Tag: children

Universally appalling topics should be unifying

I remember years ago asking, “what happened to Ashton Kutcher? Like, he was in SO MUCH stuff, and then just kind of disappeared. And someone told me, “well, he started working against child sex trafficking. So who in Hollywood is going to hire him?”

He and Demi started Thorn in 2012. I remember watching, and crying, to the video of him testifying to the Senate years later, and thinking “yeah right. Those politicians aren’t going to do anything. I bet they’re part of all that shit”.

I remember thinking Cory Feldman was crazy and it was his years of drug abuse that made him a nut ball. And then I read an interview about the Hollywood child sex ring. This poor man has been screaming and begging for help for decades. And no one listened.

I see posts about it all up and down my newsfeed about child trafficking. Which, I’m glad to see people wanting the truth exposed and an end to it. Amazing. Exactly what needs to happen. Shedding light on this topic is how we end it. But something about some of the posts I’ve seen has been not been sitting right with me. I’ve been trying to figure out what it is.

It’s because, while I was asking if people thought Chester Bennington and Chris Cornell’s deaths were because of exposing child abuse, people laughed at me and called me a conspiracy theorist. It’s because when I stood with #metoo, people rolled their eyes and said the movement was just people feeling “triggered”. Because when I brought up the rape allegations of Trump in 2016, people laughed and told me told me they were just lies. It because I asked why there were kids in cages, and how our government could LOSE thousands of children, people ignored, downplayed, or redirected the subject. And now? There are a bunch of people that keep bringing up this horrid thing as A COMPARISON OF horrific things, to dismiss BLM and Covid19.

I want every single pedophile found out. All of them. Every politician. Every star. Every single person who has hurt a child. ALL OF THEM. I am thankful for every victim that has come forward. For every star willing to sacrifice their careers to fight against it. So what about these memes is sitting with me wrong? It is sitting with me wrong because people are attaching a political agenda to their memes and posts.

I am glad you all are appalled about child trafficking. Because we need people to be appalled. We need people to fight for justice for every child that has been hurt. But if you are using all of this as a way to downplay another issue, then you’re USING it, not HELPING it.

If your meme says anything like, “people are talking about *insert topic* while there’s a child sex ring going on. But that’s none of my business” or whatever, you stop that shit. Yes it’s great you are now learning about stuff. But quit using false equivalence to push whatever agenda you’re pushing. You can be appalled about many topics at once.

Pedophiles are evil. We all agree on that. So quit attaching something we ALL AGREE needs to be exposed and fixed, to something unrelated. If your post is about downplaying a topic, and not about promoting the stop of trafficking, then it’s divisive and it’s distracting from the the problem we all want solved.

Stop that shit. I have spent the better part of a decade standing against this. And I’m sick of people using it to create division. This should be the most unifying thing we ever stand against.

It’s hard to come back from distrust.

I am a very human human. Meaning, with me, there is absolutely no delusions of being perfect. There is a certain amount of peace that comes with being self aware of your faults. There is also a large responsibility to face them head on. I really try to stay humble and make a concerted effort to not excuse wrongs I’ve done. This is an important step in growing as a person. And it is NOT fun. 

There are certain people we count on to be support through our growth. They are on your side, trying to help you succeed. Parents. Siblings. Friends. Pastors. Teachers. And many others. We all know who we can go to and say, “I messed up” to. I want to talk about one trusted person in my life who let myself and my children down. They failed us. They failed themselves. 

Story time. December 23, 2016. I excitedly went to my home parish for a meeting about my son being baptized. I had been through this before with my 3 other children, so I knew what to expect. I filled out the necessary paperwork and waited for the priest to come in. 

I could tell immediately the priest was agitated. It is days before Christmas, and he is new to the parish. I am sure his stress was maxed. I thanked him for meeting with me and introduced my children. He slammed down the paperwork and sat in a huff. At this point I am feeling guilty for taking up his time during such a busy season. So I tell myself, keep it brief, Beth. 

Name? Catholic? Oh really. Then what parish? Because I don’t recall seeing you every week. Child’s name? Father? Where is he? Oh so he must be an atheist. Are you with him? So you just had a baby with some guy? And how’s that going to work? Huh? 

Each question I answered straight to the point. With each question, his voice got harsher and his body language became more hostel. I was confused. Taken off guard. It took me way longer than it should have to realize this man was mistreating me. I asked him what he meant. I didn’t understand why it wouldn’t work. Then he raised his voice, “What I mean is, HOW are you going to raise you child Catholic when the father is an atheist? And you’re OBVIOUSLY not a Catholic either?? You’re expecting me to believe that? How? What about any of this tells me THAT CHILD will be raised Catholic?” 

I could feel the lump in my throat. “Because I’ve raised my other 3 children Catholic? They go to the Catholic school. They’ve received their sacraments. I am Catholic. I don’t understand why tou would think I wouldn’t.” He grabs the paper and slams his finger against the dad’s name, “This is why! This man is is not THEIR (points to my other children) father too! CATHOLICS DON’T HAVE SEX BEFORE THEY’RE MARRIED. You are NOT Catholic!”

The tears begin. 

Oh quit being so melodramatic! I don’t need to KNOW you. I’ve heard enough about you and your reputation! I know exactly what kind of a person YOU are! It’s not my job to CARE about your feelings. You didn’t make a mistake. You made a SIN. You are a sinner. STOP CRYING CALM DOWN AND QUIT BEING SO EMOTIONAL. Why would I ever believe you? You don’t live as a Catholic if you’re having SEX! Wah wah wah boo hoo! 

Every time I talked he got angrier. Slammed his fists on the table. Stood up and shoved the chair aside. Leaned across the table and out his finger in my face. 

I sent my kids in the hallway and he proceeded to yell and mock me for crying. He didn’t want to hear anything I had to say. He was angry at me for wasting his time when he had real Catholics to help.

Ultimately, he refused to baptize my son. I left shaking and sobbing. I had an expectation for this man. I expected to be met with love and kindness. Approval? No. But kindness, yes. He failed me. 

