Mental Illness Is My Mother: An Anonymous Guest Post

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine sent me the following personal essay.  It was originally published on stigmafighters.com.  She asked me to share this because sharing our stories has great power.  Talking about our struggles can help heal one another, and reduce stigma.  If you have overcome your childhood, this writer wants you to know, you are not alone.

Mental Illness Is My Mother by Anonymous: Continue reading

When Toddlers Attack

As I am writing this, my little angel dumplin’ is chillin’ in his crib, singing happy songs about how much he loves his mother because of my undying affection for him.  He is holding his Momo blankie and thinking of all the fun times he had with me today. Like when he threw that soup can at my head.  Or when he picked up a baseball bat and hit me as hard as he could.  Or, here is the best part, when he grabbed a glass bowl that I was eating from and hit me directly in the nose and I seriously thought it was broken.  His favorite part of the day, I’m sure, is laughing at me as I tried to get him to stay in “the time out corner”.  This escape from baby prison game is THE BEST!  You know how psychopaths on TV like to smile as they’re about to torture their victims?  Well, I think my baby might be a psychopath.  This brings me to a quick flashback story.  It’s the reason I’m here-in this amazing situation.  It’s the reason for my punishment. Continue reading

A Toast To Second Firsts

As I sit here watching my beautiful little angel puff attempting to eat his Disney pasta and peas, I can’t help but reminisce of a specific moment in my life.  It was right after my wisdom teeth had been taken out.  I was attempting to feed myself some Kraft Mac and Cheese (THE BEST PASTA IN A BOX EVER), but was so  discombobulated that I couldn’t find my mouth.  It was so frustrating.  I was starving and all I wanted more than anything in the world was the delicious, orange, mushy-ness in my pie hole.  Instead, I stabbed my cheeks repeatedly with four tiny knives like a drunken idiot. Continue reading

Mom’s Heart Attacked Her-And Yours Could Too

A few weeks ago, my husband got a very, very unexpected phone call.  His parents said that they were in the hospital having some tests run because his mother had some unresolved heartburn.  It turns out, she had a heart attack.  She had two major blockages in her heart.  One of them was so large, it required two stents to repair.  When Rick hung up the phone he said, “Mom doesn’t deserve a heart attack.”  What he meant by that was that some people overeat, smoke, or have sedentary lifestyles, but not her.  She hadn’t done anything to warrant a heart attack.  She is young (63) and active with good cholesterol levels and has no history of heart disease in her family-until now.  She sent me a recap of her story.  As she went into depth of her experiences leading up to and after her heart attack, it was clear to me that her symptoms had been there already for months, perhaps years-lingering.  Waiting for the moment to pounce and say, “YOU SHOULD PROBABLY GO TO THE ER, LADY!  I AM DONE PLAYING AROUND!” Continue reading

10 Things All Moms Ask On Facebook

Ah!  This is my first guest blog post!  My friend, Kelly Love, suggested I write about the Mommy Boards on Facebook, but I don’t really have experience with them.  I usually just ask Kelly or my other friends for “Momvice”.  So, Kelly decided to write the damned thing herself.  Here it goes:

If you’re a mom these days, chances are you may have joined a mom’s group on facebook. They’re a great resource for new moms who are freaking out about every little thing, if you’re trying to get rid of stuff in the basement, and for advice on illnesses, behaviors, handling in-laws, et cetera. Let’s be real here, the mom group is kind of a God send for everyone, since posts can ask questions about poop, rashes, and other gory kid stuff, and spare the hungover-facebook-friend-from-college from wretching up their 3am Taco Bell, because it’s no longer on their news feed. (I miss you, by the way, friend.) Continue reading

A Day In The Life Of A Full Time Poop Cleaner

You think you know poop?  You might-but I. Know. Poop.  I was even a poop expert pre-baby.  As a nurse, I can tell alot by your poop.  What medications you take, whether you drink enough water, and-any nurse will agree-whether or not you have C-diff.  I’m not kidding.  I can seriously smell C-diff.  NURSES CAN TELL YOU IF YOU HAVE C-DIFF.  They won’t, though.  Because they aren’t supposed to-but they totally know.

