With love, to Dad

From the time I met him, I called him "Dad."  He was just one of those people. The kind of people who make you feel so invited and included that you can not possibly refer to them as a "sir" or "mister" He was certainly a person who inspired respect, but his mannerisms and warm heart always let you know that it was okay just to be yourself- another spirit drifting around on this little Earth.  He was a lot of fun, and willing to be part of the fun at any moment.  He never dismissed anything as silly or obtuse in the time that I knew him.  He was a great man.

Ronald Vincent Schoultz, 77, of Bismarck passed away September 9, 2015. Born in De Soto Missouri in 1938, He is preceded by his parents, Roy and Elsie Schoultz, and his brother, Robert Schoultz. He is survived by his six children, Stephanie Simpson, Ronald R. Schoultz, Daniel Schoultz, Michael Schoultz, Matthew Schoultz, Andrew Schoultz, and numerous grandchildren. On January 8, 1957 he completed Air Training Command and served in the Army Air Corp as a grounds equipment repairman at Scott Air Force Base and later Guam. After completing his military duty on May 24, 1962, Ronald attended Lindenwood University to study art and worked as a police officer in St. Louis. Art and poetry were a great passion of his and he spent much of his life pursuing both in his spare time. Following his work as a police officer, he performed maintenance electrical work for Atlas Plastics and Reynolds Metal. His family moved from Missouri to Grand Junction Colorado in 1980 where he worked in maintenance for Canyon Valley. In 1983 he moved his family to Arkansas and worked for Hot Spring County Memorial Hospital as a director of maintenance. Throughout the 1980s he held jobs in Denver, CO, Gonzales, LA, and Greenville, SC. In 1992, Ron began his work on Johnston Island, now known as the bird sanctuary Johnston Atoll, as a civilian contractor for the United States Government. He spent his free time enjoying the ocean and its inhabitants. He returned home to Bismarck, Arkansas to work at the Arkansas School for Math and Science as a boiler operator (although he would often sneak into the classrooms and leave art for the teachers to find the next morning.) While Ronald would have asked that there be no fuss, the family will be holding a private memorial to honor a wonderful father, grandfather, and friend.

“A million lights spreading through the skies,
Meant only to be seen by man’s frail eyes?
Steadfast we stand on our small sphere,
Content in thought that we alone are here.
Yet, could it be in the far beyond,
That many worlds have come and gone?
That countless beings have lived and loved,
And wondered at the lights above?” --Ronald V. Schoultz

Struggling Against the Id

They say that babies are born with no personality, and only have basic desires to prompt them to action- food, water, shelter, comfort. These basic desires have no root in any type of reality- whether a thing is possible or not is irrelevant. It is wanted, and therefore, action happens. As we grow, we are supposed to develop what Freud called, "ego"- the part of ones self that is organized and realistic. Eventually we should also develop the "super ego"- some part of our brain that moralizes us and teaches us to think critically. The ego and super ego are, in essence, a way to control our own impulses. I have started to wonder lately- as someone with ADHD- is my ego just underdeveloped? Did I miss some kind of critical stage in which I would have learned the necessary skills to cope with reality? I know it is silly, considering that all of this is really theory- and there's no way to prove it- but sometimes I wonder if I came out broken, or if it was something that happened along the way. The truth is that I know I make an abundant amount of mistakes. I know when I'm making a decision that is going to have potentially disastrous results. It doesn't stop me. I sometimes feel like I'm being swept away with my own actions and there's really nothing left to do but just see how it plays out. I get super excited and respond to something, and my brain immediately recognizes it as a terrible response, but my body already acted. My mom always said that my brain was too fast for my mouth, but I think it's probably the other way around. My brain is a little slower than the rest of me. I wonder sometimes if these responses are part of my own id. Am I subconsciously acting so that I can achieve fantastical desires that have no basis in reality? I know other people that struggle with problems similar to mine, but when we start to talk about them we tend to wander into all forms of other topics. I guess that's pretty typical too. You can't really have support with other people who are struggling, because you all end up going to the park. Some of my friends take medicine, and it seems to work for them, but I never really saw medication as an option for me. I am so sensitive to medicine that I'm more afraid of the side effects than my own screw ups. Then I have to think about the super ego though- I definitely developed an ethical and moral sensitivity. That's why I feel so guilty when I make a mistake. Can one have an underdeveloped ego and still have a super ego? Maybe it's all irrelevant now anyways. I mean, Freud did kind of end up way off the mark on a lot of his opinions. Well...There's my random musings for tonight. Look I put out two blog posts in the same year! Maybe I'm improving? Well I'm going to let the id win for a little while and snuggle in for some reading.

