I am getting a LOT of spam. The kind of spam that no one wants. So, I am moving my blog to WordPress. Please visit me at http://daughterwifemotherwoman.wordpress.com/ and see what I have to say about people, places, events, and life in general.
Thank you to the people who have read my posts and commented. Some of you are close friends, and some of you are blog friends; old friends and new friends. ALL friends I hope will follow me on over to this new place. I'm hoping that I will lose all of x-rated spam followers, regain my desire to write, and discover some more friends on this new journey.
Happy Readings!
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Sunday, June 2, 2013
Good Girls & Bad Boys
My husband has told me many times that "Good girls want a Bad Boy that will be Good for them. And Bad Boys want a Good Girl that will be Bad for him." I've come to realize that there is truth in this. (But PLEASE DON'T TELL him that I said he is right!)
I try not to dwell in the past to much. After all, I have a husband who loves me at least as much as I love him. (We argue who loves the other more, but he clearly wins with all he puts up with from me.) I have two beautiful, smart, funny, charming demon-monkey boys that I adore so much I don't know whether to hug them or strangle them. :-) I have a sweet, smart, witty step-daughter who comes to stay during summers and help balance out the testosterone laden house I live in. Both of parents are still alive, though quite happily divorced for almost 3 decades. I have a lot of happiness and sunshine now, so I don't particularly care to look back in the past and shadows. But occasionally I do. This post is about one of those shadows.
I recently came across a link of Facebook to an interview with Patrick Stewart. I had no idea he was a child of a domestic violence home. His advocacy work now is a great tribute to his willingness to remember his roots, and overcome them. He talks about his father suffering from undiagnosed PTSD (then called "shell shock") and how it manifested in violet attacks against his mother. He talks about how his mother "did NOTHING to provoke him." And I think about how close I came to being another statistic.
See, until my husband, I WAS that girl that wanted a bad boy who would be good just for me. I thought I could "change" him. Ha! Let me tell you, that is NEVER going to happen. A sheep is a sheep and a wolf is a wolf. And an abuser is an abuser. Unless they get professional help, they will not change.
My ex-husband was bad enough. He took his own insecurities and attributed them to me. I was the reason he couldn't do well. I was the reason he got fired. I was the reason he gambled all of our money away. I was the reason he stayed out all night. I was the reason. And I almost believed him. But then common sense would return and I would remember his gambling addiction and his alcoholism. The final straw came when I found out he was cheating. See, I had stayed for 4 years. I took my vows seriously. I had promised "till death do us part" and, well, death had not parted us. Then HE decided he wanted a divorce. Then I found out about her. It was like I could finally hearing God say, "You've taken enough. You CAN leave now. It's okay." And I left. Happier than I had been in 4 years. It is really an eye-opener when the news that your husband is cheating on you is the best news in your entire marriage.
He was bad. But there was one worse. The ex just yelled a lot. Ridiculous accusations then gone again. But the boyfriend.....there was a sociopath for you. Seriously. He really did know the difference in right and wrong. He just didn't care. Not only did he yell, and accuse, but he knew where to aim his words for the most damage. He knew exactly how to destroy my psyche. He obliterated any self-worth I had managed to attain. By the time I finally left him (I lied to leave and hid where I was safe and he couldn't get to me), I was a shell. I knew the entire time that he would begin hitting me soon. Every time he lost his temper, I wondered if it would be then that he would hit me. But I actually, luckily got away before we reached that "milestone". Lucky wasn't it. Again, I believe God was watching out for me even when I wasn't watching out for myself.
It took me over a year to put myself back together. It was over a year before I would even consider going out with a guy again. And honestly? I'm still not sure I'm completely healed. I still hear the echoes of his threats. He's dead now. Dead before 35 of a stroke. Maybe God was watching out for his wife and kids then. I hope she doesn't carry the scars that I do from him. But I'm pretty sure hers are worse.
Domestic violence is never right. There is no reason to beat, abuse, humiliate, destroy your partner. It leaves scars mentally, emotionally, and physically on not just them, but any children in the house, and any family members that know or can guess what is happening. It is a self-perpetuating circle. From the parents to the children. From the abuser to the victim. The victim then becoming the abuser. And it continues. It takes a lot to break that circle.
Leave. Run. Get help. No matter whether you are the abuser or the victim, get help. Neither of you deserves the anger, guilt, or torment. And neither does anyone else.