I got in the car and looked at my children. They were all crying too. And my heart shattered. Does this man know what he has done? He just robbed my children of innocence. I remember being a kid. Seeing the priest as almost a movie star. Getting excited to shake their hand. Feeling special if they new my name. Seeing them as someone holy. I didn’t realize that adults weren’t perfect. I was trusting. He just stole that from my kids. My kids just watched a 55 year old man verbally attack their mother. They just watched their “trusted” pastor refuse to let their brother, who they love more than anything, be part if the church. They were just shown someone in power be unforgiving and withhold compassion and understanding. I was so angry. My children were scandalized by this and I couldn’t fix it. 

I am a big girl. I can handle judgement. But my children? My kids will learn soon enough the world is imperfect. They will see with their own eyes that being in a higher position does not mean that a person is perfect. They will see the human in humans. He stole a part of their innocence. 

Their are certain people that are held to a higher standard. And they should be. Priests, teachers, police, government, etc. We don’t expect perfection, but we expect them to be putting the maximum amount of effort towards their pitfalls. 

This priest was removed from our parish. Not because of me, but because of another complaint that was filed by another female. This has brought me a bit of peace about it. I kept thinking, what if it wasn’t me he did that to? I can see this man and say, this is not the Catholic church. But what if I was someone with less roots in the faith? What if I was a pregnant woman seeking guidence? What if I had PTSD from an abusive relationship? 

Not all priests are bad. Most are good. But the bad ones NEED to be removed. We need to make sure that we keep our standard high. We need to protect ourselves from the bad ones. Every new priest that comes to our parish make my kids nervous. “I sure hope he’s not a mean one!” 

If a teacher was singling your child out, bullying, or mistreating them, we would want them fired, right? We would advocate for our children. 

If a police officer were mistreating a civilian, he should be fired, right? If my kids watched as an officer harassed and mistreated me, that would stay with them forever. Every police they met they would be met with distrust and caution. That’s why we hold them to a higher standard. Because we want them to feel happy to see the police. Feel safer with them there. 

Black children are scandalized by police, the way my children were by the priest. And it isn’t even a specific police officer. It’s the fact that their parents have warn them, from a young age, about the possibility of being targeted. They don’t get to grow up feeling safe every time they see a cop. I cannot imagine how heartbreaking it has to be to explain how severe the consequences could be if they don’t submit to them immediately. Having to tell my kids that respect isn’t enough. They have to be submissive. 

What about the good ones? Most officers do protect and serve the way they’re supposed to. These horrible officers, that are killing blacks, they are making it SO much harder on the good ones. It is so much harder to regain trust once it’s broken. 

This is why we have #blm. This is why we #takeaknee. Because we need to get those bad officers off the force. We need them to be held accountable. We need them to be fired. So the good ones can keep us safe and so our children can grow up admiring the police, not fearing them. When our kids do do something wrong (because, let’s face it, kids if all races are naughty), they should be scared about the officer telling their parent, not be scared their going to be shot. They should be embarrassed they broke the law or caused problems, not feel like their skin color is a crime. 

For every priest, teacher, or police, that is doing good, I admire you. I know it is hard to weed out the bad ones, but it needs to be done. I know your workload is heavier then it should be, but your strength is what we need.  

Bringing it down to the Basics

It was 2011. I was newly divorced, in school full time, working as many hours as I could get, and raising 3 kids. Looking back, it’s almost comical that I thought I could have an organized house as well. 

“What do you need?” My friend Kris asked me. She had come over with the intention to clean/organize/help. I was drowning in my life and I desperately needed someone to throw me a lifesaver. 

“I don’t know. I mean. I guess the toys. I can’t think because there is so much everywhere. The toys go there. Top drawer is dolls. Second is dress up. Bottom draws is everything else. I don’t know. They’re all mixed up.” I told her showing her my organizer. “And art stuff goes here. Paper in this drawer, crayons and markers in this one, and the other stuff in that one.”

“No. That’s too much. You need to simplify it. How about toys here, and art stuff here.”

“But. Everything has a place. I just…”

“What a your goal? What do you want in here?”

“I want the toys off the floor. I want to walk through my house without stepping on stuff.”

“Beth. The girls can help. They need to. You can’t do it all, so we need to find a way that is simple. So the kids can do it.”

I had to let go of some control. Here’s the thing, (for those who don’t know how it is to function with ADHD) I have to be that uptight about things. Chaos around me gives anxiety. I forget things. I lose things. Everything has a place, because otherwise, nothing has a place. 

So I changed the rules. Instead if having such strong stipulations on where the kids put the toys, I just made sure they were put away. It worked. The kids didn’t feel overwhelmed with helping. So I started simplifying other aspects of my life. 

Sorting socks? Nope. I don’t have time. My goal is to have clean socks when we need them. Boom. New rule, sock basket. All the clean socks in the house are in there. Find your own. While thes things were not ideal for my house, I found the amount of stress that was lifted was definitely worth letting go. 

Sometimes, when I feel overwhelmed, I like to bring it down the the basics. Not forever, just for long enough to gain some perspective. Not just with household chores, but with friendships, parenting, work, and everything else. 

Parenting. What is the goal? I’m sure your response would be something about love, or God, or kindness, or being strong or something like that. No. Those are not the goals. Those are the personal details you have set for what are actually the goals. 

There are 2 things your kid needs from you. Two. Taking it to The basics. These 2 things are the backbone of why you make any and all decisions regarding your kids. And if they’re not, you need to reevaluate your motives in parenting.

The first, let them keep their innocence as long as possible. We protect them from the horrors of the world so that they can develop into who they are truly meant to be. Life has a way of hardening us. Our children need to keep the tenderness, and awe for life and the world as long as possible.

The second, produce functional adults. Our children need to be able live and function in society someday. We cannot shelter them forever. They need to be able to socialize. They need to be able to work a job. They need to be able to keep themselves safe when you’re not there. They need to be able to think and make choices. 
These goals sound contradictory. You can see why teenage years are so tough. Constantly trying to balance protecting our teen while at the same time knowing in a few short years they need to be able to function in the world. 

Now, what is your definition of innocence? What do you consider a functioning adult? This is where our parenting styles come into play. We make choices every day with these in mind. “No, sorry, Sally isn’t allowed to sleep over until she’s older.” Or “Rinse your bowl.” Or “Sure, Jimmy can definitely go out with his friends after the game.” Based on our childhoods, usually, we decide what we will or will not do with our kids. 

If you are an overwhelmed parent, bring it to the basics. Ask yourself, is this helping them keep their innocence or helping them develop into a functioning adult? If it doesn’t fit one of those 2 things, quit fretting about it. Quit being angry about it. Quit wearing yourself down over it. 

