“I love the person I’ve become, because I have fought to become her.”

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Quick apology: After (more than) a year long hiatus from blogging, I have crawled out of my cave, and I’m ready to share some of the guts of my soul with you. But before I do, I offer a brief explanation of my absence:

To clear the air, it’s not you, readers, it’s me. We aren’t over, but consider this blog post, therapy.

I cannot FATHOM how there are so many successful bloggers that are also working mothers of three. It literally boggles my mind. If my house stays clean for more than 2 days in a row, I feel like “You know, I could run for president someday”. How these mothers work, raise children (and husbands), keep their house like a catalog, AND blog every other day?!

How many trips to Starbucks are these women making?

Well I wasn’t going to waste the money on an 18-wheeler worth of over-priced Macchiatos. So, I’m sorry for the delay, but this post will be worth it. I promise. ❤

INTRO: I’m going to begin by saying it’s not easy for me to put this out there. This post will be extremely personal(but not graphic). Some if it is embarrassing, but it is something that has been on my heart to share for years. It was just difficult to find the right words. Well, let’s just say, the light bulb flickered.

 

This morning, I woke up a failure.

Your mind has a funny way of trying to prove it to you once it introduces the idea.

And if you’re like me, it takes about a million little awful things to happen at once to make you really think about turning the knob to door number 1. Negative thoughts aren’t usually the ones I like to entertain. But today they insisted I hear their side of the story.

Two accidental children by the time I was 24 years old. It’s not something I am extremely proud of, not that I regret them by any means. It wasn’t exactly in my plan but I feel like I did the best with the hand I was dealt.

I haven’t gone more than 3 consecutive years dating someone steadily where I didn’t leave them. My closest chance at a real marriage turned out to be to a scam artist. The guy had more skeletons in his closet than the morgue.

My mother feels that I’m an inadequate mother, and reports her findings in the matter daily.

It’s not a secret that I’ve always struggled with my weight and I never applied myself enough to lose it.

I’ve also been at the same place of employment (though different jobs) for almost 9 years, and I make peanuts. The fact that I’ve been struggling for 6 years to balance bills and feeding my family obviously weighs on my mind.

Now as my day began, I tried not to consider my negative thoughts. Those of you who know me might even be surprised at some of my confessions. I’m usually such an upbeat person. I have tons of personality, and I’m even a little crazy. Super outgoing, and I can literally talk to anyone. Happy happy happy.

(I just got home from putting Kali on the bus. Not even going to include the charade that is every morning.)

I went to the bathroom and tried not to look in the mirror. After two kids, and inconsistent eating habits, it’s something I try to completely ignore.

I went to the fridge and it was pretty bare. This past weekend yielded hefty bills,  which left little extra for groceries.

Why can’t I just make enough money to pay everything, and have my fridge filled every week? I’m not greedy. I don’t want a Lambo. I just want my kid to have food readily available when she gets home from school.

I rummaged through my purse to find a protein bar I had bought the other day and left in there, and out popped an envelope.

Yale. It sure isn’t cheap to give birth. (Even though I’m the one who did all the work. I pretty much told the nurse to go long and shot them both out.) I hadn’t paid them this month yet. I promise myself I will make a payment on Thursday and I flip it onto the table.

I start getting ready for work and as I slip on my pants I notice a little draft. The tiny hole on the seam of my right thigh was definitely bigger than it was last week.

Dammit.

I start looking through my drawer for another pair, but the other 3 are dirty. I can’t throw them out anyway because I won’t be buying new ones anytime soon.

I walk back into the kitchen and turn to get a glass.

An entire sink full of dishes.

Fuck my life.

I completely forgot to do them after the baby fell back asleep last night.

The last thing Zack needs is to come home to this. I put as many in the dishwasher as I can fit, and handwash a bunch more. While I’m wiping down the counter, there’s a knock at my door. It’s my mom, here to watch Damian so I can go to my pathetic little job. Can’t wait. I walk to the door and I step in a puddle of water.

The dishwasher is STILL leaking. They looked at it twice. WTF.

I get to work and a co-worker tells me that a girl (who I actually trained a few months back) will be getting a promotion. The promotion I had been actively pursuing for almost a year. They knew I wanted this. They know I have a family, I’ve been here 9 FREAKING years. How am I not qualified?!

After that my day got tremendously better (nope). After getting berated nagged by miserable elderly customers for about 6 hours, I left.

I put music on to hopefully calm me down, and I start driving home.

I turn my windshield washer fluid on in hopes of being able to see better. Unfortunately one of my wipers is missing some (whatever is on them) and now I really can’t see shit.

Almost. there.

Suddenly some idiot lady in an older BMW peels out of the bank parking lot and cuts me off.

I slam on my brakes and even turn into the next lane a little. She goes about 15 feet and turns recklessly into the Dunkin Donuts.

You almost kill me. For a honey bun. Are you freaking kidding me?! 

I’m pretty thankful at this point that Kali is not in my car because she would’ve learned quite a few new words.

