To be honest, I wasn’t sure about writing this.  I have written a birthday post for you every year I’ve known you.  Your birthday has been in the back of my mind for the past two weeks, and I’ve struggled with Do I write it? Do I skip it? I was never really sure.  I thought about not writing it, I wasn’t sure you’d see it, clearly couldn’t know if you read it, and convinced it wouldn’t make a difference.  But I was afraid that if I didn’t it would be that last thing needed to start the zombie apocalypse, and I didn’t want to be responsible for the end of the world as we know it. So I wrote it, in part to save the world, and in part because what if, what if it did make a difference.

So I sit here today, on your 17th birthday, full of all kinds of conflicting thoughts.  So many things I could write here, regardless of if you read it or not.  I could wax poetically about how you’re on the verge of coming of age but really who the hell talks like that anymore?  Besides, have we ever had a serious moment in the 6 years I’ve known you?  Let’s see…

There was the time Grandpa was in the hospital and I met you at the house so we could go to the hospital and get Ashley.  To this day I still don’t understand why the truck wouldn’t start with the Thunderbird key.  And yet it didn’t.  We agreed your dad didn’t need to know, but apparently you crossed your fingers when you made that promise because you couldn’t wait to tell him once we got the right key and got on the road.  Thanks for ratting me out Buddy.

I still don’t get why your dad never understood the importance of squeegee-ing out the out building before we could even begin to start getting the fishing poles ready.  I mean clearly, don’t you have to have a clean work environment before you start work?  Sure… we were hosing down most of the floor, sure the squeegee was a hand-held one, he sure as hell didn’t appreciate our hard work or how clean the floor was.  That’s not our fault.

How many road trips have we taken to pick up or drop off the girls that I promised you a Rooster Booster?  Dad was never happy with us for that either.  Who could forget the road trip we saw this?

How many times did you wave at vehicles passing us? And then, when we stopped for gas…. there was one of the cars at the same gas station.

There have been hours spent playing xbox, when we played Indiana Jones you spent the entire game breaking things, and collecting coins while I saved the world.  None of that Hero Worship crap for you… you wanted the money.  How many times did you almost kill me with your guitar because you were rocking out too hard to Rockband?  And please tell me you have learned to make margaritas without splashing them in your eyes, and wasting perfectly good tequila.

Adam you’re 17 today.  I won’t go into what happened, beyond saying I am sorry.  I reacted, I didn’t think, and I was wrong.  I have, and will continue to respect your wishes, just like I have and will continue to love you as my own.  I sit behind the scenes, hearing of your achievements and I’m proud.  I heard of your wreck, and I cringed, and worried.  But today, today I celebrate you.  Happy birthday Scooter, I love you.

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If you listen to the haters out there, they will quote the bible, (although they are hard pressed to find the exact verse, and usually it’s pulled out of context) about how man shall not lie with man.  *side note, have you ever noticed it’s only MALE gay rights they have a problem with? If two girls want to get it on, they want permission to watch.  The gay rights issue isn’t about sex.  Shocking, I know.  It’s about denying or allowing (allowing, what a pompous fucking word to use… we allow you to love your partner.) gays to love who they love.  Openly. With the same rights and benefits afforded heterosexual couples. A friend of mine who happens to be a gay man once said to me, there can be no real progress on this issue until we get it out of the bedroom.  This isn’t a sex issue, it’s a love, commitment, partner issue.

We have Constitutional Rights, and God Given Rights. I have read the Declaration of Independence. We are given the right to Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness, those three things are considered inalienable rights of men.  So who the hell are these closed-minded numbnuts who think they have been given the right to trample all over gays’ right to pursue happiness?  And why do they think they have the authority to determine what happiness looks like.

In the interest of pursuing attention millions of dollars happiness, Kim Kardashian was allowed, by law, to marry and divorce Kris Humphries all in less time than it took for Jackie Chan to travel around the world. Years ago, Britney Spears was allowed, by law, to marry and divorce Jason Alexander faster than it took the ink to dry on the marriage license. Because clearly those marriages still upheld the sanctity of the institution of marriage and didn’t make a mockery of it in any way. Clearly. How many people around the country get married for green cards?  How many get married for health insurance?  How many get married for tax breaks?  How many people get married every fucking year for reasons that have absolutely nothing to do with love?

And yet, there are thousands upon thousands of people across the country who can’t get married for love.

Gay rights, though, isn’t just about getting married. When the state doesn’t recognize the relationship, the commitment gay couples have, then there are a whole slew of other issues to contend with.  They can’t be covered on each other’s insurance, they can’t make any critical life saving decision in hospitals, it’s difficult if not impossible to adopt children.  Which frankly is a whole lot of bullshit.  Because once a heterosexual couple have been together for seven years, it’s considered a common law marriage and they have all the legal rights a  couple with a state issued marriage license has.  Excuse me, What?!?!

So basically what you are saying is, living together without being married  is not only OK but is treated the same as a marriage, but marrying someone of the same-sex is not. Double standard much?

We may be fighting the battle in every state in the country over and over again, but the war will have to be waged in the United States Supreme Court.  Until they say it is unconstitutional for states to prevent gays from getting married, until they say it is unconstitutional for states to withhold anyone’s right to pursue happiness, until the Supreme Court says Hey Assholes get off your pompous high horses because it says that all men are created equal and should be afforded the same and equal rights, there will be people who know the true meaning of love and commitment who can not get married, and people who don’t, that can.

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 05/09/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 10 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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I don’t like to lie.

I want to say that it has lightened up.

I can’t even say that.

I want to say that the bully got the message, and she’s backing off.

The truth is, just the opposite it true.  It has escalated.  It’s bordering on stalking now.

And she gets it from her mother, as she thinks it’s a good idea to bully me too for going to the school.

I have met with the school twice.  The girls’ dad took a day off, drove two hours to meet with the principal.  He has made phone calls to the school every single day this week.

And yet, we see no progress, no change, nothing.

And now, the bully walks by our house, across our yard, feet from our front door, every morning. Something she never did before.  Something the school specifically told her not to do. On more than one occasion.  If I say anything to her, I am no better than her and her mother.

I want nothing more than to stand on my front porch every morning and tell her “There is zero reason for you to be on our street, in my yard, on my sidewalk.  GO AWAY!”  I want to scream “LEAVE MY DAUGHTERS ALONE!”

And I HATE with a blinding hot fury that a 12-year-old has this much power in my life and my hands are tied.

We are two weeks from the last day of school.  Then it’s summer vacation with all the kids, including the bully, home all day and she knows she’ll be free from the school interference.  She will have no adult supervision, so she will be free to terrorize the entire neighborhood. Specifically my daughter.

And my hands are tied.

And I’m pissed. Furious.

Is there nothing I can do to make this go away? 

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 05/04/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 11 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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This year is an election year and well politics are pretty damned hard to avoid.  Especially  when they show up in your Twitter stream.

Dana Loesch is the Conservative’s Pin Up Girl.  She was a big name in the Tea Party, until the Tea Party jumped the shark, then Dana jumped ship.  She’s funny, she’s smart, she’s beautiful, she’s making a name for herself on the National level, she had balls bigger than some guys I know.

And she’s a hometown girl made good.  Dana is from St. Louis, has her own radio show here.  It’s really hard not to love a girl who provides us with sound bites such as “I’m sure I could beat off a brains hungry zombie”

I follow Dana on Twitter because at night she retweets all the hate tweets she gets during the day.  It would be entertaining if it wasn’t so vile and full of hatred and vitriol. Dana, being Dana, and having a platform to speak her mind, understandably becomes a target for those who oppose her point of view. It comes with being in the public eye.

But when someone on Twitter says well….

well, that’s crossing the line.  Her husband Chris agreed. And stepped up to defend his wife, on Twitter.

Within hours, Chris’ Twitter account had been repeatedly marked as spam, and his account was suspended.   Dana obviously, tweeted about it, and for most of the night, Dana’s fans and followers Tweeted, and retweeted their outrage at the progressives and at Twitter, using the hashtag #FreeChrisLoesch.  Before I went to bed, #FreeChrisLoesch was trending worldwide.  This morning, Chris’ Twitter account had been reinstated, and Dana thanked her fans and supporters.  Shortly thereafter, Chris’s account was once again reported as spam repeatedly, and subsequently suspended.  Even with Twitter aware of the circumstance, and reinstating Chris’ account, it still managed to be suspended three times in 75 minutes this morning.  Once again, Dana and her fans took to the Twitter and started flooding Twitter streams with the hashtag #FreeChrisLoesch.  It made it so far as to be trending nationwide.

My last post was about bullying, and what my daughter has been going through this entire year.  Bullying doesn’t stop with a diploma.

As of air time for The Dana Show, (12:00 CST) @ChrisLoesch was back on Twitter.  As I sit here writing this it is 2:14, so his account has been active for over two hours without any further suspensions.

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 04/30/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 4 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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But when my daughter comes home yelling, crying and slamming doors because the bully had once again done something to her at school, I decided it’s time to step in, and stop it.  I went to school, explained the situation, and the promised to take care of it.  They talked to my daughter, who told them she was afraid of being seen as a tattle tale, and was worried about retaliation from the bully.

Turns out, she had every right to be worried.  That afternoon, the bully stood outside her classroom waiting to kick my daughter’s ass.  So back to school I went.  They again promised to talk to the teachers and pull the bully in to talk to her.  When I saw the bully walking through our yard after school, I stepped outside and told her just leave my daughter alone.  Don’t talk to her, don’t look at her, she just doesn’t exist.  Megan has been told to do the same.  She screamed “Why did you go to the school and tell on me?” Uh, because I want it all stopped.

Within the hour her mother was outside my front door yelling at me, calling me a bitch, and blaming Megan for everything. (Now we know where the bully gets it).  I just walked back into the house and shut the door.

The girls’ dad called the school, talked to the principal, who is calling all the girls in his office Monday morning.  The girls’ dad will be here Wednesday to talk to the principal.  We both want it all to stop. We have tolerated the bully for the entire school year, and frankly, enough is enough.

I blame the mom as much as I blame the bully.  I don’t have the full story, but I know this

• Her son, when he does go to school, spends his days in In School Suspension.  Recently he was expelled.  Last week he was sent to live with his dad.
• We are not the first family to go the school complaining about the bully, and yet, she continues to get away with her behavior.
• The bully believes she’ll get away with it this time, and won’t get into any trouble.  She doesn’t know me, and she’ sure as hell doesn’t know the girls’ dad. We won’t give up until something is done.
• The bully is allowed to roam the streets until all hours of the night, because mom’s not home.
• I understand being a single parent is hard, and you have to work to pay the bills, but parenting your kids and being a part of their life is more important.

It has been an entire year of my daughter being made fun of, picked on, talked about, and threatened.  It has been an entire year of ‘She said this’ and ‘She did that’ and it’s been an entire school year of my daughter putting up with all this from the bully and well, it has to stop.

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 04/30/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 12 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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Heh.  I believe in Karma, and Paying it Forward, and bribery, and in having that second or third margarita.  Someday all this good mojo I’m putting out there has to come back to me, right? RIGHT?!

*ahem*

So, earlier this week, Liza hosted (is still hosting) a giveaway over at Buy-Her.  UPrinting.com is giving away 250 free business cards.  F-R-E-E free, (free shipping too!!) which means no money out of your pocket. UPrinting is givin’ them away!! Christmas like.

Also, because Liza now thinks she’s Santa Claus, she has a second giveaway over at Buy-Her.  She is working with Marvel Comics, and has a prize package to give away to celebrate the opening of Marvel’s new movie, The Avengers.

So with those two giveaways going on over at Buy-Her, get your butts over there and register to win something! I mean, really, it’s FREE stuff!! SWAG! GOODIES!  Go, Read, comment, register, now.

And then, come back because there is somewhere else I want you to go…

*Whew* Ok, so now that you’ve registered to win all kinds of goodies over at Buy-Her, now I want to tell you, that yesterday, Cecily interviewed me for a post she wrote for Babble MomCrunch about bloggers over 40.   She interviewed several bloggers besides me.  And while I love the article, and everyone’s response, I hate mine.  My excuse? I sent it from my phone, so I didn’t have a lot of time to think about it.  So please, don’t let my harsh criticism of  myself take away from the fact that Cecily did a great job, and more importantly, I made it to Babble!!!

So, please, go out and support my friends.  Go register for Liza’s giveaways, before she starts digging in her junk drawer for things to give away, and please go read Cecily’s article over at Babble MomCrunch.  I know that the blogging world is over run with Mommy bloggers, and there’s room for all of them, but there are other bloggers out there who are no longer ‘Mommy” and are older but still love to blog, and love social media, and have a voice of experience that the mommy bloggers don’t yet.  Go show your support.

Now, where’s that tequila, it’s margarita time.

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 04/26/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 2 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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Neil Patrick Harris, his partner David and their twins

This picture right here?

Pisses me off.

No, that’s not true.  The picture doesn’t piss me off.

The people who can not see a perfectly normal, happy, loving family in that picture piss me off.