I Just Want To Be Friends

So, I would just like you to go ahead and accept that I suck at being a dedicated writer. My life is busy. However, I'm pretty sure that all my writing is so self absorbed that no one was too concerned about it. ;) I've had a pretty bad case of the feels lately. It's been disconcerting and hard to deal with. I think I'm keeping it together for the public, but honestly, I'm getting pretty worn out from it. I'm really lucky that I have amazing friends. People I can complain to, people who will listen to my "me's", and people who will then tell me about their new game that they are so excited about because it's a remastered version of nostalgia. ^__^ It keeps a certain amount of normal in my life, which I desperately need.

I think part of my feels is loneliness. I'm surrounded by a variety of people all day, and I don't feel connected to any of them. I have my friends that I talk to, but I have to miss them because they are all so very far away. I miss having someone to go do stuff with. I especially miss my female friends. I've tried making new friends but everyone thinks I'm hitting on them. It's so frustrating. Like, "hey do you want to hang out tonight?" constantly gets a response of "Oh, sorry, I'm not gay."... Damn it.

I'm scared to try to make friends with people I work with, as I'm afraid they will think I'm hitting on them as well and then that's going to go 80 kinds of awkward and possibly cost me my job. I was even desperate enough to try to make friends with my sister. She tolerated it, because she's a good sister, but we both knew that wasn't going to go that well. I just don't know anything about hunting, fishing, football, or Desperate Housewives. At least she knew I wasn't hitting on her. I have read umpteen articles about making friends, but so far none of those tactics have panned out. It doesn't help that as a mother, student, and full time worker, I have a limited amount of time and attention to offer. With that being said, I'm grateful I'm not completely alone. I seriously look forward to graduating with my MBA in December so I can hole up in the game room for a week and do nothing but play games with my friends online. That will be uber fun.

In the meantime, this short post will serve to satiate my guilt at not writing in over a year. If anyone else has ever struggled with sounding like they are hitting on people whilst trying to make friends, I encourage your response so that I can feel like I'm not alone in this. :)

New Year, New Post: My First Broken Heart

So I haven't done much writing in the last two years. It was too painful and tumultuous. I didn't want pity and I didn't want to talk. But I feel like it is time to write about it, and who knows, maybe it will give comfort to someone who is going what I went through, so here it goes:

In May of 2012, I had what doctor's refer to as a missed miscarriage.

I was thirteen weeks pregnant when my baby's heart quit beating.

It was the most gut wrenching, life tearing, heart wrecking thing that has ever happened to me. I went in for a regular ob/gyn appointment alone, and they couldn't find the heartbeat. I told myself it was ok, it had happened before but they eventually found it. But I saw the nurses face and in my heart of hearts I knew something was wrong. When they called in the doctor and the doctor turned to me I could hear a strange buzzing in my ears. When she told me my baby's heart had stopped I teared up. She asked if there was anyone they could call to come get me, I said no, I would call someone. She told me it wasn't my fault, that this happens sometimes when something isn't correct or viable. They gave me some time in the room alone and I called my husband. As I heard him moan,"nooo", I knew that I would never forget that sound. He said he would come to get me. In the meantime I had to call my work, because they expected me to show up after the appointment. So I had to make two calls and tell an intimate partner and a colleague that my baby, my precious baby, was dead. After the phone calls, the nurses ushered me to a lady who is responsible for scheduling patients for surgery. I was still in shock, my ears were still ringing, my heart was still breaking, and my eyes were still burning. I just kept waiting to wake up. Praying to wake up. Wishing I'd wake up. But I was awake.

As they scheduled me for surgery with the cold precision that only an intake specialist can provide, I was told I would have to go to surgery tomorrow. I could carry my dead baby until then. They talked to me about payments and all the other things that intake specialists really care about. I couldn't get out of there fast enough. I wanted to run. I wanted to hide. I wanted to wake up.

As I sat in my car in the parking lot, waiting on my husband to come get me, I cried, and I wailed, and I beat myself up, and I chastised myself for not remembering to take my prenatal vitamin four tuesdays ago, and having that coca cola because I really wanted it. I chastised myself regardless of what the doctor said, because deep down, I KNEW IT WAS MY FAULT.

I don't remember much of the rest of that day. I remember my husband's mom coming over and crying and needing to be comforted, just another reminder of my failure. I killed my baby, I broke my husband's heart, and my mother in laws'. I remember laying in my bed and wishing it would swallow me. I remember having to explain to my daughter that she wouldn't be getting her little brother or sister as soon as she had hoped. I told her that this baby had to go live with grandpa in heaven. I had to be brave for her and not cry. I called someone to watch her for a few days.