I wanted to pull in and just drive into her Beemer. SO. BAD. I replayed the scenario in my head.

Not even worth it.

I check the mail. More bills. I walk up the two flights of stairs and open the door to my apartment and my mother erupts like a volcano.

“I don’t know what took you so long to get home but if my entire house (exaggeration of the week) looked like a brothel I would rush home to clean it… blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah BLAH! blah blah…”

Her voice trails off as a cynical daydream pops into my head.

Wow, MOM. That is the FIRST THING I wanted to do. Scrub the floor. How DID you know. Sit?! Why would I want to sit and relax? When I can scrub my floor. It’s a no brainer, clearly.

“Are you listening to me?!”

“Nope” I snap out of it, and go into the bathroom. She is literally outside the door at this point rattling off chores I need to do. In my house. In my own GD house.

At this point I am about to lose my shit. I take a deep breath.

I forgot to take the turkey out of the freezer this morning for dinner.

My back hits the bathroom door and I roll my eyes at myself.

Great.

I walk out of the bathroom and the baby is literally stuck to my leg whining to be picked up. As I scoop him up to bury my nose in his little cheek, my mother leaves.

He really is the sweetest little thing.

Unless you’re trying to make dinner. In which case, he lives up to the stereotype about his name (Damian).

After trying to cook, peel him away from the buttons on the dishwasher, get him to stop whining, keeping him out of the cat dish, I sit down to eat.

And by eat, I mean nag Kali every 5 minutes to take a bite, try to get the baby to open his mouth at all, all while trying to keep Zack from freaking out because of the chaos.

I clean up a bit and sit on the couch.

Finally.

I don’t even want to move. But the baby needs a bottle, and Kali can’t reach her dinosaurs. So I’m back up.

Zack reads to kali and puts her to bed, and I get the baby settled down.

I’m exhausted. I finally get in bed, turn on the baby monitor and about an hour later, I hear a noise that puts a knot in my throat.

He cannot be awake right now. Are you serious.

I go into his room, and for a grueling 45 minutes, I try everything. I pat his back about 600 times. I try putting on his musical seahorse…nothing works. It’s just one of those nights a baby needs his mom.

I get him a bottle, and take him into the living room to get comfortable. As I read him “Giraffe’s Can’t Dance” he starts to fall back asleep. I give him a good 15 minutes and use that time to think.

My head is spinning, my heart just wants to give up on any hope of a better tomorrow.

Will I ever get a good enough job to help Zack with rent, or pay bills and live comfortably?

Will I ever get anywhere at this job?

Will I ever get a call from any of the hundreds of applications I’ve put in over the last 6 months?

Will I ever be able to work, raise my kids, all while keeping my house clean enough to just have my mom smile and say “I know you’re doing your best.”

Will I ever be good enough? For my mom? For my boss? For Zack?

As I lie here back in bed at 3:37am, knowing I have to be up in 2.5 hours to get Kali onto the bus and do today all over again, hot tears run down my cheek, soaking my pillowcase. My thumb gently strokes Zack’s hairy arm around me. My hand moves to his hand and I lace my fingers with his. I use my thumb to feel his knuckle.  I know he’s more comfortable laying the other way. He stayed like that because he knew I needed him there. I needed comfort.

These knuckles were rough and cracked, dry from working in and out of the cold all day. They’re calloused from working hard every day.

How dare I not be grateful.

I’m good enough for him. This family is enough reason for him to get up, sometimes after barely getting any sleep, and faithfully brave the traffic. It’s enough reason to work hard, sometimes for more than 10 hours.

It’s enough reason for him to come home with a smile (most days) and after he’s put everything down, give Kali a hug and pick up the baby. To come over and give me a kiss and ask me how I am.

I am enough.

I’m enough for Damian to smile so hard he crinkles up his nose the minute I walk through the door.

I’m enough for Kali to draw a picture of us baking cookies  together for her “What I like to do with my friends” project.

I’m enough for my mother to volunteer 25-30 hours of her time every week, plus gas, to drive to my house and babysit my son so I can trek to that shitty, underpaying dead-end job.

These people believe in me. Especially when I don’t.

They’re here for me in their own ways, as a reminder of how truly lucky I really am.

So I challenge you.

When you get home today, exhausted, instead of grumbling at the fact that your kids grab your legs and cry, try being thankful you have children.

There are families (like those of Sandy Hook) who lost their beautiful children. There are couples who have tried for years just to try and have children, to no avail. There are women who finally got pregnant after long awful years of trying, just to have that hope and happiness robbed from them by losing their babies by miscarriage or stillborn.

There are people out there who cannot work because they can’t afford daycare.

There are people out there who would kill for the love Zack and I share.

 

Be grateful. Count your blessings.

 

You are enough.

 

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By Micayla

First Father’s Day Letter

View More: http://courtneycookimagery.pass.us/micaylafamA Letter to Zack, Happy First Father’s Day.