Know what pisses me off even more?

The jackholes who supported Kim Kardashian’s “marriage”.

Neil Patrick Harris and his partner are a family, not a publicity stunt.

If I ever become a popular well-loved blogger I hope I am known for three things.  1) My cheap entertainment, 2) my inappropriate humor, and 3) my unending beating of the drum for equal rights for the gay community.

My girls are fortunate to live in a small town, go to a small school, (K-12 under 1 roof) where same-sex relationships are recognized and accepted.  It is not unusual to see couples walking down the hall holding hands, same-sex couples.  Same sex couples are allowed to go to prom together, they do not have to pretend to be somebody that they aren’t and they don’t have to hide their relationships.  My daughters accept this as perfectly normal.  They see first hand that same-sex relationships have their ups and downs like every other relationship.

And just like I do, they think that people who can’t see that are close minded people who don’t know the first thing about love.

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 04/25/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | One comment | Add to del.icio.us

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Last month I wrote about how my oldest daughter is growing up, regardless of how I feel about it.  That blog post garnered a bit of attention.  It was featured over at BlogHer,

And the people at Fresh Produce Clothing noticed, and asked me if I would review their clothing line, and share their brand with my readers.

Fresh Produce clothing are made primarily in the United States, and can be found in Fresh Produce stores, online, and in specialty stores in the United States and the Caribbean.  They also ship to over 200 countries around the world.

I was given the opportunity to go to their website, www.freshproduceclothes.com and pick one item to wear and review.  Their clothing line looks fun, and comfortable, and versatile enough to go from casual hang out with friends, to dressy go out to dinner.  With summer coming, (and the unusually warm weather most of the country has experienced this spring) their summer line of clothes are perfect.

Fresh Produce offers Beach Dresses such as the Pockets ‘O Plenty tank dress

They offer Island Dresses such as the Effortless Dress

Along with Island Clothes which includes, shirts, tanks, skorts and skirts

It made choosing a single article of clothing to wear, very difficult.  Since I was noticed for something I wrote about my daughter, I thought I would make this decision-making process so much easier (read complicated) and asked my daughters for their opinions.  (Those of you with children know what a headache that can be).  After much debate, and flipping of coins, drawing of straws, and possibly some rolled eyes, we narrowed it down to two, and from those two I chose the Effortless dress in the Happyness print.

When it arrived, I was surprised at the weight of it. It looks like a light weight breezy, can only be worn on a beach drinking margaritas watching the sunset kind of dress, but this dress has a little more to it.  Not an uncomfortable weight, but enough that it could easily be worn on a spring day, and yet still light and breezy enough so as not to be uncomfortable in the stifling heat and humidity of a Midwest summer day.  It was very easy to wear, and comfortable.  The fabric was wrinkle free, which is handy when you’re in a rush getting two daughters out the door in the mornings.

I got a size that luckily the girls and I could all wear, even though we are all different heights, and different builds.  I have to say it looked age appropriate on all three of us, from me (ahem) to my youngest (12).  The girls would easily wear it with flip-flops, I would wear it with sandals, or even wedges.  A sweater, or even a long sleeve shirt over it would still look great.

Megan wearing Effortless Dress in Happyness

I have to say this, the one and only drawback the girls could come up with was it needed to be shorter, but isn’t shorter/tighter almost every teenager’s wish?  Aside from it not being short enough, it was easily agreed that it is a very cute dress, and one all three of us will be wearing this summer.

Disclosure: I received the article of clothing of my choice in exchange for this review. All opinions are mine and my daughters’ and believe me when I say they are freely given. 

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 04/24/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 4 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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I spent the afternoon at their house, taking the photos they wanted, and then the photos I could capture.

I learned a lot.

I learned that I have a lot more to learn.

A. LOT. More to learn.

For a while, every session I have will be a learning experience for me.  I’ve spent years chasing my kids, and Brian’s kids. This was the first time I took pictures of people I am not related too.

There is still much I don’t know.  There is still much I have to learn.

I learned I need to know what poses I want, how to pose people and groups.  I need to remember, that I can and have to ask for specifically what I want.

I am not there just because I take good photos, I’m there because I know how to, and how to pose people, and how to group them, to make them all look good.

Supposedly.

I need to learn how to adapt, how to work quickly in unexpectedly chilly weather.  I need to learn that what I see when I scope out the site, is not always going to be what I’ll see when there are people there.

Yesterday, the family/friends in front of my camera were wonderful. They were fun to work with, they had their own ideas, and they let me do my own thing too.  I hope that at the end of the day they like what I did.

Much to learn. Many more photos to take in the process.

But yesterday, was a start, and I had a blast.

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 04/23/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 2 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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Tomorrow, is my first ‘real’ photo shoot, of people, (about 20) who are not in any way related to me.  I am so excited I can hardly stand it.

And nervous.

But they promise, there will be a margarita waiting for me, when I put the camera down.

Tomorrow I take my first real step towards realizing my dream.

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 04/21/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 2 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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Sounds simple enough, doesn’t it?

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 04/20/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | No comment | Add to del.icio.us

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Take for instance, Whitney Houston.  I learned about her death on Twitter, long before the nightly news.  And for the next almost for freakin ever we heard every single detail of her last night, of the phone calls made, the transportation of the body from the hotel to the morgue to her home town to the grave.  We studied and reported on every breath Bobbi Kristina took, and the media still portrayed Bobby Brown as the bad boy he was years ago.  We then heard the autopsy reports and the speculation that Bobbi Kristine was going to follow her mother’s lifestyle.

Does anyone remember Anna Nicole Smith’s death, and the trial, and the funeral, and the custody battles? The three-ring circus her death became, and the microscopic dissection of every photo, video taken, every appearance made by her through out her life?

Do we as the public, as fans, as human beings, really need all those details?  How are any of them relevant?  We knew Whitney did drugs, we new Anna Nicole’s weight fluctuated, and there was speculation for a while about possible drug use.

What about the Whitewater Scandal?  Yeah, that’s the kick off scandal that led to Monica Lewinsky. How was his affair with Monica relevant to his dealings with a failed real estate company? We didn’t need that many details about their encounters. None of it was relevant, and yet, it was reported, day in and day out in great detail.

I have all but stopped ‘watching’ the news and just listening to it on the radio, or reading the newspaper.  Because the radio stations only have a  small window to report the news, they pick and choose the important ones.  With a newspaper, I can pick and choose what I deem important.

Relevancy.  That’s what is missing.  Nothing is really relevant because apparently everything is.  Whitney Houston’s death was as important as the political campaigns of the Republican front-runners.  When did washed up drug addicted dead pop stars become as important as the possible next leader of our country?

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 04/19/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 3 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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I am over at Buy-Her today.  It’s been a long time since I wrote with the girls over there, but when I asked if I could write a review, Liza graciously accepted me back into the fold.

So, go over to Buy-Her today and check out the most embarrassing photos of me online, and also a product review of Suave Keratin products.  I didn’t post embarrassing photos of me on the internet for them to go largely ignored.

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 04/17/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | No comment | Add to del.icio.us

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Angela Coreys Special Prosecutor State of Florida

So it would seem that Florida has given in to public pressure and are charging George Zimmerman with Trayvon Martin’s death.  I have to wonder, would they have bothered if the media hadn’t stepped in and kept the pot stirred.  If the media hadn’t put their spin on the story in order to push their own personal agenda, and to report what they think happened that night, would this even be an issue?

We’ve been down this road before people, with Casey Anthony, who was also charged and tried and acquitted in the state of Florida. The simplistic version of Zimmerman’s defense will be “Were you there? Do you know beyond a reasonable doubt that Mr. Zimmerman acted out of prejudice towards blacks? No? Then it is possible he was attacked and was defending himself. Reasonable doubt.”

I am not passing judgement.  I hope that the State of Florida has some definitive evidence and testimony that will answer all of our questions.  I hope that at the end of this trial, the parents of Trayvon know beyond a reasonable doubt what went down that night and that this case can slip quietly into the history books and we can all move on.  I hope that Trayvon’s parents can find peace, I hope that they accept whatever the outcome, I hope the media leaves them alone and allows them time to grieve in peace and in private instead of in front of the cameras who are broadcasting every tear shed to boost their ratings.

I hope that this never happens again, and no family ever has to go through what Trayvon’s parents have been through, regardless of race, gender, sexual orientation, age, size, hair color or boob size.  And beyond all that I hope that the State of Florida has what it takes to prove its case.  Otherwise George Zimmerman will once again be forced to defend himself from attack, like he claimed he did that night in the rain.

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 04/11/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 3 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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Faith.

The internet seems to be unsure as to whether it was Matthew or Luke who told of Jesus saying “If you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you“. They can’t even agree on whether it was a mulberry tree or a mountain.  I guess it doesn’t matter.  If you have faith, and believe, nothing is impossible.

I’m not so sure I have faith any more.  For so many reasons I don’t want to get into I haven’t been to a church in years.  My father is no longer a preacher in any church and his personal belief system is his personal belief system.  My sister no longer believes in God as a higher power.  I don’t know what I believe.

But this week I took a leap of faith.  I ‘opened’ Becky Hood Photography.  I have business cards, I’ve handed them out.  I’ve even booked my first photo shoot two weeks from now.  I’ve given cards to friends to pass out.  I will have more printed next week.

Faith.

I wonder if I can do this.  I am not foolish enough to think it will keep the roof over our heads, or food on our table, but it will be money coming in. And it’s something I love.

The girls have been helpful in letting me practice and build my confidence.

Faith.

As small as a mustard seed can move mountains.

Or at least mulberry trees.

Or maybe, just maybe, move people to give me a chance.

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 04/09/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 3 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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How many times have I reached for the phone to make the phone call or send the text, and withdrawn my hand because I know there will be no response, or not the one I want to hear?  How many times have I walked past my camera this week, knowing I should pick it up and work, and practice and learn and be sure before I go do a real photo shoot in two weeks only to walk past it, telling myself I’ve still got plenty of time?  How many times have I reached for my laptop because I want to write some new articles for other websites I write for, or even this one which has been woefully neglected, and ended up playing Angry Birds Space instead in order to avoid the blank screen in front of me?

How many times have I told myself “You will never have what  you want, so isn’t it better to not try, than to be hurt and disappointed?” and walked away?

I dream of the day I will be happy, I will be loved, I will be appreciated, I will make money with my camera and my words, but I’m not so sure I believe those dreams can become reality.

I argued with a friend a while ago, because I was convinced the didn’t see me how I see me.  I stood there and told them with way more conviction that I felt, “I have worth. I am probably smarter than you think.  I know more about some things than you do, and that chaps your ass and you discard my opinion and my knowledge because you feel threatened by it.  I am more than a vagina and not every man I come in contact with wants to fuck me.  I believe that some day I will put a roof over my family’s head, and food on the table with my words and my camera.  I think that you think my writing and my photography are cute little hobbies but its high time I get off my lazy ass and get a real job according to you.”

And maybe they were right.  Maybe this blog will never make me more than the nickel and dimes the ads are bringing in. Maybe, no matter how many websites I write for, it will all be just because I can, and not because they pay me.  Maybe my photography will never be more than just me capturing my kids, and their friends, and special events.  And maybe I’ll let my fears, my insecurities, my belief that I’m not good enough, guarantee I will never put a roof over our head with my words and my camera.

I am a few months shy of 44, a year away from my ‘scary age‘.  The age when you were supposed to have your life together.  You know, settled, know what the hell you’re doing.  The age when you’re finally supposed to be an adult.  And here I am, 43, unemployed, twice divorced with no prospects on the horizon, and dreaming silly dreams.

I’m standing in my own way.  I’m afraid of the word “No”.  I’m afraid I’m not really as good as my family says, you know because they’re my family, they’re supposed to say I’m good.  I’m afraid to try, because what if I fail? What if I fail enough my dreams are crushed.  What if the voice in my head, the one that says “You’re not good enough” gets echoed back to me, from someone else?

And so, I sit here, single, alone, unemployed, staring at a camera, a laptop, a phone, and let that voice in my head win.

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I am just tired of hearing about Trayvon Martin.

Especially after the interview Anderson Cooper did with the Leader of the New Black Panthers.

This is going to end up the way the Casey Anthony case ended.  The only way it could.

The sad truth in the Trayvon Martin case is A) A teenage boy, a son, a student, a friend, a boyfriend, is dead at somebody else’s hands and B) We don’t know the whole truth of what happened that night, and probably never will.

I don’t care if Trayvon had been suspended over trace amounts of marijuana in his backpack, I don’t care what his twitter name was, I don’t care how many times he had been arrested, or what he was wearing or how low his pants were.  None of that mattered that night, and none of that are reasons for this child (and he was still a child) to be shot.

So just stop bringing up his past. I doesn’t factor in.  Stop bringing up his looks, his manner of dress.  It doesn’t matter.  Stop bringing up his twitter name, I don’t care and it does not justify his death.  So shut up.  Nobody knows what part he played in what happened that night.