Someday I will sort socks again. And you know what? The toys in my house are now sorted. The art stuff all has a place. It took 7 years, but I got it back slowly. Just because it’s not ideal, doesn’t mean it’s bad. My house is a disaster. Why? Because I want the kids to help clean. And honestly, they don’t do a great job. My kids need a mom who helps show them. Not a mom who yells and shames them. 

You know what your kids need. You know what type of adult you hope they become (or possibly one you don’t want them to become). Have a little faith in yourself. Take a deep breathe, and let go. 

The Original “Participation Trophy Winners”…and Losers

My children go to a Catholic school. They have a huge auction every year.  It’s the biggest fundraiser the school does. My kids are able to go to this school only because of the amount of tuition help we receive (shout out to all those who have helped over the years). Because of this, I feel that I need to make sure to volunteer for the auction in some capacity.

A couple years ago I was super involved with the auction. I helped with the decorating, spent most of my spring break there, and worked the auction itself, both nights. This was the first time since my kids started at the school, that I felt included. I felt like I finally had mom friends. I felt like an asset to the school. I felt like my kids could be proud of their mom being there and being involved. Then, a well-meaning mother said something that snapped me back into the reality of how I’m seen by those at that school.

“You know, I decided this year I was going to give you a chance. I mean it’s not really fair that (Genevieve’s dad) is made out to be such a stand up guy, and your painted to be this homewrecker. I’m really glad I gave you a chance!” 

I smiled and politely said thank you. I could feel my face become flush and my blood pressure rise. I could feel my hands start to shake and could feel the quiver in my voice. I was the homewrecker. We both did the same thing. But I was the homewrecker. His home was still intact. He still had his wife and his children. But I’m the homewrecker. He still got to take his trips and vacations and still got to be accepted by all the parents at the school. But I was the homewrecker. I had sole responsibility of her for over 2 years with no financial help, emotional help, or even a smiling face to treat me kindly there. But I was the homewrecker.  My home was the home that was wrecked, but I was the honewrecker, and he’s a stand-up guy.

If you don’t know the situation with my third child, I will explain it in simple terms. Her dad and I both cheated. Neither of us have any desire or intention to be with the other. It was a night of too much alcohol and terrible decisions. Neither of us have ever tried to dismiss it as an okay act. Everybody involved in the situation agrees it was wrong. People were hurt. Lives were changed.  But, we took a potentially dramatic experience and kept it very drama-free. Our daughter has a great relationship with both families. She loves her dad and she loves her step-mom. This blog is not a blog to bash her father, or to try to justify something as hurtful as infidelity.

So just to restate, cheating is always wrong. Our daughter is loved and taken care of. We do not condone what happened but we do not dwell on it.

I know the people in my life are aware of what I went through those first few years after she was born. I was treated terribly. My kid’s school, the church, and anybody else that knew the situation and very strong opinions of me and who I was. I don’t know if you know this, but if you do something severely wrong, and there’s a consequence, you don’t get to explain yourself. I realized very quickly that if I try to explain myself, it sounded like I was trying to defend infidelity, which I most certainly was not. So, I just had to take it. I had to let people think awful things about me. I had to let them say awful things. I had to let them exclude my children from things because they didn’t like me. I had to pretend I didn’t notice and pretend like it didn’t hurt my feelings. For years. 

But this mom was going to give me a chance. She decided. It took years, but something sparked in her mind that I could possibly be a good person. That MAYBE this one thing I did years ago, didn’t define who I was as a person. She literally verbalized what, I’m sure, many had felt and thought. He and I had done the same thing. We both were unfaithful. We both hurt people we loved. And, we both we’re honest and humbled by this awful thing we did. Neither of us try to excuse it. But his actions were much easier to forgive. I, as the woman, deserved the hurt and pain as additional consequences. 

It was a sobering realization that I will never be able to be one of those parents. The ones that are super involved at the school. I have had a lot less involvement since that year. I can’t, and wouldn’t want to, force anyone to accept me or my children. It is what it is. 

Let’s fast-forward a few years. I have a 1 year old. I am not with his father. I am Unapologetic about this situation. The pregnancy took us both by surprise. It was not ideal, but there was no betrayal or hurt involved. We both were consenting adults. We co-parent well together. Harrison is thriving and we have a very good situation. His father and I had had many conversations about our ultimate goal with Harrison. I’m a firm believer that (as long as it is a healthy situation for the child) the ultimate goal should be that both parents should be involved equally. Eventually, I hope that Harrison will be able to spend equal amounts of time with each of us.

This last weekend his dad and I got into a slight argument. There was a miscommunication about drop-offs. He was upset because of how inconvenient it was. It messed up his plans for the day and he felt I was being inconsiderate. At first I felt bad. I should have confirmed the time, I should have texted, I should have been better at communicating. Then I got mad. Wait a minute. Everything I do in life, I plan as if I had my children with me. I let him have Harrison anytime he would like, but also don’t force him to have him when it’s inconvenient for him. If I pick up work, I also have to pick up the bill for the babysitter. If I want to go out, I have to ask if it’s ok with him, or I have to pay for a babysitter. He is allowed his work week, his social time, his hobby time, and also his cleaning and laundry day without the inconvenience of a toddler. 

Now I would like to point out that he is a great father. Harrison loves to be with him and he loves to see his son. He doesn’t babysit, he parents. There is a difference. I honestly believe this. And like I said, eventually Harrison will be spending half his time with both of us. But the reality is, right now I have the brunt of the responsibility. That’s part of having an infant and/or toddler.

“He’s such a great dad! He’s SO involved with him!” 

Cringe. Here’s the problem. He most definitely is a great dad. He would never let Harrison lack. I know if I need ANYTHING, I can ask.  But there’s this double standard with parents that drives me absolutely bezerk. He spends 15 to 20 hours with him a week. Sometimes more, sometimes less. But always at his convenience. If he has anything planned, he can just do it. I am the one who figures out a babysitter if he can’t be with with his dad. Or I have to cancel what I have planned. 

The reality of having a baby or a toddler is, that the mother is going to get the brunt of the responsibility. I know this. I know it’s temporary. I’m not expecting more from his dad. (except maybe having a little more understanding or compassion when things don’t go as planned). Like I said, I feel like we have a good thing going right now. And we have great goals in mind for Harrison. Eventually these days of chaos will be nothing but a memory. 