Walking up sleeping giant, I would have never imagined we’d be where we are now. Your first Father’s Day. I hope it brings joy to hear it, because it brings me so much to see it. I wanted to take the time to say a few words in your honor today.

I will never forget the moment I found out I was pregnant. I was terrified. It wasn’t exactly a dream come true. While totally unexpected, having Damian is one of the most beautiful things that has happened to me. I remember feeling like something was just different. I knew I was pregnant. I walked aimlessly around work with a knot in my stomach, and even though I was in denial, part of me knew. I cried, but I wasn’t sad.

Kristen was standing in front of me and asked me:

“Well what are you gonna do?”.

“I don’t know” I had said.

I was scared and worried. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy, and I knew you felt like you weren’t anywhere near ready. I went home and cried again.

The next nine months were spent throwing up almost everything I ate, fighting constant heartburn, aches and pains, sleepless nights and awful hormone changes/mood swings. Some people were so happy for us.

It hurt so much that people so close to me felt as though I had ruined my life.

We had fights, and plenty of disagreements. Some nights I cried myself to sleep, not knowing if I’d end up a single mother of two.

But we made it.

I knew it was going to be a hard change for you, and a lot to deal with at once.

I know, because I’ve done it.

From exhaustion to all different types of new stress, to the demands of fatherhood after working all day, its not all rainbows and unicorns.You feel like you’re losing pieces of yourself along the way.

Well, you did.

But don’t mourn their loss, they got replaced with even better, brand new ones.

Just when I thought I couldn’t love you any more than I already did, a metamorphasis took place.

The day Damian was born you transformed into an amazing father. You were right there, from the start. You held my hand while I pushed and cried from the pain. You told me I was doing great when I just wanted it to be over.

I saw a sparkle in your eyes as you held your son for the first time. You were eager to learn the basics, changing your first diaper at the hospital.

Not only were you there for him, but you were there for me.

For everything I needed, you stood by me and helped me through it all. You slept on that god-awful hospital couch every night until we left. You held my hand when the nurse rolled our brand new baby away to ICU.

Scared and worried didn’t begin to cover the emotion we were housing.

One of the nights I laid there and just cried, unsure if our new baby was going to be okay.

I couldn’t have been happier sharing this parenting journey with anyone but you. When I have needed you, you were there. When you needed me, I was there for you.

We fought through his unyeilding gassiness, endless tiresome nights, trying everything to get him to stop crying. I remember being exhausted, crying as I pumped breast milk at 3am.

I remember how hard it was and how much pain I was in at times. I loved how you’d move him a certain way when I was feeding him to help him latch better, just like the nurse had showed you in the hospital.

You always encouraged me to continue what I was doing. Your encouragement for everything I do is amazing. You are my rock when I feel like falling apart.

It’s still not easy and you continue to amaze me. Seeing the way you and Damian laugh and play together is beautiful. Their eyes light up the second you walk through the door after work. It brings tears to my eyes to see how much both of the kids love you.

After an exhausting day, you find time to support Kali with softball practice in the yard, take care of them so I can make dinner, brush Kali’s teeth, lay in her bed to read a story and tuck her in ever so sweetly. Even as she fights, wanting to stay awake. You have gained a lot of patience, my dear.

 

You often say to me, “I don’t know how you do it”.

I’ll let you in on my secret.

Blessed doesn’t even cover it. I wake up every morning, my heart exploding with happiness. I’m lucky enough to be in love with my best friend. I get to wake up and see your face (drooling on the reg), I get to watch you be father like a pro, cuddle Kali like a friend, and kiss me like I’m in a fairy tale.

You are a true blessing to our children. You work so hard to provide for our family and only ask for love (dinner, beer and sleep) in return. You teach them solid work ethic, and unconditional love, every day. You mean the world to us. And we love you to the moon and back. Parenting with you is a true joy. We are such a good team, Zack, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Happy First Father’s Day ❤

 

OH SH*T! You just learned something.

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Dear America,

(If you’re one of those “Americans” who verbally tongue-bathes Obama but can’t tell me where he actually WAS while Benghazi was taking place (he was watching it live) you might want to sit down for this.)

There is no war on women going on.

Did she just go against CNN?! 

Yeah, I did. And I will again when I say that if we had a Rupee (an Indian currency worth 0.017 of a US Dollar) for every time our “leader” has lied to America, the defecit (the debt America is in) would be paid off.

But seriously, though. There is no war. And to prove that, I did a bit of research:

In America, Women can have any license they want..

The Washington Post reported that women can’t drive in Saudi Arabia..

“With Saudi Arabian women behind the wheel since Saturday to protest their country’s refusal to grant driver’s licenses to women, they’re challenging not only long-standing restriction, but also a the larger system of Saudi Arabian gender-based laws, some of the harshest in the world.”

I bet you didn’t know that they aren’t allowed to vote there either..

Saudi Arabia and Vatican City: Women can’t vote… still. This is amazingly the case in Saudi Arabia, though a royal decree, issued in 2011, will let women vote in Saudi elections in 2015. Vatican City is the only other country that allows men, but not women, to vote.

