So, right out the gate this morning, I come across a blogger who has written a scathing critique on Taylor Swift being one of the five named faces of #MeToo movement ( I say five, because there is a sixth "faceless" elbow that represents the next person to speak out... which would be powerful imagery if it didn't need to be explained, but it does and it has been... so maybe it's not so powerful). The blog was...well.. it was click-worthy. I imagine that's the point, right? To have something that people click on. Accuracy be damned!
The blog's title questioned Taylor Swift being on the cover. It stated clearly that the author understood that the lawsuit against the DJ who assaulted her was the reason, but that it wasn't a good enough reason. The author pushed several boundaries that left a bad taste in my mouth, going so far as to say that Taylor Swift in her "whiteness", "thinness" "blondness" and "richness" would never be something that the author could identify with, and so that she couldn't stand in solidarity with Taylor just because Taylor is a woman. The piece was clearly written from the point of view of a woman of color
Forgetting, for a moment, that Adama Iwu-an admirable woman of color who stood up for the women of California against sexual harassment inside the capitol- stands at the forefront of the photo itself. Forget that the inside article goes on to feature many people who have broken their silence on sexual impropriety on many levels. Accuracy be damned- Taylor Swift isn't victim enough! ( Apparently).
Names get tossed. Rose McGowen. Terry Crews. Aurora Perrineau. People who have spoken out and the author ( and, from what I have seen thus far, others as well), have deemed that Taylor Swift isn't victim enough. She named her assaulter, her assault was mild (in comparison), she won her lawsuit with her team of highly paid lawyers and walked away fairly unscathed. Rose McGowen lost her career! Terry Crews spoke up as a man. Aurora Perrineau spoke up against a powerful woman. Each of these examples stands as grounds to say that Taylor Swifts assault as somehow too 'generic' to be deserving of a Time Magazine Cover.
Are we really all so hipster that even our sexual assaults have to be edgy?
So, here is the problem. All of this fly directly in the face of what I see as the point of the #MeToo movement. The point, as I see it, is that we all have a story, and that a person should not be shamed into silence because their story doesn't meet certain criteria. Should Taylor Swift have turned down Time Magazine and said " Oh, no no no... I'm too white and rich and blond to be recognized for standing up to my assaulter". Or, perhaps, she should have said " Well, he just groped my ass and I don't want women who have their ass groped to think they have a voice here." Or, perhaps, she should have said " Well, I don't want white blond women to think they have a story to be told, so I can't serve as a role model to them."
Excuse me but... umm... FUCK THAT!
I could go on and on about how Taylor Swift serves as a great example of how people should behave in the face of sexual impropriety.... steadfast, unwavering and firm on her stance that her worth far exceeded the controversy and uncertainty that victims face.
However, my deeper concern is that we are working through this movement like a sport and we need to make sure we pick the right team. We are all in the place where we know ( pretty clearly) that siding with the perpetrators is the wrong side... but then we are picking teams in the assorted victim's to represent us. What is that!?!? Since when did a wrong have to meet a threshold so that we can feel validated?
And what the fuck are we saying- that a Time Magazine cover is the prize for achieving best victim?
Nope.... nope nope nope nope nope. It's all sorts of wrong.
Being a victim is just that. It is just like how a war vet can be a hero and so can Caitlyn Jenner, because it's not a competition. The prize is not in levels. I get to have my heart break for the mom who lost a child and have my heart break for the friend who lost his best friend. Tragic is tragic, and our need to quantify it leads down roads that we should be wary of. And we certainly need to be vigilant in making sure that our in-fighting over the victim qualification of Taylor Swift doesn't distract from our greater purpose of making sure that everyone has a voice in victimhood, because our in-fighting does nothing but keep the faceless women on Time Magazine's cover silent.
*Rant done*
Thursday, December 7, 2017
Tuesday, October 10, 2017
Fennel, Rush and #LifeGoals
Last week, I went to visit a friend of mine. She's one of "my people"... a tribe member where simple things can be said and we both know exactly what we are saying. My friend also faces a progressive and debilitating disease that has fundamentally shifted her ability to function as she did just a year ago. The world would called her handicapped. Politically correct assholes would call her handi-capable.