There is a double standard that I’ve had to deal with the entire 12 years of being a mother. We have such low expectations for fathers. And we have almost unreasonably high expectations for the mothers. I’m a damn good mother. I’m not a great housekeeper, I’m a little flighty, I talk a lot, I have no volume control of my voice, and I’m easily distracted. But I am a great mother. And if I decide I want to go out for drinks with the girls, or to a movie, or to a hair show in Chicago, or be in a play, it does not take away from my ability as a mother. 

If you’re at a father, think about what this mother must be going through. Appreciate her. Acknowledging what the mother has sacrificed and what her reality is, is one of the best ways to show her you appreciate her. It may be temporary, but she has been sacrificing her body, her sleep, her social life, her dating life, her time, and sometimes her sanity. It is an investment into your child. Thank her for that.

Family and friends. Keep your bashing to yourself. I have had people say nasty things about my children’s fathers. And I know nasty things have been said about me to them. You are hurting our children with your words even if they don’t hear them. If I decide to go to a movie with friends, don’t say to his dad “Doesn’t that bother you that she’d rather go out and be with her son?” Or “Poor baby just misses his mommy! She’s away too much!” Would you say to the father, “What do you mean you’re going golfing? Shouldn’t you be with your son?” No? Of course not. Because being a parent doesn’t mean you can’t also be social. Quit with the double standard. I did the math. I have my son 81% of the time. His father has him 7% of the time. The play that I’m in has brought me down to 74% of the time and his father up to 12% of the time. Just to give you a visual in case you’re still not understanding how involved with my children I am, even when I’m in a play.

Do not suggest and I’m a neglectful mother. Do not try to turn my children’s fathers against me. We maintain an open line of communication and if your words are not encouraging, keep them to yourself.

Now, everyone else. Acquaintances, passerbuys, etc. Try to notice the double standard. We all do it. We shame the mother, but then see the father as a saint for literally just being there. We need to stop doing this. We don’t need to bash the father, but we need to acknowledge how much more of a hardship the mother has for those first few years. 

I was hesitant to write this blog. Because I am very thankful for the co parenting I have going on in my life. And I don’t want people to see these men negatively. But I have been hurt through the years by this. 

I know there are other women out there who notice this as well, but can’t quite articulate what they’re feeling. These women worry that they will seem ungrateful or whiny if they voice how under-appreciated they are. If they stand up for themselves they seem demanding and rude. We are told we should be thankful, no matter how little the father gives in the way of help, and that this is what having a kid is, so we need to just accept it. 

I will accept that the responsibility of a child is not always equal. And that’s ok.

I will accept that eventually it will be more even. The burden will lighten.

I will accept that socially we are making huge strides in the way of fathers involvement. This has been wonderful for the mothers, the fathers, and the children involved.

I will NOT accept this double standard. 

I will NOT accept the implications of laziness or neglect that is given to mothers who need a break and ask for it. 

I will NOT accept the shame and guilt handed to me for having a child out of wedlock.

I will NOT accept the expectation of gratitude for the father doing something that every parent should do.  It is not my job to cater to the fragile male ego.

I will love my kids. I will continue to put them first. I will continue to work with their dads for what is best for them. And I will tell you to kiss my ass if you feed this double standard around me. 

Beggars can’t be…at Gymnastics 

I am poor. I just spent a ridiculous amount of time looking up Michigan’s average costs for bills. It has been confirmed. Poor. I know, we’re not supposed to talk about money. But today, my financial state was brought to light in front of a bunch of people I didn’t know. It embarrassed me, so I decided to blog about it.  

I know what you’re thinking. “Duh, Beth. You’re a single mother of 4. Of course money is tight.” No. Money isnt tight. Money isnt there. See, I learned something today as I sat there looking at numbers and averages. My income allows for no extras. At all. Zero. Zilch. 

I have said no to almost everything for over 7 years now. No internet. No TV. No extracurricular activities for the kids. No vacations. I have done this with the belief that if I work hard, if I keep sacrificing, I will get ahead. I will be able to give my kids a house, a car with A/C, a garden, sports equipment, etc. Maybe not a vacation, but at least a full fridge. Maybe not college tuition, but new shoes. I have a more realistic goal now: I want to choose to say no, not be forced to. 

It is impossible to obtain this dream with one income. I did the math. My income will never allow for a yes. I have to turn to others for help. There is a family that loves us and has decided to give my kids some of those things I cannot. They pay for guitar, gymnastics, or whatever, so my kids can have some memories of joy. So they can do those things other kids get to do. 

My 7 year old is in gymnastics and loves it. Today was her long awaited recital. She has been talking about it for WEEKS. I rushed her in, pulled her hair into a ponytail, sent her to her group and turned to the desk. Shit. This was not a free event. 

“Oh. I didn’t realize I had to buy tickets….How much are they?” I asked as the panic set in. 

“$12.00”,  the lady behind the desk said. 

“Oh. That’s a lot…I can’t afford that. I have 2 more kids coming in too. I…I didn’t bring any cash.” I said, trying to salvage my pride. 

“We can just add it to your account if you’d like. It will come out in your next payment.”

“I can’t do that. I don’t pay. My friend. I have a friend that pays for me. For her I mean. I mean. I just. I have 4 kids. I’m a single mother of 4…I can’t afford it. I didn’t know it cost anything to watch her. We can just wait for her here in the lobby.”

“Let me check when she goes on….it looks like she’s in the 4th group. You won’t have to wait for too long.”

I choked back tears as my older 2 children walked in. I told them that I didn’t have enough money. I told them to take my phone into the car with them. That they could watch videos while I waited for her to finish. They left and the tears started. I walked to the corner and pretended to look at the leotards hung on the wall while holding my 1 year old. I was so embarrassed. I felt like a failure. My poor daughter. She would be looking for me. She wouldn’t see me. Her heart would be broken. 

After 10 minutes of shame, the lady at the desk said, “I guess I can allow you to go in without paying.” She made it very clear she was doing me a favor.