 

Well here in America, a woman has every single right that a man has, and more. Think about it.

what does she mean and more?!

Women are allowed free health care (paid for by the state), along with their children, but men aren’t.

Women are also allowed more money for a loan and a higher rate at which to borrow it when applying for a small business loan.  (67% of businesses opened in the last 10 years were owned by men but the loan was in their wife or mother’s name)

Women can be CEOs, we can be Astronauts, Firefighters, Police Officers, Mail..ladies.

We can carry weapons. We can choose who we marry. We can name our children whatever lame, obnoxious name we come up with.

(North West?!)

All we have to do is say a man made a comment about our boobs at work and the man is fired for sexual harassmen, pending an investigation.

There are laws, solely to keep us safe. (Violence Against Women Act)

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Violence_Against_Women_Act 
The Violence Against Women Act was developed and passed as a result of extensive grassroots efforts in the late 80’s and early 1990s, with advocates and professionals from the battered women’s movement, sexual assault advocates, victim services field, law enforcement agencies, prosecutors’ offices, the courts, and the private bar urging Congress to adopt significant legislation to address domestic and sexual violence

We have laws about breastfeeding in public, laws protecting us and our kids from abusive fathers and domestic violence.

 

Women are powerful in America.

WE DIDNT GET THAT WAY BY ACTING LIKE VICTIMS.

So why start now?

I truly believe that a woman would make an awesome president.

Many countries would get silent treatments, and once a month for 5-7 days, she may even threaten to bomb them…

But can we actually pick which woman? and not the first one to run for president? 

Bottom Line:

There simply isn’t a war on women going on.

So why is the Media trying to create one?

To get a woman president elected?

No.

To get a PARTICULAR woman elected.

A particular woman who was responsible for this:

The January 15, 2014 release of the Senate Intelligence Committee report on Benghazi confirms what hundreds of hours of research, inquiry, and conversation revealed to me and many other Americans the following:

1. The September 11, 2012 attack could have been prevented.

2. Secretary of State Clinton did not do an appropriate risk assessment for Ambassador Stevens and other outpost personnel.

3. Al Qaeda was directly involved in the detailed planing and execution of the attack.

4. President Obama and Secretary of State Hillary Clinton both knew it was a terrorist attack on the evening of September 11, 2012.

5. A lie was manufactured and perpetuated as they repeatedly blamed an anti-Islamic video as the impetus of the attack.

 

Come on now. I know you have brains Americans. Use them!

If she lied MULTIPLE times about Benghazi, what part of her campaign would you believe?

 

So far, the “War on Women” part isn’t exactly panning out.

By Micayla

Love Is Absence of Judgement

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I’ll start this blog the cliche’ way; with a yummy little helping of backstory:

I’ve struggled with my weight since late elementary school.

Growing up, though, I was pretty thin. Then, the turning point: Nintendo. An evil (amazing) activity that entertains children while they are completely immobile. I loved burning bushes down in Zelda to uncover a secret set of stairs. I liked to throw my little Pokemon ball and catch rare Pokemon! I loved the fantasy world I escaped into. And boy, did I love cookies.

Especially Mrs Field’s Chocolate Chip ones. mmm….

That’s the concoction that began my weight problem. When I was 6 or 7 I’d run around my back yard all day. Playing Tee ball or cowboys and Indians (not exactly politically correct), or even just running. I loved being active. But when I got to about 11 or 12 something just changed. I felt more tired more often, more lazy and less energetic.

Now fast forward to High School

I was still chubby and inactive. I tried softball but didn’t stick with it. I skipped Gym class because I was embarrassed at how out of shape I really was. I had a treadmill in my basement but it collected dust.

I’m not going to go into deep psychological analysis as to why this was happening. I am going to say that eating wasn’t the only thing I was doing to calm my emotions. I found nicotine pretty calming, of course some weed never hurt..but let’s stay on topic.

Even skinny girls are insecure at times. I never felt like I was ugly or disgusting. I just knew I was overweight, knew I could change it, and I wasn’t motivated to. The truth was, there were always boys who thought I looked great. So there’s someone out there for everyone. I had no reason to kill myself at the gym and eat nothing but Kale. Until now.

So fast forward again to late pregnancy 2013

For some reason, the minute I started seeing a bump, I panicked. Knowing there were hormonal changes going on in my body, I tried to ignore some of the feelings I had.

I tried to.

But it consumed my mind. I had dreams that I got huge and saggy and that my boyfriend left because of it. I would look in the mirror and apply cocoa butter lotion 3 times a day to avoid stretch marks. I watched my weight at the doctor’s office and made sure it wasn’t going up at all.
(since I was throwing up, and had no appetite the first 3 months, I lost about 18 pounds)

I felt insecurity like I had never felt it before. The question, though, is why??
I had had a baby before. I wasn’t that skinny before this one. So why all of a sudden is my brain forcing a lump in my throat every time I take my shirt off in front of my boyfriend?