The next day I went for surgery. My husband looked haggard, old, and worn out from tears. I probably looked like the death machine I was. I don't remember much of the surgery other than having to wait in the intake lounge for hours and think about the fact that my little bump on my tummy was dead. All my dreams of baby shampoo smells, all my hopes of tiny giggles shared with my daughter and me, all of it was gone. Gone in a day. I remember coming out of surgery. My lips were cracked, I was very pale, and I couldn't stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time. I remember going home and wishing the bed would swallow me again. This awful person.

The next few days were a blur, and I think if I hadn't had my daughter I might not be typing this now. But she returned home and my love for her forced me to take care of the things that needed taking care of. My husband became quieter after that. I received a call from work, asking when I'd be back. I told them I needed a week. I had to go to the ob/gyn for a visit following surgery, and it was explained to me that I had a clotting disorder, that was probably the cause, and I needed to take aspirin for the rest of my life. I did as she asked but didn't really understand or care.

Most of the time, I just lived on guilt. I had complained a lot during my pregnancy because I had been really sick and had awful pains the whole time. So I would look back on it, and think, "it is my fault. I wasn't grateful enough. It is karma. I should not have complained. I should have been joyful." I would think about every bad thing I had ever done in my life and feel like I deserved what happened.

But as life does, it moves on, and I did to. I will never stop thinking about my angel baby. The one I didn't get to keep. When I became pregnant with my son, I was terrified to tell anyone. I didn't want to have to call anyone ever again and tell them my baby died. So I thought I would keep it to myself. I called one friend and asked them what to do. So I went through the first three and a half months of my pregnancy with only my husband and my best friend. I eventually worked up the nerve to tell his mom, and then his mom spread the news to close relatives. Casual friends, work friends, and facebook friends didn't find out until I'd made it to five months. In June of 2013 I had my son via c-section, prematurely. He survived and is a healthy 17 lbs. He is wonderful, and I love him. I love both of my children. But I love my angel baby too.

Some people believe that there is no life after death. Maybe there isn't. I believe there is. Maybe I believe because I have to. Maybe I believe because I want so badly, to see my baby someday. I couldn't tell you. I think we all have to believe what is right for us, as individuals, and that is what is right for me.

As this has been a highly emotional post for me, I am going to get off now and go dry my tears. But for anyone that has ever experienced this loss and is dealing with all of the meaningless platitudes people will give you about how "it was all for the best" and "better now than later" I will say this. They are well meaning and stupid. It hurts and no amount of words are going to make it okay. I understand that and so do you. Let it hurt, and be with people who understand that it has to hurt right now.

Why Girls go for Mean Guys....

So as I was stalking people on Facebook, I came across a status I have seen many times... by many men. "What's the point in being the nice guy when the girls all go for the bad boy?" Well let's analyze it.

Before we go into the reasons of why girls like guys who are less than worthy, stop and take a minute to do a little self reflection.

1. Are you REALLY a good guy? Some people have a very high opinion of their own morality. The thing is, not everyone has the same set of ethical values. So while you might perceive yourself as a "good guy", others may not. Keep this in mind when you are asking yourself why your awesomeness is not enough. Also, ask yourself if the person you are calling "the douchebag" really is a bad guy. Is he honestly bad? Or does he just share different viewpoints? Do you even know this guy? Personally? Second hand knowledge does not tell you anything. We are all guilty of being the first to point out the flaws of others. So be careful about being too judgmental without knowing all of the facts. And for heaven's sake, do NOT base your opinion of someone based on someone else's opinions.

2. The truth hurts. And so does your face. Many people base their choices on physical appearance and attractiveness. Let's be honest with each other. If you are chasing a girl, chances are you think she is foxy. But are you? Do you take time with your appearance? Do you take care of yourself? Are you in the same league as the person you are chasing? You probably based your selection on appearance first and other qualities later. Should she respond any differently?

3. I'm a Loser Baby. Are you date-able? Do you have your own life? Do you work/go to school/volunteer? Do you have hobbies and interests that are interesting to her? Or are you a broke down dude living with mom and dad and playing on your computer all day?

Okay. There's more criteria in self reflection, but let's stop there. If you do not meet the criteria listed above, please understand: I think you are perfect just the way you are. Sometimes I just think it is helpful to give yourself an honest evaluation of your qualities. That being said, if you are on the same moral compass as the girl you like, attractive to her, and have a life all your own, let's proceed to some of the reasons that she is chasing Jo the Jerk instead of wonderful perfect you.