We call it fucking bullshit, and I openly tell her that I'm buying the next round of coffee because I can run faster than her. But that's how we roll.
So, last week, she tells me this story, and here is how it goes ( forgive me, friend, if I butcher this):
She went to the grocery store. Going to the grocery store has become a big deal because it's far more difficult than mundane tasks should be. This is the kinda shit that drives home the reality of her reality. My friend has canes to help her walk, so her struggles are pretty apparent to the world. Buying carrots should not be life-changing. But that's exactly what my friend was doing. Buying carrots.
A woman approaches next to her, and picks up some vegetable that is near the carrots. Said woman looks at my friend and the following transpires:
Woman: " Umm... have you ever use this?
Friend: "Fennel? Umm, yeah, but... well, I don't really like it."
Woman: " Ohh. Well, ya know.... I just wanted to tell you that I think you are inspiring."
Friend: "Umm... yeah... thanks. It's hard, but... ya know" (NOTE: I don't actually know if this is what she said... but that's what I see her saying in my head)
It became apparent to my friend that the woman came over, picked up an unknown vegetable with the specific intent of opening a conversation with my friend, just to tell her that she's an inspiration.
But here is where it gets good.
The woman then took the fennel, put it in her cart, and went on to BUY the fennel. She committed. She not only found an "in", but she stuck with it so as not to make it awkward... which was completely unavoidable.. and she bought, of all things... FENNEL!
So, on to the next part of this. Fennel is the Rush of vegetables. I said this to my friend and she instantly understood what I was saying -likely because I've expressed my strong feelings about Rush.
Curious? Don't worry- I'll explain. The band Rush is divisive. There are two kinds of people. People who LOVE Rush and people who HATE Rush. I am in the second party. Not only do I hate Rush, but I go out of my way to avoid people who LOVE Rush. Rush fans are aggressive in their pursuit to get you to love Rush. They trap you in cars and force you to listen to "this one song" that will somehow make you realize the error in your ways. When you explain to them that Geddy Lee's voice makes you want to take an ice pick to your eardrums, they will insist that you need to ignore that because Neil Peart's drumming is so amazing. And you can agree.... Neil Peart is an amazing drummer! But Neil Peart made some poor life choices by drumming behind what I can only assume is the grandfather of Calliou, because they are two of the whiniest voices to ever exist in the history of human-kind. So Neil Peart can be awesome, but he can't drum enough to make me love Rush, and you cannot shame me into loving Rush. Please stop. Rush is awful.
So, fennel is the Rush of vegetables. It's awful. People will try to convince you that it's not... but it is. They can spout off the laundry list of amazing recipes that somehow make the licorice-meets-broccoli quality of fennel become a rainbow of unicorns in my belly, but the moment I see a recipe that says " fennel", I nope the fuck outta there. Rush is awful. Fennel is awful. These are two areas where each side just needs to agree to disagree.
But this woman committed, and she bought the fennel- this awful vegetable- just so that she could tell my friend that she was an inspiration for buying carrots.
And here is the point: I want to BE that. This is a lifegoal. What in the world do I have to do in this world to be the kind of person that compels someone to buy fennel just to tell me that I inspire them? I know that this is what people who love Rush are doing... they are trying to find a way to give me something they think I need... even if it's in a way that makes me want to curl up into the fetal position to protect my flesh from a vocal assault that puts UV rays to shame. Their intent is good... I guess. But, in my friend's case, she was buying carrots... but I'm quite certain she wasn't aiming for "inspirational"... she just wanted a crunchy-yet-nutritionally-sound snack!
So, while I might make fun of this woman for committing to buying fennel, I have to give her credit for taking a moment to see something that not everyone does. My friend is an inspiration for buying carrots, and both of us are so very very sorry that you had to go home with such an terrible food as a trophy for your kind act.
You deserve better.
We call it fucking bullshit, and I openly tell her that I'm buying the next round of coffee because I can run faster than her. But that's how we roll.
So, last week, she tells me this story, and here is how it goes ( forgive me, friend, if I butcher this):
She went to the grocery store. Going to the grocery store has become a big deal because it's far more difficult than mundane tasks should be. This is the kinda shit that drives home the reality of her reality. My friend has canes to help her walk, so her struggles are pretty apparent to the world. Buying carrots should not be life-changing. But that's exactly what my friend was doing. Buying carrots.
