"So how many children will you have?" Anna responds, "We would be happy
with two or three if that is all God blesses us with, but we believe
that children are a blessing from God and we look forward to receiving
each gift that He gives us."
In a world where surgery can be performed on a fetus in utero, people are literally rocketed out of our atmosphere and into orbit, and something as delicious as a Smuckers Uncrustable is thought of and mass produced, it's almost unbelievable to fathom the idea that people still don't understand how babies are made. If you don't know who the Duggars are, I'm sorry to have to break this horrible news to you but they are a real family with very real beliefs and extremely fertile reproductive organs, and I'm about to blow your mind.
If you're already familiar with them, feel free to skip ahead to my point. If not, read on and google it to make sure I'm not making up grandiose shit, I fucking dare you. The Duggars are a family of 21 (19 children & 2 parents) who live in a backwoods town in Arkansas. They are conservative Baptists and on the surface one would think they live their lives strictly according to their religion (they are not permitted to dance or take part in anything that evokes sexual thought). They first appeared on one of those TLC/Discovery shows that likes to detail the day-to-day lives of human oddities & leave you mind-fucked for a few hours. They got their own reality show, "17 Kids and Counting" (back when only 17 spawn roamed the earth) which followed the family around the house & town, broadcasting to us sinners how a strict Baptist family manages to survive in something like a Big Top Circus Tent of a house. Obviously anyone who heard of something this outrageous wanted to know how the hell a woman took care of a house big enough to accommodate 17 children, herself & husband while maintaining (and keeping track of) aforementioned 17 children. Once you tuned in, that solution was so simple that it's no wonder why more people don't think of it! There, in the Big Top Circus Tent, are 17 children forming an assembly line to essentially take care of each other.
...I was not aware you could birth more children onto this already overly-crowded planet to take care of the ones you already had. Duly noted, Mrs. Duggar (what a savvy multi-tasker).
Mrs. Duggar gave birth to her 19th child in 2009. The baby was 3 months early (extremely premature & dangerous for anyone not familiar with infant survival rates, the baby had a slim chance). But with the help of an apparently stellar NICU team, the baby survived and was eventually sent home. Inevitable preface to my ever-popular opinions: I'm very happy that baby is alive, healthy & possibly happy living in her Big Top Tent as she will hopefully be the last in her brother/sister human assembly line. Now...
I don't support over-procreation by any means. Sounds hypocritical since I already have a kid & it probably sounds convenient to say that. My feeble explanation is a combination of only three things: Beatles, copious amounts of marijuana, and the fact that we lived 40 miles away from anyone we knew. I do not want to have another child to give Stella "someone to play with." I do not want to have another child so I can see myself in not one but TWO little humans. And I certainly do not want to have another child because I believe they're god's little miraculous gifts that he gives me. If I were to believe in a god, it would be the one who gifts me awesome things that don't need parenting, like a free month's mortgage payment and maybe an Xbox 360, I'm really not that picky. I don't see the need in bringing any more children into a world whose resources are already being sucked dry by a unanimous culture built on gluttony & greed. Some people are militant recyclers, others drive hybrids...this is my way of leaving as small of a carbon footprint as I'm capable. The idea that there are thousands upon thousands of children shuffled between foster homes, left lonely in orphanages and possibly on the street without anyone to love or care for them is enough to literally ruin my whole day. If I had the financial means, I would adopt 20 Sudanese children and spend the rest of my life loving & providing for them. For this reason, I don't understand why anyone would act on such a primal and outdated instinct over & over again so they can see themselves in another little human, rather than take in children who are already alive & without anyone to love them.
My second gripe with this family is their belief that god gives them as many children as he feels they need. What's so mind-boggling about this for me personally is the total and complete disregard of science (and common sense). Sex feels good, yes? That's an ancient, biological cue so that your species survives. How motivated would you be to further your race if the sensation of sex was a painful, unpleasurable duty? We'd probably die off pretty quickly. But since sex is the awesome act that it is, our species' population now reaches 7 billion. The Duggars don't believe in contraceptives because they are a man-made tool that inhibits god from "doing his will." They do not see conception & birth as the inevitable outcomes of unprotected sex, they god honestly believe that they are being blessed with heavenly gifts. Ok, I'll bite...
If contraceptives keep god from "doing his will," why then was their child permitted to receive care when she was born 3 months early? Why wasn't her premature labor "god's will?" And if you're christian and you DO use contraceptives, aren't you interfering with god's plan? Here are some answers I've received from people I've asked: being Christian & using contraceptives is ok because if you get pregnant beyond using protection, that is god's will. Baby Duggar received care in the NICU because those machines were made by men who were created by god, essentially that is god's will. (Apparently condoms were made by people who were created by Satan. This is the only concept I can deduce by following that logic.)