1. People date the people they think they deserve to have. The people we choose to partner with are a reflection of how we see ourselves. If we see ourselves as good people, we generally find good people to share ourselves with. If we think we are low down pieces of trash, well.... you get where this is going. Self image and self valuation are KEY to the partners we pick. With that being said, understand: You CANNOT make her realize how awesome she is. Only she can do that, and she must do it for herself. Every individual places their own value. If she thinks she's dirt, that is how she is going to expect to be treated. "What if I treat her like dirt?" you may ask. Well, she might be into you, until she realizes she deserves better, or, at the very least could be treated like dirt by someone a little bit higher up than you. Either way you will lose your chance at a meaningful relationship. And if your just looking to score and not looking for a meaningful relationship, refer to #1 in the self reflection column.

2. Mr. Two Face and the Scar He Leaves. Most girls dated the good guy. Well, they thought he was the good guy. Then in privacy a little while down the relationship road, he reared his ugly little head that he hid behind the nice guy mask and hurt her. Very badly. So now, when she sees a REAL nice guy, she assumes that's his mask and she isn't falling for that again. She may date guys who don't deserve her, but at least there are no surprises. Keep in mind, the only way to beat this monster is just to continue being the awesome guy that you are, and hope she snaps out of it.

3. Rough-housing. Some girls like the jerk for reasons that you may not be able to understand. Maybe being submissive is her thing. Maybe a guy being a jerk is what gets her rocks off? Unless you're sure that is not the case, approach with caution. And remember about the not being judgmental part here. Just because it isn't your cup of tea doesn't make it wrong. The heart wants what the heart wants. And the body wants what the body wants.

4. Status Update. That jerk may come with perks you can't understand. Perhaps she feels that he will improve her social status. Maybe he has a condo in Maui. Maybe he will let her do that thing that no one else will let her do. Maybe his sister is her best friend and she feels like she has to be with him to be family with her bestie. Before you say, "OMG what a psycho!" or "Oh wow how shallow!" remember that we left our "I'm the judge" pants at home today.

5. What's my Age again? Some girls are not emotionally mature enough to be attracted to the nice guy. They like the excitement, the drama, and the attention the mean guy brings to them. There is absolutely nothing you can do about this. Honestly though, do you want to start a relationship with someone who is emotionally stunted right now? Which brings me to...

6. Beer Goggles. You think she is perfect. You think she could do so much better. Honestly, love and attraction can blind us to some really poor qualities people possess. Take the beer goggles off and re-evaluate. Is this girl really the girl you think she is?

7. Ms. Fix it. She wants a fixer upper. A project. She wants to be the woman who can make him change when no one else has been able to. She wants to be the one and only person who can turn the evil madman into the gentle giant. She thinks she can. Because she wants to. She wants to play out Beauty and the Beast in real life. Again, nothing you can do. You don't have the beastie reputation.

So these are just a few reasons why you might not be getting love from that honey bee. With that being said remember:

It Goes Both Ways. There may be a girl reading your status update and wanting to strangle you right now. She may be thinking, "Why does he keep going after psycho bitches when I am right here!" There are plenty of guys who exhibit the same kind of behaviors as their female peers.

There is Hope... Somewhere. Somewhere is a person who deserves you just as you are in your own awesomeness.

* Note from the author

All of the above writing is under the impression that we are not talking about someone who is in serious harm because of their significant other. If you, or someone you know, is in a truly abusive/dangerous relationship then you need to get involved with a counselor instead of reading my silly blog. Keep in mind all above commentary is based solely on my life experiences and I am not an expert, psychologist, spurned good guy, evil man, or single lady (anymore). Have a GREAT night! :)