Well the baby bump finally dissipated and I’m left with a totally different body. I thought I’d feel relieved but I felt worse about myself after I had my son. I get jealous now, which is such a foreign emotion for me. A constant feeling of not being good enough lingers over my head. I have a perpetual fear that I’ll be left for something better.

Or at least, thinner.

So much so, that I looked up and read about 30 articles about how to keep a relationship from falling apart. Each article told me something different. One in particular even said, “dress sexier”.

Like how is that even going to fix real problems, anyway??

What I needed was an article to tell me is that the truth is, if I keep allowing myself to feel like this, the emotional discourse will ruin our relationship. Or at the very least, our sex life. And the turmoil will happen way before my “being fat” epidemic would have.

Ironically enough..

You see? I worried for months that how I LOOK was causing our relationship to fall apart. But it wasn’t. It was how I was REACTING to how I look that could have been the undoing.

Still following me, ladies?

I know for a fact that how I look currently, displeases my man. But I also know that how I’m acting about it upsets him way more. At this point, I can’t really control how I look.( I can’t even start really exercising for another week!)

And hell, I certainly can’t control how he feels about it.

(Don’t we wish we could just psychically place this little thought in his brain to make him think your sexy??)

 But seriously, I CAN control my reaction. And that is way more important than it looks or seems.

I’m writing this blog because something life-changing hit me today.

That Holy Shit moment where you finally allow your brain to engage your heart. I stopped reading articles written by strangers who have NO experience with our relationship. They don’t love him with every fiber of their being, like I do. So why would they be able to help me? I sat and thought and realized something:

The right man will love you anyway.

let me say that again.

The RIGHT man, will love you. Anyway.

“Anyway” meaning regardless.

regardless; adverb
: in spite of difficulty, trouble, etc. : without being stopped

He should love you, “Without being stopped”. Especially by something superficial and frivolous like your looks.

And if he doesn’t, then he isn’t worth your time. If a little extra weight, stretch marks, or skin can make him love you less, you’re with the wrong guy.

Now, by NO means am I saying not to get back to looking sexy! Because I plan to *ahem* knock his socks off.

But if my boyfriend looks at me now and doesn’t feel the same way as he used to, he can move on. Because anything could happen in life, and that is not the type of guy that will sit by your bed in a cancer hospital, if he can’t handle a little extra weight. And that’s what you need. Or at least I know that’s what I need. A man who will be here and just love me. All the time, no matter what comes our way.

Love is like driving a car at night. You can never see further than your headlights. But you can make the whole trip that way.”

By Micayla

The Grass is Greener where you Water it.

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As my eyelids close, I focus on the simple rise and fall of his chest under my cheek. I can feel the tickling of his beard on my temple. His arms are wrapped around me, resting on my shoulders. I feel a gentle stir of our child’s movements in my womb, as though he can sense his parents’ sweet bonding. I feel warm, secure, but most of all; I feel peace. I could look at his features for hours and it would feel like minutes. His plump lips, his gorgeous almond shaped eyes, the way his mouth wrinkles into a loving frown when I act like a peckerhead. If we could just stay like this, our relationship may have a fighting chance to see a glimpse of forever.

“Forever”. What an impractical word. When I was a little girl I pictured forever only in a fairy tale way. There wasn’t anything tangible that came into focus in my brain when that word was used. It was an idea. Something that never ends. It made sense when I had utilized it to express things like ‘my parents always loving me’. Things that children believe can never come to a screeching halt.

It’s amusing how ‘forever’ changes once you hit the teen years, especially as a girl.

I was sincerely convinced that I’d be dating some of those losers forever.

So I was pretty relieved to find out that immature “forever” wish that you long for so badly doesn’t get granted every time we promise it.

Pffft thank god.

 Though it would be nice if some of the times we did, it came through.

Now that I’m in early adulthood, though, forever has quite a different meaning. With the constant pressures to get engaged, be married, have a family, buy a house, all lingering on every unread page of Cosmopolitan, or thrown in our faces in every terribly vain reality TV show, forever is such a laughable thought to the modern young adult woman.

Most of us want to establish a well-paying career before we even think of saying Yes to any dress. For me, forever has always been something I was ready to start. Not particularly by marriage, but I always wanted to find that person I’d be old and gray with. Sad to say, there aren’t too many marriages that I can refer to that I actually admire.

I’ll publicly admit now, that a few of my previous “forever” promises weren’t in my best interests, and I’m glad I got out when I did.

“Forever” seems to be comparable to the last light of day. It’s really stunning to see. The tail end of the sunset, with the colors so vibrantly displayed, right before the sun is completely gone..

And that beauty is brief, if you think about it. If you calculate how long that moment is here compared to how long it takes it to come back around, it’s pretty fleeting.

That’s what I interpret ‘forever’ to be. That brief moment where there is a breathtaking sight. Some people work every day at that time and never have a chance to see that last moment of sun. Some people are simply too busy to notice it.  ‘Forever’ seems to be like that. A select few actually see forever come to pass. They marry someone and are faithfully theirs until death or other natural causes separate them.

