It's Hard to Love Some People...

It really, really is....

I don't want to make this blog a big ol' bummer. I also don't want to be one of those pity me people, but I gotta get some stuff off of my chest.

I wrote a book a few years ago called DYS*FUNC*TION. I never had it published, shit... I never really finished it... It is/was a comedic look at growing up in dysfunction. I really have to get back to it one of these days.

Anyway, I am a child of alcoholics.... I had addiction issues myself in the past (all good now! WOOT!) and I have lived with alcoholic/addicts most of my life. How exhausting. I guess when one 'corrects' his or herself, that person can be a little more critical when judging others. Long and short... I'm fucking done putting up with shit.

I raised my mother until she died at the untimely age of 51 from cancer, just days before her 52nd birthday. She left behind my twin half sisters who were only 20. My mom was who she was... I learned to accept that. 3 years later, I harbor no ill feelings towards her at all. This means I get to live.

As sad as it sounds, with her passing, I experienced a feeling of freedom I had never before felt. I had the fortune of making amends to her for my on behavior, talking out my anger and sadness and most importantly, say good bye. Nothing was left unsaid. She couldn't 'accidentally' screw up my life anymore. (Sometimes she was a lot like having a 6 year old around... Ironically, if you ask my sisters, you'd think we were raised by a different woman. I apparently was her anchor) At 30 years old, I was fucking ready to live life.

I met a man. We fell hard and fast in love. It was a fucking whirlwind. I had never been happier. Even Middle Boy's dad, my volatile ex of 13 years was happy for me. He said I was glowing... We made the concious decision to have a baby... Ugga Bugga. He is the best little man on the planet, that little Bug. I was so excited at the prospect of having a happily ever after and a traditional family unit that I missed the signs...

He was drinking more and more. He was blacking out. He was yelling, being mean... even violent. I made him leave. His options were basically fuck off or rehab. To his credit he picked rehab. Things were pretty cool for awhile, until the sneaking and the lying began all over again.

The addict doesn't see their part when they are deep in it... sometimes they never do. When I point out how much I do for him and how much I have put up with, he argues that my cat sometimes pisses on the floor and says I do nothing about it. Whoa. What the fuck should I do, oh great one? Have a stern talking to with that little furball letting him know that his behavior is unacceptable? Didn't work with HIM... why would the cat listen?

At some point, it is up to me to decide where this insanity ends. I cannot count on him to make the choice. He lives in his head and nothing I say or do gets through. He tells me he will not let me control him and actually chastised me yesterday and called me mean. He thinks I'm not being supportive and helping him work through his issues. I was supportive when you were in rehab. I was supportive when I bailed you out of jail...twice. I was supportive when you slipped... Now I am just fucking pissed off. There is a fine line between supportive and enabling and I've crossed it. Do not manipulate me into feeling guilty. I am not a fool. I have run this rodeo with family, friends, fiancees... Honey, you ain't the first.

I also tend to think that calling you out on your bullshit IS being supportive. It's tough love, fucker. If you can't handle it, then I don't know what to tell you. It's not my nature to pacify and placate. It's just not me to take shit lying down.

I'm standing up.

Baby Bugga looks at that man like he is a God. He won't always. The worst moment in childhood is when you realize that your parents are human, worse yet; flawed. They are not perfect. they cannot save the world... I know from experience that that realization is 10 fold worse when it is accompanied with the realization that your parent is broken inside. Then comes the years of raising your parent... That's fucking cycle I will not perpetuate. Please, don't let that boy down.

I'm fucking pissed. I am fucking ANGRY! Mostly at myself for not paying enough attention or seeing this coming. The heart is a motherfucker.

I'm bummed too. I wanted this. I wanted this bad. Really, isn't tht true of everything in life? Every decision? No matter how much regret you have in the end, you have to remember that at some point you TRULY WANTED whatever it is.

I'm not sorry. Not at all... I think it is summed up best by the band Stars:

There's one thing I want to say, so I'll be brave You were what I wanted I gave what I gave I'm not sorry I met you I'm not sorry it's over I'm not sorry there's nothing to say
I'm not sorry there's nothing to say...

 Live through this, and you won't look back…

(song: Your Ex-Lover is Dead)

So that's it. Thanks for listening I guess. I don't mind if you think I'm the bad guy too. Every story has three sides, you know... 

xoxo

Years of Co-Sleeping Around Ends Here... You better start talking.

I have practiced Co-Sleeping with all three of my kids. Since I was a songle mom for a long time, it also was not unusual that my older boys would wind up in my bed here and there between the ages of 4-12 either. I had a HUGE bed with an ultra plush pillow top, so it was always on the premise that my bed was so much more comfortable than theirs.

Ugga Bugga is 17 mo old now and necessity has downgraded us from a California King to a lowly Queen size bed. Even though Ugga Bugga's Daddy only weighs about 100lbs, he takes up as much room as a Saint Bernard and well, Bugga isn't a little fetal-position sleeper either.As a result, we moved Bug's crib into our room and have started the transition.

