A Drop In the Ocean

There’s not much that I wouldn’t do for my children, except for apparently make phone calls.

I’ve talked about my tween daughter’s plea to make a phone call and “fix” our family, but there is also “Mommy, call Uncle ____ or Aunt _____” and I generally say no.

My eldest is more astute than most adults. She may look like me, but she thinks like her Uncle Drew and the Psych Major, and for that I’m grateful. But, like her mom, she has faith in people, far more than she should. During counselling, she tried using logic to get me to reach out and I was surprised, clearly she eavesdrops on conversations more than I thought.

“Imagine you have a lil girl and a job and school. That’s A LOT. Then suddenly, you have a lil girl, plus three extra girls and someone you love and it’s overwhelming & life gets messy. So you run away and all the adults do stupid things, but you love each other. But neither one of you wants to admit you did the wrong thing so you both just avoid each other, but you can be the one to make it stop, by just calling him and telling him you love him, you know you do and you know he loves you too, because you belong together.”

(This whole rant of hers reminds me of a quote from one of my favourite books:“Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is exhausting for children to have to provide explanations over and over again.”)

I remind her that this is not the case and sometimes people just leave, and don’t come back, which brings the “You don’t know that! He’ll come back for us!” My 6yo tells me that she had a dream that he came back for us like he did before. He’ll show up on the doorstep and hug her and kiss me and her sister will have her friend & we’ll all be together and her dreams always come true. My 3yo recently asked Siri to find her little friend (which is both funny and sad). Then comes the question of when I’m going to invite someone over and I say “Not today.”

I love my girls. I love my friends. Sometimes I think I’m like my mother (sans the neglect and emotional abuse) on the level that I’m only capable of one great love and I can focus happily on my career and my children with the belief that they’re happy, because their happiness is the only thing that ever mattered to me when it related to them. But, I’m also the one who calls first, texts first, makes the plans, loans money, gives until there is nothing left and ends up getting my heart broken until I’m broken. My daughters need their mother to be strong and confident, and part of that requires me to preserve myself and that means I can’t keep reaching out to people, because then I end up getting hurt. I’m not perfect; I’m melodramatic, whiny, displace aggression, listen to the wrong people and sometimes I do and say dumb things. But I’m quick to apologize, even though I rarely get one when the role is reversed, but I still reach out, because I love those people. But perhaps I’ve learned that reaching out isn’t the way to go. Maybe I need to give people space and leave them alone until they want to repair things, for them, and my own self worth.

I ask my daughter how she is so sure that her magic phone call will bring back the person she loves and has faith in and she answered matter of factly; “People know what they want. Even if they think they screwed it up or it got messed up. But people know what they want, even if they won’t admit it.” I know what I want. I want to be happy with my children and my chosen career path in journalism or law. I want to be an equal in my interpersonal relationships. I want people to be a part of my life because they want to be, because they love me and my girls and see me as the person I am; good, bad and ugly and even though I’m flawed and prone to melancholy and insecurity, I’m an amazing person and so are my girls. If you do, we’ll enjoy continuing wandering through the zaniness of life together. If not, then your part in my journey is over and I will always cherish that time and love you for when you were here. I know who and what I am and I’m okay with my good, bad & sometimes messy. I know I’m capable of loving a person for their good, bad and downright cruel. Maybe no one can love me the same, but that’s okay. I have my girls and the written word.

Which brings me to why I won’t make phone calls; people know what they want and they know who they want in their lives. My phone number hasn’t changed (even during the phantom caller ordeal, I did not change my number), I’m on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram. I haven’t moved. I’m not that hard to find. I’m tired of being the one who constantly has to put herself out there, leaving me with this impression that people feel like they’re doing me a favour by letting me be near them. The stuff I mentioned work both ways and while I love my inner circle, I’m not going to continue to kiss people’s asses to be in my life. It only chips away @ my self-worth and sets a horrible example for my girls, that we are only important when we have something to offer or I’m helping pay your cable bill. I want to show my girls that we are just as valuable and important as anyone else. For the first time ever, I’m looking out for us by looking out for me. No longer will I be the doormat for the masses.

