Parenting While Crazy

I’ve mentioned a time or two that I struggle with depression. It’s a lifelong thing, I don’t really remember a time when I wasn’t depressed. Sometimes are worse than others, but mostly, it’s basically like this: if there was a scale from -10 to 10, with -10 being superduper depressed and 10 being superduper manic, most people are at a base line of 0. My emotional grid’s baseline is, like, -2. Sometimes I dip low, sometimes I swing high, but day to day, I’m always a little depressed. Depression is my normal. My medication works as a…smoother, it bumps me to a -1 and keeps the lows brief and shallow so now I rarely get past a -3. Still, my outlook is always a little blue.

You as a 0 may ask, what’s that like? Well, let’s see. Imagine your mind is the bridge of the Enterprise from Star Trek (I’m a nerd, but my Star Trek knowledge is limited, so this isn’t going to get super out there for you non-nerds). There’s the big screen in front showing what’s going on, you are the Captain, and your emotions are manning all of the different stations and giving constant input and advice on how you go about doing things. I assume that in your mind, you as Captain, well, you stay in the big chair in the middle and you get the information you need to make decisions and your crew supports you and does as they’re told and mostly things go according to plan. And in those times that things go haywire, you and your crew work together to get back on course.

My mind, well, there’s a lot more chaos. A lot of the data I get isn’t right so I can’t make the best decisions to steer my ship. I have to get out of my chair to try and fix things, and my Spock is pretty incompetent. My crew doesn’t always speak the same language and they definitely don’t get along. There’s a lot of arguing and sabotage and laziness and things just don’t work right. There’s usually a mutiny brewing. My ship takes a lot longer to get to its destination, if it ever makes it there. Captain Me spends a lot of time and energy on keeping the ship going and so anything external can’t be dealt with properly. But, I’ve been captain of this ship for a long time, so I’ve gotten good with duct tape repairs and corralling the crew to get me where I need to go.
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Guest Post: Jen’s Tale

The name’s Jen and I work at a nonprofit clinic that deals specifically in reproductive issues (guess which one!). I own two cats and a dog and we all like ice cream and cheese. I’ve lived in RVA for 10ish years and lack the gumption to move but that’s not on my mind. I’m a single childless lady and all I really care about at this point in my life is where the nearest pizza is.

Trigger warning: rape

Online dating sites are sketchy. We all know that. You’d think I’d give up the ghost after my dates with not one but two ex-heroin addicts, the guy who told me he loved muscular ginger hunks, the homeless man and the fellow who only talked about tree frogs. Yet, for some reason (boredom, intrigue and self-loathing with a touch of hopefulness) I keep logging back on. At the very least I have some peculiar stories to tell.

So here we go again, I have re-activated my account and as this ain’t my first rodeo I know to expect very little. I’ve gotten some charming messages so far:

“Luv ur tat.”
“You should smile.”
“You are funny and girls are not funny.”

Anyway, it’s a fun thing to look at when you’re in between conversations at the bar. In fact, that is exactly what I was doing this weekend when suddenly the “fun” came to an abrupt halt and I almost fell out of my seat.

The man who raped me in 2011 appeared under my top matches.

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Feminist Friday: Aw hell, let’s talk about abortion

You guys, I’ve been staring at my monitor for way too long trying to figure out how to say everything I want to say without offending anyone. Abortion is such a delicate topic and it’s so personal and touches so many nerves and it’s just fucking tough to discuss rationally. And I think that’s one of the reasons the pro-choice side seems to be losing everywhere. It’s a lot easier to hold up pictures of mangled fetuses and scream at strangers and to murder doctors – and to convince people that these extremist actions are needed to protect the babies. I can’t do the equivalent, there is no equivalent. So we on the choice side make carefully worded arguments and try to hold debates and sign petitions and lose the battle of showmanship.