Well, it has taken a lot of thinking, a lot of wondering whether this was appropriate to write about. I'm not sure it is or isn't. However it happened, and this is my opportunity to attempt acceptance. I am a very lucky person, I have a great spouse, a great kid, and a pretty cool job. Yet I am devastated. Because tomorrow will be an anniversary for me. As will every Monday, at least for now. In February I got the best news in the world. I was pregnant with my second child. At first, all i could do was panic. I didn't have room for another child in my pitifully tiny home. I didn't have money to afford all the expenses that a new child brings. This wasn't planned, this wasn't on the agenda, and I had no idea what to do. So I did what I always do and went on my regular routine. I did tell people about it, after a month or so. I couldn't keep it to myself. Along the way somewhere, I became excited and happy. I began planning. I began the process of purchasing a bigger home. I budgeted my finances. I began to save for the newest addition to my family. I began to plan my new life. I began to dream and hope and be happy. Even when I was giving my breakfast back to the toilet I was daydreaming about a new baby to love and hold. A new sibling for my little girl. Bringing a special new life into the world to love the way I love my daughter. I thought about the smell of baby powder, the softness of new baby hair. I thought about names, and clothes, and things we could all do as a family. I walked through baby departments and examined possible cribs, high chairs, and little baby socks. I thought about my new life, with a brand new extension to my family. Of course, I was still physically miserable. All the hormonal changes attacked my body like a plague of locusts, ripping from it any ounce of health. My acne flared up, my hair went crazy. I was not the ideal person to pose for the beauty of motherhood. I had to run, often, to make it to the bathroom before giving back my breakfast, lunch, or dinner. I had pain, weakness, and severe headaches. I had to stop all the medications I had been on for the health of my baby. I missed my Mt. Dew something fierce. I didn't do everything perfect. I didn't do everything right. And lord forgive me, I complained. I complained about my aches and pains, and I complained about the stress. I did not show the kind of excitement I should have. I did not thank the lord every day for my blessing. I carried on as I do, and went to my thirteen week check up with the doctor. I waited in the room, chatting with another expectant mother about our kids, our excitement, our weird body changes. I was happy. I went in and they took out a machine to check for my baby's heartbeat. They couldn't find it. I wasn't worried, it had happened before. They would do an ultrasound and find it then. Sure enough, they took me to the ultrasound room. They laid me down and started. Then they called the doctor in. "Is there a problem?" I asked. As the doctor told me that my baby's heart had stopped beating, that my baby had died around 12 weeks, I laid there and allowed the tears to well in my eyes. I let them fall and did not stop them. My baby was dead. And all I could do was hate myself. My doctor began speaking, saying it wasn't my fault it was nothing I did... I wanted to run away. I asked for a moment and I called the people I needed to. My husband cried "No!" He wailed in the phone. Not only was my baby dead, but I had devastated the person I loved. I was a monster. I cried as the doctor explained to me the necessary procedure I would undergo. I cried through booking the appointment. I have cried since then, at least once a day. I prayed it was a dream, I prayed it was a nightmare. I prayed that they were wrong and there would be an answer. But nothing changed. Nothing will. Two weeks ago Monday, the doctor performed what she called a D&C. Evidentally they do that to remove the "tissue" as she called it. They put me under, and I woke up with an empty uterus and an empty heart. It hurts. Their are no words to describe how I feel, truly. I feel guilty, for not doing better, for not being more grateful for what I had, for not being the kind of person who gets to keep their baby. I feel like I'm being ungrateful for the child that I do have. I feel guilt mounted on guilt. I constantly rack my brains for all the things I could have done differently, all the things I should have not said, all the things I should have, for all the different ways in which I could have been BETTER. For all the ways I should be BETTER. I feel guilt for being a failure. I feel guilty for still wanting a baby. I feel guilty for feeling the hurt, the pain, the loss, and even the guilt. I feel guilty for not being stronger. It eats at me, this guilt. And I feel loss. Oh I feel it. I may have never seen my baby, or held my baby in my arms, but it doesn't change the fact that I hurt. It doesn't change the hurt I see in my husband's eyes. It doesn't change the aching in my heart, the massive gnawing in the bottom of my gut. The stinging in my eyes from holding back the tears, day in and out. I am afraid. Afraid that this is just the beginning. Afraid to ever try again. Afraid I will have to live this nightmare again. I have heard the billions of platitudes of "it's all for the best,""it wasn't meant to be,""things happen for a reason." The last one I believe. Things happen for a reason. The reason was that I wasn't good enough. I wasn't grateful enough. I can only hope for a second chance. Hope that I can prove that I will do whatever it takes to be a better mother, a better person.

The Bathing Suit Blues

So it's time to get a bathing suit.
I put it off for three years, but I'm running out of excuses. My little girl really wants to go build a sandcastle. And she is my reason for almost every idiotic thing I do. Wish me luck because it's not going to be fun.

I used to LOVE shopping for bathing suits as a child and teenager. It was a lot of fun, running around trying on different looks, and being allowed to walk around in public with about the same coverage as underwear. I always thought I looked so cute, or sexy as I got older. Frilly little pink one pieces gave way to the hibiscus decorated tankini, and then upon graduation, the slinky little bikini and bottoms that only covered half my rear (which is the only bathing suit I have left, and it says CORONA and there is no way I'm going out in THAT.)