So, while my daughter’s happy ending seems unlikely, because while she swears on all that is Holy that the man that she looked up to and would never give up on would never truly leave us for good, for he loved us more than that, sometimes the people we have the most faith in are the ones who let us down. But, she is right; people know what they want. They know what they look for when no one else is watching. They know how they’re thinking when they lie awake at night. They know what memories of friendships make them smile. They know what risks someone has taken for them and they know sometimes what they want requires the big risk and it’s up to that person to decide if that person is worth it. I’ve made the big risk for a person (several times) and even when I was left crying and heartbroken, I’ve never regretted fighting for them, because they were worth fighting for. This is why I don’t make phone calls. If we’re worth it, my inner circle will make the effort. It’s either selfishness or self-preservation, but in order to be truly equal, I can’t always be the one who makes that first step.

All To Myself

A.K.A. Random-assnisity.

I know that chances are, my next updates will be darker in tone, as my life runs from happy-silly to dark on a regular basis, so I decided to write a fluffy, silly little post in the hopes of making everyone laugh. I like to break up the seriousness of life with random-ass silliness, which is kind of the point of this sort of silly little post today.

So, here are 20 random ass things about MHC.

1. I’ve decided to stop my tattoo count @ nine. This means I need three more. I know what they will be and where they will go because I’m awesome.

2. I actually had the most refreshingly interesting conversation about parenting with someone who doesn’t have any kids. He has his own blog, that I would strongly suggest you check out.

3. The necklace I wear every day is the Triforce. People either ask if I love the Legend of Zelda, or if I am in the Illuminati. My answer varies depending on my mood.

4. I will never understand how Lil Wayne is a thing.

5. Before completing this blog post, I was dancing around the house, singing the song that is the title of this post. It was awesome.

6. I’m lying; my dancing was terrible and my 3yo gave me crap for the curse word.

7. I have not eaten my entire lunch by myself since my eldest daughter started eating solid food. Today is no exception.

8. I’m allergic to grass. This makes mowing my lawn difficult and I have actually lost my dog in the grass. But every time I go to mow it, it rains, so I can only assume that God doesn’t want me to mow my lawn.

9. My mom yelled @ me for letting the kids play AROUND THE CORNER. I may have laughed @ her.

10. My mom may be pissed at me.

11. I do not for the life of me understand the point of the show Adventure Time. My 6yo doesn’t get the adult humour and thinks it’s the most awesome show in the history of everything, but I stare blankly and go…WTF?

12. I will gladly use words I make up in sentences and hyperbole such as eleventy million, but don’t you dare say “Funner.”

13. I watch Sailor Moon. Sometimes my kids aren’t even awake. Sometimes I’m a loser.

14. I sometimes can’t tell my cats apart. This is why I’m glad I never had twins.

15. I have an overwhelming urge to watch Dr. Strangelove.

16. I use Listerine like that guy in My Big Fat Greek Wedding uses Windex.

17. I’m determined to own a French and English copy of Le Petit Prince.

18. To this day, I have yet to have someone “Dessine-moi une mouton.”

19. I still like boy bands. Yes, even NKOTB. No, not the new ones. Especially not the Wanted.

20. I may have convinced my youngest daughter to stay out of the basement by telling her boogey-monster lives down there and it eats anyone under the age of 5. She now yells down the basement well wishes to the boogey-monster, like “Good morning Boogey-Monster! Have a good day!”

Hey Jealousy

A.K.A. How getting rid of my website’s security made me a better writer.

Back in October, I received some random snot nosed comments on my blog and it prompted me to enable website security. As I’ve said before, I really hate the idea that internet anonymity allows “keyboard warriors” to attack people online for no apparent reason. It was all well and good…until April, when the stupid thing broke. I couldn’t log in, it wouldn’t work half the time, and after several support tickets, I finally gave up.