A woman approaches next to her, and picks up some vegetable that is near the carrots. Said woman looks at my friend and the following transpires:
Woman: " Umm... have you ever use this?
Friend: "Fennel? Umm, yeah, but... well, I don't really like it."
Woman: " Ohh. Well, ya know.... I just wanted to tell you that I think you are inspiring."
Friend: "Umm... yeah... thanks. It's hard, but... ya know" (NOTE: I don't actually know if this is what she said... but that's what I see her saying in my head)
It became apparent to my friend that the woman came over, picked up an unknown vegetable with the specific intent of opening a conversation with my friend, just to tell her that she's an inspiration.
But here is where it gets good.
The woman then took the fennel, put it in her cart, and went on to BUY the fennel. She committed. She not only found an "in", but she stuck with it so as not to make it awkward... which was completely unavoidable.. and she bought, of all things... FENNEL!
So, on to the next part of this. Fennel is the Rush of vegetables. I said this to my friend and she instantly understood what I was saying -likely because I've expressed my strong feelings about Rush.
Curious? Don't worry- I'll explain. The band Rush is divisive. There are two kinds of people. People who LOVE Rush and people who HATE Rush. I am in the second party. Not only do I hate Rush, but I go out of my way to avoid people who LOVE Rush. Rush fans are aggressive in their pursuit to get you to love Rush. They trap you in cars and force you to listen to "this one song" that will somehow make you realize the error in your ways. When you explain to them that Geddy Lee's voice makes you want to take an ice pick to your eardrums, they will insist that you need to ignore that because Neil Peart's drumming is so amazing. And you can agree.... Neil Peart is an amazing drummer! But Neil Peart made some poor life choices by drumming behind what I can only assume is the grandfather of Calliou, because they are two of the whiniest voices to ever exist in the history of human-kind. So Neil Peart can be awesome, but he can't drum enough to make me love Rush, and you cannot shame me into loving Rush. Please stop. Rush is awful.
So, fennel is the Rush of vegetables. It's awful. People will try to convince you that it's not... but it is. They can spout off the laundry list of amazing recipes that somehow make the licorice-meets-broccoli quality of fennel become a rainbow of unicorns in my belly, but the moment I see a recipe that says " fennel", I nope the fuck outta there. Rush is awful. Fennel is awful. These are two areas where each side just needs to agree to disagree.
But this woman committed, and she bought the fennel- this awful vegetable- just so that she could tell my friend that she was an inspiration for buying carrots.
And here is the point: I want to BE that. This is a lifegoal. What in the world do I have to do in this world to be the kind of person that compels someone to buy fennel just to tell me that I inspire them? I know that this is what people who love Rush are doing... they are trying to find a way to give me something they think I need... even if it's in a way that makes me want to curl up into the fetal position to protect my flesh from a vocal assault that puts UV rays to shame. Their intent is good... I guess. But, in my friend's case, she was buying carrots... but I'm quite certain she wasn't aiming for "inspirational"... she just wanted a crunchy-yet-nutritionally-sound snack!
So, while I might make fun of this woman for committing to buying fennel, I have to give her credit for taking a moment to see something that not everyone does. My friend is an inspiration for buying carrots, and both of us are so very very sorry that you had to go home with such an terrible food as a trophy for your kind act.
You deserve better.
Tuesday, June 27, 2017
The Cost of Playing Clean *explicit*
A word of warning: This post contains explicit descriptions of acts which we all are aware of, we all have been known to enjoy and we all have felt shame and guilt for said enjoyment.
The topic today?
Justice Boners.
I get serious justice boners. It's a funny turn of phrase that best describes the feeling that we have when our inflated need for fairness and justice gives us a sense of relief and satisfaction. The reason this phrase is so appropriate is because the phrase, like the feeling itself, is juvenile, petty and, in most circumstances, lacks a standard of class and civility.
I don't use the word "boner" on a regular basis. I find it crass and low-brow... the cornerstone of poorly made 80's movies featuring overly-endowed women in skimpy outfits. I find it offensive. Equally, I should question my constant desire for said justice boner, mostly because I want to think it's beneath me.