God's will seems extremely lenient and bendable by the people who believe in him when it conveniences their will, doesn't it? By no means would I want the Duggars to withhold treatment to their premature infant. If they were any other family who held the same beliefs (but didn't have so many children), maybe I would be able to turn my head a little more easily. But because they have NINETEEN children, the way they bend these beliefs when it conveniences their lives seems extremely irresponsible.
If there are any Christians reading this who don't loathe me by this point and can further clarify what in the hell people like this are all about, please don't hesitate enlightening me.
<3
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Get Out of the Left Lane: A Tutorial on Operating Your Vehicle in the State of New Jersey
I won't pretend to believe I'm the best driver in the entire state. That would be narcissistic and, well, most likely incorrect. I was 19 with a 5-speed V6 mustang once, which led me to erroneously believe I was solely entitled to the left lane. After 8 years of driving in two states though, 2.5 of which years I have been transporting a little human strapped into an incredibly confusing seat that's supposed to cushion her soft little waterhead and absorb any shock that some asshole in a primered civic might cause, I learned that I might not have been the only person on the road with a destination at which I intended on arriving.
And at some point in those 8 years is when I realized that not many people have had this same epiphany.
The following are some basic traffic guidelines that I feel aren't given the necessary amount of attention in accordance to the law & my patience level when you're coming dangerously close to sending me over a proverbial (and, in one particular instance, literal) ledge.
And let me preface all of this by admitting that while I'm abrupt & opinionated, I'm also an extreeeeemely considerate driver (extra e's added for obnoxious emphasis because i reeeeally mean this). I'll stop traffic no matter how big of a rush I'm in, and as long as it's safe to do so and i'm not in danger of someone slamming into my bumper, to make sure someone can get in; I don't block driveways; I move up when people need me to; I stop at yellow lights so that oncoming traffic can make their left turn before they get stuck in the intersection on red, etc. etc. While I may not be the best driver, I might be the nicest. With that being said...
The Left Lane is a straight-away used to avoid old people, asian people, old asian people, and New Yorkers. This is not a Sunday driving lane used to admire the beautifully scenic median to your left on 295 being landscaped & trash-picked by inmates & 16 year olds on their last hours of community service for getting busted with paraphernalia. If you see someone fast approaching behind you, they're not speeding up to read your "I LOVE MY YORKIE" bumper sticker up close, old man. They're using the lane for its intended purpose and while they're probably wondering what you're doing in that lane to begin with since you're driving at a moped's max mph, they're more than likely wondering when you're getting over. If there's no one to the right of you, or no one on the road at all for that matter: Right hand turn signal, check your mirrors, GTFO. If 3 people have passed you on the right and you still haven't gotten the hint (which I'm willing to say I see twice a week at the very least), you need to go back to Pennsylvania and consider staying there, because 9 times out of 10 that's exactly where you're from. There's a bus that will take you to the shore, google it.
Navigating your car in a parking lot safely is a LOT easier when you buy a car you can navigate. Sounds pretty self-explanatory and redundant, doesn't it? Not if you're a self-entitled bitch with your husband's checkbook at your disposal and a hankerin' for a gas-guzzling behemoth. If it takes you more than 2 minutes to back out of and drive away from a parking spot in the mall because the entire perimeter of your H1 is a ginormous blind spot, maybe you should have thought about something other than yourself, like the planet, and bought a hybrid whose steering wheel you don't have to see over with the aid of 3 phone books under your ass. If you can't drive it, leave it in your driveway where it can still superficially represent how awesome you are, and stay out of parking lots.
Turn Signals are courteous ways of letting you know that I intend on entering your lane. They are not warning signals that require you to speed up because, apparently, that's YOUR lane & driving with someone in front of you would just ruin your entire driving experience that day. If you were way back yonder before I even thought about getting over, why is it suddenly so necessary for you to be way up here now that I kinda need to be in this lane? Turn signals & accelerators are seldom used together. I think this story bears mentioning for this particular guideline. This exact circumstance happened to us one day while trying to merge right and get off an upcoming exit in PA. The old woman, who immediately needed to be up my ass once I got in her right hand lane, abruptly got to my left, sped up, flipped her long, arthritic, dinosaur fossil of a middle finger in the air and called me a cunt. I'm imaginative, but there's no way in hell I could have possibly made that up on my own. This is prevalent in PA (the driving thing, not the middle-finger-cunt thing), as anyone who drives 476 or, god forbid, 76 will tell you.