It’s funny because once the security was down, it made it easier for me to write from a more honest place, just like my self imposed solitude helped me get to know strengths and weaknesses better. I guess knowing exactly who my fanbase was made me take the active voice out of my writing and write in a more passive voice, about various warm fuzzy topics. While they were good (after all, when one has dedicated one’s life since they were eight to their work, it should be good), it was a more…sanitized view of my world. I guess anonymity can be a good thing, as not knowing one’s specific audience can help me write about my life with a more active voice.

The last couple of months I’ve been writing about my life and it’s not always pretty, but it’s how my life is and I’m rather proud of my life. Despite the number of times I fall to pieces, I know how to put myself back together. Sometimes life is chaotic, but it is what it is. Spending time without any company has helped me realize that my naïve personality combined with my melodramatic reactions to pain causes people to coddle me, which is sweet, but it should be unnecessary because truthfully, I can handle chaos much better than the average bear. Bringing back my active voice has helped me remember exactly how strong and capable I truly am.

The active voice allows me to write from my heart, which allows me to embrace who I am as a person. With the things that are hard, like my tween daughter’s emotional turmoil, my lack of career etc. there is always good, like all of the character traits I admire about myself, simple joys (like the fact that I’m currently singing along to the Gin Blossoms with my signature squeak that a prestigious music school said would prevent me from having a music career) and my own faith in myself. So, I’ll continue to write about these various subjects, along with the various ADD topics like why I want three more tattoos and hate geese thrown in for good measure and maybe you’ll like it, maybe you won’t. But I’m going to embrace all of the things that make me who I am; melodramatic crying jags, talkativeness, and dorkiness & all.

Since I’m writing about me, I figured I’d add a picture of me, complete with Zoolander pose as my friend Yogi calls it.

Cry

There are two very different facets of my personality.

There is the adorably dynamic & charismatic bubble brain that people know & love & there is another side, that I like to call “Crazy crying MH.”

Crazy crying MH is actually super annoying. She strains my relationships because people perceive me as weak & people feel the urge to protect me from bad things. It means my logical mind cannot process what’s happening, or I’m feeling overwhelmed, or an extreme emotion, like betrayal, sadness, confusion, etc. It’s frustrating for the people around me & I love the people who @ least try to be my friend even though Crazy crying MH exists.

My parents handled it easily, they told me that my emotions were high & to retreat to my room while I had a chance to calm down. I asked the friends who have known me my entire life how they handled my melodramatic crying jags & they said “we told you to shut the f*ck up & you would stop & be like, sorry about that. Then you’d talk like a normal person & be cool again.” There is one person in this world who can calm my self imposed hysteria by saying my name. However, I hate Crazy crying MH.

I hate her because she brings back that desperate need to be approved of, loved & accepted. When I feel lost, or like my interpersonal relationships are strained or that I can’t communicate my feelings properly, that’s when I become that person that I hate. My ex husband is right on the level that I allow my friends to influence me & my choices more than I’d like, because deep down, I’m afraid that their lack of approval in my profession, my choice in mate, my hair, et al, that I’ll lose some of their respect, which prompts me to second guess myself, which brings out Crazy crying MH, which makes them lose respect for me, which makes me cry more, which brings about the cycle of suck.

But it all comes back to me & my reluctance to be confident in my life, my choices, my path. Wasn’t the whole point of escaping the controlling douche husband for me to become my own person? So, why does it matter if my friends approve of every little thing? I don’t agree with all of their choices, why do I expect them to agree with all of mine & why does it weigh on me when they don’t approve? I don’t like the idea that people will view my friends like they’re my bodyguards, it’s disrespectful to them, because I don’t want my friends to feel like they have to be my brute squad, because then I’ve given them a job & I don’t want to burden people with protecting me. Maybe more people should tell me to STFU, because I’m more likely to snap out of the crying zone & defend my choices.