But here I stand, admitting that I love a good justice boner. I love when I see justice served up before me. I enjoy when a person I think is good and right is rewarded, and I leap with joy when I see a person I perceive as bad and wrong getting smacked down by either a system or by 'karma'. I want that guy who let me merge in while in heavy traffic to have the road open before him, and I want to see the guy who cut me off with a flat tire 10 minutes later.
I want fairness to be real and I long for the ability to bend the universe in such a way that fairness is real. But alas, fairness is not real. Good things happen to bad people and bad things happen to good people. My longing for a justice boner gives me a (false) sense of control in a world full of chaos.
The worst of this comes when you know that the best course of action is to rise above it all. When you are personally wronged, the desire to bend the universe into smack-down mode is strong. So, your desire to seek out justice... to scream truth from the rafters... to expose the wrongness of the wrong.... it's alluring. Oh so alluring!
But, there is another side to it. Like the phrase itself, justice boners are juvenile and lack civility. There is a side that requires you to act above the fray. The side where you need to understand that dirty people hope to make themselves look clean by making you look dirtier... and that the only way free from that is to play clean. The right thing to do is to stay clean from it... walk away with only the satisfaction of knowing that you are allowing the truth to stand for itself and hope that the universe makes it right on its own.
But we know that the universe is an unreliable narrator.
Uncertainty is kryptonite to a person who enjoys justice boners and the universe is filled with uncertainty. I have never witnessed a guy who cut me off getting a flat tire... and while I can't dismiss that it has happened, I know that I can't lay down nails on the highway in front of him. That's not playing clean.
It's an awful feeling- this uncertainty and making a choice to not be involved in ensuring justice and fairness. When even 'defending' yourself is playing dirty and you have to hope that the truth is screamed by someone else's voice from someone else's rafters.
There is a cost to playing clean. I may never get the justice boner I desire and instead I have to be satisfied by the fact that I (silently) know I did the right thing....
...but civil-adult-decision-to-be-better-than-that-Boner just doesn't have the same ring to it.
The topic today?
Justice Boners.
I get serious justice boners. It's a funny turn of phrase that best describes the feeling that we have when our inflated need for fairness and justice gives us a sense of relief and satisfaction. The reason this phrase is so appropriate is because the phrase, like the feeling itself, is juvenile, petty and, in most circumstances, lacks a standard of class and civility.
I don't use the word "boner" on a regular basis. I find it crass and low-brow... the cornerstone of poorly made 80's movies featuring overly-endowed women in skimpy outfits. I find it offensive. Equally, I should question my constant desire for said justice boner, mostly because I want to think it's beneath me.
But here I stand, admitting that I love a good justice boner. I love when I see justice served up before me. I enjoy when a person I think is good and right is rewarded, and I leap with joy when I see a person I perceive as bad and wrong getting smacked down by either a system or by 'karma'. I want that guy who let me merge in while in heavy traffic to have the road open before him, and I want to see the guy who cut me off with a flat tire 10 minutes later.
I want fairness to be real and I long for the ability to bend the universe in such a way that fairness is real. But alas, fairness is not real. Good things happen to bad people and bad things happen to good people. My longing for a justice boner gives me a (false) sense of control in a world full of chaos.
The worst of this comes when you know that the best course of action is to rise above it all. When you are personally wronged, the desire to bend the universe into smack-down mode is strong. So, your desire to seek out justice... to scream truth from the rafters... to expose the wrongness of the wrong.... it's alluring. Oh so alluring!
But, there is another side to it. Like the phrase itself, justice boners are juvenile and lack civility. There is a side that requires you to act above the fray. The side where you need to understand that dirty people hope to make themselves look clean by making you look dirtier... and that the only way free from that is to play clean. The right thing to do is to stay clean from it... walk away with only the satisfaction of knowing that you are allowing the truth to stand for itself and hope that the universe makes it right on its own.
But we know that the universe is an unreliable narrator.
Uncertainty is kryptonite to a person who enjoys justice boners and the universe is filled with uncertainty. I have never witnessed a guy who cut me off getting a flat tire... and while I can't dismiss that it has happened, I know that I can't lay down nails on the highway in front of him. That's not playing clean.