Now I worry about everything- what if people see to much of my rear?... my boobs are not going to fill THAT up, or if they are they will overflow THAT one.. good lord. What if people see my scars? What if I'm the beached whale they make fun of?? Because the good lord knows I've made fun of more fat people in bathing suits than probably anyone else, because when I was a teenager, all 98 lbs of me thought it was a riot! Especially the ones with the audacity to wear thong bikinis and bright yellow apparel. I'm afraid I'm going to get what I dished out. Now I feel guilty and self conscious.

Yet I still can't bring myself to wear the adult one pieces. That to me is worse than being audaciously exposed. Because I feel like, if I put one of those on, I will automatically turn forty, smoke menthols, and gripe about not seeing Days of Our Lives. Plus I really don't think they are very flattering for people with a tummy. After all, if you wear a purple one piece you are drawing attention to the whole package, while if you wear the bikini at least people are only checking out the top and bottom. The middle kind of disappears in the face of such colorful fabric.

What are you wearing this summer? I'm going to look this weekend and any suggestions are welcome...

So yeah...

Sorry it's been a while. I've been dealing with stupid drama, don't ask me about it because I don't want to talk about it.

So elections are over, some of my guys won, some lost, and some are still running. Well the two offices are for sheriff and senator. I'm voting Halter again, and for those of you who don't know, I'm voting for Ledbetter again. So there's my vote, I'm not ashamed.

On another note, I wanted to talk about something that has to deal with my recent drama, but it also has to deal with society.

Sexism.

I used to think sexism didn't exist anymore. That we lived in a country where I was equal to a boy no matter what happened in the past. Unfortunately I found out I was wrong as I got older.

I'm all for being a girl. I don't have a problem letting my kid play princess dress up. I'm not an uber-feminist. I'm not even one to get angry at stuff.

When I was a teenager, I applied for a job at a car dealership. I walked in, and before being asked what I was applying for, I was told that they "didn't have any jobs for girls right now." What they meant was that there were no secretary positions open. After all, a girl can't possibly work in the garage, wash cars, or be a salesman... at least that was their opinion. I went home, livid, and told my parents what had happened. They shrugged it off and told me to let it go, so I did.

Later in life I had a job where my boss told me to dress more provocatively. I just quit. I didn't fight it. I just quit.

Because what's the use?

Today I have to say is a world where men expect women to do everything but don't want to give them any credit for it.

My mom worked, cooked all the meals, and cleaned the house. She even mowed the lawns and tended to all of her children's needs on top of these things.

What did my dad do? He worked.

Not to say that my dad is lazy, but that's society today. The only thing we got from equal rights was more shit to deal with. Now we are expected to work full time and do all the household chores, cooking, and child rearing. It's bullshit.

On top of that, let's look at divorce. You get a divorce as a woman, and you want custody of your kids? You are probably going to get it, but here's the stuff they don't tell you- you fight and win full custody of your child. Well your psychotic ex still gets to see that kid, even if he's behind in child support. It's harder to get child support than it is for him to see his child. He gets the easy way out. He gets none of the responsibility and all of the benefits. What do you get? All the debt it costs to raise a child. All of the responsibility. All of the stuff that makes you a REAL parent. I hate the system. It's unfair and biased towards men. I hate just about everything right now quite honestly. This whole country is crap.

Maybe I'll feel better tomorrow. Or maybe I'll move.

My life...

So last night I watched "Motherhood", it was a movie that only a few people went to see in theaters. Technically it was a box office failure. I watched it anyway- I like Uma Thurman and the previews didn't look bad. Well- it wasn't the best film, it wasn't the worst, but all in all I could've lived without ever watching it.

The movie is about a married mother of two, living in big city New York. It is set within the space of a day- she has to live her life, run errands, prepare for her daughter's six birthday, all while competing in a blog contest and running her own blog.

I don't live in New York, so I can't say much about whether or not the movie was realistic. I thought the main character was the most dysfunctional of the lot, spending way too much time complaining. The preview showed it as comical and sardonic. It really fell flat as far as comedy. The only funny part involved urine.

But it wasn't bad, and trust me I have seen some AWFUL films.

On a personal note I interviewed today for a job.
I got my degree in history and I am proud of it, but unfortunately there is not a lot of calling in my area of expertise. So I applied to work at a pharmacy. Part of me is sad about this- because I know it's not what I want to do in life. However, it is a job, could be a career, and there is no harm in learning a new trade. I might actually be good at it. If I train under the pharmacist, I could take a test and get licensed as a pharmacy technician. I hear they make pretty good money.