So, while I’m forced to accept that Crazy crying MH is a facet of my personality, I don’t have to let her out. I need to stop worrying about whether or not everyone agrees & just do what I feel is right & if I’m wrong, then stand by my mistake. This way my friends won’t feel like they need to guard me like a baby chick & I can eventually bury Crazy crying MH until she comes out so rarely, it’s a shock when we see her.

Just a Step Away

Today on the way to church, my daughters made about a million wishes on dandelion fluff.

I remember as a child, I lived in a city and dandelions came few and far between, so when I saw one, I would race to it and make the most outlandish wish I could think of. I for a unicorn, to have magic powers, to become a princess, all sorts of silly things. I wanted to make that thing count.

My three year old hasn’t mastered the art of the “Don’t tell anyone or it won’t come true,” as she makes her wishes out loud. They’re all the same; “I wish the fluff would help Jesus find my best friend and bring her back to play with me forever.” My 6 year old wishes for more fluff, then screams “It came true!” like Anne Hathaway at the Oscars when she finds more fluff. My 11 year old still makes wishes and still treats them like they are sacred, not telling anyone and closing her eyes. I make wishes too, but as I’m allergic to pollen, knowing the little spores are going to become 900 more dandelions sucks some fun out of it.

I love that something so simple, like a wish on dandelion fluff can make them so happy. It’s fun, and sometimes I still make wishes. Of course, I’m old enough to know that the dandelion fluff won’t bring me a unicorn, but sometimes it’s fun to think there is some magical property in a little fluffy ball. I mentioned finding the simple joys in my last post, and a few months ago, I talked about the idea that adults should still believe in magic…just a little. While we all know that only hard work gets us where we need to be, it’s nice to think that perhaps that wish we make on a star (which I still do, me and my love of stars) will somehow get us over that last hurdle and put it all together.

So, let’s all slow down, stop the hussle and bussle of our every day lives and make a silly little wish on some dandelion fluff. Enjoy the day and the small joys that come with something that simple. You might find yourself forgetting about the lawn and smiling, remembering the small child that enjoyed doing this oh so long ago.

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Steal My Sunshine

This is my ode to my one true love (that isn’t writing): the sun.

I love the sun! It’s so warm & happy & everything is better when it happens on a sunny day. My personal slice of Heaven is listening to my eclectic blend of music while walking in the happy sunny sun. However, I do not tan. My father’s death from melanoma requires me to be more sun conscious (also, the only thing paler than me is a corpse. I burn way too easily. The sun & I have a complex relationship).

But my joy whenever I see the sun reminds me that every day can be made exponentially better through simple pleasures. Mine is molten magma in the sky & the soothing vocals of David Cook & Matt Nathanson (today). I’m sure you have one too, whether its that glass of wine after a long day, watching puppies play, et al. I couldn’t imagine living a life where simple little joys couldn’t make me happy. Maybe I’m just easily amused.

However, everyone should find their small joy & enjoy it today. Revel in life’s smallest pleasures, for they’re so much easier to find & plentiful.

As for me, I’ll be enjoying the sunshine.

Let Her Go

I’m a firm believer that with great power comes great responsibility.

I personally don’t believe that celebs get to complain about the paparazzi hounding them, as they use the media to promote themselves, their careers, etc. so naturally there is a bad side with the good. However, there is a limit. I don’t feel celebrity children should be photographed, they did not choose that lifestyle. But there is also a limit to what should and should not be published, such as rumours that are vile, unfounded, etc.

This brings me to Beyoncé Knowles, who has recently been admitted to hospital for exhaustion amidst pregnancy rumours. People Magazine reported the story and the keyboard warriors came out in full force, slamming Knowles, her husband Jay-Z, her daughter Blue and questioned the validity of her first pregnancy, claiming she used a surrogate and she needed to provide evidence that she had given birth to satisfy them. Knowles has released photos of her pregnancy belly (I hate the term baby bump) in her documentary “Life is But a Dream” but people still claim that Knowles has not “proven” she was pregnant and that her baby daughter is ugly.

