Everyone has a story. Whether your parents are here or there, or you lost someone close to you, each and every one of us has a story. My story is a little colorful. Some people may disagree, but sometimes I feel like I got a lackluster version of the "American Dream". Those that look on from the outside see a girl who got straight A's in school and a senior who had the talent to try out anywhere to be a college cheerleader. I got a brand new car for graduation, a paid tuition to anywhere I wanted to go, and life, looking in, has been breezy ever since.
Let's rewind. I think it is important to express just what my life was as a child, before I point the finger at some folks, whom probably had no idea what was coming to them. Luckily, I grew up in the gym. 5 days and 20 hours a week that was my home. I liked it there. It was less dramatic. No eggshells to walk on. My mom is, and always has been, a strong woman, who used to be blinded by "love". (Who hasn't been?) Do I think my bio dad loved her? Probably so. Do I think she loved him? Yes. He was a smooth talker who had been taught by a smooth talker, who has since found the Lort, and changed his smooth-talking ways.
My. Bio-Dad. Is a character. Not one of which I strive to be like. He is excitable, much like myself. He loves a good party and tells a mean fish story. He would likely say the same about me. We have a very back and forth, love and dislike, relationship. He hates how I am just like my mother... and I love how I am just like my mother. He hates her. I love everything about her.
When I was 9, the man I would know to be my "raise-me" Dad came into the parent picture. When my bio dad was cursing and slamming my mom, Kip (her soon-to-be husband), was lifting her up as I had hoped a spouse would do someday for me. I, 20 something years later, after having had a practice marriage of my own... knowing what it is to compete for the love of my own child, was bound and determined to set a different standard for my child's life. I knew I didn't want him to grow up in what I went through and my son's dad, being the man that he is, wouldn't want that either, so we have (to the best of our ability) done what is best for our child. My husband loves my son, and his father's wife loves him too, and I couldn't wish for anything more.
**Sidebar- my son's stepmother and stepfather are two of the best things that could ever happen to him. I am so thankful for the love they have for him and the commitment they have for our families to be united. I hope that they know that.**
Truth is... in high school, as a college level athlete, I wouldn't go away to college, because I was afraid of what my boyfriend would say. (Now he doesn't matter, but back then his opinion mattered way too much.) My only sibling died in a freak accident that was solely the teacher's responsibility. I have more unresolved issues about this situation than imaginable. I undervalued myself as a young adult, because of the example my bio father gave, and got mixed up in the wrong crowd somewhere in between. One failed marriage and many life lessons later, I have, thankfully, found my person. My mother is sick, and we were told that she is dying (although God and a recent Lyme's disease diagnosis tell us differently.) I am doing the best I can to run my company (which is my mother's legacy - that I hold in the highest regard) in the way that the she would be proud. I am burning the candle at both ends and, let's be honest, I am tired.
Life is beautiful. I have some friends battling cancer, I have some that are battling infertility, some that have just gone into remission, and some that have recently gotten pregnant after a long road trying to get there. I am grateful for every winding road that has led me to where I am, and my sweet friends to where you are. God bless each and every one of you. I will pray for you and I ask that you pray for me too.
Tears are painful. Tears are necessary. They pierce the heart and relieve the soul. We hold them in to show we are strong , but we when we let them go we are relieved, and reminded that He is with us every step of the way.
Sometimes we just have to let it out and, lucky for me, I created a free blog site not too long ago to tell you folks how I really feel about shit. 😊
Goodnight and God Bless!
From Mt. Foldmore to Mt. Washmore, one may think they are on a family vacation to the Rockies when coming to stay at the Jones castle. Laundry is my nemesis... and here are the bones:
1. Don't, I repeat, DO NOT put clean shit in my laundry room. If I have to wash Spider Bear's pajama pants ONE more time because you are "cleaning" your room I will lose it. And it ain't gonna be pretty. SB is completely potty trained and therefore doesn't need his jammies washed weekly. Throwing a folded shirt in the laundry is also a big problem that little people can catch a charge for in my house. R-E-S-P-E-C-T, find out what it means to me. I don't do laundry for my health, I do it when we are out of underpants. Thanks in advance, fam.
2. Shout out to the moms who wash most loads of laundry more than once before they graduate to the dryer. Not because you want it to be extra clean, but because you had some things come up and er... forgot (?) to switch it over. 104 loads of laundry per container, pshhhhh, my ass! 52 at best in this house. How many times have I been in the middle of doing something and gone "damnit! I did it again!"? I had good intentions when I started it. I'm also a cereal fluffer. I feel like if the dryer is fluffing and doing its job, who am I to stop it to fold the clothes?! That turns into a 5x fluff job per load. Our clothes are extra fluffy. And wrinkled. 🤣
3. The traveling pile is a real mystery to me. I put clean clothes on the bed with the thought that I certainly can't sleep like that, so I will be forced to tackle Mt. Foldmore before my head hits the pillow. In reality, the pile travels from bed to floor and bed to floor approximately 12 times before the next time our favorite visitor comes over. (That would be cleaning Kristi. Yeah.... judge me all you want... I sacrifice two to four dinners out a month so someone else will come clean my house while I'm at work. It's freaking magical and if you are a working mom and have never done it, you should try it at least once if possible. You may never go back.) The only reason the pile gets put away at that point is because there is just no where to move it to make it out of her way... and because I don't want her to know the truth about my laundry problem.
4. Lastly, if I take the time to fold the laundry, and the toddler (or the dogs) comes in while I'm in the shower or something and unfolds the laundry that took me two weeks to tackle , we gonna have a bad morning. Cuteness can only get you so far. She's pretty stinking cute, but laundry also sucks pretty stinking bad. My mother in law has suggested that I do one load of laundry per day to solve my problems. That sounds like my own personal hell. I'd rather just watch a lifetime movie marathon and face my problems with a glass of wine (or 6) on a Sunday afternoon.
Today is Monday, and replacement Kristi is coming tomorrow so I need to cut this short and go fold some clothes. 👚👕👖👔👗👘 (<--- I get so mad when my favorite Kimono is dirty.) Fluff on mamas!! Memories are more important than unwrinkled clothes!
#laundrysucks #theanxietymom #winethoughts #thingstoworkon