Right now I’m going through a separation from my husband and I live with my Mother and Step-Dad. I’m thankful to them for all they’ve done for me and basically don’t “talk back” or argue over anything.

Recently my Step-Dad became unemployed so he’s home the entire day. This has become a point of stress for both myself and my child. See my Step-Dad doesn’t know how to talk softly and not seem as if he’s yelling. He is very demanding as well, wanting every toy picked up right away, and no doing it in an hour is not okay.

I do ask my child to clean up her toys, but I don’t ask her to do it right as she finishes with one because she goes between toys. So she may play with Toy A for ten minutes and then move on to Toy B for five and return to Toy A. She cleans up when she’s done playing in general.

But he’s constantly bossing her around. Also he’s really focused on food. I’ve tried to tell them to not worry about how she eats, her blood sugar is fine (she has a disorder called Hyperinsulinism). But he is so concerned about how much she eats and how often she eats that I’m afraid it’s going to lead to some issues for her.

But I don’t say anything, except on the food issue because I don’t like forcing my child to eat beyond her full point.

I just wish he would stop being so demanding on her. She’s just 3.

Pamala @ http://www.becauseishouldcare.com

My In-Laws didn’t get us Christmas gifts. This is the first year they didn’t and I cannot figure out why this happened. I asked my husband to pretty please call and ask what the FUCK happened, but he seems to be pussing out on this particular occasion.

You see, it’s not that I care if they didn’t get me a gift, but the fact that I got her some really nice swag all personalized from Etsy, because I thought we were finally getting along better, means that if she didn’t get us anything there’s a whole thing around it.

You know, like they thought we weren’t going to get them anything, even though we ALWAYS got them stuff even when we were so poor we were eating from the food banks. Nothing expensive those years, just a token, but something.

I’m hoping there’s a mistake.

Of course, that doesn’t even compare to the fact that I didn’t get a Merry Christmas or a Thank You for one goddamn gift I bought for my stepdaughter. All $500 worth of gifts I bought her.

Yea Christmas. Thank goodness they’re not my only family and I did get thank you’s and nice gifts from others…but I can’t help but obsess over the negative…I’ll get over it soon. It’s just, you know, bothering me.

Wouldn’t it bother you if out of nowhere you suddenly didn’t get a polite thank you or a gift when it’s been standard operating procedure since you got married years and years ago?

Jerks.

I’m a mother of a 3 year old and pregnant with my second. I’m also the Organizer of a parenting group in my area. Part of signing up for my group involves putting in a birthdate (mainly because the site I use you have to be over 13 to participate). I was looking at my memberlist (90 members) and noticed that I’m one of the youngest, two others are younger than me. I’m 27 years old.

Nearly 80% of my group is 35 and older. And to me this is amazing. The oldest child in the group is six years old. The oldest mom, 48, older than my own mother.

I often say to my mother, “hey you can have a baby still if you want!” She couldn’t fathom having a child at her age. She loves her grandchildren, but having to be the primary caregiver to her is just too much for her. I mean my sister and I (twins) have been out of the house for 10 years, so she’s had that freedom. She couldn’t even imagine starting the parenting journey at her age.

I wonder how people do it. Not to say 40 is “old” but it’s not prime age for sure. I mean your child will be ten when you hit midlife. How do you keep up?

I mean look at it. My grandmother is 65 years old (a year younger than my MIL). Her mother was 92 when she passed this year. So my child had a great-great-grandmother, who was around and that she could enjoy. She still talks of Grandma CC every once in a while as well. But imagine that, having a large extended family around for a long time! I mean what could be better? When my daughter turns 18 I’ll be in my 40’s, with a lot of life to go and I hope I get to grow old with a bunch of grandchildren and great-grandchildren around me.

My question has been, why are people waiting so long? Is finding financial stability worth that sacrifice of time? To me it wasn’t.

Pamala from http://www.becauseishouldcare.com

Yea Christmas!

Yea Family!

Only, a huge portion of my family…well HIS family, don’t like me. Not one stinking little bit.

So shopping for them doesn’t really put me in the Christmas spirit.

Because I’m putting all this thought into these gifts…knowing that what I get back will be an afterthought.

How do you shop for people that dislike the crap out of you? Do you just cop out and go gift card? Do you not get them anything?