In a time of economic crisis, I am grateful to even have the ability to apply for a job. So many people are out of work that I have no right to complain about "not following my dreams." Reality tells me that this could be good stable work that will help me provide for my family. Dreams are for children.

Or are they? There's no real reason why I can't continue with what I want, if I only do it in my spare time... I think I used to be really good at writing, so maybe I could work on that. Not in the sense that I write here, but in a bigger sense- like a novel. That could be really neat. I've been working on one as a pet project, but it's kind of stalled out. Maybe being busy with a new job will help me get a fresh perspective.

On a side note, elections are coming up. I'm voting for Chad Jordan for Hot Spring County Judge and Halter for Senate. But who do I want for the other offices?? I don't know much about the candidates in that arena.

Sometimes I feel overwhelmed with everything. I don't know who to talk to about it, because I've found that most people are just as overwhelmed and confused as I am. The world is a scary place. I can never take my eyes of my child, or she might be jerked out of a shopping cart while I peruse the sauce shelf. I can't hire a babysitter I haven't known for more than five years. I can't trust in the kindness of strangers- if I have a flat tire, I just need to fix it myself or lock myself in the car. Because a stranded tiny lady is a good target.

But I remember being able to play in my parent's yard without supervision. I remember my mom leaving her car unlocked at the grocery store. I remember my dad picking up people with car trouble just to be nice.

What happened?

Happy Mother's Day

As a mother, I took my day today. I don't feel guilty for being late writing my blog and I don't feel guilty being lazy all day. I did think this was the perfect opportunity to have a post about moms. I am one of the luckiest women in the world. I have a husband who understands that all household duties are not my responsibility. He helps me with my child, he helps me with the housework. I wish all women were that lucky. Quite often men leave the responsibility of child rearing and housework to their wives solely, even if their wife has a full time job as well. It's not right, and it's not fair. But it is common. My mother's job was to cook, clean, and iron. She had to work a full time job and still find time to bathe, groom, and feed her children. She took the time for parent teacher conferences, ballet recitals, and award ceremonies. She found time to teach her girls how to read, write, and apply eyeliner on with perfection. My dad is a good dad, but I don't remember him preparing a meal for us or ironing clothes. He has never changed a diaper in his life. Being a mother is a full time job, and one that often comes with little appreciation and no compensation. This is not to say it's a bad job, because it is in fact on of the greatest jobs in the world. Some people think their mothers are not the best in the world- and some mothers may be awful. But as you take some time today, remember one thing- regardless of how good or bad of a mother you had, you would not be here without her. She gave you life. So every good experience you have, you owe to her. I do not say this from a high horse of experience- my own daughter is only three. But I say it as a kid who was raised by their mother. My mom made some mistakes. I disagree with her more than I agree with her, and she tells me quite often how weird I am. But every good thing I have in my life, big or small, I owe to her. Because she made the decision to stay pregnant for nine miserable months and have a cesarean section. So regardless of what she's done, I owe her my life. It seems like what I give her one day a year is nothing more than a pittance of what she's done for me.

Welfare- The Good, The Bad... The Drug Tested?!

My post tonight, although I made one today already, is about a touchy subject for some and a moot point for others- the subject is welfare.
I thought of it because I came across a facebook page " Drug Tests for Welfare." The site promotes people who are on welfare to be drug tested.

Here are my thoughts on the government welfare and government freebies.

I applied for food stamps in the past, and I received about $250.00 for groceries each month. I know a lot of people are against it, and it IS embarrasing, but I had Kendra to think of. At the time I was a single mom and a college student, struggling to make ends meet. So I swallowed my pride and went through the harrowing ordeal of obtaining aid. It was one of the most embarrasing situations in my life. Not only did I have to undergo the third degree and lose every ounce of self respect, but what's worse is I had to tell my employers and my landlord what I was doing because they were required to fill out forms in order for me to get aid.

Here's the thing that bothered me though- I went through checkpoint after checkpoint- filling out information, sending in documentation, interviewing, having people fill out all these forms. It was just Kendra and I in the house at this point and I made about fifty dollars a week. I couldn't work more due to classes, and as I explained to my case worker, I was going to school so that I would NEVER have to go to their office after graduation. I was going to school to provide a better and more stable life for me and my child. That same office gave a single, healthy, middle aged man a brief glance, a smidgen of paperwork and he received $1200.00 a month from the government. He had no kids, and no obligations. He wasn't laid off and he could have found a job. I see him at a local diner quite often. I sacrificed my self respect for $250.00 a month to feed my kid, and he gets a month's salary plus his electricity bill covered.