I know what you’re thinking.  “THIS IS DISGUSTING WHY IS SHE TELLING ME THIS?!”  Because I want to warn you.  The story I’m about to share with you is all about poop.  Duh.

At home, I am in charge of the cat’s litter box (on weekdays) and of course, my son’s glorious little diaper gifts.  I take the dogs out once or twice a day.  **I feel like my husband will want you to know that he takes the dogs to the park every day-and that I never take them to the park.  Ever.  And that usually, the dogs are with him when they poop.**  Still, they poop sometimes with me.  I am often the one (due to my husband’s weird sleeping schedule) to clean up animal vomit and what-not.

So, here is what went down yesterday.  I brought my one year old son home from a very long car trip to a restaurant (50 miles away) and then to another restaurant (20 miles away) because the former was closed.  I got the pot roast and for the first time EVER it was awful.  I sent it back for some fried chicken that wasn’t ready until we were about to leave.  The point is, it had been a long day.

I get home and put my son down to get things in the house.  I’ve already given him a bath before dinner in hopes that he would be asleep when we get home.  Nope.  He starts to play and then suddenly stops.  Completely frozen in his familiar “I’m taking a giant dump” pose.  I wait.  As I am changing him, I notice his cute little tushy is a bit red.  I decide to let it air out a little before I put some cream on it and get him ready for bed.

This is when I notice that in the other room, the litter box has been removed 15 feet from its original location.  It is overturned, lid off, and the carpet is covered in poop-filled litter.  There is literally NO litter in the damned box.  We have wooden floors, but of course, as is my dog’s want, all of the litter and its contents are directly on top of the only rug in the entire stupid room.  Instead of getting insanely agitated, I decide to just go in there and clean it up before I even have a chance to feel sorry for myself.  Sometimes, when I have to clean up a mess like this, I get angry with the entire world.  Like God told the dog to go dump out the litter box because I deserve punishment for cursing at the lady who wouldn’t get out of the fast lane yesterday.

So, I clean it up.  Scoop the poop.  Throw it out.  Sweep the room.  Vacuum the rug.  Return the litter box.  Then, I go back to the den to get my baby ready for bed so I can CHILL THE HELL OUT.

As I walk into the den, I notice a familiar smell.  I wonder, “Is that just because I just scooped poop?  Nope.  That is definitely toddler poop.  Perhaps, it is from the diaper I changed when we got home.”  (Yes.  I really do wonder to myself like that.)  NOPE.  My sweet little angel has just had diarrhea in two separate locations of the room.  The fully carpeted room.  The child, who JUST took a dump and usually doesn’t take another dump immediately after, has pooped ALL OVER THE CARPET.  Oh, well.  This one is totally on me.  I’ll just throw a diaper on him, put his PJs on and off to bed he goes while I clean this up.  Right?  NOPE.

First, I wipe his precious little behind, then I slap a diaper on him, and as I pick him up to put his pajamas on him, I notice the bottom of his feet.  Both of them.  You’ll never guess what it was.  Kidding.  You will.  It was poop.  MORE POOP.  At this point, it is on baby AND mommy.  To the bath we go.

Thirty minutes later, we are both clean and ready for bed.  I put him in his crib and thank you JESUS he immediately lays down like “Thanks, Mom.  Today was exhausting.  Holla.”

I’m feeling a little better.  Calmer.  Cleaner.  I walk back into the den ready to relax when something mushy and wet on the bottom of my foot quietly reminded me that “UM. DUH. THE WHOLE REASON YOU JUST TOOK A BATH WITH YOUR BABY IS BECAUSE HE DROPPED A MAJOR DEUCE ON YOUR DEN FLOOR .”  I wash my feet.  I clean the carpet.   I am done for the day.  I finally give up on life and go to bed.  Tomorrow is a new day-and hey-shit happens.

Everybody’s Ugly To Somebody

I started writing this blog post over two months ago.  I wasn’t exactly sure what the plan was.  I was inspired to write it because my friend Lenneia posted this beautiful photo collage of yours truly when I was managing a Go-Pro for a white water rafting story that I was lucky enough to participate in:

selfie

Okay, so it isn’t the most flattering of collages.  In fact, Lenneia even had the courtesy to ask me if it was okay that she posted it and offered to remove it.  Of course, I didn’t mind a bit.  I love funny things, and this was hilarious.  I know I’m a fairly attractive person.  I know I have the ability to take cute pictures.  Who cares if the bottom right photo looks like my long lost twin brother?