It's an awful feeling- this uncertainty and making a choice to not be involved in ensuring justice and fairness. When even 'defending' yourself is playing dirty and you have to hope that the truth is screamed by someone else's voice from someone else's rafters.
There is a cost to playing clean. I may never get the justice boner I desire and instead I have to be satisfied by the fact that I (silently) know I did the right thing....
...but civil-adult-decision-to-be-better-than-that-Boner just doesn't have the same ring to it.
Saturday, January 7, 2017
I'm so sick of being big bad mommy
I'm laying in my bed... tears streaming out of my eyes. Snow is falling outside, and I'm hiding from having yet another epic meltdown where I plead with my daughter to take care of her stuff. This after trying to find the three-pack of gloves she got in her christmas stocking, because she wants to play in the snow, only to find half of her gifts she got just 2 weeks ago stuffed under her bed.
Gifts I stood in long lines to get for her.
Gifts we sacrificed money to make sure she got.
Stuffed under a bed next to miscellaneous crumbs and garbage.
Next to the box of floss I've asked her twenty times to stop taking out of the bathroom, but she keeps using to make some sort of contraption for the $60 super rare Skylander that she really really wanted for Christmas.
Next to a craft bottle that's been filled with my $20 shampoo that I have (again!) asked her REPEATEDLY not to use or play with.
And the frustration is building.... it hurts. It all hurts. It hurts because I feel like all I do is give and give and give. I cook. I clean. I fold laundry that is being washed for the 7th time but hadn't been actually worn because it was never put away to begin with and instead it was thrown into a pile on the floor. I work hard to make meals that everyone will eat, only to have it pushed around a plate with a look of disgust ruining all of my effort. I parse out enough money to make sure all of the kids have chargers for their xbox controllers so nobody is crying... but half of them are stuffed under the bed... so crying happens anyway.
And maybe some of it... a lot of it... is that daddy really isn't ever big bad daddy. I respect my husband... I do, and he does a great job. But, really, in reality, he's not the one who makes her life happen. Not one of those christmas gifts was planned or wrapped by him. His money went into purchasing them, but he didn't stand in line... he didn't wrap them...and many of them he didn't even know existed until she unwrapped them that morning. When she takes the floss, he doesn't need to go and buy new floss. She doesn't take his shampoo because his shampoo is in another room. He doesn't care that a shirt is being washed, dried and folded for the 7th time that hasn't been worn because he doesn't a) wash, b) dry, c) fold and d) pay attention to what she's wearing.
I don't know that the 7th washing of a sweater in the middle of July would raise a red flag to him.
And sometimes, I watch him interact with her and I'm so jealous, because it feels like she just LIKES him more. Daddy is easy-going and has fun and daddy isn't consumed with making sure these things get done because, frankly, daddy isn't the one who has to take care of these things if they don't get done. Daddy never gets asked when dinner is going to be ready, and if he was, PB&J or McDonalds is a perfectly acceptable response because that would happen so rarely.
And my husband gets it... he does. He knows this is a problem and it's part of the reason he's a great husband. He made dinner one night, and she pushed it around the plate. I think he knows how it feels, and I think he gets that I do it all the time and why it hurts. He wants to make it better. But, the problem is that it feels like... like I don't get the luxury of watching someone else go through it and only experiencing it sometime. This is my everyday... for almost 10 years. I'm spent.
And here is the part that makes me the biggest, baddest mommy. I think my kid is kinda an asshole.
So, big bad mommy is going to define asshole. An asshole is someone who doesn't care about anyone's needs but their own. An asshole is a person who claims to care, but the moment you are out of their eyeline, you are out of their thoughts. And asshole is a person who takes everything you have to give and has the gall to expect more. An asshole is a person who doesn't care about the time, money and effort you have invested in something, it is there for their taking.
So, when my kid has asked if she could use a container to mold bricks of snow, and my husband complies and gets her a container, the world is fine. When he says to her very specifically " Now, you need to bring this back when you are done playing outside", the world is fine. When, two hours after she has come inside from playing in the snow and I go to find the container still sitting in the yard, along with the snow shovel and several other things that she has determined can just be left in the middle of the yard... then she's an asshole.