I said thank you and rushed in, just as my step mom was coming out to find me. I told her what had happened, and couldn’t control the crack in my voice. I told her, I couldn’t afford it and they embarrassed me, but eventually let me in. I told her I was angry it cost money to see my daughter’s recital, and I was mad at myself for missing it on the note. Then, I smiled at my son, and pointed to the balloons he was reaching for. *breathe*

I did the math. I’m poor. I didn’t need to do math to know that. The lady at the desk let me stew in my poverty for 10 minutes. I am poor. I had to ask my step mom if she knew if the ice cream from announcement was free for the gymnasts, or if it was just them advertising it. Because I couldn’t do it again. I couldn’t wait in line with my daughter, only to find out I didn’t have enough money for it. I am poor. I was made very away of my financial situation. But I still did the math. 

I divided a household budget into 3 parts. You’re Poor, You’re Maintaining, and You’ve Made It. 

YP: Rent, utilities (electric, gas, water, sewer, trash), cell phone, food, and car maintenance (gas, oil change, registration, insurance) $2,870

YM: YP stuff, Heathcare/medical, internet, TV, pets, clothes, entertainment, car payment, Christmas. $4,570 

YMI: YP stuff, YM stuff, life insurance, family vacation, retirement. $5,500+

A single parent needs to make over $22 an hour to be able to be considered poor. They would need to make $35 per hour to maintain a comfortable life. And to actually make it in life? $43 per hour. 

This does not count daycare. This doesn’t count sports. It doesn’t count field trips. It doesn’t count life changes, like a death or pregnancy. It doesn’t count your car breaking down. It doesn’t count winter gear for kids. Or back to school supplies. It doesn’t count saving to buy a house. It doesn’t could student loans. It doesn’t count overdrafts. It leaves no room for any change or mistake. 

I make much less than $2870 a month. But, I found a place for cheaper than the average rent and I don’t buy as many groceries. Also, I neglect my car maintenance. I am so far away from the YM group, it’s laughable. I will not own my own house. I will not be able to afford the internet or TV. I will never be able to take my kids in a family vacation or save for my retirement. This is my life. This is my reality. 

We’re not supposed to talk about money. But today, I was made to feel like dirt. Today, I was reminded that poor kids don’t get to have their mothers with them. Today I was reminded that no matter how strong I feel, no matter how much I love my kids, I will not be able to give them the life I want to give. Today I was reminded, that money is power, and that not having $12 made me powerless. 

I do not want your pity. I do not want you to treat me as a victim. I maintain that i am a strong mother who loves her kids and will do anything for them. What I want is understanding and awareness. If you are at the desk at an event, and a single parent can’t go in because of $12, let them in the effing event. And you are not morally obligated to make sure they know they are an inconvenience to you. Trust me. They know. They are ashamed. They feel the eyes watching them. They don’t need your help. They are embarrassed. They will cry to themselves about it later. So please, just be kind. Me watching my daughter didn’t cost them anything. They lost nothing by letting me in. But the way I was treated ruined my entire day. It showed my daughter’s that their mother was at the mercy of a lady behind a computer. And it made the pit in my stomach, the one I had almost completely removed, come back. 

So now, I will put on a movie, make some popcorn, sit with my kids, and enjoy my night. Even if I am poor. 

I Get it Now

My family is comically large. We have it all going on. Siblings, half siblings, adopted, step, etc. Growing up this way, none of the labels mattered. It was just “my brother” or “my sister”. Many would look at the complexity of our family and just be happy we didn’t try to complicate it more. I won’t bore you with a list, because today I’m just focusing on my little sister Kaylene.

Kaylene and I hated each other growing up. We also absolutely loved each other. I felt like she got away with everything, and I’m sure she felt like I was mean and picked on her. Just your basic love/hate sibling stuff. But there was one detail, that until recently, I didn’t realize played such a large roll in our relationship. I was from a broken home, she wasn’t.

I have 3 daughters close in age. It mimics my family dynamic growing up. My sister Lynda and I would go to our dads every other weekend. My sister Kaylene stayed home with my mom and step dad. With my girls, my eldest 2 only see their dad a couple times per year. My youngest daughter goes to her dad’s every other week.

See, I knew my pain. My older sister and I would feel torn and left out. We only saw our dad twice a month. I would get so mad at Kaylene. She has her mom and dad ALL THE TIME. What does she have to complain about? She should be happy! So ungrateful. She has no idea the emotional stress that would cause us! She would whine about how unfair it was that we got to go to Cedar Point with our dad. She would get jealous if our dad sent us a letter, and she didn’t get mail. She would pester to hear about all the fun stuff we built with legos or which video games we played. I would just tell her it was none of her business. I would get angry and purposely not tell her things so Lynda and I could have inside jokes and stories. She just didn’t get it. We would have given up every single toy, video game, vacation, and letter to have what she had. I loved my step dad. A ton. But only kids from broken homes can truly understand how torn you feel. How you can love both parents and feel happy at both houses and still feel like somehow you’re not whole.

“But Nadia! I never get to go to Las Vegas! Can’t I just go and see your dad’s house sometime? I want to see his dogs!”

“No Genevieve. It’s OUR dad. You get to see your dad all the time. Las Vegas is our special time with him! And Ziggy and Pepper probably wouldn’t like you because they only like certain people. ”

My heart broke. For both of them. Nadia is so mean to Genevieve. Not because Nadia is a mean kid, but because she is hurt. She is jealous. She is trying so hard to make herself feel like she has something special, when in fact, she is terribly jealous of her baby sister. She has anger that her dad has missed the majority of her childhood, while Genevieve has her dad and stepmom involved in almost every event. She is hurt, so she is choosing to take it out on Genevieve. And my poor little Genevieve doesn’t understand. She just feels left out. She feels alone. All her siblings (on both sides) have someone. She wants to feel connected and is purposely being excluded.

Genevieve came to me a couple weeks ago. She gave me a bracelet that was half a heart that said “Big Sis” on it. I asked her why she was giving it to me. She originally bought it for a one of her sisters at her dad’s house. She told me both her sisters told her to give it to someone else. So she tried to give it to her sisters here. Neither wanted it and told her to just wear it herself or put it on a stuffed animal. She then said to me, “When I’m a grown up, can you be my sister? Because then you can wear it.” I put it on, gave her a big hug and told her I loved it.

Then I cried. A lot. Siblings are mean to each other. That’s nothing new. They get sassy, bossy, and sometimes they’re just little assholes to each other. But this is more than that.