My husband spent YEARS helping me put myself back together, heal the wounds. But there is still a lot of scar tissue to deal with. I wouldn't fight with him for several years after we started dating. We were probably together for 3 years before I would actually disagree with him instead of crying and hiding in a corner. And he never raised his voice. He never said hurtful untrue things. It was just my conditioned response to a man I angered. Now we can fight. We argue. But these are healthy fights that every marriage should have. I no longer worry that he's going to leave me. I no longer worry that I've made him so mad he might say something mean. He loves me. He really loves me. The way a husband should love his wife. The way a man should love a woman.
That is what every one deserves. Love. Understanding. Compassion. Trust that the person you give your heart and body to will not hurt you intentionally.
I want my boys to know that it is never okay to hit a woman. And I want my step-daughter to know that she can never do anything bad enough to deserve being hit, or hurt. Never.
I try not to dwell in the past to much. After all, I have a husband who loves me at least as much as I love him. (We argue who loves the other more, but he clearly wins with all he puts up with from me.) I have two beautiful, smart, funny, charming demon-monkey boys that I adore so much I don't know whether to hug them or strangle them. :-) I have a sweet, smart, witty step-daughter who comes to stay during summers and help balance out the testosterone laden house I live in. Both of parents are still alive, though quite happily divorced for almost 3 decades. I have a lot of happiness and sunshine now, so I don't particularly care to look back in the past and shadows. But occasionally I do. This post is about one of those shadows.
I recently came across a link of Facebook to an interview with Patrick Stewart. I had no idea he was a child of a domestic violence home. His advocacy work now is a great tribute to his willingness to remember his roots, and overcome them. He talks about his father suffering from undiagnosed PTSD (then called "shell shock") and how it manifested in violet attacks against his mother. He talks about how his mother "did NOTHING to provoke him." And I think about how close I came to being another statistic.
See, until my husband, I WAS that girl that wanted a bad boy who would be good just for me. I thought I could "change" him. Ha! Let me tell you, that is NEVER going to happen. A sheep is a sheep and a wolf is a wolf. And an abuser is an abuser. Unless they get professional help, they will not change.
My ex-husband was bad enough. He took his own insecurities and attributed them to me. I was the reason he couldn't do well. I was the reason he got fired. I was the reason he gambled all of our money away. I was the reason he stayed out all night. I was the reason. And I almost believed him. But then common sense would return and I would remember his gambling addiction and his alcoholism. The final straw came when I found out he was cheating. See, I had stayed for 4 years. I took my vows seriously. I had promised "till death do us part" and, well, death had not parted us. Then HE decided he wanted a divorce. Then I found out about her. It was like I could finally hearing God say, "You've taken enough. You CAN leave now. It's okay." And I left. Happier than I had been in 4 years. It is really an eye-opener when the news that your husband is cheating on you is the best news in your entire marriage.
He was bad. But there was one worse. The ex just yelled a lot. Ridiculous accusations then gone again. But the boyfriend.....there was a sociopath for you. Seriously. He really did know the difference in right and wrong. He just didn't care. Not only did he yell, and accuse, but he knew where to aim his words for the most damage. He knew exactly how to destroy my psyche. He obliterated any self-worth I had managed to attain. By the time I finally left him (I lied to leave and hid where I was safe and he couldn't get to me), I was a shell. I knew the entire time that he would begin hitting me soon. Every time he lost his temper, I wondered if it would be then that he would hit me. But I actually, luckily got away before we reached that "milestone". Lucky wasn't it. Again, I believe God was watching out for me even when I wasn't watching out for myself.
It took me over a year to put myself back together. It was over a year before I would even consider going out with a guy again. And honestly? I'm still not sure I'm completely healed. I still hear the echoes of his threats. He's dead now. Dead before 35 of a stroke. Maybe God was watching out for his wife and kids then. I hope she doesn't carry the scars that I do from him. But I'm pretty sure hers are worse.
Domestic violence is never right. There is no reason to beat, abuse, humiliate, destroy your partner. It leaves scars mentally, emotionally, and physically on not just them, but any children in the house, and any family members that know or can guess what is happening. It is a self-perpetuating circle. From the parents to the children. From the abuser to the victim. The victim then becoming the abuser. And it continues. It takes a lot to break that circle.
Leave. Run. Get help. No matter whether you are the abuser or the victim, get help. Neither of you deserves the anger, guilt, or torment. And neither does anyone else.