Credit: People.com

This makes me wonder how much free time we as a society have when we demand proof that a stranger gave birth to a child. Does it really matter how Blue came into the world? It could have been a surrogate, adoption, or Knowles gave birth to her, as she has said. That is Knowles and Jay-Z’s daughter and they love her. How she was born is irrelevant. Blue is also a 16 month old child and not famous. Her parents are famous entertainers, but she is a baby. Insulting her appearance, her temperament, etc. is just cruel. In this day and age, when adults tell children not to bully children, those same adults turn around and bully a 16 month child, as well as other celebrity children, including Shiloh Jolie-Pitt and Suri Cruise. These are small children and completely irrelevant to the lives of the people who harass them. Why such vitriol for small children, or even the celebrity parents?

I’m not a huge Beyoncé Knowles fan. I enjoy a few of her songs, but I’m not going to rush out to see her concerts or anything. However, I’m also not going to question whether or not she was really pregnant with her daughter, insult her baby’s appearance, or claim she’s part of the illuminati. I’m going to listen to the songs that I like. Perhaps we as a society should stop looking for reasons to tear down a happily married couple who are successful and just enjoy their bodies of work, not belittle their defenseless child or demand access to a woman’s private moments. After all, if someone had questioned whether or not I had given birth, I would punch you in the face. Kudos to Knowles for handling these rumours with class and grace.

Way Back Down

I hate counselling days.

I shouldn’t say that. I like them, because it’s a positive step towards making my family better, but it’s a painful and draining time. I talk to my own counsellor and of course, the Texan about these days and they tell me I don’t need to feel guilty, that I’m doing a good job, I’m doing all I can, but I can’t shake the guilt.

When my marriage broke up, the girls didn’t go through the whole “We want our family back together” phase. I never understood why until during a counselling session, my eldest said calmly “because Daddy beat you up Mommy. He used to swear and call you names. We liked the quiet.” My heart broke, because I had hoped I had shielded them from all of that, but apparently, I didn’t. I guess because I never went through this with the divorce, it’s hard to go through now, especially when they say “But you didn’t fight. Everyone was happy. Why?” and my explanation of sometimes people need to go and it doesn’t make them bad, they’re still the wonderful person that they knew, it’s just that they moved on. But, this brings the unbearable sobs of a little girl who desperately wants “her” version of family; something that reminds me so much of my own childhood, only the man I sobbed for was dead. In this case, the person she sobs for is the role model that she chose, not the one she was afforded at birth, which I guess is what makes her pain so much harder for me to bear. This is a child who feels like her extended family doesn’t care for her, has on again/off again issues with her own father and saw someone that she loved as, in her words, “the best man in the whole wide world.”

So, the sessions are filled with the tears, the begging, and the pleading to call him! In her mind, if I tell this person that I still love them, even after all of this time, that she and her sisters love him and want him, he will realize he still wants to be a part of our family and come “home” because she believes that he never stopped loving her mom (the idea that he doesn’t love me anymore sends her into hysterics, because that means he stopped loving her) and she believes with all of her heart and soul that he is good (believing the goodness in the people that she loves, even if they give her no reason to believe in them, she’s her mother’s daughter) & everything will work out, because despite her moving into her teens, she’s still a little girl @ heart & believes in love stories & dreams. As always, my refusal is followed by the question of why don’t I understand that she loves him, why won’t I admit that I still love him, her sisters need him, don’t I see how sad they are? (Truthfully, I didn’t right away. Between school and my job and my own struggle to move forward, I didn’t always see how much pain they were in, which adds to my guilt. The Texan tells me it’s normal, moms always think kids are more resilient than they really are) But, for the last few months I have and it breaks me to hear my smallest child tell me Jesus will find her little friend and sobs when I say she’s not coming and my oldest’s hysteria during counselling sessions, pleading for me to bring back the person she claims she loves most in the world, for the man she believed loved her most in the world and was going to be with her forever, just like he promised and it would all be fixed if I would just pick up the phone and tell him.