I talked to my older kids about it. I told them they need to be kind to her. That she’s only 6 and needs to feel love from her sister’s. To try to remember being that age. Try to remember how it felt to feel excluded by older kids. To try to remember how it felt to want them to think you were cool or funny. Just try to be compassionate.

I am so sorry Kaylene. I have always loved you, but I never realized the pain you went through because of us. I always felt that my home was broken, but yours was not. And I was jealous of that. So jealous. Jealous to the point of anger. I did not realize that we were your home. That every other weekend, your home was broke too. Because your sisters left and had a whole different life and home. I see now that mom and dad weren’t “favoring” you. They were protecting a little kid from a mean bully of a sister. They weren’t letting you get away with stuff, they just understood that you were acting out because, honestly, your sister Bethy was kind of an asshole who liked to push your buttons.

When I see Genevieve, with hurt and loneliness in her eyes, I can finally understand why you didn’t feel like the “lucky one” who had both her parents. You felt like the forgotten one who was pushed aside. And while my actions as a child are completely understandable and probably expected, it doesn’t take away from the fact that it hurt you. I’m sorry.

Love you baby sis.

You’re Allowed to Make Mistakes Once You’re 30

I’m very pregnant right now. I have less than a week until my due date. So, pretty much everything I do and think about at this point is baby or birth related. So I decided I wanted to talk about a perception I had during this pregnancy.

My first daughter, like this current pregnancy, was unplanned. I touched on my choice to have her at 19 in http://wp.me/p4Wgjj-1S Well, little did I know that a few months after writing that blog, I would be facing that guillotine again. Only this time it was different. I was not 19, I was 30. And I wasn’t just starting my adulthood, I was well into it.

At 19, the thought of having a baby is scary. It’s life changing. But I knew I could do it. There was a certain amount of naivete that kept me positive and strong in my choice. At 30, that naivete was gone. I knew exactly what having a baby was going to be like. I knew how tired I would be. I knew everything I would have to give up. It was devastating.

I cried a lot. I can’t do this. I thought about abortion. If I just did it soon, it would be fine….no. I can’t do it. I knew I was just being a coward. I knew I would love the baby. I knew I would be a great mom for it. I knew a year from then I would not be able to live with myself and that choice. Adoption? I could find a family that needs a baby. I could just tell people I was a surrogate. Nope. I know myself too well. I know I am capable, and that I would regret it. So, begrudgingly, I accepted that I was going to have my 4th child.

Why was it so much harder this time? I am older, more stable, and already a mom. You would think a scared 19 year old would have more inner turmoil than a 30 year old. Then I started thinking about people. Their thoughts, their opinions, their advice. There it is. I didn’t want to go through that again. The judgement. The unsolicited advice. Being treated as if you’re walking around with a scarlet letter. I was too exhausted in life to have to deal with that again. Nineteen year old Beth had no problem telling people to fuck off, and just keep living. Thirty year old Beth was not nearly as willing to burn bridges, and cared a lot more for formed relationships.

People can be assholes. I’m guessing that my loud personality and blunt attitude makes people feel it’s ok to say things that they normally wouldn’t say to someone. Maybe they think I won’t care, that I have a thick skin. Whatever the reason, I have MANY times in life had people say hurtful, mean, and insulting things to me without feeling they were out of line.

So, I braced myself for the backlash. Mentally rehearsing what I would say when unkind and even rude words were spoken. Then I waited. Nothing. I waited some more. Still nothing. Every person I told I was pregnant to met me with excitement and encouragement. I was not prepared for that.

I started thinking about 19 year old Beth again. Why were people so harsh? I had people tell me I was selfish and wrong for having a baby. I was told I was ill equipped to be a mother and that it was a sin for me not to give the baby up. I had people go out of their way to make sure I KNEW they refused to go to my baby shower because they didn’t agree with my choice. Then, after she was born, I had nasty looks. People questioned EVERYTHING I did. I had a nurse grab my daughter out of my arms while rolling her eyes at me and making comment about, “young moms”.

This bothers me more now than it did 12 years ago. While going through it, I just pushed through, raised my child, and didn’t give these people a second thought. I didn’t realize how much that really stuck with me. I didn’t know, years later, I would be in the same circumstance and the thought of that hardship would make me consider giving my baby up.

Why do we do this to young adults? We punish them for choosing differently. Not just with babies. With all life choices. We sit there passing judgment and withholding empathy and kindness for what? To teach them a lesson? Here’s the thing folks, I already decided at 19 to have the baby. I was trying so hard to take responsibility for a choice and do what I felt was best. The best lesson you can teach a young adult in that situation is kindness. I didn’t expect anyone to take on the responsibility for me. Just kindness. Instead, I was taught that people are assholes and will make your life harder when you don’t do things their way. Then, years later, that lesson came back to me like a wave of panic.

We have to stop doing this. You don’t like the current generation? Get over it. You don’t agree with how they’re learning adulthood? That’s too bad for you. There is a difference between being kind and enabling someone. You don’t want to enable them? Ok. Then tell me, if that 20 year old was 30, would you still respond the same way? If you’re purposely being harsher to a young adult because “they need to learn”, then you are an asshole. The lesson you are teaching them is that they are not allowed to make mistakes while learning to be a grown up. Which we all know is bullshit. That is the ONLY way we learn. Through experiencing life and finding solutions to problems we put ourselves in.

Our young adults should feel like they can come to us for advice, not judgement. They will learn and excel into the adult world so much quicker with support and trust than with harshness and abandonment. You want to complain about millennials, but offer no way for them recover and learn from their mistakes. So next time there is a 19 or 20 year old who fucked up in life, remember, you don’t have to tell them. They know. Just tell them they’ll be ok, offer positive insight, and realize that your response is helping form what kind of adult they’re going to be.

Teaching My Kids to Acknowledge Struggle

Yesterday, my kids and I had a conversation about my parenting. My teenage brother was watching them, and he was stressed out and started yelling and being, well, a teenager. They were very upset about it and my middle daughter explained, in great detail, everything that was said and done. I listened and thought while she spoke, about how to respond.