If only there weren’t kids involved it would be so much easier. Bah.

If I want to bottle feed and am looking for the best bottle, I don’t need a breastfeeder using me as an excuse to make herself feel better about her choices using me and a social networking site and a little dig to do it.

My reasons for bottle feeding are mine and mine alone. Maybe they’re amazing reasons. Maybe they’re medical. Maybe they’re awful and selfish. Maybe I just don’t wanna.

I really can’t imagine a remotely smart person would consider going toe to toe with me to try and tell me that my children will be deficient somehow for my not breastfeeding them longer than six weeks.

Because you know what, breastfeeders? You NEED to give your kids those extra 10 IQ points so they’ll be able to keep up with my kids even AFTER mine are down ten points. That’s not my fault, that’s genetics, clean livin’ and mostly a whole shitload of luck.

Besides. The studies that show all the awesomeness of breastfeeding are following mothers that are ABLE to breastfeed, which is mostly middle-class chicks with lives that accommodate that kind of dedication. Which means it could TOTALLY be causation rather than cause and effect. You know, because mothers who breastfeed are also the ones that read to their kids and do all the other “make your kid smart and healthy” crap.

I figure if I do everything but breastfeed I’m still ahead of the curve.

Honestly, I know I sound like I hate breastfeeders and I’m bitter. Let me be clear, I only hate breastfeeders who think I’m less of a mom for not breastfeeding – of course you and I both know that’s most of you – because you’re judgy women who cling to your high horse while you’re physically attached to your infant for up to god knows how many years.

Letting your child make your life choices for you (like child-led weaning) is just scary. Because let’s be honest, that’s not the only decision you’re going to let your child make. If it was it would be fine…but you’re going to be a child-centered parent and your kids are going to grow up to be huge, entitled, douchebags.

Or not. It’s not like I’m inside of every mom’s mind. But just back the fuck off about my bottle feeding. My kid’s going to be just fine, thanks.

I’m running away she says for the 3rd time this month. Ok, why are you running away? I ask. You yelled at me. (I asked her 3 times to wash for dinner the forth time I yell) should I help you pack? she starts to cry. whats wrong? I thought you wanted to run away. I can’t live with out you and daddy she blubbers out. No you’ll be fine, lets see what you packed. 5 pears of socks, 2 per of thin night pants, 2 long sleeved cotton shirts, her piggy bank (smart kid),and some toys. (it’s really cold and dark out side). do you want a slice of bread and some fruit to take with you? She cry’s some more I don’t want to leave. well I don’t want you to go ether but I am tired of you saying you want to run away. I wont do it again I promise.

sigh! I feel like I am the worst mom ever, she is 7 and already wants to run away from home! what’s it going to be like when she is 16?

Really frustrated mom

i hate x-box with a passion im almost jealous of the damn thing. Yuck. My boyfriend never comes to bed because of it.Am i crazy ?

One of my personal parenting goals has always been to have completely open communication with my offspring. I think we all have some sort of warm, fuzzy, made for TV movie playing in our subconscious mind of what our family is like and I like to portray myself as the compassionate and understanding matriarch. A mother whose children can come to her with all their problems and talk openly about any subject with her, knowing that she will always understand and be able to solve their youthful dilemmas with humor and love. Sort of like the Waltons, or the Cosby show.

If this is your dream of parenting then you need to just get over it. All that warm compassion and understanding has led to me raising a child that lacks an “inside his head” voice. I wanted a child that grew up to be open and not shame filled about his body or sexuality. Though I did not want him to ever tell me about that part of his life. Go be shame free and open somewhere else far, far from home with skanks that will remain anonymous and never be brought home to meet me.

I now have the teen version of Tucker Max residing in my gracious home. I personally love Tucker Max, and if I were a guy I would probably be just like him. I too would write about my drunken, drugged, sex fueled (past) exploits, but most of them seem to run into a blur for me. I probably should have started the narratives while I had most of my brain cells left.

But back to the mini-me known as the Teenager.

Many years ago we were attending or returning from some family event and the newly turned Teenager announced out of the blue from the backseat of my station wagon that he wasn’t going to jerk off anymore because bad things happened when he did.