My husband spent YEARS helping me put myself back together, heal the wounds. But there is still a lot of scar tissue to deal with. I wouldn't fight with him for several years after we started dating. We were probably together for 3 years before I would actually disagree with him instead of crying and hiding in a corner. And he never raised his voice. He never said hurtful untrue things. It was just my conditioned response to a man I angered. Now we can fight. We argue. But these are healthy fights that every marriage should have. I no longer worry that he's going to leave me. I no longer worry that I've made him so mad he might say something mean. He loves me. He really loves me. The way a husband should love his wife. The way a man should love a woman.
That is what every one deserves. Love. Understanding. Compassion. Trust that the person you give your heart and body to will not hurt you intentionally.
I want my boys to know that it is never okay to hit a woman. And I want my step-daughter to know that she can never do anything bad enough to deserve being hit, or hurt. Never.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
My Baby is Growing UP. *SNIFF*SNIFF*
Tomorrow my baby turns 6. Now for most of you, that doesn't sound bad, and I know you're sitting there asking yourself what the big deal is? Well, here's the big deal.
My husband and I had a late start -- entirely HIS fault, of course. We didn't get married until the week before I turned 30 -- again, entirely HIS fault as I had chased him shamelessly for 15 years and he was just too oblivious to notice! We enjoyed a couple of years of just us (so that I could enjoy FINALLY having tripped, caught, and hog-tied him so he couldn't escape). Then we decided to have kids. (Sometimes, I wonder about the wisdom of THAT decision, but that's another story. J/K....mostly)
Our eldest little demon-darling came along when I was 34. Not too bad. We were old enough to have a little more patience and not be quite so freaked out about having this little human completely dependent on us for whom we were completely clueless about what to do.
Then the baby came along. Our little goofy darling-demon. I was 37. How I went from MORE patient and a little freaked, to LESS patient and MORE freaked doesn't exactly make sense. After all, I was older and more experienced. But all of sudden, I realized that I was OLD. Old enough to be M's grandmother. ARRGGGHHHHH!!! How did this happen??!!??!! Again, it was all my husband's fault. If he had paid a little more attention, and been a little less oblivious, I could have caught him 15 years earlier and our little demon-darling and darling-demon would be almost out of the house. I would have soon been holding actual GRANDchildren, instead of my own child.
Now, I'm 43. My oldest will turn 9 next month. And the baby is turning 6 tomorrow. And I'm OLD. I feel old. I act old. I feel too old to play with my boys. Granted, they are boys and play rough. And no matter how often their father (bless his heart) tells them, "Girls break easy. Play gently with Mom," boys can only play one way -- all out. *Sigh*
The "Now" I Can Appreciate:
1. I can still wrestle with the baby a little though. But at his age, I see the end of that approaching rapidly.
2. He still falls asleep in my arms sometimes. His brother had stopped doing this by age 3, so every time M does this, I hold the memory in my heart, and hold him until my arm goes dead and can't support him anymore.
3. He still gives me hugs and kisses in public. His brother had also stopped this by age 3, because "People might SEE, MOM!" Since M has continued to do this, I have hope that this will continue. (Please, God, let it continue.)
4. He still wants me to sit beside me when we go to restaurants.
5. He still wants to be on MY team when we play the Wii.
6. He still wants to sit by me when we have Movie Night at home.
The Future I Can See:
1. He has NOTHING to do with me, because I'm "Mom."
2. He refuses to acknowledge my existence in front of his friends.
3. He assumes (probably correctly in most instances) that I am clueless about what his life is like.
4. He realizes that I can no longer help him with his homework because his textbooks are written in Greek as far as I'm concerned.
5. He suddenly realizes that I am a GIRL!! Yuck!
The Future I HOPE & PRAY for:
1. He realizes that I'm not an idiot.
2. He actually wants my approval and respect.
3. He is no longer in a hormone-induced idiot fugue.
4. He again gives me hugs and kisses no matter who is watching.
5. He gives me grandchildren I can spoil and regard as Revenge for all he put me through as a teenager.
Now do you realize why my baby turning 6 is a big deal? I can still remember the little guy we brought home from the hospital, yet I can see the teenager he will become. I see the polite young man my husband and I are trying to raise, and I can see the gentleman he will become. I see the mischievous imp that is so much like me that I cry, yet I see the smart-aleck teenager that I'm going to want to beat into a bloody pulp in just a few years.