Then there are the rest of us dreamers, who would literally hand over an ovary to have that happen to them, but have no such luck.

Why are relationships so finicky? Why doesn’t a man seem to want to work toward that idealistic ‘forever’ as gravely as so many of us women want to? By no means do I wish men thought about marriage, but just the thought of being with a woman everlastingly.

I would kill to see any man taking the time every day to better their relationship, seeing this labor as an essential long-term investment.

So, I finally found a man that I could totally spend my life with. I know I’ve been engaged but this is a totally different feeling. Before, it was more like “yeah he’s great I could do this forever”.

Now, believe me this one’s far from perfect. But so am I. There are plenty of things I’m crossing my fingers that he will grow out of or stupors he’ll awake from. He’s so smart, and he has so much potential.

But there is this brand new, and quite frankly peculiar, feeling that I keep getting in the deep bowels of my being that this is the grass I should be watering.

That no matter what comes in the way, I need to suck up my pride, and put more work in. I’m constantly looking for new ways to deal with problems, and different ways to talk to him, so that in the end we’re both happy with the result.

Some struggles we’ve had have seemed to graze the sharp side of the end for us. But here we are, past them, and we’re stronger.

So why is it that while I’m lying here, almost drifting away to the metronome likeness of his steady heartbeat, I am so completely sure I could do this the rest of my life, and at the exact moment, I feel nauseous with a piercing numbness as though he is unbelievably far from feeling that about me?

I sense this gut-wrenching awareness that he could quite simply drop me any day and find someone else who he believes will deal with all of his flaws and make him happier than I have. I worry silently that he may not feel that this is the grass he wants to water the rest of his life and that he may not feel that I’m worth it. Is it worth it for me to keep putting all of this work in, if eventually he’ll just move on to the next girl? Does he feel like he’s done shopping around for a lady or am I just a stepping stone?

Is there no magic 8-ball I can ask these questions to save me from wasting my time? Why is there such a terrible fear of heartbreak lingering around every corner? The more one gives of oneself, the more vulnerable one feels.

And now that I’ve ripped myself open entirely, exposing flaws and the inner workings of my soul, what does one do when “forever” ends?

 

xo Micayla

By Micayla

Love Your Decisions.

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“The more you love your decisions, the less you need others to love them.”

 

A short excerpt from my life, to explain my feelings:

“My voice trailed off. My eyes began to close. Falling asleep comforting him changed our friendship forever. The potent smell of vomit in the air, his random frequent shivers his hysterically frightening yellow eyes were all surface things that discouraged me from holding him and staying with him. The needle bruises under his arms forced my mind to be angry that he hadn’t kept his promise to stay clean. The thing is, I could be as mad as I want, it wouldn’t have changed anything. His pain and sickness was unbearable to him. The medication that teased away his appetite interrupted the healing process after he shot almost a pint of whiskey. He’s lucky he’s not dead. I leaned over and kissed his shoulder. I wasn’t even convinced that he needed me there. I was just there, and I couldn’t leave. I wish I have known what he was thinking back then, but I didn’t. It’s a good feeling that he’s here for me if I ever need him, too. No matter how embarrassing my situation is. Being a friend is talking to one another, shopping with your friend, laughing and, of course, crying with your friend. But most of all, friendship is being able to trust the person not to judge you for your decisions, despite how you may disagree with those decisions. Everyone needs the security of knowing that they will never screw you over, that they will always have your back, they’ll always support which path you take. Even people that you think you love can screw you over, and people who you never thought you’d love, you end up loving.”

After almost twenty-four years of existence, I’ve finally come to the conclusion that no matter how desperately you would die for someone to support your decisions, and be here for you through hard times, you can’t force that person to be supportive.

Obviously, Zack and I didn’t plan on dating for less than a year and creating life with each other. But I believe everything happens for a reason.

For the select few of you who are very close to me, you know a bit of my past. I’m not going to begin a never-ending blog post about my entire past, because it’s partially irrelevant. To sum it up, I got involved in some stupid things, and I truly believe having Kali may have saved my live.

Moving on:  taking care of another child is going to be hard. Believe it or not, Zack and I know this. We made the decision to do the absolute best we can to raise our son together.

I knew when the news would be spread to the general public that it would be shocking, and that it wouldn’t get very favorable reviews.

But here’s the clincher:

I didn’t make this decision to please anyone. Especially my critics.

So, no, I’m not shocked or appalled that some of my closest family and friends have shunned this decision.

It hurts that certain people have chosen to view this child as a failure, a mistake, and a lack of responsibility more than they see him as a future member of their family.

A person is a person, no matter how small, right?

But here’s some relieving news:

We made this decision for ourselves, and our son, and we are proud of it.

I look forward to the rough expedition ahead, but I look on with pride, for Zack and I have already grown significantly, and continue to grow, as people, (prospective parents), and as a couple.