Sorry it’s not a Tardis. Yes, I know what that is.

I hate hearing them say “We’ll do _____ when Blank gets back,” only for me to gently remind them that he’s not coming only to hear the tears again and “But he came back before. He loves us, he promised he would always come back,” rinse and repeat. So, I do all of the things I need to do, counselling, the communication journal, exercise and athletics. I spend as much time with them as possible and do all I can to help make it okay, but once they’re in bed, the guilt comes back because I let someone into their lives and now they feel like their family is lacking without two people and nothing I say makes it okay.

The Texan suggested I start writing about this because she thought it might help me let go of some of that guilt by learning that I’m not the only mom who feels like she’s screwed everything up, as well, writing is good therapy for me, it’ll help me release some of that guilt. She says sometimes you just need to do something and for me, that something is write, because I can’t just sit @ home at night and call up my other single mom friends and say “I broke my kid” and cry. It’s not constructive and I need to be doing something constructive, so I write about my journey through life while helping them. It’s sort of therapeutic, to admit that my family isn’t perfect and that things need improvement and that I’m not the only mom in the world who isn’t perfect and sometimes is at a loss. It helps me realize that I’m just a regular mom trying to do the best she can, which helps me try harder in the morning. People say I build up walls, I don’t tell people what’s going on & I need to be more open. Perhaps that’s what my friend was thinking when she suggested that I incorporate this into my writing. Transparency & a way to allow people in.

So, I don’t hate counselling days. I hate that they’re needed. I wish I could just wave some kind of magic wand and make everything bad go away, just like every mom. I know I’m doing what I can, just like every mom & I hope for the best for them, just like every mom.

The lesson my daughter claims I should learn…

We Weren’t Born To Follow

My tween daughter wants to hijack my Facebook account.

I humoured her and let her choose my display photo and cover photo, because allegedly I am not presenting myself in the best possible way. I need to be more aware of my social media presence and I simply was not putting my best self forward…or something. Frankly, if you were looking for information about me, Facebook isn’t the best place to look unless you are my Facebook friend. I’m very particular about what I display to the masses, so you might find out that I am female and maybe my name or something like that. Nothing terribly exciting. I do have a Twitter account & Instagram but even then you wouldn’t learn too many interesting things about me as a person. You may find lyrics to songs I like or my random thoughts throughout the day, but nothing terribly deep or interesting. My child feels like I should be focusing on my social media footprint.

Social media is super exciting to her. She has begged me for a Facebook account for almost a year and I keep saying no, because she is not of age. She does have a locked Twitter account that I get to review, where she mainly Tweets about her love of One Direction and the Voice. However, it does concern me that social media is so exciting to tweens. Her friends have Instagram, Twitter, Vine, Facebook and they’re all very concerned about how they appear on these sites. This makes me kind of glad that I’m not a kid growing up in this generation. I find Facebook, Twitter and themselves to be almost like an abusive relationship; I just can’t seem to quit them, and the idea that young people rely on them more than anything to maintain some kind of social status quo scares the effing bejeebers out of me. I’ve seen adults cyber-bully each other, through vaguebooking and subtweeting, creeping their exes because they still harbour romantic feelings etc. We read all of the time about teens bullying each other through social media and I guess it weirds me out that children as young as 10 and 11 can be sucked into that world. Don’t get me wrong, Facebook is great for me to show off my daughters and keep in touch with out of town friends and loved ones and for me to network, you know, it’s intended purpose, but like all things in life, it comes with good and bad. I know there are good sides to social media, but I also worry about teenagers being concerned about a “social media footprint” and wonder if we are raising kids to be vain and to base their self esteem around how they are viewed on Facebook or Instagram.

So, for at least one more year, I will keep my child away from Facebook. Hopefully by then, it won’t be cool anymore.