Now, I'm fully aware that logic defies all things baby, but have taken to reasoning with the little man anyway. Yesterday I actually gave him what could have been considered a dissertation in regards to how this is "Bugga's Special Place" where "only Bugga can go..." I Fung Sui'ed all of his stuffed animals and told him it was a bed time party with all of his buddies.... He didn't give a shit.

Day #1

6:30

Begin the process of putting Bugga to bed. Daddy is at work, so it's just us. No Sweat! I lay him down in the bed to start there, all the while showing him his crib and how badly I wish I could sleep in there. I told Ugga Bugga Daddy to convert it to a toddeler bed, but he wouldn't. Dad said he might fall out. Of course, the bed is a 1/4 from the floor... Bugga falls asleep after about an hour. It might have been quicker, but the phone rang, which necessitated him bolting up and pushing my face in it's direction saying "A-woah!" That's about the extent of his vocabulary... "A-woah" "Daht-ee" So, I placed bugga in his crib when he fell asleep. Daddy came home and Bugga woke up. Daddy felt bad for Buggie, so he put him in the bed. I swear this kid knew he defeated me... He continued to kick the back of my head for an hour. Eventually I yelled "You both win!" and took my pillows downstairs and slept on the couch.

Day #2

6:30

Bugga doesn't talk, as I mentioned. We were watching Calliou (is that little bald-headed fuck NOT the most annoying thing on television??? What's with the bald head??? Hos sister Rosie had ore hair... Is Calliou French-Canadian for cancer???) learn how to ice skate. His skating instructor was named George. Never ever ever before has Jax met a George or even heard the name to my knowledge, but when George was leaving, I said "Bye George!". Bugga responds "Bye jore!"

Really? You can't say momma but you can say fucking George?

Bugga eventually goes down, with a fight and sleeps in his crib. He sleeps til 2 am where I finally put him back in the bed. Bugga - 2 Momma -0

Day #3

7:00

I am exhausted and my back hurts. I no longer give a shit if this kid ever sleeps in a crib because I'm about to take up residency on the fucking floor. Why did I have another baby??? My kids were almost out of the house! Go ahead, Daddy, keep kissing his ass! Oh.... wait... did he just say Momma?

Nope. He said Loser.

Bugga - 3 Momma - 0

Day #4

I have no idea what time it is. I can't feel my hands because I was sleeping on them funny.

Bugga- 4 Momma -0

Day #5.

6:30

I am not looking forward to this. I have been pwned by a toddler. After we sit for a while in the bed, I give him the 'boy your bed is so special" speech again and put him in there. I give him his little touch screen phone (an old one of ours no longer attached to a number... don't judge me.) put a video on it and pray to any availible diety that this is it....

He switched videos...seriously... and fell asleep listening to someone woman talk about the pros and cons of linx based operation systems. Like fatehr like son... good thing I'm a sucker for nerds. This makes me laugh out loud... consequently waking up Bugga. FUUUUUUCK.

Bugga -5 momma -0

Day #6

Kill me. I think it's the weekend because I don't have to work tomorrow...

Bugga is put in his crib right away. There is a little bit of reasoning with the unreasonable as I again waste my breath explaining that it's his special just for Bugga place. I think I'm seeing double.

he cries. He reaches for me... I hug him and tell him I love him. He stops crying. I give him his snuggle (a blankie from his aunt) and he lays down... This could be it!!!!

He sleeps in the crib til 4am, waking up only twice for a fewseconds at a time and successfully lulled back to sleep. At four am I bring him to bed with us. he sleeps for another half hour and then wakes me up playing slapsies with my face. He smacks me three or four times in a row and then giggles. How sweet.

Bugga - 6 Momma - 0

Day #7

I have been in hell for a week now. I am growing weary... I haven't slept a decent night in longer than I can remember. I think the baby laughs at me when as I cry and rock myself back and forth.

I give Bug a bath. He starts wailing when I take him out and wants his bottle. I put him the room with the gate up and go to get the bottle. I am nearly to the top of the stairs when I hear a splash. My heart stops. I panic. I run into the bathroom to find Bug smiling, fully clothed in the draining tub. He somehow plowed that gate over, a skill never before seen... and decided he was not done with his bath.

I put Bugga in his bed. He fusses for 10 minutes and lays down with his butt in the air. He falls asleep. I cannot speak. Ugga Bugga Daddy open his mouth and I cover it, furiously shaking my head NO! Bugga is asleep. Seriously. I fall out immediately. I woke up this morning feeling like a human again, however, there was a baby on my head when I woke up.

We will call this a draw, kid....



(Disclaimer... before anyone gets a hard on over the bathroom deal, this kid is NEVER left unspervised for more than 30 seconds. When he is unsupervised for 30 seconds, it's in a safe environment. He knocked over the gate. He was ok. Shit happens, mistakes are made. None of you are pefect either, so veiw it as hindsight funny and let's not leave a bunch of crappy comments.... )