If you're sitting at the front of the line of people desperately waiting for the upcoming 3-second-long green arrow, please, at the very least, recognize that there are people behind you. Texting, tantrums coming from the back seat, and applying your mascara could wait a few minutes, couldn't they? You're not the only person trying to get through this light and avoid sitting at the same red arrow for another 10 minutes. Proceeding through the light at the pace of a snail on a salt bed is irritating & rude. Just fucking go.
And at some point in those 8 years is when I realized that not many people have had this same epiphany.
The following are some basic traffic guidelines that I feel aren't given the necessary amount of attention in accordance to the law & my patience level when you're coming dangerously close to sending me over a proverbial (and, in one particular instance, literal) ledge.
And let me preface all of this by admitting that while I'm abrupt & opinionated, I'm also an extreeeeemely considerate driver (extra e's added for obnoxious emphasis because i reeeeally mean this). I'll stop traffic no matter how big of a rush I'm in, and as long as it's safe to do so and i'm not in danger of someone slamming into my bumper, to make sure someone can get in; I don't block driveways; I move up when people need me to; I stop at yellow lights so that oncoming traffic can make their left turn before they get stuck in the intersection on red, etc. etc. While I may not be the best driver, I might be the nicest. With that being said...
The Left Lane is a straight-away used to avoid old people, asian people, old asian people, and New Yorkers. This is not a Sunday driving lane used to admire the beautifully scenic median to your left on 295 being landscaped & trash-picked by inmates & 16 year olds on their last hours of community service for getting busted with paraphernalia. If you see someone fast approaching behind you, they're not speeding up to read your "I LOVE MY YORKIE" bumper sticker up close, old man. They're using the lane for its intended purpose and while they're probably wondering what you're doing in that lane to begin with since you're driving at a moped's max mph, they're more than likely wondering when you're getting over. If there's no one to the right of you, or no one on the road at all for that matter: Right hand turn signal, check your mirrors, GTFO. If 3 people have passed you on the right and you still haven't gotten the hint (which I'm willing to say I see twice a week at the very least), you need to go back to Pennsylvania and consider staying there, because 9 times out of 10 that's exactly where you're from. There's a bus that will take you to the shore, google it.
Navigating your car in a parking lot safely is a LOT easier when you buy a car you can navigate. Sounds pretty self-explanatory and redundant, doesn't it? Not if you're a self-entitled bitch with your husband's checkbook at your disposal and a hankerin' for a gas-guzzling behemoth. If it takes you more than 2 minutes to back out of and drive away from a parking spot in the mall because the entire perimeter of your H1 is a ginormous blind spot, maybe you should have thought about something other than yourself, like the planet, and bought a hybrid whose steering wheel you don't have to see over with the aid of 3 phone books under your ass. If you can't drive it, leave it in your driveway where it can still superficially represent how awesome you are, and stay out of parking lots.
Turn Signals are courteous ways of letting you know that I intend on entering your lane. They are not warning signals that require you to speed up because, apparently, that's YOUR lane & driving with someone in front of you would just ruin your entire driving experience that day. If you were way back yonder before I even thought about getting over, why is it suddenly so necessary for you to be way up here now that I kinda need to be in this lane? Turn signals & accelerators are seldom used together. I think this story bears mentioning for this particular guideline. This exact circumstance happened to us one day while trying to merge right and get off an upcoming exit in PA. The old woman, who immediately needed to be up my ass once I got in her right hand lane, abruptly got to my left, sped up, flipped her long, arthritic, dinosaur fossil of a middle finger in the air and called me a cunt. I'm imaginative, but there's no way in hell I could have possibly made that up on my own. This is prevalent in PA (the driving thing, not the middle-finger-cunt thing), as anyone who drives 476 or, god forbid, 76 will tell you.
If you're sitting at the front of the line of people desperately waiting for the upcoming 3-second-long green arrow, please, at the very least, recognize that there are people behind you. Texting, tantrums coming from the back seat, and applying your mascara could wait a few minutes, couldn't they? You're not the only person trying to get through this light and avoid sitting at the same red arrow for another 10 minutes. Proceeding through the light at the pace of a snail on a salt bed is irritating & rude. Just fucking go.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Primal Instincts and Why Men Irritate Me
There was a time when the entire human species' survival depended on a man's high libido, and a woman's ability to disregard the horny neanderthal's hairy palms and take one for Team Human.
Thousands of years, advances in technology, and several leaps in evolution later, not much seems to have changed emotionally for our neanderthal counterparts. Walk into any bar with a form-fitting pair of jeans slicked on and you could squeegie the drool off the floor by the time you order your first drink. Men most often mistake this behavior for flattery. In case you are that man, please allow me to enlighten you: your wink and sleazy, persuasive, sorry excuse for a pick up line remind me only of two things...you have the emotional maturity of my toddler and the idea that my vagina possesses some sort of other worldly control over your decisions saddens & disappoints me.