The deathly silence that followed his pronouncement was quickly shattered by my stoic spouse expelling Dr. Pepper through his nostrils and making the car swerve while he alternately choked and shook with laughter. I glared at my amused husband and quickly put on my compassionate and understanding liberal parent face so that I could help the little pervert in the backseat with his problems.

“Masturbation is a normal and natural part of people’s lives, dear Teenager”, I explained gently to my darling offspring. “Bad things do not happen as a result of stimulating one’s self, that is a shameful misconception that Right Wing Conservative Bible Thumpers wish you to believe.”

I don’t know where I actually picked up this parental psycho-babble.

“No, seriously Mom, every time I do it, something bad happens to me. Last week I failed my math test and you need to come to a conference tomorrow. I forgot to tell you. My bad.”

I thought about it for a moment. “Should I tell your teacher about your “problem”? Perhaps she will quit blaming me now for the fact that you are failing math. In fact, maybe you could focus on math if you weren’t doing THAT. Not that it’s not normal at your age.” I huffed and turned back around in my seat. I hated dealing with his math teacher, she made me feel like I was in seventh grade again. I immediately started planning my expensive wardrobe and condescending parental attitude intimidation tactic I would use on her.

So that was the end of that part of the conversation. He passed math and my husband still laughs every time he remembers the Teenager saying that. It must be funny in a guy way, I just don’t see any of my girlfriends having this talk with one another.

So last night the Teenager got a craving around eleven o’clock for some chocolate milk and drove to the store to pick some up. Last week we spent around thirteen hundred dollars on repairs for his car AND this week around six hundred for a new fuel pump for the same car. Since he helped pay for most of it (we’ve convinced him he’s buying a new car one part at a time) he has been a very unhappy young man that has found out the reality of the adult world-that you don’t really get to keep your paycheck.

So he gets back with his chocolate milk and Evian water, walks into my room, and goes on a rant. Now the damn car has a burned out headlight. Believe me, no one can rant like the Teen. He’s soooo dramatic, I cannot imagine where that comes from…..

He raved on between swigs of chocolate milk and I reassured him we would go get it fixed in the morning, it’s not expensive. Apparently he did take a hiatus from self stimulating for a few years and has now gone off the wagon, which in his mind is why the car keeps breaking down. He finished his dramatic soliloquy with the statement “I just wanted to bust a nut! What’s so wrong with that? I swear I’m not touching myself all summer or I’ll never get that Macbook!”

Then he plopped down in the living room to work out his angst by playing “Bad Company” online with other frustrated teen aged boys stuck at home with nothing to do.

“Thanks for the valuable bonding time!” I yelled from the bedroom. “No problem, thanks for listening.”, he yelled back between game kills.

I’m so glad he can talk to me about everything.

Love and Kisses,

Cult Diva

I have made no secret of the fact that I feel very frustrated by this generation of over-protective, hyper-hands on uber-alpha mothers that we live amongst right now. The Hysterical Need To Do Everything And Then Some breed of mothers who raise over-protected and therefore spoilt little brats who have no idea how to function normally and interact socially with other people.

But here’s the thing. Can you help but be nervously fretting that you will ruin your child every chance at a decent life if every one around us tells us the opposite? If we are being force-fed opinions left, right and centre (usually supported by “Experts”) on how and where and what we are doing wrong every given second we are trying to everything right for our children?
We are irresponsible for taking them to the playground because it is a germ-filled and dangerous place. So instead we build a mini-Disney-land in our back-garden, because we know that children can’t be without physical stimulation.
We would be scolded for leaving our children in day-care, yet we are told about the importance on social creatively simulating interaction, so we are being bad parents if we don’t sign them up to at least three activities a day.
I could go on.

In my case, I actually found myself (and I would brand myself as a fairly chilled out person and my style of mothering to be the same) lie awake in bed one night fretting over the fact that I let my son go to sleep with a bottle of warm milk at night.
It is the only way he will sleep, and finding that out put a stop to months of agonizing bed-time routines (or rather, lack of) where it would take hours for him to settle. My husband figured it out. I was still very much in the “no-outside-stimulation-before-sleep” zone, but had to give in, finally.
- Why would you fight me on this one? he asked me as I in a last, exhausted attempt, tried to tell him that what he did was wrong.
- He’s falling asleep, doesn’t he? he asked. Within minutes. Why not just do this, and make it easy for us?