For everyone out there screaming and demanding and marching and protesting and telling the police and attorney general and the President of the United States how to do their job and arrest Zimmerman? Shut the fuck up right now.  No matter what the media has told you, YOU DO NOT KNOW what happened that night, unless you were there.  And if you were there, then don’t tell us, tell the police. The police do not have enough evidence to charge the man with any kind of crime because they don’t have all the facts. And seriously, nobody is arrested right away on murder charges.  The authorities have to collect enough evidence to make sure the charges stick and can be prosecuted to a conviction.  Right now, Zimmerman has enough to prove a reasonable doubt and just like Casey Anthony, if they charge and prosecute him, he’ll walk.

Do I think Zimmerman murdered Trayvon?  I don’t know.  I think Trayvon is dead, and George Zimmerman is the reason, but how legally responsible for that death is he?

I don’t know.

And neither do you, or anyone else.

There are three sides to this story.  George Zimmerman’s, Trayvon Martin’s, and the truth.  And unfortunately we will never know anyone’s but Zimmerman’s.

But that does not make him guilty of murder.

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I subscribe to a boatload of blogs and websites.  I spend my mornings while the girls are getting ready, reading other people’s words.  Bad idea.  It almost always gets my panties in a wad.  I can not begin to list the sites or count the number of times I have read things like “This bugs the living shit out of me so STOP DOING IT! Asshat.”  or “Here’s How We Play Nice in Social Media according to ME”  Or even “If you continue to to this and that on your blog, I will UNSUBSCRIBE” which, oooohhh I’m scared, so what, see ya.

Lately, what with this being an election year, there has been a whole lot of talk and debates, and discussions and arguments, and tweets about Rights.  While I don’t always agree with every word Dana Loesch says, (so please keep your political rantings and judgments to yourselves) she is a hometown girl, and I will on occasion listen to her.  (I support our local celebs, plus, she’s on right before The DGS) The other day, she said something that really made me think.  Rights can only be obtained one of two ways.  We have God Given Rights and we have Constitutional Rights.

Period.

Life, Liberty and the pursuit of happiness  are rights.

But Guaranteed happiness is not.

Go forth and multiply is a god given right.

Birth control of any kind, I don’t give a shit who pays for it, is not a right.

Freedom of speech is a constitutional right given to everyone.

The right to not be offended is not a right given to anyone.

So I pulled out my trusty, if slightly out of date, Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary and looked up the word Right.  I know the outside said dictionary, but the ‘definition’ of this single word looked more like an encyclopedia.  So I got out our Scholastic’s Children’s Dictionary (because I have only had one cup of coffee so far this morning) and looked up Right.

And it basically looked like a children’s encyclopedia.  But if you look at #10 it says, “Something that the law says that you can have or do. As in the right to vote.

And in the blogoverse, in social media, on the internet, we all have freedom of speech, and none of us have the right to run around and force people to shut up, and go away or play by our set of rules because we’re offended.  We all have the right to ignore those who disagree with us, we all have the right to partake in discussions about topics, situations, or Facebook statuses we disagree on.

Here’s a cold hard fact of life people.  There will never come a time, or a place when/where everyone can agree on something.  It just won’t happen.  I have also learned, that no matter how passionately we argue our side of any argument, no matter how strongly we believe we are right and everyone else is wrong, the other side is arguing just as passionately and believing just as strongly, and we stand no more chance of changing their minds, than they do of changing ours.

I don’t care if someone doesn’t play by the same rules you have set for yourself.  I don’t care if someone posts something you think is inappropriate and uncalled for.  I don’t care if someone breaks one your cardinal rules of social media.  You can not change them, or force them to conform to your ideology.  They have the same rights as you.  They have the right to freedom of speech.  They have the right to voice their opinion, to disagree with you, to argue or discuss the differences, or just ignore you.  Like you have the right to ignore them.

But instead of hating them, trying to change them, or eradicate them, try tolerance. Just allow them to be different.  Allow them to coexist, allow them the same freedoms you demand for yourself.

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 03/26/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 4 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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So when anyone tries to pass off someone else’s words as their own, I’m baffled and dumbfounded. “Plagiarism is wrong” is basic writing 101 and ‘Thou shalt not steal’ is basic Commandments 108 (granted it’s not in the Top 5 commandments, it is in the Top 10).  And then to insult bloggers and readers across the internet by saying “I am not a writer, and never have claimed to be” is absolutely ridiculous.  The fact that you write a blog, by definition makes you a writer.  The fact that you are were getting paid by a website for articles you wrote, (and apparently I have to use that term loosely) does in fact make you a writer, the fact that companies came to you and compensated you for writing your opinion of their products or services does, by the very definition make you a writer, a professional writer at that.

I wasn’t even going to tackle this whole issue because clearly everyone and their brother’s college roommate’s next door neighbor’s hot niece has covered it, has sounded off, offered up an opinions and advice.  There is not a single word I could add to this that would have any relevance. But then I read Melissa Ford’s post about Right Click Disabling your Blog.  In her post she says “I was totally put-off as a blog reader because the assumption was that if I wanted to copy even one word from the blog, I was a thief.” Ok, I get that sentiment. I could see how a person could feel that way, but isn’t that taking a personal choice of the author a little too personally?

My blog is right click disabled.  Believe me it’s probably way more inconvenient for me than it is for any of my readers.  I can’t copy anything from my own site for myself, I have to go to the dashboard and copy it from there.  Pain. In. The. Ass. I can’t even open a link in a new tab b/c that requires right clicking and I bitch at myself when the window pops up that says “Thank you for not stealing my shit”.  BUT I did it because at one time there were problems, serious problems between me and my ex husbands.  I right click disabled my blog, not based on any kind of assumption that someone would steal  my words/photos. (believe me I’m not that good)  I right click disabled it based on the knowledge and fact that someone already had. Now, if you read my blog in any kind of reader, my words and photos are not right click protected and you can copy/paste to your heart’s content. (Just be sure and give me credit and link back to me.)

There is always going to be somebody who writes better, who writes more eloquently (like how I used that big fancy word there?) who uses more colorful descriptive words.  There is always going to be someone who takes better photos, who lands bigger sponsors, who has more giveaways, who has more readers, more followers.  There’s always going to be bigger and better and more popular, and prettier and skinnier, and richer, and has a bigger house, and a nicer car, and better behaved kids, and cooler friends, and a pool, and a flat screen HDTV, and who’s house is always clean, and hair is always done and wears the perfect clothes.  And that’s fine… they can live in that world.  I choose to live in, and write about mine.  I have a hard enough time trying to be me, I can’t be bothered to try and be someone I’m not.

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A couple of weeks ago, I took a huge leap of faith, and bought Becky Hood Photography.com.  Like any child/teen/family/newborn/people photographer will tell you, it started out as a way to document our kids.  And then it turned into a hobby, which has been parlayed into a business.  I will tell you, in September I started just taking photos of Meredith when she cheered her first games.  Then it became the whole squad, then it was basketball, and then the basketball players.  By the end of the season I was taking close to 800 photos every game of everyone on the floor.  I will hand over CD’s to the moms in a couple of weeks with photos of their sons and daughters.  Also included will be my website address and a plug that I’m available for photo sessions that do not take place on a basketball court.

I asked a friend of mine right after I bought the domain
I can do this, right
He said ‘You already are. Now you’ll get paid for it.”

The website it not fully functional yet. I will be by the time the parents have the CD’s of their kids in their hands.  I am still working on getting photos added and my About Me page, and my “OMG I can’t believe I am actually going to try and do this” page.  But go check it out, just know that it’s got the drywall up, and  windows installed but that’s about it.

Back in January I had my first featured post over at BlogHer.  It was about how there are precious few resources on the internet, and in the blogging world for parents of teens.  That post put me in contact with Kristen over at Four Hens and a Rooster who agreed, there are few places for moms of teens to go.   And because she can take and idea and run with it, she created Ten to Twenty Parenting and has asked me to be a contributing author over there.  As my writer introduction page says “The only credibility I have to give any sort of parenting advice is the fact that my daughters are still alive and thriving.  And considering my track record with plants, I consider this a major miracle.”  But I am excited about the new website, and the opportunity to write about being a single mom of teenage girls and all the problems, and joys that entails.  Please go over and check us out.

I have plenty to say about the drama going on around the web and in the world of politics.  I promise I’ll sound of on all those things this week.  I just wanted to take a minute of your time and say Hey!  I’m at two more places around the web, please go check them out.  Feedback is always welcome. Seriously.

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 03/20/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 5 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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And so it was a vicious cycle.

Until one therapy session when my therapist suggested “What if you didn’t react?  Just because he says it, doesn’t make it true.  What if, when he calls, you mentally throw your cell phone across the river and don’t call him back in the time it would take you to walk across to get it?  What if you just allowed him to believe whatever it is he feels the need to believe and let it go?”

The media, and even some blog writers, seem to thrive on stirring the pot.  I get the whole sensationalism for the sake of attention, but at some point it goes too far and people take up arms in a fight that is far less important or serious than the author portrayed it.

They know what buttons to push to get the biggest reaction.

If you are looking for a smack down there is an over abundance of them all around the internet lately.  Forget the terrorists, they’re sitting back now laughing watching us tear each other apart.

So Rush Limbaugh supposedly called someone a slut (I say supposedly b/c I have neither heard nor read the exact exchange that happened) and women across the country took up their swords and shields ready to fight to defend this girl’s honor.  Rush is a media personality, and has been for many years.  He’s notorious for saying outrageous things, and this is one of those things.  He knew exactly what to say, what buttons to push, to get the biggest reaction possible.

And women played right into his hands.

So what if he called her a slut.  Just because he says it doesn’t make it true.  But she put herself out there, she opened the door to discussing her sex life, and so she’s not exactly innocent in this exchange.  it’s not like Rush opened a phone book, picked a random name and called her a slut.  Was it rude? Yes.  Was it unnecessary? In normal day to day conversation, yes.  But this is radio, and media and sensationalism and ratings.  If Howard Stern had said it, would anyone bat an eye at it?

*side note* Rush is entitled to his opinion, and welcome to America land of the free thanks to the brave, where we have freedom of speech.  Which is all fun and games until someone gets a reputation, apparently.  But here’s the thing, let’s say Sandra Fluke sues Rush for defamation of character and libel.  She would have to prove that what he said was not true, and that he had malicious intent in saying what he said.  Can you imagine the trial?  Sandra’s attorney trying to prove she isn’t a slut, and Rush’s team trying to prove she is?  And how many sidebars would there to be determine what time period they were considering and exactly how many sex partners is required to be considered a slut. 

So, Rush used the S-word. And women lost their fucking minds, demanding Rush be removed from the airwaves (instead of just changing the station or turning off the radio like a rational human being with a damned choice would do. No they want his head on a silver platter.) But what about Bill Maher?  He called Sarah Palin a cunt.  So, what? She’s already a public figure and therefore fair game?  Wait, what?  But it seems to me that those who are demanding Rush be removed from the public eye (Or ears) are perfectly ok with Bill Maher’s assessment of Sarah Palin.

Double fucking standard much?

This isn’t about he said/he said.  It’s a first amendment right.  I don’t agree with what they said, but I will defend their right to say it. The thing is, these guys (and many more like them) are media personalities, who are after ratings any way they can get them.  They have a constitutional right to free speech just like we all have the right to voice our opinions about what they said.  But we also have the right to change the station, turn off the television, refuse to click on that link, leave a website.  We can’t shut them up, or shut them down, but we have the option to turn them off and walk away.

This all started over birth control.  Who’s going to pay for it.  Some people say the government should pay for it, some say pay for your own damned prescriptions. There is a picture on Pinterest that says ‘Get your politics out of my vagina’.  I say you brought your vagina to the table.  And really, why is anyone surprised that politicians are talking about birth control and reproductive issues.  Haven’t you people learned anything? Politicians for years have been getting into women’s pants any way they can.  Hello, President Clinton and Anthony Weiner.

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Again!

I am so excited to be featured on BlogHer today.

I cross posted my post Because 15 is Almost 16 and Might As Well be 18 over at BlogHer, and Jenna picked it up and featured it today in the Family topic.

So please, even if you did leave a comment here, could you go over there and show just a smidge of love?  I want the women of BlogHer to think people like me.

And tomorrow I promise I’ll have a real post.  Pinky Promise

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We scored the first points.  We started ahead, the way we start every single game.  We score first. Always. We get in front, and stay in front.

Except for Saturday.

We scored first, and that was the only time we were ahead.  A few short minutes later, we were down by 1, then by 4, and the gap continued to grow, until we were down by 20.  The boys just weren’t playing their A game.  They just didn’t look like the boys we had watched win every other game they’d played.

And still the stands roared with support.

Half time came, and they came back out  on to the court ready to play the second half.  And for a while, it looked as if they would rally.  It looked as if they had found their rhythm.   It looked as if they had found their game.

But the other team had found theirs too.

We shrunk the gap to 4 points.  At that point we all thought and believed all was not lost, we could still pull this out, we could still win it.

But in the last two minutes, it didn’t matter what we did, it wasn’t going to happen.