Hold on. This is to be taken with a grain of salt; not every dude is a completely unevolved, horny douche bag and I don't pretend to believe I'm god's gift to any and all dudes. But, having a vagina does grant me a certain level of persuasion. Moving on...
We as women have recognized that we no longer need to take any for team human. In fact, we have sacrificed and done so long enough that the populace is now so out of control that things like AIDS, cancer, & Mcdonalds are left to run rampant to keep our numbers in check. Please don't allow yourself to believe that this were any feat of your own as I would gladly challenge any man to prove to me how his carelessness of what and who his penis is involved with somehow upstages woman's ability to look past your huge furry forehead and nubby thumbs, all in the name of preserving our race. Thankfully our sacrifice has proven to be worth the struggle, though, because we can now sit back and have our choice of which slightly less hairy neanderthal is for us. Being selective in who we partner with is an emotional process (for most of us. for those girls reading this with not a hint of wtf i'm talking about, you should consider sterilization.) So why then can't a man hit some glitch in evolution and govern less decisions with his penis?
We all know this is true, nothing I'm saying is really opinion-based and the only thing that's debatable is how much of that neanderthal you have left in you. Sure, you got your blackberry and your 55" flatscreen but is there anything really different about you genetically than your ancient ancestors? I can't even count how many male friends of mine who have scraped pretty far into the barrel when it comes to their sex lives. And for years, the contorted, disturbed expression on my face and the abrupt "what in the FUCK were you thinking?" response was met with "uuughhgh, well, i dunno. she was there." ...Seriously? And sometimes, in particularly extreme cases when less than quality girls are involved, your fucking HEALTH is dependent on a decision between whether sexual gratification is more important than your penis being on fire for 3-6 weeks before the antibiotic kicks in.
Now, I'm not wearing a chastity belt and I don't leave my clothes on when my boyfriend and I are having sex. I have no pent-up, weird shit in my history...my parents weren't that catholic. So I hope that when I say this, I'm not interpreted as a militant feminist who's uncomfortable with sexuality. I love sex and everything about it just like any other joe. But I do have a few qualms with how insanely easy it is for a man to be sucked into vagina-mind-control. Or, as the dude from 40-year old virgin so eloquently put it, don't put the pussy up on a pedestal.
After a friend of mine was horrendously cheated on, I started realizing how commonplace infidelity had become. Granted, these aren't long-term marriages where pre-nups are involved, but I'd like to think that anyone making a said committment to another human being would at least have the decency of being honest, regardless of the degree of seriousness in the relationship. I won't pretend that my gender makes me impervious to the good looks of guys who aren't my boyfriend. I can certainly appreciate a handsome face and body, but that's where it stops. Appreciate it for what it is and WALK. THE. FUCK. AWAY. I'm also not saying that all women are pure and guiltless. But in the cases that I've heard, it seems that women who cheat are more likely to at least tell their spouses about their infidelity, while men rather keep that shit in the dark, or even worse, keep it going.
I was raised by two psychotic people who were insanely in love. They did everything to the extreme, but because of that me and my brother got to witness what it is to love so passionately that it drives you nuts. They had their faults in their marriage, but infidelity was never one of them. It doesn't exist in my family and for that reason it's even stranger to me that some people can be so casual about it doing it, lying about it, bragging about it, etc.
There isn't a cure for a man's labido. Quite the contrary, there are drugs that can resurrect your zombie hard-on when it should be dead and fucking buried. That to me is chaos.
Thousands of years, advances in technology, and several leaps in evolution later, not much seems to have changed emotionally for our neanderthal counterparts. Walk into any bar with a form-fitting pair of jeans slicked on and you could squeegie the drool off the floor by the time you order your first drink. Men most often mistake this behavior for flattery. In case you are that man, please allow me to enlighten you: your wink and sleazy, persuasive, sorry excuse for a pick up line remind me only of two things...you have the emotional maturity of my toddler and the idea that my vagina possesses some sort of other worldly control over your decisions saddens & disappoints me.
Hold on. This is to be taken with a grain of salt; not every dude is a completely unevolved, horny douche bag and I don't pretend to believe I'm god's gift to any and all dudes. But, having a vagina does grant me a certain level of persuasion. Moving on...
We as women have recognized that we no longer need to take any for team human. In fact, we have sacrificed and done so long enough that the populace is now so out of control that things like AIDS, cancer, & Mcdonalds are left to run rampant to keep our numbers in check. Please don't allow yourself to believe that this were any feat of your own as I would gladly challenge any man to prove to me how his carelessness of what and who his penis is involved with somehow upstages woman's ability to look past your huge furry forehead and nubby thumbs, all in the name of preserving our race. Thankfully our sacrifice has proven to be worth the struggle, though, because we can now sit back and have our choice of which slightly less hairy neanderthal is for us. Being selective in who we partner with is an emotional process (for most of us. for those girls reading this with not a hint of wtf i'm talking about, you should consider sterilization.) So why then can't a man hit some glitch in evolution and govern less decisions with his penis?
