blog was born one year ago this week! It’s been more fun and more rewarding than I expected. There’s been laughter and tears and, above all else, truth. It’s been quiet here lately, but we’ll be sharing more soon.
For now, we want to say thank you to every person who takes a minute to read our ramblings. Without your participation, we’re just crazy ladies screaming into the void. Thank you so much, we love you!!
Happy birthday to us…and here’s to many more. xoxoxox
If you have something you’d like to share with our tiny corner of the world, please get in touch! We love guest posters and new contributors!
Seven years ago, I was a depressed gelatinous mass, exhausted from the stress of raising a newborn and an alcoholic man-child who managed to drink up a large balance on my credit card and pass out in places that were not our home, making it difficult to get to work the next day since he generally had my car. I was verging on the alcoholic-territory myself, often downing 1 or 2 bottles of wine a night after putting my baby down which was always a pleasant experience when that 3am feeding came. My shifts at work were sometimes 13 hours long, and some of those were worked alone. The 70 pounds that I’d put on during pregnancy were maybe half gone and none of my clothes fit. If my body could have made a noise, it would have been “pffffthbbbbbbt,” like a raspberry you blow or a slowly leaking whoopee cushion you sit on. My bank account was dwindling. My job was terrible. My boyfriend was The Worst. I had my friends and my baby, and that was that. Continue reading
One of my absolute favorite genres is the Gothic mystery. These books tend to be about crumbling mansions in the country, family secrets, ghosts and murder most foul. There’s usually a heroine of impeccable virtue who has had horrible luck and finds herself in an unpleasant situation. There’s a mother/aunt/caretaker who’s abused the poor heroine in some way, a dashing gentleman with a dark side, a mysterious benefactor, a trusted confidante, a doomed lover. There are journals and dying confessions and lies the heroine must sift through to discover the truth using her rational mind and courage cultivated from years of abuse or neglect. The novels are generally set in Victorian England, and if they aren’t, feel like they should be. These are the books you curl up with on a chilly, rainy day, a cup of tea (or coffee if you’re like me and can’t stand tea) next to you that goes cold because you’re too wrapped up in the mystery to remember to drink it. They are, simply, the best.
A series highlighting charities and organizations close to our hearts.
It’s been difficult to figure out how to write about food banks. We all know what they are. We’ve all collected and donated canned foods, usually right around this time of year. We think about hunger the most when we’re gearing up for our huge feast day, Thanksgiving, a day where Americans celebrate abundance and fortune. We think about the wonderful things in our life and in our show of excess, we make a show of helping those who have less, then move on to Christmas lists and New Years’ Eve plans.
Hunger is weird, we all experience it daily but once we’re eating, promptly forget it. We say we’re starving constantly, starving when it’s been 3 hours since our last meal. We eat until we hurt, we throw away food because we have too much, we eat constantly, mindlessly. We reach for a snack at the very first twinge of emptiness. Most of us don’t really understand hunger as a condition, as a way of life; for us it’s only an inconvenience.
This week has been pretty amazing for this little blog. On Tuesday, we published a guest post from Beth that has kind of blown up. The number of visitors, the comments, the support that has just poured out for her has been overwhelming. I have not had to reject a single comment, we haven’t received any shitty emails, it’s all been incredibly positive for us – which we weren’t really expecting. So, first, thank you to all of the awesome people who’ve read and shared and y’all are fantastic.