If the cheerleaders and the crowd could have yelled us to victory the game would have been a lock.  The girls and the parents and the family, friends and neighbors never gave up.  They cheered, they yelled, the screamed, they supported and they hoped and dreamed and never, ever, gave up.

Every person in that gym that day fought hard until the buzzer sounded to signal the end of the game.

And the end of our journey.

Our boys would not bring home the championship this, their senior year.

I sat in the stands that day, with my camera, like I had all season long, and I took 830 pictures of the game, of the players, of the cheerleaders.

I put my camera down, as they walked off the court.  Nobody, not them, not their parents, nobody needed or wanted those pictures.

To the cheerleaders of the 2011-2012 season; You are all beautiful girls. It has been my pleasure to capture your beauty and your laughter, the cheers and the fun all season long.  What started out a mom capturing her daughter’s first year on the high school squad, ended up the ‘cheer mom’ capturing serious and fun moments of 10 daughters on the high school cheer squad.

To the basketball players this year.  It has been an exciting ride.  It has been an incredible thrill and honor to capture your skill, your talent, you intensity, and your joy in playing the game.  I honestly hope you know how truly proud this entire town is of you, all of you.  Thank you.

To the parents of both the cheerleaders and the players, thank you for allowing me to capture the stolen moments of your kids this year.  Thank you for allowing me to get to know them, from behind my camera and without it.  Their individual personalities shine though in the photos I took, and I will share them all with you, as you have shared them with me.

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Her pictures are the only ones I have permission to use here.

People, here’s the deal.

Our boys basketball team has made the state playoffs.

And my girl, is a cheerleader.

And I am apparently the unofficial official photographer of both the cheerleaders and the players.

According to the cheerleaders, and the players moms.

To say that I’ve been busy taking and editing photos like kind of like saying the Grand Canyon is a whole in the ground.

Over the course of the past two days I have spent no less than 15 hours with my laptop in my lap editing photos and setting up a new website.

My head hurts.

My eyes hurt.

I’m probably not even close to done.

And neither are our boys.

I can not even put into words how exciting this is, not only for the players, but for the cheerleaders, especially Meredith (this is her first go round) but me and Megan as well.

When we get to the final three games, they will be played a short 45 minutes from the girls’ dad and his family, and in the same town my mom and sister live in.

Her entire family will get to see her cheer.

To them that is far more exciting than whatever those silly boys will be doing out there with a ball.

And the chance to cheer in front of her family? Is almost better than the boys winning the State Championship.

Almost.

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 03/08/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 3 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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You know, as long as I don’t think about it.

In a year, she’ll be 16, and driving.  A blink of an eye she’ll turn 18 and graduate.  It’s getting harder and harder to ignore the fact that she won’t be mine forever.

And it scares me, and pisses me off.

I don’t want to let go. *stomping feet* *holding my breath*  (ok, passing out now)

She’s a freshman, and a cheerleader.  Our boys varsity basketball team just won our District Championship, and are on their way to State Champions.  She is gone a lot, traveling with the team and the cheerleaders.

And while I am fiercely proud of her, oh god am I proud, I am also sad at seeing her grow, and become this person who is more hers than mine.  She’s no longer my baby who refused to talk for so long because she had trained her brother to talk for her. She talks plenty on her own now.

I found myself picking fights, little fights, nit picking at her, this weekend.  I am not proud of my actions.  Pick up your things, you’re not pulling your weight around here, you can’t spend all day in bed.  I was irritated, I was frustrated, I was upset.  And none of those had to do with the cheer gear dropped on my living room floor, or the clothes left in the bathroom, or the fact that she was still in bed at 9:30 (she got home after midnight the night before).  It had everything to do with she’s almost 15, which is almost 16, which might as well be 18 and gone.

I can’t say that I don’t want her to grow up.  I’ve seen firsthand what a parent telling a child “I won’t let you grow up” can do to a child.  Besides, there is already part of her that is no longer mine.  While there’s a part of her that she doesn’t remember, the part when she was just a baby and I could cuddle with her, and laugh and giggle with her, when she was the light of everyone’s life, before she had to share the spotlight.  That little girl will always be mine, even though there is very little trace of her left.

15 years ago, I gave her the name Meredith. Over the years she has been TaterBug, Tate, and Mere.  This year her friends gave her the name Murry.  To all her friends, to the basketball players, to the cheerleaders, to half the high school, she is Murry.  Even her name isn’t really mine, but hers now.

She is my heart walking around outside my body.  It’s been a real twist of fate that I have been so very very blessed to have been this amazing creature’s mother.  It has been my job to take care of her and raise her for 15 years.  It’s ironic that she’s taken care of me more often than she ever should have.  She has been my cheerleader, my support, she believes in me when I find it so very hard to believe in myself.

She’s 15, which is almost 16, which might as well be 18.  My time with her is limited.  Once she’s 16, and can drive, she’s basically gone.  I know I have three short years to get used to this whole letting her go bullshit.  I can’t pretend that is ‘someday’ because someday is right around the corner.

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 03/06/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 10 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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I was going to write a very scathing blog post calling out these uptight moms with nothing to do but try and get the rest of us to live by their standards and their definition of morality but then I thought, do I really have to?

While they are protesting Archie comics, and Clorox bleach, and JC Penny (Why don’t they go boycott and email the producers of Jersey Shore????) the state of Maryland signed a law allowing same sex marriage.  They are the 8th state in the union to do so.  Now, if the preceding states have taught us anything, it is that this law will be contested and revoked and reinstated before it becomes true law.  But today they started that process, and that’s a step in the right direction.

My twitter stream following this news was both supportive and congratulatory.  Maybe it’s just the people I choose to follow, but I didn’t see anyone speaking against it.  All you have to do is look around the internet, around the bloggerverse, and see post after post of tolerance and support.  And I will admit it’s possible that I don’t run in the circles that would spout their hatred of gays and lesbians.  And it’s a good thing I don’t.

That’s the key, right there.  Tolerance.  Not necessarily acceptance, but tolerance.  It’s unreasonable to expect everyone to accept same sex marriage or relationships.  Millions of people (apparently 1 million moms) have millions of reasons why they are opposed to same sex relationships.  That is their prerogative.  But it isn’t out of the realm of possibility to ask them, and expect them to be tolerant of those relationships.

Let’s be honest, if we were sticking our noses in their relationships and telling them who they could and couldn’t marry they would be pissed right the fuck off, but apparently that road doesn’t run both ways.  It’s a case of they can dish it, but they can’t take it.

So, while I am asking One Million Moms to be tolerant of the fact that the world around us is saturated with sex, that the advertising world not only perpetuates but thrives on sexual images and innuendos, that there are other kinds of sex beside man/woman missionary position in the dark on Saturday nights after two glasses of wine, I need to learn to be tolerant of close minded uptight busybodies who have nothing better to do that try and change the world to their standards of morality.

This is not to say that we should shut up. In fact, it’s just the opposite. As long as there are these Keepers of the Morality out there trying to keep the world pure and chaste and boring, then we have to raise our voices saying I like my sex three nights a week with the lights on and leather and paddles!!!*  *ahem*   Sex is all around us, and I’m sorry (not really) that they don’t want to have those uncomfortable talks with their kids. They don’t want the kids to discover that the world outside their house, their picket fence, their gated community is not Leave It To Beaver. They better have those talks with their kids.  I don’t want my kids going to school with a bunch of sexual morons.  That’s how Snooki got pregnant.

*No Mom, there are no paddles used, or leather worn. Now that I type this out, it sounds rather boring doesn’t it?

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 03/05/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 3 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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Then I sat down to write about the two major episodes I’ve had in the past two weeks.  I was going to write about how the rose colored glasses I’d been wearing finally fell off and lay shattered at my feet. And with them, the lies I’d been telling myself, and the dreams that never would come true.  I was going to write about how I have struggled for the past 10 days to find my way back to peace, and a stronger me.  But unless you’ve lived the past three weeks in my head, whatever I would write would sound too cryptic no matter how poetic it may be.

So, maybe tomorrow, I’ll find some words that are worth reading.  In the meantime, pretend I am my usually funny witty brilliant self.

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My daughter is embarrassed by me.

A few weeks ago, I wore my red stilettos to the Homecoming Basketball game.  I wore them with jeans and a turtleneck sweater.  Anyone who knows me here, or even in real life knows I am known for my shoes.  I looked presentable.

But they were stilettos.

And red.

And one of her friends made the comment “Your mom’s a MILF”.

She didn’t say anything to me at the time.  In fact, she waited until last night to say anything.  I was getting ready for yet another game, and she asked me to change my shirt. I didn’t understand why, because it’s a shirt I’ve worn many times before.

Apparently it was too low-cut.

And “People are calling you a MILF”

I stopped short.

I tried to explain that it had nothing to do with how I dressed.  I’m a single mom, I’m not altogether unfortunately looking, I’m blonde with blue eyes, and I’m tall and slim.. My jeans are not too tight, my shirts are never too revealing, and always reach well over the top of my jeans.

“No Mom, it was your red boots.”

Shit.

My passion had crossed a line.  Completely unintentional.  I love my boots.

But I love my daughter more.  Clearly.

I changed shirts.

Short of showing up in a baggy oversized sweatshirt and baggy jeans, dirty hair and no make-up, (which would embarrass my daughter for entirely different reasons) it’s hard for me ‘dress down’.  I look ‘put together’ when I go to any school function specifically so I don’t embarrass my daughters.

God this post sounds so shallow and conceited and full of myself….

On top of feeling like a lousy mom, I also felt violated.  As if, my red boots somehow signaled I was asking to be fucked.

And if there were any doubt about some of her friends calling me a MILF, one of them came up to me at the game (where I was wearing jeans, a shirt, a jacket and loafers), and said to me “Those red boots of yours? Awesome.  I told Meredith ‘Your mom looks hot!’”.

In the process of doing something fun for me, wearing my fun heels, dressing up so I felt pretty instead of just Mom-ish, I had embarrassed my daughter.

She said it wasn’t so much me, but what her friends were saying.

And here we are three weeks after Homecoming and I still have people students coming up to me talking about my boots.

The way I see it, I have one of two choices.  Either wear them every single day, every time I go to the store or the library or to do laundry so that everyone gets used to seeing me in my red boots. (Hey, I’m already known for them) Or put them away and save them for when I have a date, and that ain’t ever going to happen.

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 02/24/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 5 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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So, I’m going to let it go. As if it really is that easy.  I’m just done writing about it here, for a while. So. *Ahem* moving on.

I think I put my foot in it yesterday, with a comment I left on a blog post.  If I didn’t piss of people there, I am pretty sure I will here.  That’s just how I roll.  (Does anyone use that phrase anymore?)

Yesterday, I was rolling through my Google Reader when I came across this story Liz of Maybe Baby Maybe Not posted at BlogHer.  Go read it, it’s a great story.  But for the purposes of this blog post, I’ll recap it for you. Guy goes into bagel place, young couple with young kids come in. Kids are all over the place, parents are oblivious.  Older gentleman, puts parents in their place.  It’s worth the read… honestly.

The comments that were there were in support of the parents.  *blink blink*  *scratching head looking all kinds of WTF?* Maybe I’m out of line, but one comment went so far as to say “Parenting is hard and in the end, I wouldn’t want someone embarrassing me so I wouldn’t do it them.”  Wait, WHAT?  Allow these children to assault (Ok, assault may be a bit too harsh, but the children were ‘driving’ their trucks all over the place bumping into other patrons) other patrons, because we don’t want to embarrass them? Are you kidding me?  Under absolutely ZERO circumstances is it ever acceptable for anyone, including a child, to hit another person with anything. Since these parents seem to think that that is perfectly acceptable behavior, I’m sure they wouldn’t care if I bumped into them as I walked by.

Another comment was ‘What if these were special needs children?”

Again I say, there is a certain level of respect due to everyone, and a certain level of behavior expected in public with some exceptions being made. . Children can be taught how to behave in public  If they can not sit in their seats, they sure can at least play close by the parents.  I understand that kids will be kids and that there are children with special needs, but again, the other patrons have expectations which I am sure include but are not limited to ‘enjoying a bagel without being assaulted by a child.” Seems pretty reasonable to me.

I will forgive a whole lot when it comes to kids, if the parents are attempting to be parents  and making an attempt to keep their kids from bothering other patrons.  I will excuse and ignore temper tantrums, yelling and screaming, I will even excuse running around their table.  I don’t even care if your kid comes over and says Hi to me, I’ll engage them in a conversation. But I will also be looking for you as their parent to see if you even know or care where your child is.

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 02/22/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 13 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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You’re crazy.

You are fucked in the head and you need help.

All of those words were leveled at me this weekend.   To an extent, they are true.  I have a mental illness.  That mental illness sometimes grips me so hard, logic and reason are beyond my reach.  Yes, I do stupid destructive things while in the midst of this hell.  They seem logical and right at the time, there is no impulse control To be honest that is my healthy brain screaming out for help, much like Reagan wrote HELP ME on her physical body from the inside while the demon possessed her. 

You’re sick.

You’re crazy.