We all know this is true, nothing I'm saying is really opinion-based and the only thing that's debatable is how much of that neanderthal you have left in you. Sure, you got your blackberry and your 55" flatscreen but is there anything really different about you genetically than your ancient ancestors? I can't even count how many male friends of mine who have scraped pretty far into the barrel when it comes to their sex lives. And for years, the contorted, disturbed expression on my face and the abrupt "what in the FUCK were you thinking?" response was met with "uuughhgh, well, i dunno. she was there." ...Seriously? And sometimes, in particularly extreme cases when less than quality girls are involved, your fucking HEALTH is dependent on a decision between whether sexual gratification is more important than your penis being on fire for 3-6 weeks before the antibiotic kicks in.
Now, I'm not wearing a chastity belt and I don't leave my clothes on when my boyfriend and I are having sex. I have no pent-up, weird shit in my history...my parents weren't that catholic. So I hope that when I say this, I'm not interpreted as a militant feminist who's uncomfortable with sexuality. I love sex and everything about it just like any other joe. But I do have a few qualms with how insanely easy it is for a man to be sucked into vagina-mind-control. Or, as the dude from 40-year old virgin so eloquently put it, don't put the pussy up on a pedestal.
After a friend of mine was horrendously cheated on, I started realizing how commonplace infidelity had become. Granted, these aren't long-term marriages where pre-nups are involved, but I'd like to think that anyone making a said committment to another human being would at least have the decency of being honest, regardless of the degree of seriousness in the relationship. I won't pretend that my gender makes me impervious to the good looks of guys who aren't my boyfriend. I can certainly appreciate a handsome face and body, but that's where it stops. Appreciate it for what it is and WALK. THE. FUCK. AWAY. I'm also not saying that all women are pure and guiltless. But in the cases that I've heard, it seems that women who cheat are more likely to at least tell their spouses about their infidelity, while men rather keep that shit in the dark, or even worse, keep it going.
I was raised by two psychotic people who were insanely in love. They did everything to the extreme, but because of that me and my brother got to witness what it is to love so passionately that it drives you nuts. They had their faults in their marriage, but infidelity was never one of them. It doesn't exist in my family and for that reason it's even stranger to me that some people can be so casual about it doing it, lying about it, bragging about it, etc.
There isn't a cure for a man's labido. Quite the contrary, there are drugs that can resurrect your zombie hard-on when it should be dead and fucking buried. That to me is chaos.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Punch Drunk Love
I thought it appropriate to follow up a blog about motherhood with a blog about relationships.
...you can take off your protective head gear, get out of the corner and stop cowering, this isn't gonna be nearly as bad as you might think coming from me :]
I guess according to standard societal norms, sans Hollywood & Charlie Sheen in particular, the overwhelming urge to strangle someone followed immediately by wanting to resuscitate them back to life is kinda frowned upon. And to be completely honest, I'm confused by that. What people say they want is stability and consistency, but really what they're getting is monotony and boredom. Having a consistently great this or a stable that builds no character what so ever, and that probably sounds hypocritical coming from someone who has been begging for a break from this continuous chaos. But I really do feel like on the other side of this shit hole that began when I made one fucking decision to leave, there's gotta be some sort of heavenly Nirvana & Zen waiting for me.
I digress! Having struggles with someone you love (and this applies to all relationships, not just romantic ones), gives you a chance to see them for what & who they are. Ups & Downs lets you see the myriad of feelings and personalities your partner has when they're reacting to situations ranging from supreme happiness to absolute fucking despair. And more importantly, how you experienced them together, where you excelled, and where you fucked up beyond recognition.
Georgie dubbed it "breaking the cycle." No pattern of behavior can be fixed until it's acknowledged and addressed. If you're beating your head upon a granite counter top trying to get someone to see where they're failing at life in terms of your relationship and you'd have a better shot at getting blood from a stone, you either need to readjust your approach or throw up a white flag and secede that your counterpart isn't willing to do any introspection. You can hold the mirror up to his or her face until your arms bleed, it doesn't mean they're any more willing to look into it honestly let alone do something about the things that are becoming unbearable.