And when I look at her and say " Didn't daddy tell you that you couldn't leave these in the yard?" and she says " Yes" and I ask " Then why did you leave them in the yard" and she says " I didn't think about it.". Yeah- she's an asshole!
'My parents need something... fuck them'... that's not what she's thinking. She's not thinking about us at all. It's worse than being mean, she's freaking apathetic. When she takes the 100th container of floss out of the bathroom, the 99 times I've asked her to stop doing that don't even EXIST.. the words, the effort, the time... none of that even exists to her. She has confirmed this... she doesn't even THINK about it... that's what she says why I ask her why!
And what really really kills me is that almost every moment of my life is consumed with thinking about her. There isn't a store that I go to that I don't think about what she would like to have. There isn't a moment when I look at a clock when I'm not calculating when my kid is going to need something ( 40 minutes until I have to pick up the kid from school. I have an hour to go to the store before she needs to go to that birthday party. I have 15 minutes to take a shower before I have to wake her up for school.) Seriously.... I never get to forget about something she needs! I don't get to just not think about her and leave the house and do what I want and not pick her up from school and not have her lunch ready and not make sure she gets to that birthday party. But every single simple request that I make... gone... nonexistent to her. So, yeah, it's not a "Fuck you mommy"... but dammit, it FEELS like that.
Like, can't you just think about what I need a little bit?
And here I am again... big bad mommy, because I'm pretty sure that GOOD mommies are able to stuff down every ounce of selfishness, they never expect their kid to think about a grownup's needs, and they certainly don't think their kid is an asshole.
So, instead of living up to expectation of being a big bad mommy and yelling, I'm hiding away in my bedroom, because I really just don't want to.
I don't want to be the big bad mommy who yells because I'm the big bad mommy who has her feelings hurt. And, maybe, even worst, I don't want to be the big bad mommy who created this asshole because I was trying so fucking hard to be the GOOD mommy who gives until it hurts.
Like... those Pinterest Moms who make personalized glitter water bottles for their perfect kid to take to their dance class.... do your feelings get hurt when you find that water bottle left in the middle of the back yard? When you've spent 3 hours making a customized superhero cape for your kid, does it crush your soul when you find it waded up into a ball with a half-eaten candy cane stuck to it? Or are you just so perfect that your perfect kids would never treat your effort with that much disrespect?
And what I want is one of two things: either I want my kid to care more or I want to stop caring. Either one is acceptable.
I'm exhausted. My Snowy Saturday is a bust and I just want to collapse under the pile of parental defeat I feel right now.
BLAHHHHHH!!!
Gifts I stood in long lines to get for her.
Gifts we sacrificed money to make sure she got.
Stuffed under a bed next to miscellaneous crumbs and garbage.
Next to the box of floss I've asked her twenty times to stop taking out of the bathroom, but she keeps using to make some sort of contraption for the $60 super rare Skylander that she really really wanted for Christmas.
Next to a craft bottle that's been filled with my $20 shampoo that I have (again!) asked her REPEATEDLY not to use or play with.
And the frustration is building.... it hurts. It all hurts. It hurts because I feel like all I do is give and give and give. I cook. I clean. I fold laundry that is being washed for the 7th time but hadn't been actually worn because it was never put away to begin with and instead it was thrown into a pile on the floor. I work hard to make meals that everyone will eat, only to have it pushed around a plate with a look of disgust ruining all of my effort. I parse out enough money to make sure all of the kids have chargers for their xbox controllers so nobody is crying... but half of them are stuffed under the bed... so crying happens anyway.
And maybe some of it... a lot of it... is that daddy really isn't ever big bad daddy. I respect my husband... I do, and he does a great job. But, really, in reality, he's not the one who makes her life happen. Not one of those christmas gifts was planned or wrapped by him. His money went into purchasing them, but he didn't stand in line... he didn't wrap them...and many of them he didn't even know existed until she unwrapped them that morning. When she takes the floss, he doesn't need to go and buy new floss. She doesn't take his shampoo because his shampoo is in another room. He doesn't care that a shirt is being washed, dried and folded for the 7th time that hasn't been worn because he doesn't a) wash, b) dry, c) fold and d) pay attention to what she's wearing.
I don't know that the 7th washing of a sweater in the middle of July would raise a red flag to him.