You are fucked up in the head and you need help.

Words spoken by someone who not only doesn’t understand, but clearly doesn’t want to.  Spoken by someone who would not step outside themselves to help. Those words said to me were as painful and as hurtful and as destructive as real physical blows to my body.  My manic brains seized on those words and repeated them over and over and over mantra style inside my head. 

You’re sick.

You’re crazy.

You are fucked up in the head, and you need help.

I have two irrational fears  in my life.  The fear of getting fat, and the fear of being crazy. ( I said they were irrational fears)   I can live with “mentally ill”, I can live with “bipolar”, I can even live with ‘sick’.  I can not live with ‘crazy’. I know I’m sick, I know there are times I look/act/sound like I’m fucked up in the head, mainly because when I’m in a spiral, I am fucked up. But crazy, while it’s pretty much common vernacular for stupid behavior, it also still stirs up images of loony bins and straight jackets.  And I am scared to death of crazy.

You’re sick.

You’re crazy.

You are fucked up in the head, and you need help.

The truth is, I’m getting help, but help doesn’t make a difference over night.  Medications take weeks to be visibly effective.  Therapy can take years.  I’m never going to be normal, and life with me is never going to be Ward and June Cleaver.  When I’m sick, or crazy, or fucked up in the head, I can put on a charming smiling face and be a lot of fun to be around. if I work at it really hard. But the whole time I’m laughing and having a blast, the voices, the other person inside my head is saying things like “You know you’re crazy right? You know this is just an act.  You know that it won’t stay hidden forever.  Someday they are going to know just how fucked up and damaged you are.”  So, what do you do, when you’re falling down that rabbit hole and the person you reach out to for help, the one you should be able to count on, is the one who’s telling you

You’re sick

You’re crazy.

You are fucked up in the head and you need help.

I sit here, staring at my phone with such intensity I expect it to burst into flames, waiting, willing the little green light to blink, signaling I have a text message.  Hour after hour it stays dark. The help I reached out for, screamed for, cried and begged for was never there as I fell apart, lost myself, gave up.  Even now, as I am trying to put it all back together, find myself, and find my way through the shame and disgust at my words and actions, the help, the support, the person I need is nowhere to be found.  All because they believe

I’m sick.

I’m crazy.

I’m fucked up in the head, and I need help.

It is times like this, when I am trying to find… something, anything redeemable in me, when I question everything, when I have spent the entire day on the couch because I can’t get up and face any more of the world beyond my laptop, that I need to know that I am not alone.  I need to know that I have not been abandoned, and they can still find something, anything, within me that is worth loving. Because as I struggle to free myself from the voices, their words echo in my head.  It’s times like this that the voices inside my head scream the loudest, because there are so few voices outside my head to drown them out. I have to save myself because when it gets ugly, when it sucks me in and steals my rationality, my logic, my reasoning and my sanity, nobody wants to help, or knows how to help, and so they run.  I am left alone and abandoned, and faced with the cold hard truth the isn’t enough in me for them to love.  And I’m jealous of their freedom, their ability to run away. Because I can’t. 

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 02/20/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 11 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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So ‘Patrick’ writes

Whitney’s music saved my life ! HER MUSIC BRINGS AND HAS BROUGHT LOVE AND JOY TO MILLIONS OF PEOPLE’S LIFES (sic) ! TAKE THAT LOVE QUOTE AND RUBY HEART RING OFF YOUR WEBSITE BECAUSE YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT “THE GREATEST LOVE OF ALL” IS THAT WHITNEY WAS SINGING TO THE WORLD IN YOUR HEART COLD FISH !!!! BURN IN HELL !!!! F in H Y P O C R I T E GO DRINK THAT BOTTLE OF VODKA AND SINK INTO A WARM BATH GOD YOU ARE A HOT WET F ED UP MESS LMAFAO ! PZ

Dear Patrick,

First of all Patrick, *lives.

Whitney Houston described herself as “Nobody’s Angel” and frankly I tend to agree.  She was not an angel, and she was not someone to be worshipped and praised.  She deserves some recognition for her talent in the 80’s but let’s not forget she was a drug addicted washed up pop star who’s prime and had come and gone.

In Whitney Houston’s song “The Greatest Love of All” she sings

The greatest love of all
Is easy to achieve
Learning to love yourself
It is the greatest love of all

I find it very difficult to believe for a second that she loved herself when she stayed in an abusive marriage to Bobby Brown.  They were married in July of 1992, and divorced April 2007.  It was during this marriage that Bobby was arrested for misdemeanor battery after hitting Whitney. You only need to Google Bobby Brown/Whitney Houston marriage to see story after story upon story of the abuse he inflicted.

Do you want to go down the drug abuse road?  Let’s see, she not only DIDN’T deny it, she talked openly and candidly about her drug addiction and her and Bobby’s Drug of choice.  (pot mixed with cocaine).  Where the hell is the “love yourself” in the abuse of your body and your mind with drugs?  Please, explain that to me.

I will agree that she was talented.  She could sing. IN THE 80’s.  Not recently, and not very well recently.  Her last album was a dismal failure.  She was a pop star, she had talent, and she wasted it away and gave ZERO back to the community.  Have a funeral, have a memorial service, but flying the flags at half mast?  That’s an insult to our service men and women.  AN INSULT.

And as for all that other crap  you spewed forth in your email?  I stand behind my opinion.  I don’t care what you think of it, or me.  You don’t know me from Adam and the fact that you are this worked up and pissed off over a blog post tells me that I’ve struck a nerve.  You don’t have to read a single word I’ve written, I don’t care.

And one more thing.  I don’t drink vodka.  Its tequila.  At least get your facts right.

Thanks for playing Patrick!

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 02/17/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 7 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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I am also on Google+ and I am on Networked Blogs through Facebook.  The simple truth is, if you want to find me, follow the flashing neon signs. 

I went to the doctor this week about my meds.  When you spiral as hard and as fast as I did, something has to change.  And so it did.  A tweak in the medications and we’ll see how I feel in a couple of weeks.  The problem with med updates is that for the first few days I am bitchy beyond belief because I feel as if I’m living in jello.  I can see all these things around me that need to be done and I just can’t seem to get off my butt to do them.  That and I’m convinced if I could just straighten up my house and put everything away my life would be in order as well.  Again, jello, butt-couch.  I know things will be even out and I’ll feel so much better next week, but right now I bitch at the girls because my house is cluttered.  Mostly with my shit.  I’m awesome like that.

I am on lithium, which used to conjure up images of insanity, and asylums, and Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.  Now it just means blood work every couple of weeks to check my lithium levels.  I’m going to have more track marks than a back hooker on crack.  And speaking of back alley hookers on crack, I pinned this greeting card on Pinterest months ago.

(click on image for source, I’m awesome like that)

Last week I got an email saying they were removing it because it was pornography and nudity.  Really?   I can have a “That’s it, I’m creating a WTF board” with this WTF picture on it

and it’s left alone, but a greeting card about a hooker on crack gets pulled.  Hello, it was on the internet.  So I downloaded the damn picture.   Yes, this is my manic mind at work, you almost need a road map to keep up with me, don’t ya.  I live with this shit in my head.

And speaking of getting things in order, I am totally geeking out over Outlook 2010.  I subscribed to my own damn blog (because writing this crap isn’t enough, I’m narcissistic as well) and now I can add each feed to my calendar so I will have an archive of every blog post this year.  Also, I can attached the emails that I get whenever someone comments on my blog to the same calendar event and someday in the future I can go back and see who said what on which blog post.  And yes, when I’m trying to get my brain in order, and my thoughts on the same track all going the same way, any kind of micro-managing organization I can do is comfort.  I am almost embarrassed I wrote this paragraph.

This is my life in a nutshell today.  I know next week I’ll be doing better.  In the meantime I am reading blogs, even if I’m not commenting.  I will get back to my usual snarky self (as if today wasn’t snarky enough) next week.  Thanks for hanging in here with me.  Also? Margaritas help this all make more sense.  I promise.

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 02/16/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 2 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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It seems there’s been quite a bit going on while I was lost in my self-absorbed navel gazing.

There are a lot of things in this world that I just don’t understand.  Quantum physics, Nicki Minaj, and the worshipping of Whitney Houston.  Yes, I am prepared for a fuckton of hate mail and backlash, but hear me out first.

Whitney Houston, niece of Dionne Warwick, both women blessed with voices bigger and more powerful than they themselves.  Whitney rocked the 80’s.  Owned them.  Made them her bitch.  And then, like any other good girl meets bad boy love story, she met, fell in love, and married Bobby Brown and it was all downhill from there.  The drugs, the violence, the abuse, the lifestyle, the interviews, the denials, the reality television show.  It was hard for us to watch the good girl try and save and change the bad boy only to lose herself in the fight.  Even after she divorced Bobby it was still difficult to separate herself from him and the life they had lived together.  So, when the news started to come across the web that Whitney Houston had died, everyone’s first thought was drugs.

The Grammys were the next night, and Whitney was on the lips of everyone there.  LL Cool J opened with a short but heartfelt prayer for Whitney and her loved ones.  Jennifer Hudson performed an emotional hauntingly beautiful tribute to Whitney.  Everyone remembered her golden voice.  And brushed the rest of her legacy under the rug, ignoring the elephant in the room.  Almost as if singing her praises loud enough often enough replaying her performances at every possible opportunity would somehow make the ugly side of her life somehow less ugly or just disappear.

Whitney was blessed with a talent few will ever have.  And she was cursed with an addiction she couldn’t beat.  I am not going to argue addiction: Choice or disease.  She had problems, she had demons, she had battles of her own to fight.  We all do.  I am not throwing stones. In Whitney’s own words, “I’m nobody’s angel”. But here’s my issue with the way Whitney is being immortalized; she was given a gift, a great talent, but what did she give back?

I find it hard to stomach the praise and worship that is being offered up to/for/about (What word do I use here?) Whitney considering the life she lived and the legacy she will leave behind.  She will always be remembered for “I Will Always Love You”, “The Bodyguard” and “Crack is Wack”.  She was given a gift, and she used it to entertain us. And we gave her adulations, love, awards, fame, and she squandered it.

The world has lost a great musical talent, but I have to think we lost it years ago. We have finally lost the hope that someday she would find happiness and sobriety and her talent would one day ring out for all the world to hear yet again.  Whitney, I truly hope you have found the love and joy and peace that eluded you in life.

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 02/14/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 4 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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Carolyn from This Talk Ain’t Cheap left me a comment on that blog post that I tried to reply to, but I felt it I didn’t reply adequately enough.  So, please indulge me, while I try to do it justice here.

I was diagnosed in 2007.  I had been treated off and on for depression in the years since my divorce from the girls’ dad in 2005.  I can now look back and see bipolar behaviors in my childhood that we sort of just wrote off.

We totally missed all the signs

It’s hard to determine exactly when my bipolar disorder manifested itself.  My parents and I ignored it, wrote it off, explained it away, for so very long.  My childhood was not your typical childhood.  My father was a minister, so we lived a pseudo nomadic life, moving every three years.  Making friends and maintaining friendships has never been easy for me. Never.  I have often wondered if that is because of the moving so often, or if it is because of the BPD.  One of the characteristics of BPD is lack of impulse control.  I remember screaming and throwing my hair brush at the mirror because my hair wouldn’t curl the right way.  I remember my mother being concerned about me because I was so overly involved in my friends’ drama, everything was life or death.  Bipolar is about extremes, and so was my life.  I could go days, or weeks without cleaning my room, and then, for whatever reason feel this overwhelming NEED to have everything in it’s place.  I would spend an entire day tearing my room apart only to put it back together again.

I was a sophomore in high school when I had my first go ‘round with anorexia.  BPD does not partly alone.  While the thoughts in my head would sometimes rage out of control, I found that the one thing I could absolutely control was the amount of food I ate, or didn’t eat. And I was very good at controlling that.  Control though was part of why I went undiagnosed for so long.  I was afraid to let go of control.  I maintained a B+ average in high school.  I always did what was expected of me, I never broke a rule, I was a good girl.  I had to be normal, and perfect.  We as a family of the minister had an image to maintain.  Crazy was not part of that image.

Until my father’s job demanded we move to a new church.  In January.  Of my senior year.  The middle of my senior year I left all my friends, the guy I was dating, and moved to a town where the only people I knew was my family.  My brother and sister would be starting school and meeting new people making new friends when we got there.  I would be graduating when we moved, and wouldn’t have any way to meet anyone.  Hello first depression.

I can point out other episodes throughout my life that should have been huge Ah-ha moments for us.  The day I was pissed at my English Lit professor for calling out me and my boyfriend for passing notes in class.  After class as my boyfriend and I were finishing our “discussion” I put my hand through a glass door.   I drank entirely too much in college and had sex with too many people.  Impulse control, I didn’t have it.

Those signs might have been explained away as a rebellious teen pissed at her father for ruining her senior year.  The years to come would not be any easier.