I wanted to take up a few lines to thank deeply, from the depths of my (black,heartless) soul all of the people who chose to support us through this. You may not be particularly happy, or thrilled that I am unmarried and bearing another child, but I’m so unbelievably grateful for your unconditional love, support, and happiness for us.

And as for those who don’t, well, my world is a pretty positive and uplifting place. I don’t really see a need to involve you in a major life decision you are so keenly against. So I wouldn’t be surprised if you don’t hear from me for quite some time, because you see.. I learned to love my decisions. Especially this one. 

By Micayla

Stranger Danger

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Above is a picture of Cherish Lilly Periwinkle of Jacksonville, FL.

She was 8 years old, when she, her mother and 2 younger sisters were shopping at Walmart. Her mom didn’t notice she had vanished, and within hours was found dead. 

{Read the Article here: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/06/22/charish-lilly-perriwinkle-body-found-dead-donald-james-smith_n_3483380.html#slide=321829}

I’m gonna take a minute here to vent. 

Now, I’m not judging anyone here. But we’ve all been at Walmart and seen how people there “keep an eye on their kids”. Yeah, right. 

Just the other day, actually, I was checking out some cheap tops and shorts ($3.88 each!!!!) and I heard giggling. I look up, and theres two little girls, one about 5 and one 8ish. The younger was hiding in a clothing rack, and the 8 year old was looking for her sister. Cute, right?

Where’s their mother? 

Okay fine, we’re all like:

Dude seriously watch your f*ckin kids, they’re running around everywhere all obnoxious and shit.

Either way..even people who don’t have kids think this at least once in Walmart, and can detect a parenting flaw here.

And of course, no parents in sight. OH WAIT! There’s a lady who’s kind of the same features. On her cell phone, about 30 yards away, rounding a corner walking away from her kids.

It’s women like these that I don’t feel bad for when their kids go missing.

Don’t misread me, I feel saddened, and it breaks my heart that this happened. The poor little girl must’ve been so scared, and didn’t understand why this man was doing what he was doing to her. She probably cried for her mommy. 

Believe me, it doesn’t take me to be a mother for my heart to break.

On the flip side of things, I’m trying to feel bad for the mom. I read about 10 other articles about this and the mother’s story has changed 3 times.

“Oh she was going to get a cheeseburger..”

“OH! She was going to look at dresses….”

“No no, this guy came up and I didn’t even realize she left with him….”

Uh..if my 4 year old is out of my sight for T MINUS three seconds, I panic. Apparently her child was gone for a solid 25 minutes before she even notified store clerks.

She might be a totally normal, super good mom who had a terrible accident. 

OR she’s just like any of the other mothers I’ve seen at Walmart. Totally oblivious to what their children are doing, and much too lazy to actually watch them.

You mean I have to be a parent? And put my iPhone down, and lose this stage of Candy Crush? But why?? I’m sure my 8 year old is fine wandering around on her own. It is a store, someone will watch her for me….right?

Wrong. It’s your job to keep that kid safe. A common misconception is that a child will scream if a stranger comes up to them or tries to take them.

Well let me bore you with another anecdote from my life, to further educate you on how important it is to watch your child:

I lived in West Haven growing up, and our Elementary School teamed up with the local news to run a “Stranger Danger” related program for children.

It was a one hour ‘class’, if you will, educating kids the dangers of going with people they don’t know. 

The classroom they videotaped housed about 15 kids, ages 6-8. 

In the class, the children were told not to go with anyone they didn’t know, no matter what. Even if the strangers offered to buy them something nice, take them somewhere fun, or even take them per their parents request.

15 kids were then brought to the town playground and let loose to play. After about 15 minutes, one at a time, a “Stranger” (local news crew member) approached each child, one by one. 

13 out of 15 children voluntarily went with the stranger.

Why??

Well to help you understand the basic psychology of a child, children don’t see the danger in helping a nice old man look for his lost puppy down the street. The word stranger is probably drowned out by the word ‘puppy’.

You’re better off simply handing your kids over to criminals if you really, truly believe that they are safe to say no, make judgement calls on who to go with or not go with, or to fend for themselves in such situations.

Moral of the story: Parent your child. You’re the only one who can protect them.

Expecting them to make the right decision in that type of situation is a stupid, negligent,  dangerous Russian Roulette to play with your childrens’ lives.

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By Micayla

“MA! We’ve been at this light ALL DAY!”

A cocktail of funny sayings, compliments to my four year old.

A confession!
Kali (my four year old) just said to me:
“Mommy sometimes I’m sneaky, and I go into the kitchen and get a lollipop. And then I EAT IT! Because its SO yummy. But I had to tell you because its not nice.”
hahahahaha. In the words of Ron Burgundy, “Kal, I’m not even mad, I’m impressed”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

HAHAHA I asked Kali: “Who’s the cutest little thing in the whole world?! (meaning her)
and she responds: “Chocolate Chip Cookies”
LOL

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Me: Such a shame you’re not being good, I was so gonna bring you to the pool later if you were good.
Kali: I DONT WANNA GO TO THE POOL!
Me: (yeah right face)
Kali: Okay fine, I do.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

(Staring at Kali)
Kali: What???
Me: I can’t look at you? You’re cute.
Kali: Yeah you can look at me you’re the boss. But I’d rather you didn’t.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

(Kali on an imaginary phone)
“Listen, I already asked her. She won’t buy the pony. She said I have too many toys…..I don’t HAVE a job. I need one to get money to buy the pony….okay call me back..”