This reminded me of people I know who have seriously gotten upset with me for posting an unflattering photo of them.  It’s happened more than once, and each time I hadn’t even noticed. Continue reading

Suck It Up, Buttercup: One Of The Many Times I Embarrassed My Mother

It was my first job ever.  I didn’t even apply for it.  A few days before my first day of high school, I was informed of my new position at Eldercare Pharmacy.  I was to work there after school until 5:30pm.  I was excited.  I’m not sure why.  We hadn’t even discussed that I would get a job in high school.  I guess my parents just thought I should.  Alright, then.

As usual, I hadn’t eaten a thing.  I never woke up in time to eat anything, and I refused to eat the nastiness they served for lunch at school.  No, not even the rubbery pizza with plastic cheese could tempt my palate.  Someone once pointed out to me that I could pack a lunch.  What?  Like, plan ahead?  When?  The night before?  Are you kidding me?  Nope.  Another option would have been bringing money to school for the vending machine, but I didn’t have a job, yet, so…. Continue reading

My Mom Is The Worst

If your mother is anything like mine, it can freak you out when you find yourself saying or doing something the way she does.  My mother is truly saddened when she sees a young lady (like myself) who chooses not to wear make up or fix her hair.  It drove me nuts growing up.  I was a tshirt and jeans kind of kid.  I don’t think I ever actually fixed my hair until….well….11th grade?  Seriously.  And that was only occasionally.  I refused to wear contacts until then, too.  In hind sight, it is hilarious to me that these things bothered her.  She is the one who taught me to never pay full price for anything.  Abercrombie and Fitch was robbing people if they thought she was going to pay $50 for a tshirt.  SHE WAS RIGHT.  That is insane.  It’s a piece of cotton that has A and F on it.  YOU are PAYING Abercrombie to walk around and advertise for them.  When I was very little, I’m sure she fixed my hair, but once I got old enough to dress myself and whatnot, she never really said, “Okay, Becca.  This is how you fix your hair.”  She didn’t pick out my outfits.  I did.  I had the opportunity to make my own decisions and I chose to do what required the least amount of effort possible.  Which drove her nuts.  Which drove ME nuts.  We were very different people.  I was an early teen who hated school, girls who care about A and F, and most of all, my mother.  She. Was. The. Worst.  She wanted me to study.  She wanted me to do my homework.  She wanted me to SWEEP THE DINING ROOM LIKE I WAS SOME SORT OF HOUSE ELF.  What was wrong with her?  She was upset with me when my teacher called her and said that it looked like I may have forged her signature on my report card.  WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO, MOM?!  I GOT A C IN HISTORY!  She even made me call and apologize to my evil teacher like it was MY fault that she noticed that my mother’s handwriting looked different.  Then, when I decided I wanted to join a softball team because my best friend was doing it, she wouldn’t let me quit.  IT WAS HOT!  I was an awful softball player and she still made me stick with it until the end of the season.  She came to every game just to make sure I went.  Or to root me on.  I don’t know.  Moms, right?  Ugh!  Now, as an adult, I find myself doing things the way she did and it just totally freaks me out.  Here are some things I have to blame on my mother: Continue reading

My Crazy Night Out

cinco de mayoWe are visiting my home town this week.  Jack and I have accidentally turned a one night trip into three.  Rick is working on his sweeps package and is recovering from his recent dance off for a great fundraiser for the Alzheimer’s Association.  I got to spend one evening with two of my very best friends.  We went to the only Mexican restaurant in our tiny town to celebrate Cinco de Mayo.  Maggie, Kristen, and I at one point all lived in the same place and spent hours at a time doing nothing together on a regular basis.  We were always good at nothing.  That’s how you know you’ve reached the ultimate comfort level.  When friends turn to family.  When girl dates turn to watching The OC reruns until some minor responsibility needs to be carried out.  Last night, we had planned on having some drinks and painting our nails.  Things were supposed to get loud.  Dancing and song bursts were supposed to occur.
Continue reading