And sometimes, I watch him interact with her and I'm so jealous, because it feels like she just LIKES him more. Daddy is easy-going and has fun and daddy isn't consumed with making sure these things get done because, frankly, daddy isn't the one who has to take care of these things if they don't get done. Daddy never gets asked when dinner is going to be ready, and if he was, PB&J or McDonalds is a perfectly acceptable response because that would happen so rarely.
And my husband gets it... he does. He knows this is a problem and it's part of the reason he's a great husband. He made dinner one night, and she pushed it around the plate. I think he knows how it feels, and I think he gets that I do it all the time and why it hurts. He wants to make it better. But, the problem is that it feels like... like I don't get the luxury of watching someone else go through it and only experiencing it sometime. This is my everyday... for almost 10 years. I'm spent.
And here is the part that makes me the biggest, baddest mommy. I think my kid is kinda an asshole.
So, big bad mommy is going to define asshole. An asshole is someone who doesn't care about anyone's needs but their own. An asshole is a person who claims to care, but the moment you are out of their eyeline, you are out of their thoughts. And asshole is a person who takes everything you have to give and has the gall to expect more. An asshole is a person who doesn't care about the time, money and effort you have invested in something, it is there for their taking.
So, when my kid has asked if she could use a container to mold bricks of snow, and my husband complies and gets her a container, the world is fine. When he says to her very specifically " Now, you need to bring this back when you are done playing outside", the world is fine. When, two hours after she has come inside from playing in the snow and I go to find the container still sitting in the yard, along with the snow shovel and several other things that she has determined can just be left in the middle of the yard... then she's an asshole.
And when I look at her and say " Didn't daddy tell you that you couldn't leave these in the yard?" and she says " Yes" and I ask " Then why did you leave them in the yard" and she says " I didn't think about it.". Yeah- she's an asshole!
'My parents need something... fuck them'... that's not what she's thinking. She's not thinking about us at all. It's worse than being mean, she's freaking apathetic. When she takes the 100th container of floss out of the bathroom, the 99 times I've asked her to stop doing that don't even EXIST.. the words, the effort, the time... none of that even exists to her. She has confirmed this... she doesn't even THINK about it... that's what she says why I ask her why!
And what really really kills me is that almost every moment of my life is consumed with thinking about her. There isn't a store that I go to that I don't think about what she would like to have. There isn't a moment when I look at a clock when I'm not calculating when my kid is going to need something ( 40 minutes until I have to pick up the kid from school. I have an hour to go to the store before she needs to go to that birthday party. I have 15 minutes to take a shower before I have to wake her up for school.) Seriously.... I never get to forget about something she needs! I don't get to just not think about her and leave the house and do what I want and not pick her up from school and not have her lunch ready and not make sure she gets to that birthday party. But every single simple request that I make... gone... nonexistent to her. So, yeah, it's not a "Fuck you mommy"... but dammit, it FEELS like that.
Like, can't you just think about what I need a little bit?
And here I am again... big bad mommy, because I'm pretty sure that GOOD mommies are able to stuff down every ounce of selfishness, they never expect their kid to think about a grownup's needs, and they certainly don't think their kid is an asshole.
So, instead of living up to expectation of being a big bad mommy and yelling, I'm hiding away in my bedroom, because I really just don't want to.
I don't want to be the big bad mommy who yells because I'm the big bad mommy who has her feelings hurt. And, maybe, even worst, I don't want to be the big bad mommy who created this asshole because I was trying so fucking hard to be the GOOD mommy who gives until it hurts.
Like... those Pinterest Moms who make personalized glitter water bottles for their perfect kid to take to their dance class.... do your feelings get hurt when you find that water bottle left in the middle of the back yard? When you've spent 3 hours making a customized superhero cape for your kid, does it crush your soul when you find it waded up into a ball with a half-eaten candy cane stuck to it? Or are you just so perfect that your perfect kids would never treat your effort with that much disrespect?
And what I want is one of two things: either I want my kid to care more or I want to stop caring. Either one is acceptable.
I'm exhausted. My Snowy Saturday is a bust and I just want to collapse under the pile of parental defeat I feel right now.
BLAHHHHHH!!!
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