For some people, subtle and even extensive change doesn't call for drastic measures. Some people take easily to admitting flaws and tweaking what it is that's driving their partners insane. These people are fucking assholes and I'd give a limb in this life to have their ease of adaptation in my next life. Others, (like you and me and every other chuckle-head who isn't a Zen Master), need something life-altering to come crashing down around them before they either hit rock bottom or keep digging themselves into the Earth refusing to face the inevitable (or their partners live miserably for the rest of their lives believing this is it.)
Let's see what the eff my point was in all this. In seven years, I've experienced every possible moment of happiness & despair, I've been pinned up against odds that felt insurmountable but I've also felt the overwhelming love that only a mother to her boyfriend's child could feel. I'm beginning to feel like we've done it all, and by that I mean we've dealt with one too many obstacles people our age should have handled. However. Sweeping up after the dust settles and mending what was and allowing it to grow into something even stronger and more beautiful than it was before is possible, and so fucking worth it. These ups & downs are what gives you character. It's what forces you to learn every dirty little detail and idiosyncrasy about the person you love (probably more so than what you probably wanted to know.) It gives you the chance to breathe in fresh air; air that hasn't been tainted by monotony and boredom. You could let it destroy you, which I'm sure more than a few people have. But you could also let it renew & strengthen what was meant to be (or what you refuse to let go of because you know that it's the only thing you want for your life). It's probably not the "right" way to handle things and at 23 & 24 we're finally realizing that. But it's gotten us where we are today, and I can't even find the words to describe how amazing this day is. Falling in love all over again is underrated, but at the cost it comes with I don't really blame anyone for finding other productive ways to go about that. It's a learning process, and for now I really am enjoying the journey without being so afraid of what may come, which usually leads to potential catastrophe if catastrophe is what you're waiting for. I'm learning how to do more and expect less, have patience and not think of what i'm gonna say when I should be listening. I'm just grateful for this change and I'm appreciative for the break in monotony. It works.
...you can take off your protective head gear, get out of the corner and stop cowering, this isn't gonna be nearly as bad as you might think coming from me :]
I guess according to standard societal norms, sans Hollywood & Charlie Sheen in particular, the overwhelming urge to strangle someone followed immediately by wanting to resuscitate them back to life is kinda frowned upon. And to be completely honest, I'm confused by that. What people say they want is stability and consistency, but really what they're getting is monotony and boredom. Having a consistently great this or a stable that builds no character what so ever, and that probably sounds hypocritical coming from someone who has been begging for a break from this continuous chaos. But I really do feel like on the other side of this shit hole that began when I made one fucking decision to leave, there's gotta be some sort of heavenly Nirvana & Zen waiting for me.
I digress! Having struggles with someone you love (and this applies to all relationships, not just romantic ones), gives you a chance to see them for what & who they are. Ups & Downs lets you see the myriad of feelings and personalities your partner has when they're reacting to situations ranging from supreme happiness to absolute fucking despair. And more importantly, how you experienced them together, where you excelled, and where you fucked up beyond recognition.
Georgie dubbed it "breaking the cycle." No pattern of behavior can be fixed until it's acknowledged and addressed. If you're beating your head upon a granite counter top trying to get someone to see where they're failing at life in terms of your relationship and you'd have a better shot at getting blood from a stone, you either need to readjust your approach or throw up a white flag and secede that your counterpart isn't willing to do any introspection. You can hold the mirror up to his or her face until your arms bleed, it doesn't mean they're any more willing to look into it honestly let alone do something about the things that are becoming unbearable.
For some people, subtle and even extensive change doesn't call for drastic measures. Some people take easily to admitting flaws and tweaking what it is that's driving their partners insane. These people are fucking assholes and I'd give a limb in this life to have their ease of adaptation in my next life. Others, (like you and me and every other chuckle-head who isn't a Zen Master), need something life-altering to come crashing down around them before they either hit rock bottom or keep digging themselves into the Earth refusing to face the inevitable (or their partners live miserably for the rest of their lives believing this is it.)
Let's see what the eff my point was in all this. In seven years, I've experienced every possible moment of happiness & despair, I've been pinned up against odds that felt insurmountable but I've also felt the overwhelming love that only a mother to her boyfriend's child could feel. I'm beginning to feel like we've done it all, and by that I mean we've dealt with one too many obstacles people our age should have handled. However. Sweeping up after the dust settles and mending what was and allowing it to grow into something even stronger and more beautiful than it was before is possible, and so fucking worth it. These ups & downs are what gives you character. It's what forces you to learn every dirty little detail and idiosyncrasy about the person you love (probably more so than what you probably wanted to know.) It gives you the chance to breathe in fresh air; air that hasn't been tainted by monotony and boredom. You could let it destroy you, which I'm sure more than a few people have. But you could also let it renew & strengthen what was meant to be (or what you refuse to let go of because you know that it's the only thing you want for your life). It's probably not the "right" way to handle things and at 23 & 24 we're finally realizing that. But it's gotten us where we are today, and I can't even find the words to describe how amazing this day is. Falling in love all over again is underrated, but at the cost it comes with I don't really blame anyone for finding other productive ways to go about that. It's a learning process, and for now I really am enjoying the journey without being so afraid of what may come, which usually leads to potential catastrophe if catastrophe is what you're waiting for. I'm learning how to do more and expect less, have patience and not think of what i'm gonna say when I should be listening. I'm just grateful for this change and I'm appreciative for the break in monotony. It works.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Motherhood
Certain Native American tribes believed that one should worship the first thing they saw when they woke up in the morning.