Because I knew what my pediatrician would tell me from now on, at every check-up we went to.
- You can’t let him fall asleep with a bottle. You will ruin his teeth.

IE: What you are doing is bad, and you are inflicting pain and hurt on to your child and you will scar him for life and all this because you are a selfish, lazy parent who just can’t do the right thing.

All because of peaceful bedtime…. Is it worth it?
So I lie awake in bed, thinking about what I am doing to my son as he, and the rest of the family lie nicely tucked in and sleep away in Wonderland. And all I wanted was to be a good mother, to do the right thing, but to also have some peace and quiet after a long, stressful and hectic day.

This is what we are doing right now. This is what society, and us, are doing to each other. If it’s not teeth, it’s something else. The lack of physical sports-activities which you are sure will harm your child although all he has never showed any interest what so ever in any sports, he’d rather play guitar. The times you have not read four books at bedtime, because you are exhausted, and now you think your daughters reading might suffer.
The times you have turned on SpongeBob Squarepants when really, it should be a strict diet of Baby Einstein although Baby Einstein doesn’t seem to captivate them for very long, and you really need them out of your way because you need to cook, and fold clean clothes and make that phone-call, and-.

Is it any wonder that we are nervous wrecks? Is it any wonder that mother’s will try and compensate for their lack of perfection in the areas that they feel that they are in control of???

And most importantly: as it is happening to all of us, us mothers should support each other, not point out where we might go wrong. It is hard enough as it is without the rest of society trying to brand us a irresponsible, thoughtless, selfish mothers, we don’t need to tell each other that too.

I’ve barricaded myself in my office. It’s the only room in the house that I can shut the door and be alone for a little while. As I hide in here I’m checking my email and I notice an email from a distant friend. An invite to an art exhibit in which she is an artist.

I can hear my husband disciplining our 7 year old daughter while our 5 year old son taunts her in the background. Our 9 year old son is using the bathroom with the door open and I can hear every intimate body function he shamelessly has. I’m perusing the pictures of last year’s exhibit to see what kind of art it is.

Very progressive… a motel is transformed for this one night, each room is set in a different scene. There are drug deals and prostitutes, suicides and love making. There are people in straight jackets because they’re crazy and people in straight jackets because they want to be in straight jackets.

The invite has a list of people attending and it causes me to browse further. I’m wandering anonymously through the life I felt I should have had. A life of artists who live by their own rules. A life of free thinkers who accept others with open minds.

Instead I sit here in my 4 bedroom ranch house with my minivan parked out front, 100 pounds overweight, hiding from my children and their constant need of me.

I want to be selfish. I want to run and free myself from all of their constant badgering, whining, begging for things as large as thousand dollar laptop computers and as petty as a glass of iced tea. And I don’t want to give them any of it. I’m tired of them taking from me. I’m tired of working constantly and giving to them. I’m tired of losing myself inside a padding of Little Debbie treats and Ruffles potato chips. I’m tired.

I type these words and I feel like I’m committing the ultimate sin of honesty. These are the things no mother should ever say, much less write in black and white and publish for all the world to see. Maybe I’m missing the maternal instinct that causes me to want to work relentlessly and give everything to my children. Maybe there is something sick and defunct inside of me that causes this.

I read a blog about a guy who lived with three other guys in a one bedroom apartment in the early 90s. His share of the rent was $65 which he earned by working at a night club three nights a week. He published an independent magazine, fought for his beliefs, networked in a blooming art scene. His description of his life at that time is like heaven to me. Lacking in comfort but rich in experience. And I do the unthinkable… I allow myself to daydream about what it might have been like if I had never allowed myself to become pregnant.

No one told me I would be trading in my life for theirs. No one told me I’d live the rest of my life doing for them and forgetting myself. No one told me I’d one day find that the real me was so far buried under layers of fat and hopelessness that I’d forget who I was altogether.

I want to walk out that door and never look back. I want to throw myself into the pool of color and light and drown in creativity and self.

I’ll shut off this computer and face my life again instead. I’ll clean up the messes and make a pot roast and try to smile through it all… and bury myself for a while longer.