(Who the heck is she on the phone with?? Hahahaa)

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Me: Remind me not to buy you stickers anymore, because you never put them on things that are yours.
Kali: (sticks one on my cheek) You’re mine.

:3

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Carseat roadrage at its finest:
(At a pretty long red light)
Kali: …..UGH MA. This lights been red ALL DAY. Come ON already.
hahaha

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

(After she’s done scribbling in her tinkerbell notebook)
Me: what’d ya write?
Kali: I can’t read it to you.
Me: why not?
Kali: because I think I called you a booger..like 2 times.

(Not once but TWICE)

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Kali: I have good news and bad news. The GOOD news is I’m eating all of my cocoa puffs. The bad news is I gotta poop.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Me: Kal did you eat all that popcorn??
Kali: Noo Mom, I don’t really like popcorn.
Me: Oh. okay. Want some chicken for dinner?
Kali: No thank you, I’m full, I ate ALOT of popcorn.
Me:……

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

(I find blank CD on the table)
Me: What’s on this cd??
Kali: Pearl Jam.
Me: ????????? How do you know who that is?!?!?!

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

(Kali’s toy drops on the floor off of the table)
Me: Why you throwin stuff???
Kali: I didnt throw it, it fell OFF the table i didn’t even touch it stop freaking out.
Me: hahahahaha

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

 

By Micayla

A Lick of Advice

I think I’ll start this blog with the best advice I’ve ever gotten as a mother.

Of course it came from my maternal Grandmother; the guru of grass stains, the master of macaroni and meat sauce, the expert of easter dinner- I think you get the point. After 7 children of her own, helping to raise over 20 grandchildren and 7 great -grandchildren, she was the matriarch of our family, teaching all of us the right way to raise our kids (if we took the advice or not, was our prerogative).

She can get a baby to stop crying, a toddler to eat their peas, and a child to stop jumping on the couch, all while dishing out love with a liberal hand, and barely raising her voice.

My daughter had just turned four years old, and we were at grandma’s house for a weekly Sunday visit.  Kali had complained she was hungry, so I took out a can of Chef Boyardee. My grandmother took it out of my hand and got out a pot to warm it on the stove.

Now my child has said she was hungry before this and we still had to fight her to eat the food she ASKED for.

The raviolis and meatballs were warmed and in a nice pink plastic bowl in front of my daughter. She ate two bites, and decided she didn’t want to sit anymore, she wanted to go play!

I’m sure we’ve all been there as mothers, and that thought crosses our mind.

You said you were hungry, I went through all this trouble to make you lunch, you’re freaking eating it, if its the last thing I accomplish in my young life.

So naturally, she she smiles and sits down like an angel, crosses her legs and eats her food, in a reasonable amount of time like she’s told.

Baha, right. Well I can dream. Anyway, she puts up a fight and crosses her arms, obviously bored of eating. So at that point, we mothers try everything. The airplane, the choo choo train, the helicopter, the “I’ll take you to the pet store on the way home if you eat”, and some mothers even resort to “I’ll take you to Toys R us on the way home if you eat!” (I never got THAT far.)

My grandmother sat and watched while I whoooed and hawwed, trying everything to get this food into my child. When she finally saw the dismay in my eyes, she took over.

In 15 seconds flat, my daughter had two bites down and one on the hanger.

All she did was smile at my daughter and say “You’re a big girl, you don’t need mommy feeding you like a baby? Let’s see how you can eat ALL BY YOURSELF!!!” And if you saw her face, you’d crack up laughing. Her eyes were wide and she was smiling ear to ear. That’s what my grandmother does, she could make you excited to have your gallbladder removed, and that was her secret. She talks to you like you’re a puppy and you’re about to go for a walk!!!

Are you so excited!! Chef Boyardee! YUM!

“Stop doing things for your kids that they can damn well do for themselves.”

That was the last time I ever fed my daughter anything, and the point is she stopped expecting me to feed her.

What a thought, to train a kid like you would a puppy. 

It sounds terrible, but its true. If your puppy barks and barks, and you give it a treat, what do you think it’ll do when it wants a treat? It’s gonna bark like crazy.The carry-over rule here? If your child screams and throws themselves on the floor in a tantrum in the store and you give her a Barbie doll to shut her up, did she learn her lesson? Or is her premature brain going to connect screaming and the fact that it got her a toy?

The moral of our story today, folks, is Grandma knows best, and let your kids do what they CAN do for themselves, or you’ll be feeding your 13 year olds their peas.

By Micayla