One of the biggest signs of lack of impulse control was my first marriage.  Chris and I dated off and on (mostly off, only on when nobody else was available) during high school.  My father hated him.  I can see why now.  I graduated from college in the spring of ‘91, that December I looked Chris up.  We hadn’t talked in years.  He was single, I was single.  I always had a huge crush on him, and he was always the one I could never catch.  30 days later we decided to get married.  We I told my parents the night before.  They were not pleased.  I couldn’t stop to listen to the nagging voice in the back of my head, I could only hear the mania squeeing inside “I’m going to marry him!  I win!!!”.

The manic episodes I experienced during that marriage were epic.  I remember Chris calling my father to come get me, he was giving me back.  I was crazy.  The broken door in college? Just the beginning of things I would break in the midst of a manic rage.  Then I had my son, Ian and the postpartum depression hit.  We came home from the hospital to a disaster.  Dirty dishes all over the kitchen and living room, dog hair on every single surface, and fleas… I took one look at that mess, took Ian, walked right back out the door and told Chris either clean this house up and get rid of that damn dog or you and the dog both will be on the streets tonight. I will be at my mother’s”.  I was serious.  I never saw a doctor about my depression. I just sucked it up, like I had done most of my life.  I just thought this was normal.  It had always been normal for me.

I divorced him, married the girls’ dad, got pregnant, twice, and went through two more horrific bouts of postpartum depression, lather, rinse, repeat.  The manic rages and the fights that ensued were epic.  There were slashed tires, shattered windshields, holes in walls, slammed doors.  In the midst of a rage, I took the girls to his mother’s house and, convinced she was trying to steal them away from me and chase me out of her son’s and our daughters’ life handed them over to her saying, “Here, you want them? Take them.”  I was screaming out for help and nobody heard, nobody listened, nobody offered to help.

Getting an answer.  It was only half an answer, but it was a step in the right direction.

My 37th birthday was a turning point of sorts.  A disagreement with the guy I was dating at the time led me to my first breakdown.  That was the first time I was completely consumed with hopelessness and despair. I stopped at a gas station to get gas, and for whatever reason my car wouldn’t start.  I called my mother and step-dad to come help.  I was already well on my way spiraling out of control deeper and deeper into a hopelessness I couldn’t, didn’t want to fight.  By the time they got there 20 minutes later, I was curled up in the driver’s seat in a fetal position barely able to speak.  They followed me home that night.  I asked them to leave my son with me, knowing his presence would be just enough to keep me from giving up completely.  I spent 36 hours crying, writing, calling family and friends to ‘say goodbye’ and not sleeping.  I still have the notebook I wrote in that night.  “Isn’t 37 years long enough to hurt?”  I don’t know if anyone really knew I was calling to say goodbye that night, but my dad called the next morning to check on me.  When I told him I couldn’t even get out of bed, he told me to call my mother and get to the hospital.  They gave me some meds, the name of a therapist and a pat on the back.

Depression.  Clearly.  Anti depressants. Yay!  Wonderful for the depressed. Not exactly great for the manic depressed.  The meds treated the depression, and swung me head on into a manic mood.  Mania is awesome, until it isn’t.  You feel great, all kinds of creative and energetic and fucking fabulous.  Until you take it way too far, and you get creepy and scary.  Once I was swinging away from the depression my doc stopped the anti depressants.  I would have repeated cycles of this… depression, three months on anti depressant and viola! Cured!

Naming the demon that lives inside my head.

I have written about that night here once or twice.  The night I finally allowed myself to admit to myself that there was something very seriously wrong with me and I needed some very serious help.  I was dating Brian at the time, living 2 hours apart.  I had taken the day off to spend the day with him.  In the course of the day I saw a message on his MySpace page (it was before we really knew or cared about Facebook) from a girl I didn’t know.  I couldn’t let it go.  The words of that message, “Nice pictures Brian”, echoed in my head, the my manic brain blowing that message clear out of proportion into a full-blown affair.  By the time we got to his house that night, I was convinced he was going to marry her, and I seriously considered just going home.  But I didn’t.  I stayed.  He knew something was wrong, he asked about it.  I denied it.  He pushed, I’m sure, out of concern.  I snapped.  I threw accusations and hurled hateful horrible vile verbal garbage at him.  The more my mouth vomited this poison, the louder I screamed inside to shut the fuck up.  He sat there that night, and took it.  He never raised his voice.  He tried to deny it but honestly there was nothing for him to deny.  He tried logic and reason, but those are ineffective against a manic rage.  He said “I was going to tell you I love you tonight.”  and my mania raged at him “Well, now you don’t have to lie.”  and inside, I curled up in a ball and died.

Just a quickly and violently as it started, it stopped.  As loud and passionate as I had hurled those vile hateful words at him, I just as quickly shut up.  The one thing I had screamed so loudly and wanted so desperately inside and finally happened; too fucking late.  I not only didn’t say another word that night, I couldn’t.  The shame and disgust from my actions washed over me.  I saw the hurt and the pain and the damage I had caused and I hated myself.  I wanted to disappear.

The next morning I drove home, called Pathways, made an appointment with a psychiatrist and a therapist and started to find the answers.  The damage was done, and couldn’t be undone.  But I could finally see that there was something very seriously wrong with me and I needed help.  I walked out of that appointment with a name for the demon that lived in my head, Bipolar disorder.  A scary disorder.  I was scared that people would hear Bipolar and think CRAZY or asylum.   I was afraid that if this information got into the hands of either of my ex husbands they would use it against me and take the kids away from me.  I bought into the ‘mental illness’ stigma myself.

Naming a demon is not taming a demon

Now I knew what I was living with. But that doesn’t mean things magically turned up unicorns, rainbows and glitter.  At first I used bipolar disorder as an excuse/explanation for bad choices.  I refused to take responsibility for anything. I was a real hawt mess.  It wasn’t until I ended up in out-patient therapy after another breakdown (this one involved tequila and vicodin) the first time that I finally got it, I was going to have to step up and take responsibility for my actions and my life.  I was not my disorder, I could live a fairly normal life if I worked at it.

And worked at it I did.  And I have, and I continue to work at it. Bipolar disorder can not be treated like an ear infection, there is no set course of treatment.  The only thing the medical field can agree on is that it takes medication and therapy to be most effective.  It’s not fun, and it’s not easy, but ‘normal’ is better than not.  I have done two stints in outpatient therapy, the latest one, just last summer, after yet another huge trigger and spiral into nothingness.  I have never been committed.  I lost my son along the way, his father took my disorder and used it to poison my son against me.  The girls dad gets it, he knows that the girls being here is what keeps me fighting and trying.  I am lucky in that regard.

My disorder still fucks up a lot of things in my life.  My sister and I are no longer speaking to each other because of an episode at Thanksgiving.  The longer I am unemployed the harder it gets for me to step outside of my routine.  This weekend the despair and hopelessness came to visit again in much the same way it came that night in 2007.  And I fight every day to get up and go on.

I am hyper aware of my girls behavior, moods, reactions.  I watch for any signs my parents and I missed in me.  At 12 and 14 I know that we could very well be on the brink of… something.

I am determined to live with it.  I am determined to find something close to normal.  I am determined that this disorder not destroy me, or my daughters.  I am determined to fight this fight and win.  And I know that I will fight every day for the rest of my life.

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 02/09/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 7 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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Everyone knows that bipolar disorder is best described as extremes.  Extreme highs, extreme lows.  We take the good and make if fucking fabulous, and we take the bad and we make it apocalyptically  horrible.  It’s a talent.

Everyone experiences BPD differently.  I can’t speak for everyone else out there, but I can try to put into words what life is like for me recently.

Right now, I am spiraling. And fuck, it’s ugly. I know it, I’m taking steps to control it, but those steps take time.  I know what triggers it, I have coping methods.  I am intelligently able to head this off.  I am not, however emotionally or mentally strong enough to fight it.  My brain knows what to do, my heart and emotions and core just can’t.

I know to ‘normal’ well adjusted healthy mentally stable people none of that makes any sense.

I go about my day as if I am a small tiny insignificant soul hiding in an intelligent functioning adult body.  I feel as if there is a physical mask/costume I am wearing.

That weighs a fuckton.

There are days I feel as if I am forced to function submerged physically and mentally in jello.  Where you can see all around you but it’s cloudy and difficult to maneuver.

Even these simple sentences are not doing it justice.

I live in fear, that the ugly little troll person who is actually controlling the Awesome Me puppet everyone sees, will break free, and people will see how ugly I am on the inside. They will hear the voices in my head constantly berating me with hateful things that are all too easy to believe.

I’ve been through enough therapy to know the language.  I can parrot it back to them, verbatim, right along with them.  I know I am intelligent, I know I can write, I know I am a good photographer, I know I am a great mom.  I know that I have worth, and I am know I am more than the vagina between my legs.

And yet? I don’t know any of that at all, for sure.

Or maybe I do know all that but I have allowed people around me to not know it.  And now, convincing them otherwise is proving impossible.

*ahem* bipolar disorder.

I am a rapid cycling bipolar.  Which means my moods swings can happen at lightening speed with little to zero warning. “From Zero to Bitch in 0.03 seconds?”  That’s me.  I can send you a text that says “I love you” and if you don’t respond in the predetermined by me, but not shared with you amount of time I text “Fuck you then”.  I’m sexy like that.  Is it any wonder I’m fucking single?

I hate my disorder.  I hate my life when it’s controlled by my disorder.  I hate me when I’m in a spiral.  And that hate, feed the spiral and the spiral intensifies the hate and do you see what kind of fun this shit is?

I fight a very difficult very valiant war inside my head every single day.  I pray my disorder does not harm or destroy my daughters.  I pray that the fight I fight is strong and worthy enough to allow me to overcome the demons inside so that I can be a good mom to my girls.  I also live with the fear that if anyone truly knew how horrible it is inside my head I wouldn’t have my girls another day.  What the girls don’t know, and can never know, is that they are the single solitary reason I get up every day and fight this fight as hard as I do.

I worry now, that putting this out there will somehow make people view me differently.  That those who know me in real life will shudder and shy away.  That now, instead of Becky, they will just see Crazy.  Or worse, they will think I’m too much drama.  They have the luxury of walking away.  I can’t walk away from my life.

I am swimming against a tide determined to drown me.  Afraid to reach out because what if they turn away? Or worse, lend a hand and save me only to walk away once they know I am no longer in danger.  I have so little faith in so many people, and really, it’s because I have so little belief in myself.

I am swimming.  Harder than I ever have.  I will get to safe ground. I’ve traveled these waters before.  Please just promise you’ll all be standing on the shore waiting when I get there??

Also, have margaritas. Lots of margaritas.

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 02/07/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 11 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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I could say that it’s because I’ve been busy and that would be the truth.

But it wouldn’t be the whole truth.  It would only be the easy truth.  I’ve been busy.

Busy pretending that I’m ok.

When in fact, I haven’t been.

I have been ok on the outside, smiles and laughter when needed.  I’ve been a great supportive mom, I spent the entire day Friday with my ex husband who came to watch our daughter cheer.  I provided sandwiches and sodas and a place to relax and freshen up after school, before the big game, to the cheerleaders.  I took over 800 pictures of high school students exploding with school spirit.

And inside I was dying.

I spent a couple of days hanging with a friend, laughing, talking, enjoying each other’s company.  I spent a whole day painting a bathroom and washing doors and drawer fronts with same friend.  I put on the happy face, I laughed, I helped, and hoped, I hugged and kissed and flirted and smiled, and talked as if there was a future beyond that day.

And inside, I tore it all apart.  Inside I doubted every word said, every sign of affection.

On Sunday, I couldn’t keep inside inside any more.  It exploded all over the place, as is wont to do with me.  It was ugly and loud and hateful and truthful and honest and raw.  I said things I had promised myself I would never say.  I told secrets I swore to myself I’d take to my grave.  I opened my heart and bared my soul.

And in the end I was left with large raw gaping empty wounds on my heart and soul.

My truths, which I thought would open doors to better communications, turned out to the poison to end it all.

Today the girls are back, the games and the cheering continue.  I will sit in the stands tonight and cheer on my daughter I birthed and the 9 others I’ve adopted this cheer season.  I will smile and laugh.  I will get their inside jokes.  I will thank them for all they did for Meredith on Friday, I will thank them for standing behind her ready to fight for her.  I will love them for their protectiveness of my daughter.  Tonight I will be The Awesome Cheer Mom.

And inside I will be trying to heal the ugliness of my weekend.

So, while I say I’m fine, while I smile and laugh, while I look like the image of Awesome Cheer Mom, inside?  I’m a wasteland of spent emotions, shattered dreams, broken heart, crushed hopes.

I won’t be that empty wasteland inside forever.  I will heal.  I will write again, the smile will eventually reach my eyes.  I will come through this.  But for right now, when I say I’m ok, just know, I’m lying through my teeth.

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We have a cat in heat. Again.  She likes to sit in my front window and make that horrible ‘please fuck me’ noise she likes to make. Of course, after hours of listening to her pathetic mewing, I’m all “Fuck Me” too but in a totally different tone of voice.  I imagine this is what the seedy side of Amsterdam looks and sounds like on any given night of the week.  I think she’s perpetually in heat, with about a 20 minute window when she’s normal. And by normal I mean she’s all laying around tolerating us minions in her life because well, we are the keepers of the food and the cleaners of the litter box.