It’s easy to throw our hands up and simmer in our rage and gnash our teeth with every new law restricting our rights and to feel just completely useless. And I don’t honestly believe that reading this post on this little goofy blog is going to convince an anti-choicer to join my side, but I can’t stay quiet. It’s not how I roll, y’all.  So, I’m stealing an idea from John Oliver (which, if you’re not watching Last Week Tonight you’re missing out, it’s brilliant), I’m going to write a whole bunch about an uncomfortable topic and if you read all the way through to the end, you’ll be rewarded with a video you want to watch. Like of tiny animals being tiny and adorable. Deal? (Yes, you can just scroll down without reading, but that would be a total dick move.)

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Feminist Friday: This Time Will Be the Last Time

You guys, I’ve missed you!! I’ve missed writing – life has been a giant can o’ crazy this year and PYDPO has been a casualty. I apologize. I’m hoping that things will be settling and I can get back to sharing way too much personal information with strangers on the internet very soon. There have been so many things I’ve wanted to discuss with y’all recently! But every time I’ve started to write about MRAs or #NotAllMen or Rihanna’s ass, the rage has overwhelmed me and I’ve had to stop. So today I’m going to ignore all of that shit and talk about something much more important: all of my gray hair.

I turned 33 this year. I’m in the middle age zone – I’m all settled with a partner and kids, I have a career, I long for home ownership, I worry about retirement and life insurance. While all of that makes me feel like an adult, what makes me feel old is my hair. Years of slathering on Water Babies to avoid sun poisoning coupled with lots of extra collagen has left me fairly wrinkle free so far, but my roots show my age. And what used to be one here or there has turned into the fact that I’m definitely, totally going gray.
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Sorry, Kid. You’re Not the Man of the House.

A few months ago, I was having a rough time with my son. This is not unusual, as he is a pain in the ass and I am stubborn as a mule who is really good at yelling but not much else in the discipline realm. So we called my parents. And I stood in the bathroom listening to the conversation. And most of it was great! My dad telling my son that he needs to listen to me because I’m the Mom and I have his best interests at heart and all that. But then. Then he told my son that he needed to change his behavior because he is “the man of the house,” and I “need” him to take care of me and our home. And I almost punched a hole through my wall. Continue reading →

Scary Shit Happens Sometimes, or Why You Should Probably Just Text Whoever Right Now

Elizabeth, according to my phone.

So yesterday evening, my roommates and I were sitting around the house, scrolling the ol’ Facebooks when my roomie, R, says, “Holy shit, Elizabeth got into a car accident??” and stomach fucking DROPPED TO MY FEET. For 3 seconds, til I realized that if it was on Facebook, shit couldn’t be THAT serious. BUT STILL.  There she was, posting a goddamn selfie in a fucking stretcher and neck brace. For chrissakes. Continue reading →

Well, He Needs to Learn Sometime, aka The Time I Explained My Period to My Kid

SHARK WEEK

SHARK WEEK

There comes a time in every man’s life where he needs to learn about menses, for his own sanity, and so women in his life don’t think he’s a complete idiot. For my son, that time came yesterday morning. I was helping him finish up his homework when a force of nature reached into my abdomen and strangled my uterus. I winced, and kind of groaned, and my son asked what was wrong. Continue reading →

Happy Birthday, PYDPO!

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!

I’m So Vain, I Probably Think This Blog Post is About Me. Oh. Wait.

treatyoself

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 →

On Bad News

I got word Friday night that my oldest brother died. He was 50. My dad’s oldest, and my mom’s oldest stepchild. We were not close. At all. In fact, I think the last time I saw him was Thanksgiving of 2002, the first Thanksgiving I was of legal drinking age, much to my mother’s delight. It was the last Thanksgiving we were all together. My grandparents were still alive, and my father was teasing my grandmother about her Macular Degeneration (because that is a Thing that we do in my family). My brother was there with his…significant other (wife? girlfriend? I really don’t know.) We chatted briefly about the only thing we really had in common – music. Continue reading →