I’m going to paraphrase, but I said something along the lines of, “It is not ok for him to raise his voice to you. Or use cuss words. And I’m glad you told me about it. We all struggle with stuff. You know what his struggle in life is going to be? His temper and his self control. Is he a mean guy? No. Does he hate you guys? No. He just doesn’t know what to do when he feels out of control with stuff. This is something he is going to HAVE TO learn. Because you know what’s going to happen if he doesn’t? He’s going to end up losing friendships, or relationships. Or even worse, he could end up actually hurting someone or going to jail. But you know what? That’s not your problem. He is not your problem. Those are HIS problems. Your job is to keep yourself safe and to make sure he knows that’s not ok to be like around you. Walk away and tell a grown up. Don’t yell back, don’t try to explain yourself to him. Leave and let him sit in his own anger. He doesn’t get to blame you for his loss of self control. We are only in control of ourselves.”

During this conversation, each kid piped in with questions and thoughts. “What if we walk away, but he follows us and keeps yelling?” Then, tell him that YOU need a min to calm down. Keep it about yourself. “I get angry too. Sometimes I just can’t control it and I yell and stuff.” So, you understand that it doesn’t mean you hate that person, or that you’re a mean person. What do you think after you yell at someone? “I feel really bad for hurting their feelings. And I get embarrassed and worried they hate me.”  So, maybe you should go tell them sorry? That it wasn’t their fault you lost your temper? Don’t you think they would be happy to know that you realize you were wrong and care about them? It’s the same with my brother. I guarantee he feels bad for making you cry. Maybe you should tell him you forgive him. Tell him you know it’s hard to control emotions, and you know he’s trying too. That could make him feel like he’s not hated. And encourage him to keep working on it. Sometimes we don’t think people notice we’re struggling or trying. Let him know you notice.

Then I said, “Can I tell you guys a secret? Parents, we have no idea what we’re doing. We think we know, and then they hand you this brand new, beautiful baby, and you realize, uh oh….I have no clue what to do. We’re all just figuring it out as we go. There will be things that you hate about my parenting. You will grow up and say. ‘I will never do “this” with my kids.’ And then there will be other things that you love, and will say, ‘I am so glad my mom did “this” with me.” I do it. Everyone does. I try really hard to look at you guys and make decisions that will help you know yourself and to help you get through things that you’re going to struggle with.”

They all reassured me that I was the best mom in the world and that they love me. I smiled told them I loved them more than anything. I would love to have that moment froze in time. I know their admiration for me will fade in the next few years as we enter into the teenager phase. That’s what I wanted to say. That really, I feel like I’m just working on the preparations for the years I’m the “worst mom in the world”. That I am hoping to give them enough tools and self awareness, that as the enter the years of feeling alone and misunderstood, they still have parts of themselves established enough to make it through.

Self awareness. That’s what I want for them. I am very self aware. Have been for most my life. I was never completely delusional about life. Even as a teenager, I remember thinking, “Man I love peer pressure. I am such a sucker for it.” I even knew why I liked it. It was because I felt like not knowing what was expected of me gave me anxiety. Peer pressure was straight up telling me what was expected. I was not stupid. Most the time, I didn’t have to be manipulated by my peers. I could see right through their intentions.

I think about how many oblivious adults there are. Absolutely no self awareness or self responsibility. No intention of finding solutions for their struggles. They just accept it as part of themselves, and expect others to just deal with it. No growth. And they’re raising children with the same mentality. I am not. I want my kids to enter adulthood KNOWING they have to work for the rest of their lives adapting and growing. They need to make choices on who they want to be, and accept it is in their control, no one else’s. I also want them to know that not everyone will do this, and that’s not their problem. They can, and should, walk away from situations that don’t help them grow as a person. That the “this is how I am, accept it” is a lie. We don’t have to accept it. That a broken person who is trying, is worth investing in, but a person content in their toxic nature should be avoided at all costs.

Will this lesson last into adulthood? I have no idea. Because, they are their own person. With their own thoughts, feelings, ideas, and experiences. This is where I have to take my own advice and realize that I don’t have control. No amount of guilt, manipulation, or lecturing will make this resonate with them. The only thing I can do is keep asking them questions, and listen to and answer their’s. Hopefully, I am growing strong minds which will learn to come to their own conclusions.

I feel like I should set an alarm to go off in 10 years for me to reread this post. Because, I know 41 year old Beth will have wisdom and growth I’m lacking now. I would love to hear her thoughts on all this. But, wisdom can’t just be learned through being told, so it wouldn’t matter anyways. Wisdom is something you just have to let develop with time.

Honestly, I Didn’t Really Want This Gift

I’m pregnant. Seventeen weeks at this time. This will be kid #4. That is a lot of kids. This pregnancy was completely unexpected, and honestly, not wanted. I waited to blog about this. I wanted to wait until the shock and complete life meltdown had calmed.

Well. It didn’t calm. As I sat in that doctors office at my 12 week appointment, I saw my baby on the ultrasound screen, I waited to feel something. Anything but anxiety. Nothing. No tears were shed. No happy emotion was felt. I was blank. Then I was angry. I was really counting on seeing the baby to snap me into excitement. I know I cannot be the only person out there to feel this way. So I tried a different approach to help myself become excited. Fake it until you make it, right? There is so much faking it while you’re pregnant. I am regularly on social media, and post cute belly shots, funny pregnancy memes, and keep a very positive attitude about it. Here’s a secret, those are for me, not my Facebook friends. I am really wanting to be excited about a baby. I just can’t seem to get there.

Years ago, I worked at Starbucks. A regular customer came in, noticeably upset. She had just found out she was pregnant. I couldn’t understand why she was so upset. She was married, in her 30s, and a great 8 year old son. Why wasn’t she thrilled about this? I now understand. She was done. Her life was on a different path. Her entire life was going to change. Everything.

I get corrected a lot when I’m honest about it. It’s frustrating. I’m allowed to be upset, even devastated about this. It is life changing. “But you’re such a great mom!” Yes. And I will be a great mom that loves this kid as well. Still upsetting. “Babies are a blessing!” Well. I didn’t want this blessing right now. I was enjoying and content with the blessing of having self sufficient children. “You’re so strong! You got this!” While I know that is supposed to be encouraging, maybe I don’t want to be strong. Maybe just once I was happy to not have to sacrifice every single part of who I am for another person. Even if that person is my kid.