Meredith had a basketball tournament last week, which meant she was gone every night of the week cheering and crashing at other cheerleader’s houses.  Last night I made her come home.  This morning, I informed her it was not enough that her body was inside my house, she needed to get up and grace us with her cheerful over tired teenage attitude.  Clearly it couldn’t be any worse than the mewing sexually frustrated virgin cat in my front window.  Wow, did I underestimate that.

With Meredith gone most of the week, Megan got to experience what life would have been like if she had been born first.  And by that I mean, had she been first she would have been an only.  This week she cleaned the bedroom and marked her territory.  She made a list of rules for the bedroom she is forced to share with her sister, and put everything away where she thought it all should go.  Basically Meredith now has a small path from the door to her bed, with a little cul-de-sac in front of her dresser.

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A package arrived for me this weekend.  Inside the packing, a robin egg blue box tied in a bow.

Every girl knows that a robin egg blue box is from Tiffanys.  And that Tiffany is way better than Jared.  WAY BETTER.

Inside my robin egg blue box?  A robin egg blue suede pouch.

A early Valentine’s Day gift.  A sterling silver heart necklace.  Who it’s from is not important, but it’s not who you would think.  I promise.

The note with the gift?

“You are worth so much more! Thank you for everything that you have ever done for me.”

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 01/30/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 10 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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Brian gave me this ring for Valentine’s Day a couple of years ago.  The relationship didn’t last.  The ring? Still has it’s uses.  Some days I sit there with the morning light streaming in my front windows, creating some amazing lighting for some beautiful photos.

I bought these bracelets from Charlotte Russe for $1.49 at Christmas.  Cute, cheap, costume bangles. They were on clearance, but when set in the morning sunlight, they look so much more impressive than they are.  In fact, I posted this on my Flickr account and Lotus Carroll (Who’s photography I have admired for months now) favorited it.  I was beside myself with OMG!

I was digging around in a friend’s basement this past weekend (that is not an euphemism for anything) when I came across an old ball and glove.  Sure, it’s only January, but spring training will be starting in just a few short months.  I got a nice surprise today, when I saw that Lotus Carroll had favorited this one on Flickr too.

Sometimes the things you drive by every single day take on an entirely different look when you see them through the lens of your camera.  I drive by this antique store in our small town, at least once a day without giving it a second thought.  But when taking photos for a theme (frames) I saw the simple words framed over the store front.

Again, looking at every day ordinary things through the lens of a camera can turn a simple drop or two of water from a kitchen faucet into something incredibly beautiful, and really kinda cool.

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 01/26/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 10 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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Pinterest.

It’s the heroin of the internet.

It’s like Fantasy Football for girls.

It’s the adult version of a Fairy God Mother.

Or maybe it’s just Horders for the Internet.

I am a bit of a shoe whore.  Christian Louboutin? My god.  My unemployment doesn’t allow me to own a pair of Louboutins.  Pinterest does. Dozens of pairs of Louboutins.  Louboutins I have nowhere to wear in real life.

I’ll never own my own house.  I’m perfectly content with renting and letting someone else worry about the maintenance and repairs.  Pinterest, though, allows me to ‘collect’ my dream home. The awesome shower with the color changing heat sensitive tiles, the winding staircase coupled with a spiral slide, the library that is three stories tall, with walls of windows overlooking the bay. (I live in Mo. Pinterest doesn’t care)

Pinterest allows me to wear fabulous clothes, on a rocking body, with perfect makeup, wearing smokin Louboutins, as I host a classy cocktail party in my stylish eat-your-heart-out house on the bay.  All the glorious food and drinks I made myself and Emeril is jealous.  Or so I’ve heard.

Some things I have learned from Pinterest and reasons why you should become addicted join right now.

• There are some people out there who are more seriously in love with Harry Potter than I am.  It makes me feel like less of a freak.
• I now know, that if money were no object I would overdose on shoes. Clearly.
• Even though I will never get married again, I can still dream about the perfect dress, pick out the gorgeous ring, and find the most fabulous shoes.
• There are a lot of people out there with a lot of time on their hands and a lot of crafty stuff laying around the house. Also? Probably no kids.
• That this pin of mine, sparked a debate that garnered 85 comments, and lasted almost an entire month. People are passionate.
• There is something out there for everyone.
• I will never be as crafty or talented as a third of the people on Pinterest. I’m ok with that.  I can just ‘window shop’.
• I have no idea how this even came about. And I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know.  I’m sure there were promises made that shall never be spoken of again.
• If you need a pick me up, Pinterest has it.  If you need some inspiration, Pinterest has it.  If you need some motivation, Pinterest has it.  If you need a good laugh… Pinterest has it.

If you need an invite, let me know in the comments.  You’ll thank me later.  Much later. You know, like when you come up for food.

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 01/18/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 2 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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I just finished Season 4, Episode 13, The Good Fight.  (Which, you know, is probably way more detail than any of you needed, but I like to be thorough).  The underlying theme of this particular episode is “When it comes to relationships, what are we fighting for?”  Aiden is moving in with Carrie, and Carrie is learning to share her space, and her life, and adjust to Aiden, and it’s awkward and crowded and messy and he doesn’t understand her relationship with shoes and clothes, and she doesn’t understand why he doesn’t understand.  And she just kept agreeing and being gracious and moving her stuff, and giving up more room, and accommodating, and resenting, and fuming and felt taken advantage of.

And all she had to do was speak up, Hey, Buddy, can you do me a favor? I’m new to this living together, I’m new to sharing my space, my life, can you give me some space and time? Please.  Of course he did, and she discovered that once she voiced her need, got it met, it wasn’t really a need anymore.

I watched it on my laptop, ear buds in, tears silently streaming down my face.  How long have I silently swallowed my unease, how long have I bit my tongue, how long have I given and given and given and resented and felt taken advantage of and used and cheated because I didn’t open my mouth and ask for what I needed or wanted?  Far far too  long.

Recently I’ve done some work for some people, who have asked for favors.  Write a cover letter, takes some photos, make a graphic, nothing earth shattering but favors that I have the talent and the skill to complete better than they could.  An hour here, a couple of hours there, really not a great big deal.  Except that, yeah, it is, to me.  See that cover letter, those photos, that graphic? That’s my time, my skill, my talent and maybe someday my career.  I put a part of myself in everything I do. My words, my vision, my style, a piece of me.  I created those things.

I didn’t get credit for any of it.  The letter went on to get several responses that garnered some business opportunities, the photos are on the internet and hanging in homes for friends and family to see and admire, the graphic is on a webpage.  My name?  Appears on none of them. None.  The very people telling me I should charge for my services, are the very people who expect me to give them away to them, for free.  I’m not talking monetary reimbursement. I just want credit for my work. I want my name to appear on the photos I took, the things I write, the things I create.  I want my talents and skills to be acknowledged.

Watching Carrie and Aiden tonight I realized I’m done giving it all away for free.  The words, the photos, the work, the pieces of me.  Even in my personal relationships, the favors, the sex, the attention, the pieces of me.  I’m done giving that away for free too.  I’m done feeling taken advantage of, I’m tired of not getting any credit for all that I do.  I’m tired of giving it away and getting nothing in return.

I have needs, I have wants, and none of them will be met if I don’t voice them, if I don’t speak up and say I need this in return.

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 01/17/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 8 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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Let’s face it, he’s a better representative of the religion than Christianity has had in the past.  Jim Bakker, Jimmy Swaggart, and Oral Roberts.

Ok, let me get this straight.  Tim Tebow takes a knee on occasion, during a football game.  Never on the field, never interfering with the game.  And people all across the country get their panties in wad.  Sounds reasonable to me.

Fuck.

And the only reason it’s a big deal?  Is because the media has made it a big deal.  I am sure he is not the only member of the NFL to say a prayer or two or ten during a football game.  He just happens to be a QB that wins.  Would people have their panties in wad if it was one of the Manning Brothers?  Or Brett Favre?  (Now that’s a man who needs some Divine Intervention).

Back in November, Nick Novak, kicker for the San Diego Chargers,  was caught on camera urinating on the sidelines. He was taking a leak, he whipped it out and watered the astro turf.   And you want to be offended Tebow says a prayer.  Get the fuck over yourselves.

Frankly I am tired of saying it, but say it again I must.  You are guaranteed a whole lot of things in The Constitution and The Bill of Rights, but the right to not be offended is not one of them.  People are going to do things that offend you.  Tim Tebow’s taking the knee and saying a prayer? His Constitutional Right. I have not heard any reports that Tebow has stopped a game and grabbed a mic and asked the entire stadium to bow their heads in prayer with him.  I do not think he went to the press and asked for this coverage.  Kudos to him for defending his faith.  Kudos to him for saying “Yes I believe in God The Father, and in Jesus Christ and I am not ashamed.”

I am not going to get all preachy here.  It’s not my thing. It’s more my dad’s thing, or at least it used to be.  I just want to say a few things.

• There is a song that says “His eye is on the Sparrow, so I know he watches me”.  If God can care about all of his living creatures, including sparrows, I’m sure he has time for Tim Tebow.  If you want to tell me God can’t be bothered with touchdowns, do you also tell your kids you don’t have time for their activities?  To Tebow, it’s the same thing.
• I’m willing to bet he did not actively seek out this attention from the media about his religious beliefs.  This is a story the media jumped on and now it’s become a divider of people.
• For once there is an NFL player who has made the news for something besides drugs, guns, alcohol, or an arrest.  You all should be glad he’s setting a good example.
• He’s not bashing you for your beliefs, why bash him for his?

I could go on about how you high and mighty know he’s praying for God to put everything else in the world aside and give him a touchdown.  Is it possible he’s saying Thank You for the ability to play this game?  Isn’t it possible that instead of asking for divine intervention for personal gain, he’s offering up thanks for skills and talent and ability. Because clearly giving thanks is a truly heinous and offensive thing to do.  The nerve of the man.  And isn’t it possible he’s giving thanks for the skills, talent and ability of his entire team instead of being a selfish son-of-a-bitch and just giving thanks for himself?  Seriously, WTF is wrong with this man?  WTF is he thinking?

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 01/16/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 2 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder in May of 2007, barely two weeks before I packed up my girls and moved here. Where here is 2 hours away from all the family they ever knew and my entire support system.  Believe me it sounds so much worse than it has turned out to be.

I am just a few short months away from my five year diagnosis anniversary.  I would love to be able to tell you that my life is so much better, in fact more normal, than it was then.  But I don’t like to lie.  The truth is, while I know a lot about my disorder, and I am hyper aware of mood swings, and I know that no matter how much I love tequila shots, my mood swings don’t.  I know enough to make an appointment with my p-doc to change the strength of the medications I’m on.  I know enough to take my medications every day. I know enough that some situations and people and places and foods and drinks are all triggers and I’m better off avoiding them.

I know all of this stuff, but I don’t always manage to follow through.  Like a smoker knows cigarettes are bad for them, and they light up another one.  Or someone on a diet knows donuts are off limits, but they look so good, so they sneak one, just one.

And so it was with the holidays.  I knew they would be difficult this year, I just didn’t realize how difficult.  I knew Christmas and New Year’s Eve were the big ones, they were looming huge and dark and foreboding on the horizon, and I needed to do something to get through them.  I called my p-doc, he tweaked my meds, offered some coping skills that did not include bottles of tequila or Captain Morgan, and some phone numbers, you know, just in case.

I did everything right.

And the holidays? Went all wrong.

I spent Christmas day, at home, alone.  I had heard from everyone I was going to hear from by 10:00.  The girls were dropped off safely with their dad for the week, and I was home with two in heat very obnoxious attention whore cats.  By 6:30 I was feeling incredibly sorry for myself and hating the world outside. And the damn cats.  New Year’s Eve, lather, rinse, repeat, with the exception of the addition of sleeping pills and I was in bed by 8:30.

But that week, bookended by those two holidays spent alone, coupled with tweaked meds which always take time to adjust to, triggered a major spiral in moods.  I have been all over the place for the past two weeks.  Finally the horrors of my holidays are fading, the meds are leveling out and I feel like I’m coming out of a fog.  The problem is, there is a lot of debris in my rear view mirror.  A lot of things said and done that were less than stellar but felt right and justified at the time.

Welcome to bipolar disorder. When a bad mood is more than a bad mood.  When a good day is an epic day, and living in the extreme highs and lows makes it hard to determine what is a reasonable reaction and expectation.  So, when you come back down to level ground, you see the mountains were actually molehills, and the epic great day was actually just Tuesday.

I will live with the shame and embarrassment of my extreme actions over the past couple of weeks.  I will make apologies for angry texts fired off in the heat of the moment and accusations leveled from jumping to conclusions.

And I will try harder next time.