Every morning, I wake up to the same sound. It's not the drone of an alarm clock or an infomercial selling ab machines on tv. After it's interrupted my dream right around the ungodly hour of 6:30am but before I open my eyes, I hear the strange sound of a little human calling for her mom. Sometimes it's said with patience, more often than not it's said with adamant determination, and it's usually followed by a "PLEASE! WAKE UUUUUUP! OPEN YA EYES!"
Without fail, every morning it takes me a few seconds to realize what my unconsciousness has allowed me to forget. And for whatever reason (and by "whatever reason" I mean I know the exact reason but shame consumes me), I'm amazed that I wake up every morning with the same epiphany: I brought this child into the world, and it's me she's calling for. It's me who gets her out of her pajamas, into clothes that are barely color-coordinated, fed, (insert laundry list of tasks here that requires the safe, healthy, happy upbringing of a child), etc etc.
And it's somewhere in between those instances that I briefly stop and wonder whether to myself or obnoxiously aloud: "How in the FUCK did I get here?"
I know that at first glance that might sound relatively negative and childish. I probably should have prefaced with this, but let me just say that in no way would I ever change any decision I have ever made, and the intentional conception of my daughter and her arrival will never be one of them. The number of decisions I've made that I soon-after regretted is innumerable. The number of seemingly-trivial decisions that have affected my life drastically is even greater. But every one of them I have to find appreciation for, because they led me to where I am today and all of that great glass-is-half-full and you're-exactly-where-you're-meant-to-be quasi-philosophical bullshit. But I've been feeling a little confused as to where the time has gone in between smoking a ton of weed/listening to Sargent Pepper all day/living off Ramen Noodles in our beautiful KOP apartment and getting pregnant and not wanting to even breathe near shellfish, cigarettes, or microwaves out of fear that I might fuck up my kid. I hope I've illustrated the extremes of this spectrum clearly enough so that you might get exactly why I'm questioning how the fuck I am where I am today.
When the nurse wheeled me out of the hospital holding Stella in her carseat, I looked in the nurse's eyes with absolute astonishment that she was sending me - ME - home with a 3-day old human infant and at best she expected me to keep that kid alive. Enter my year-long, postpartum-induced neurosis...
They say to try and explain the Tao is impossible, because it is everything and nothing. Much like the Tao, explaining motherhood to a man, or a teenage girl who you're trying to traumatize out of having pre-marital sex, is equally impossible. There are no words that do it proper justice because it is unlike any relationship, love, responsibility, or feeling in the world.
Human babies are the only primates who are completely helpless at birth. Other primates, if orphaned at birth, have an unlikely yet possible shot at survival. To feed, clothe, and house a child is to take care of their very basic necessities and what you aren't fucking told at the fucking "child-rearing" classes that the fucking hospital hosts is that you should spend exactly 9 months preparing to give every ounce of everything you have to make sure that child is the healthiest, happiest they can be and it's done with every sacrifice you can make. Because the second you hear that cry and see your kid for the first time, very suddenly you realize that there is something aside from you, your dreams, your wants & needs. There is someone who is totally and completely reliant on you, and not just the food/clothing/housing part. You are responsible for every perspective they have of the world (up until the day comes that they realize they're way fucking smarter than you. If I remember correctly, that day came when I turned 13 and thought for the first time that my parents were nuts. At 25, I'm still right.)
Sometimes I feel crazy for feeling so responsible because my every move is governed by how it will affect Stella. But albeit neurotic, I still consider it far better than not putting enough thought into what might affect her well-being.
I don't know. I guess I just hope that one day she can look back at my decisions and not thank me, but just know that I did everything I did with the best of intentions. I might be one of a handful of moms who will openly and publicly admit that I don't have the first clue as to what the fuck I'm doing. I'm winging it 24 hours a day and each day I gain a little bit more experience and knowledge. But for the most part, I'm winging it. My mission is to keep her off two things: the pole and a therapist's couch.