See, as a parent, it’s hard to be honest about the shitty parts of parenting. The assumption is that if you don’t love every part, or find those hardships as cute little roadblocks, you’re less of a parent. This is such a fucking lie. Every parent out there has times they hate it. I love my kids more than anything. But being a parent really does suck sometimes. Especially for a single parent. I am now expected to sacrifice my body for over a year, my hobbies, my social life, and I have to do it alone. No one to tell me I’m pretty. No one to run out and get me craving food. No one to lay holding my tummy, trying to feel kicks. No one to ease my anxiety about having another child. No one to be excited when I’m having days where I feel like I can’t do it. Alone.

I know I chose to keep this baby. I know I will be so happy and joyful watching this amazing kid grow. I know that someday I will read back on this and be glad I’m past it. I also know that right now, carrying this child is a burden. It makes me feel isolated and alone. It makes me angry at the dad. It makes me angry at god. It makes me angry at myself. It makes me bitter and jealous of all those people who’s biggest problem is deciding on the nursery theme. It makes me feel selfish. I have to tell myself no about so much, and this means even more no’s.

So all you out there reading this that have supported me, thank you for the positive words. I really do appreciate it. I really am trying to be happy about it. Please continue the support. It is a wonderful distraction to the reality of the situation.

For those who are feeling the same, it’s ok, I know how much it sucks to have to fake it. To feel like your missing out on all those happy pregnancy moments, because you’re not happy. This doesn’t mean you’re a bad person or going to be a bad mom. It means you’re human.

Now, I will go back to my positive social media posts, and move forward. I know it will all click at some point. I’ll get there eventually, and I am working on not beating myself up to badly on it taking so long. I’m a pretty impatient person.

Never Underestimate Loneliness

My Great Grandma Ward lived to be 100 years old. As a child I saw her as this young woman in an old body. I would watch her raking the leaves, cleaning the kitchen, knitting, etc, and be in awe of how much she could still do. As her and my mother spoke, I would stare at her. Her deep wrinkles, her goiter, her perfectly pressed clothes. She seemed unchanging from one visit to the next. The smell of her old country house, the cookie jar that was always full, the sound when I would pluck a key on the piano (which was in desperate need of tuning), all made her house feel as if it was froze in time since the last time I was there. Looking in her ice blue eyes, I would wonder if that’s what I was going to look like in 80 years. She looked tired. I would look and her hands, then my own, and wonder how hands could become so rough and wrinkled.

As an adult, I can now see this old woman as more than that simple old lady on a farm. I see her as a mother, a wife, a widow. With nothing but an 8th grade education, she married and bore 7 children. Then, my Great Grandpa passed away very early, middle aged, leaving her to raise the children on her own. She never remarried, which was very rare for a woman in that time. My mother told me as an adult, it was to protect her children. She did not want her sons to be used as farm hands, or her daughters to be abused or used. Her choice to raise her children alone, was one of the most selfless acts I can think of.

These facts about her have always been known, but never understood until the past few years of my life. Single motherhood has been the most challenging thing I’ve endured in my life. I feel that GG was with me through the last few years. Those days I would feel my body was going to quit, I imagined her up late sewing or mending. Those days I wanted to scream because I didn’t want to have grilled cheese for dinner again, I think about how she would buy 1 bunch of bananas a week as a treat. (And would hide a couple for herself so she could eat them ripe). On the days I would feel lonely and isolated from the world, I would imagine her living on the farm, with the love of her life gone, and nothing but children and chores to consume her days.

Now, because my brain thinks of 15 things at once, but I can only deliver one thought at a time, I want to address the loneliness aspect of single parenthood. I feel this topic is grossly under appreciated. I was ill prepared for how much this would influence my life, my motherhood, and my survival.

About a year after the separation, my ex husband and I were starting to talk on the phone regularly again. A few nights a week, we would stay up and tell eachother about our days. Who we saw, what we did, where we went, and any other bullshit we could think of. This was not the rekindling of our relationship. I hated him. He abandoned us. No matter the cause of the divorce, our children were lacking the necessities in life. Their mother was frazzled, exhausted, and broken to nothing. His feelings towards me, I’m sure, were equally non romantic. He had no problem telling me about his dates, and how much he was loving his single life in Vegas.

So, why the hell was I spending so much time on the phone with him? Why would I pretend we were old pals and shoot the breeze? Loneliness. I was alone and it was wearing on me. There was no one in my life to unwind to. No one that wanted to hear about dumping an entire bag of flour on the floor. Or tripping and hitting my knee. All of those nothings that happen during the day were just being flushed out of my brain every night. I never realized how much I would miss that. My days WERE boring and monotonous. Coming home and realizing there was no one who cared to hear about it, slowly made me feel my lack of worth. “I picked up all the toys and even vacuumed!” Oh wait…no one wants to hear about that. I feel accomplished….but I guess normal people get that stuff done every day. How sad is it that that is all I have for my day.

I ended it. I told him, it is unhealthy for us to use each other like that. He doesn’t get to be that for me anymore. And I can’t be that for him. I imagined my Grandmother, and how horribly alone and sad she must have felt. How strong she was, to make the choice to protect her children. That part of my Grandmother had been overlooked on my part. It was a detail in her story that lacked depth of understanding in it’s fullness.

While I know it’s tempting to find someone to help financially (it’s not shallow. Raising children on one minimum wage income is impossible), for physical interactions (yes I mean sex), or even out of sheer exhaustion (1 parent = no breaks), I believe the loneliness outweighs a lot of it. I have seen many people remarry very quickly after a divorce or death of a spouse. Never understood how they could “get over it” that quickly. Then I realized that they DIDN’T get over it. That was their problem. Coping in this new, tedious, lonely, life was too much. They needed (yes. Actually needed, not just wanted) companionship to survive.

This revelation stuck with me. Did I date? Absolutely. I knew I wanted to remarry eventually. I just knew I needed to be constantly aware of this vulnerability. I could not settle or talk myself into a relationship just so I didn’t feel alone. As a rash, impulsive person, I knew I needed to grieve the loss of my marriage in EVERY aspect before I would be able to find someone to spend my life with.

Thank you Grandma Ward. You saved me from starting a cycle of desperation and loneliness. You saved my children from becoming attached to men that would ultimately leave them. You saved my fiancé from being with a woman who was not whole as a person, and from children who would distrust him. We will not be able to ever fully grasp the strength you had, or be able to properly thank you for passing that on for generations. I love you, and aspire to obtain the wisdom your life brought you, through all my life challenges.