I see the past, the present, and the future all at the same time. I want to cry, and celebrate all at the same time. I have regrets for things I did wrong with him, and good intentions for the future. I have memories and plans.
Pray for him, and pray for me. My sweet baby is about to turn into a sweet young man, just before he morphs into a moody pre-teen, then into a monster Teenager.
But for now, I'm focusing on my baby boy that will be 6 tomorrow. I'm going to focus on the smiles, and laughs, and all the good points. I'm going to think about the snips and puppy-dog tails, and not the snails that are all what little boys are made of.
My husband and I had a late start -- entirely HIS fault, of course. We didn't get married until the week before I turned 30 -- again, entirely HIS fault as I had chased him shamelessly for 15 years and he was just too oblivious to notice! We enjoyed a couple of years of just us (so that I could enjoy FINALLY having tripped, caught, and hog-tied him so he couldn't escape). Then we decided to have kids. (Sometimes, I wonder about the wisdom of THAT decision, but that's another story. J/K....mostly)
Our eldest little demon-darling came along when I was 34. Not too bad. We were old enough to have a little more patience and not be quite so freaked out about having this little human completely dependent on us for whom we were completely clueless about what to do.
Then the baby came along. Our little goofy darling-demon. I was 37. How I went from MORE patient and a little freaked, to LESS patient and MORE freaked doesn't exactly make sense. After all, I was older and more experienced. But all of sudden, I realized that I was OLD. Old enough to be M's grandmother. ARRGGGHHHHH!!! How did this happen??!!??!! Again, it was all my husband's fault. If he had paid a little more attention, and been a little less oblivious, I could have caught him 15 years earlier and our little demon-darling and darling-demon would be almost out of the house. I would have soon been holding actual GRANDchildren, instead of my own child.
Now, I'm 43. My oldest will turn 9 next month. And the baby is turning 6 tomorrow. And I'm OLD. I feel old. I act old. I feel too old to play with my boys. Granted, they are boys and play rough. And no matter how often their father (bless his heart) tells them, "Girls break easy. Play gently with Mom," boys can only play one way -- all out. *Sigh*
The "Now" I Can Appreciate:
1. I can still wrestle with the baby a little though. But at his age, I see the end of that approaching rapidly.
2. He still falls asleep in my arms sometimes. His brother had stopped doing this by age 3, so every time M does this, I hold the memory in my heart, and hold him until my arm goes dead and can't support him anymore.
3. He still gives me hugs and kisses in public. His brother had also stopped this by age 3, because "People might SEE, MOM!" Since M has continued to do this, I have hope that this will continue. (Please, God, let it continue.)
4. He still wants me to sit beside me when we go to restaurants.
5. He still wants to be on MY team when we play the Wii.
6. He still wants to sit by me when we have Movie Night at home.
The Future I Can See:
1. He has NOTHING to do with me, because I'm "Mom."
2. He refuses to acknowledge my existence in front of his friends.
3. He assumes (probably correctly in most instances) that I am clueless about what his life is like.
4. He realizes that I can no longer help him with his homework because his textbooks are written in Greek as far as I'm concerned.
5. He suddenly realizes that I am a GIRL!! Yuck!
The Future I HOPE & PRAY for:
1. He realizes that I'm not an idiot.
2. He actually wants my approval and respect.
3. He is no longer in a hormone-induced idiot fugue.
4. He again gives me hugs and kisses no matter who is watching.
5. He gives me grandchildren I can spoil and regard as Revenge for all he put me through as a teenager.
Now do you realize why my baby turning 6 is a big deal? I can still remember the little guy we brought home from the hospital, yet I can see the teenager he will become. I see the polite young man my husband and I are trying to raise, and I can see the gentleman he will become. I see the mischievous imp that is so much like me that I cry, yet I see the smart-aleck teenager that I'm going to want to beat into a bloody pulp in just a few years.
I see the past, the present, and the future all at the same time. I want to cry, and celebrate all at the same time. I have regrets for things I did wrong with him, and good intentions for the future. I have memories and plans.
Pray for him, and pray for me. My sweet baby is about to turn into a sweet young man, just before he morphs into a moody pre-teen, then into a monster Teenager.
But for now, I'm focusing on my baby boy that will be 6 tomorrow. I'm going to focus on the smiles, and laughs, and all the good points. I'm going to think about the snips and puppy-dog tails, and not the snails that are all what little boys are made of.
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