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 01/12/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 2 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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Turns out, over the holiday break, (which the girls spent with their father and his girlfriend) they went shopping with their dad’s girlfriend.  They ended up at a shoe store as, clearly, my girls tend to do.  They are my daughters after all.  The girlfriend offered to buy Meredith a new pair of shoes.  Mere was all about getting a new pair of shoes.  Megan, who refuses to be left out, chose that exact moment to remind Meredith that earlier this summer, the girlfriend’s oldest daughter had handed down three pair of shoes to them, and Megan had bought herself a new pair of shoes.  So, in a nut shell, with 4 new-to-them pair of shoes in their possession just a few short months ago, there was no reason for the girlfriend to buy Mere a new pair of shoes.

Meredith didn’t follow the logic of this thinking.  All she could see was the girlfriend offered to buy her a new pair of shoes.  She offered!  She couldn’t see why or how she should have said No Thank You I don’t need a new pair of shoes.

And I couldn’t see how the girl sitting across from me, saying those words, was actually my daughter that I had raised.  So I sat out to explain to her that just because the girlfriend had offered to buy her a new pair of shoes, she was not under any circumstances obligated to accept said offer.  That in fact, accepting said offer would be rude and selfish.  When she dropped this bomb on me:

Well, you just bought two new pair of shoes you don’t need.

I had, in fact, bought two new pair of shoes (stilettos (see picture above) and boots) that I clearly didn’t need anymore than any woman needs seven pairs of black heels.  But, they were on sale, it was the holidays, and nobody else was buying me any presents.

Also? I was spending my money.

And? I bought each of the girls a new pair of shoes for Christmas. (which she picked out, and then turned her nose up at once they were delivered.)

I was mortified that my daughter thought it was perfectly acceptable to allow her dad’s girlfriend to buy her a new pair of shoes that she clearly did not need.  Their dad and the girlfriend are not by any means rolling in the dough.  It’s not like they can just go around buying the girls shoes willy nilly.  But even if they could, the girlfriend was not offering the shoes up as a gift, she honestly thought Meredith needed the new shoes.  And even though she knew she did not need the shoes, Meredith was all too happy to accept the offered shoes.

Am I over reacting here?  Am I over thinking the whole situation?  Is this a teenager thing? A girl thing? Or just a my daughter’s thing?

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 01/11/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 4 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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I’ve been featured twice!

World Domination? Yes please.

Actually, I cross posted yesterday’s post about raising teenagers on BlogHer and the lovely and brilliant Jenna Hatfield sent me an email telling me she was featuring me!  So, thank you Jenna.  I am beyond thrilled.  And Thank you to everyone at BlogHer that came by, and left a comment, or came here and commented.  I am just over the moon about this experience.

Now, I really have to step up my writing.  After all, getting featured once is luck. Doing it consistently is talent.

I do have a topic for discussion I am working on, but today is not the day to bring out the Panties-in-a-wad banner. (new people I’m trying to impress and all)  I’ll wait until tomorrow.

I guess what I wanted to say today is Thank you.

Thank you to Jenna for featuring my post yesterday.

Thank you to all the commenters here.

Thank you to all the people who commented via Facebook

Thank you to all the people who commented over at BlogHer.

It has been an amazing 24 hours.

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 01/10/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | No comment | Add to del.icio.us

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And we have a winner.

Because she alone entered more than I had other entries, the odds were strongly in her favor to win.  Congratulations, and a free copy of My Memories Suite, go out to Annie Younger!  Annie I will be emailing you the code to use when you download the software so that there is zero cost to you.

Now to today’s post.

I was looking around the internet the other day for a collaborative website (think Babble, or BlogHer) that includes A) Single moms, B) moms of teens C) Single moms of teens or any combination of the three.

I mean, there are places for singles women, newly divorced/going through a divorce women, pregnant women, women with fertility issues, new mommies, mommies of newborns, multiples, toddlers, kids.  But once our children near the end of their childhood and stand on the cusp of teenhood, all of sudden, us mothers are, well on our own.

Babies are all the same*.. change them when they need it, feed them when they are hungry, teach them to walk and talk and keep them from bringing the house down around them and us.  With teenagers we mothers have to navigate hormones, periods, boobs, pimples, dating, boys, mean girls, driving, curfews, attitudes, smart mouths, rolled eyes, slammed doors and stomping feet. Also? The silent treatment.  There is no longer the question of breast or bottle, cloth or disposable, spank or time out.  Now it’s too young to date, when to set curfew, how short/tight is too short/tight.

Parents of teens need a place to vent and get support when they hate us, and we just can’t take one more slammed door or rolled eye. And that’s just us.  Their attitudes are so much worse and volatile.

Take for instance today, the girls have been gone most of the weekend, spending the night, hanging out with friends. Today, I made them stay home.  I mean, after all, they do live here.  Bad idea.  By 3:00 I was ready to set them on the curb hoping a band of gypsies came by and picked them up.  They could not sit on the same couch together without the UFC breaking out.  They argued because one of them seriously thought she owned the jar of pickles in the fridge and threw a fit when the other ate one of ‘her pickles’.  (I couldn’t make this up) They couldn’t be in the same room together without fighting at decibels I wish I couldn’t hear. Where is the place I go to find out I’m not alone, there are other moms living in the hormone charged war zone that is a home of more than one teenager?  And how do they get through a day without killing one or all of them, or at the very least, running away?

How is it that this group of mothers has been overlooked and ignored?  Are other moms of teens looking for a place on the internet to call ‘ours”’?

*That is not to say that babies are easy.  Especially first babies when you have eleventy billion questions and you’re sure you’re doing everything wrong, and you’ll screw up your kid before their first birthday.  Trust me, you will. 

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 01/09/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 10 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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When exactly did it make you a bad mother to admit out loud that “I need a break from my kid”?

I am not a mommy blogger.  I am no longer a ‘mommy’ I am now Mom and that apparently is pronounced A-T-M.  But I read mommy blogs.  A) Because there is an over abundance of them and B) there are few blogs written by moms of teens, or at least there is not a noticeable niche for them. (Note to self.. there is your corner of the internet, go forth and claim that unchartered territory.)

I read about Stay-At-Home moms, Work-from-home moms, Work-outside-the-home moms, single moms, married moms, new moms and pros (I’m not stupid, no way was I going to say OLD MOMS..DUH).  And it seems there is an underlying theme.  Society has deemed us horrible mothers if we are not dying to spend every single waking moment with our beloved children.

And I say, that is bullshit.

Before we were mothers, we were women

Before we had kids, we had our own lives.*   We had jobs, friends, a social life, boyfriends, husbands, shopping, manis and pedis, movies, cocktails.  We had me-time.  Now, that’s not to say that we had to give all that up when the kids came along.  There are plenty of moms who have jobs, and husbands, and friends, and shopping, and cocktails, and all of that.  But society has made us feel guilty for stepping out and doing something for us. Without the kids.  Having children does not mean exchanging the awesome you for the mom you.  They don’t have to be mutually exclusive.

There is nobody else in our lives we are expected to spend every single minute of our lives with

We are not expected to spend all day every day with our significant other, with our friends, with our extended family, so why is it just because we gave life to this little person we have to be constantly tied to them?  When and why did it become taboo to want to pursue your own hobbies, interests?  Mothers are expected to push out a baby, and then give up their entire life to that child until said time that child can be safely ensconced in school for 6-7 hours a day.  And even then, if you’re not a work-outside-the-home mom, you’re expected to be room mother, and field trip mom, and teacher’s helper mom.

Taking a break from the kids actually makes us better moms.

[Insert joke about how if I had to spend all day every day with my kids I wouldn’t be a stay-at-home-mom b/c I wouldn’t have kids anymore here]  I think it’s good for us necessary for us as mothers to step away from the kids, and pursue our own interests.  I’m not saying all day, or even every day.  But it’s important to remember we are our own person.  There is more to us than MOM.  Remember when we were first dating and we fell in love hard with Mr. McDreamy and our entire life revolved around him?  We thought about him eleventy billion times a day, tingled when our phone rang, checked our text messages every 3 seconds?  And remember how our parents or friends told us “It’s unhealthy to be that attached to someone.  You need to maintain your own life separate from him too”?  Why should it be any different with our children?  Trust me, the children will not hate us, and we will not be the worst. mother. in. the. world. if we leave the kids with Dad or Grandma for a couple of hours and go shopping or meet a friend for coffee, or get a mani/pedi once in a while.

Give yourself a break

Frankly, who cares what society says?  Is society there helping with the crying, demanding, two year old with the temper tantrums?  Is society there watching Yo Gabba Gabba (Please tell me that’s what kids are watching these days… I don’t know) for the 80 billionth time?  Is society there entertaining your child so you can take a shower in peace without having to explain to your curious child why your body looks different than daddy’s?  Is society there changing the diapers, doing the laundry, cleaning the house?  Is society there entertaining you? Preventing your temper tantrums?  NO? Then tell society to keep their damn opinions to themselves.  You’re doing the best you can, and if the house is still standing and the kids are still breathing at the end of the day then you’ve done a good job.

Now, have a glass of wine and relax.

*Yes, I understand this is a blanket statement and may not hold true for every mother out there. I can’t run around taking into account every single possible scenario.  I’m busy trying to become a big deal.

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 01/06/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 6 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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See that? THAT!  *sigh* top right hand corner….

Here let me show you.

Yeah.  Me.  Featured.  Front page. Above Aiming Low.

Yesterday I was a featured on the DailyBuzz Mom’s daily Top 9 newsletter.

Of course, it was the one post this week that didn’t have a picture, so I look kinda dull and boring up there in the corner.

But picture or not, I was featured!  And in my mind, my little ole blog was part of an email that was sent to thousands of inboxes around the internet.  The potential for hundreds of new eyes to see me..

Now I have to step up my game.

I have to say thank you to Meredith over at Life’s Crazy Joke.  She wrote this post, and gave me the information I didn’t have before, to branch out, to take it up a level.

Just another step on my journey to world domination national fame becoming a big deal.

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 01/05/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | No comment | Add to del.icio.us

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Apparently there is some guy who’s a big deal in social media (I’ve never heard of him, but I guess that doesn’t mean much) who does Three Words for the New Year.  Supposed to help you focus or some shit like that.

My three words?

• Try. New. Shit.

Also?

• Buy. More. Shoes.
• Drink. More. Tequila.
• Listen. To. Me.
• I. Mean. Something.
• I. Have. Worth.
• I. Am. Awesome.
• Kiss. My. Ass.
• Fuck. You. Too.

For the 2012 Elections and politics I have these three words

• Elect fewer asshats
• Not on Twitter
• President Betty White

For Hollywood I have these options

• No Kardashian Weddings
• Lindsay needs clothes
• Clooney won’t wed
• Sequels are overrated.
• Jessica Simpson pops

When it comes to sports, I have limited knowledge, but I know this much:

• Bush brother suck
• Don’t Need Pujols
• Rams give up
• Leave Tebow alone

What Three Words would you offer up for 2012?

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 01/03/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 8 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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and ends up looking like this:

I don’t make resolutions anymore.  Sure I sit down the first of the year, and look at all the Self and Shape magazines I subscribed to last year, and think “Wow I’d look amazing if I worked out and ate right.”  Then, I go eat the last few Christmas cookies that escaped the girls’ radar.

This year, instead of improving myself, because let’s be honest, the road to success is not paved with good intentions, I’m going to try something new.

iTunes offers free music every week.  Starbucks offers free downloads as well.  It is always a band, a group, a soloist I have never heard of.  I’ve never tried them. I have no idea why not, I have nothing to lose.  This year?  I’m going to try new music.  New music+free downloads = win/win. Or at the very least, break even.  Also included in this, would be podcasts.  I have two I listen to consistently I need more.

For years, my mother would give me a subscription to Taste of Home magazine for Christmas, along with the hardback cookbook of every recipe they had published the year before.  Great gift. I loved it.  I have stacks and stacks of magazines, and more recipe cards than Vegas has playing cards.  And I have about 8 meals in my repertoire, and that is being overly generous.  So this year, I’m going to try new recipes. I’ve got plenty at my disposal. I have time to shop, and plenty of time to cook, and if the girls don’t like it, I’ve got peanut butter and jelly.

I have an amazing camera.  My Nikon D40.  Meredith and the cheerleaders have insisted it be brought to every home game.  I have spent years shooting people.  Guess what? My camera takes pictures of other things besides people.  I’m going to try to photograph less people, more things and places. My cousin Melissa has started a Facebook Group, The 52 Week Photography Challenge which will push and encourage me to shoot things besides people.

I love to read, but I’ll admit, I am afraid to step outside my comfort zone and read new authors.  I go to the library every. single. day.  Library=free books.  What do I have to lose? If I don’t like it, return it, get something new.  This year, I’m going to try to read new authors, new books.

Since I am open to trying new things, I am, therefore, open to suggestions from you.

What would you suggest I try first?

Also, don’t forget my review and giveaway that ends on Jan 5th.  A free copy of digital scrapbooking software.  Please?

© BeckyHood for Welcome to my life, 01/02/12.All rights reserved. | Permalink | 4 comments | Add to del.icio.us

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