<3
Every morning, I wake up to the same sound. It's not the drone of an alarm clock or an infomercial selling ab machines on tv. After it's interrupted my dream right around the ungodly hour of 6:30am but before I open my eyes, I hear the strange sound of a little human calling for her mom. Sometimes it's said with patience, more often than not it's said with adamant determination, and it's usually followed by a "PLEASE! WAKE UUUUUUP! OPEN YA EYES!"
Without fail, every morning it takes me a few seconds to realize what my unconsciousness has allowed me to forget. And for whatever reason (and by "whatever reason" I mean I know the exact reason but shame consumes me), I'm amazed that I wake up every morning with the same epiphany: I brought this child into the world, and it's me she's calling for. It's me who gets her out of her pajamas, into clothes that are barely color-coordinated, fed, (insert laundry list of tasks here that requires the safe, healthy, happy upbringing of a child), etc etc.
And it's somewhere in between those instances that I briefly stop and wonder whether to myself or obnoxiously aloud: "How in the FUCK did I get here?"
I know that at first glance that might sound relatively negative and childish. I probably should have prefaced with this, but let me just say that in no way would I ever change any decision I have ever made, and the intentional conception of my daughter and her arrival will never be one of them. The number of decisions I've made that I soon-after regretted is innumerable. The number of seemingly-trivial decisions that have affected my life drastically is even greater. But every one of them I have to find appreciation for, because they led me to where I am today and all of that great glass-is-half-full and you're-exactly-where-you're-meant-to-be quasi-philosophical bullshit. But I've been feeling a little confused as to where the time has gone in between smoking a ton of weed/listening to Sargent Pepper all day/living off Ramen Noodles in our beautiful KOP apartment and getting pregnant and not wanting to even breathe near shellfish, cigarettes, or microwaves out of fear that I might fuck up my kid. I hope I've illustrated the extremes of this spectrum clearly enough so that you might get exactly why I'm questioning how the fuck I am where I am today.
When the nurse wheeled me out of the hospital holding Stella in her carseat, I looked in the nurse's eyes with absolute astonishment that she was sending me - ME - home with a 3-day old human infant and at best she expected me to keep that kid alive. Enter my year-long, postpartum-induced neurosis...
They say to try and explain the Tao is impossible, because it is everything and nothing. Much like the Tao, explaining motherhood to a man, or a teenage girl who you're trying to traumatize out of having pre-marital sex, is equally impossible. There are no words that do it proper justice because it is unlike any relationship, love, responsibility, or feeling in the world.
Human babies are the only primates who are completely helpless at birth. Other primates, if orphaned at birth, have an unlikely yet possible shot at survival. To feed, clothe, and house a child is to take care of their very basic necessities and what you aren't fucking told at the fucking "child-rearing" classes that the fucking hospital hosts is that you should spend exactly 9 months preparing to give every ounce of everything you have to make sure that child is the healthiest, happiest they can be and it's done with every sacrifice you can make. Because the second you hear that cry and see your kid for the first time, very suddenly you realize that there is something aside from you, your dreams, your wants & needs. There is someone who is totally and completely reliant on you, and not just the food/clothing/housing part. You are responsible for every perspective they have of the world (up until the day comes that they realize they're way fucking smarter than you. If I remember correctly, that day came when I turned 13 and thought for the first time that my parents were nuts. At 25, I'm still right.)
Sometimes I feel crazy for feeling so responsible because my every move is governed by how it will affect Stella. But albeit neurotic, I still consider it far better than not putting enough thought into what might affect her well-being.
I don't know. I guess I just hope that one day she can look back at my decisions and not thank me, but just know that I did everything I did with the best of intentions. I might be one of a handful of moms who will openly and publicly admit that I don't have the first clue as to what the fuck I'm doing. I'm winging it 24 hours a day and each day I gain a little bit more experience and knowledge. But for the most part, I'm winging it. My mission is to keep her off two things: the pole and a therapist's couch.
<3
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
At some point, in the very near future...
Dear unmerciful, vengeful, humorless god who's apparently smiting me for reasons unknown:
this test of patience & sanity needs to come to a fucking close, pronto. i get it - humility & patience & inner-strength and all that good shit was necessary and it's been a much needed lesson. Now kick that loving, compassion shtick into gear and let something, anything go fucking right for a change. It's been long enough. I've had enough. I'll stop by a catholic church and throw money in the basket if that expedites your decision any faster.
xoxo,
rian
this test of patience & sanity needs to come to a fucking close, pronto. i get it - humility & patience & inner-strength and all that good shit was necessary and it's been a much needed lesson. Now kick that loving, compassion shtick into gear and let something, anything go fucking right for a change. It's been long enough. I've had enough. I'll stop by a catholic church and throw money in the basket if that expedites your decision any faster.
xoxo,
rian
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