Why?

I still don't know. But I just am not sure that's how the system is supposed to work.

A lot of people told me it was my fault that I was on food stamps anyway. I shouldn't have had a child if I couldn't afford it. In the truth, they are right in my case, but not in others. I personally have no problem taking birth control, and I'm a pro-choice girl. Keeping Kendra was my decision. However, there are people out there who have an ethical belief that birth control and abortions are wrong. Many of these same people do not believe that a wife has a right to deny her husband his fun. I do not believe that those people should be punished because of their beliefs. But by the same token, if these people are not having a child because of their ethical beliefs, it is their responsibility. Like in my case. I made the choice and I stand by it. I do not regret the choice that I made, but I also don't expect my government to be responsible for it. At the same time, I don't mind taking a helping hand when it's offered. I don't ask for charity, but if it's handed to me, I'm not going to turn it down. Because when it comes down to the line, you are taking that away from your child, not yourself. I could live on ramen noodles, but my little girl couldn't. And while I would love to have another child, I know I am not financially able to right now. Now that I know the costs of having a child, I am taking a little responsibility and making the decision to wait. If an accident occurs, so be it, I will love the next child as much as the first, but I'm not going to TRY to have another baby.

But I digress... the facebook page I found promotes drug testing for welfare people. I support that. I don't think you should be allowed to have welfare if you are on illegal drugs, but by the same token I don't think you should get to keep your kids if you are on it either. Many companies drug test you before you are allowed to make the money, so the welfare folks should have to take a test before they are allowed to get the money. I am so sick and tired of seeing doped up moms dragging their unwashed child through the grocery store, and walking out with a case of beer, a pack of cigarettes, and a case of spagghetios. It's just not right.

One of the arguments against drug testing people who receive welfare is that the cost would outweigh the benefit. I disagree. If we can keep one parent from being on drugs so that they can feed their kid, then the benefit is definitely greater. And you know what?? They are going to need workers to do all that drug testing... do I hear the sound of new jobs echoing in the distance?!?! Sure it will be a low paying job, because you would work for the government, but that's better than the amount you are making today if you are unemployed like most of us.

Many people blame society today. I don't. I blame those women. PERSONAL RESPONSIBILITY. They choose to put themselves before their kids. They choose to do drugs. Let them deal with the consequences. I miss being a party girl sometimes. It was fun. But I had a child and that's all there is too it. I can miss it all I want, but I'll never do it again. I have someone else to think about besides myself.

I'm happy in Arkansas

When I was a kid, I couldn’t wait to leave Arkansas and go to big places with big cities, traffic, and noise. I thought that everything that was worth seeing had to be away from where I was. Now that I have a child of my own, I am starting to realize how stupid I was.
I remember when they put a stoplight in our town. It is still the only stoplight we have, and one of the main ways in which to give directions around here. “When you get to THE stoplight, turn left.” “You know where the stoplight is? Well it’s a quarter of a mile past the stoplight.” Before there was a stoplight, there was a yellow blinking light that told people it was a four-way intersection.
I remember that when I was a child, I knew that anyone I saw in the bait and tackle store would probably know my mom and dad. Everyone greeted my parents, or my parents greeted them. “Hey Mark, how ya been?” “Hey feller, whatcha know good?” I grew up surrounded by extended kinfolk as well as my nuclear family. My mom didn’t really need me to hold her hand in the store, or for me to be in sight at all times. When I was growing up, I didn’t know a thing about kids being snatched away from their parents in public places. Because in almost every public place I went, everyone knew who I was. It was the same for other children. My kindergarten classmates where referred to as “So and so’s young ‘un.”
I spent my early childhood in a small house with a yard, surrounded by woods. Getting to our house meant going down a dirt road. My nightlight was a jar of lightning bugs I had caught earlier that evening, and I cherished it. Because I knew in the morning my mother would make me let them go and I’d have to catch a whole new set the following evening. I chased frogs and lizards around the porch, and explored the nearby woods. My sister showed me a creek that, to us, was a hidden oasis unveiled before our eyes. My home was a fairy tale land, full of unspoiled natural adventures.
When I stepped away from the front door of my parent’s home, I was a Choctaw warrior, living off the land. I made forts and planted seeds. I drank the sweet nectar of honeysuckle, and ate the blackberries straight from the briar. I engineered spindly little bows and bent arrows from sticks and grass. I danced in the summer rain. And if I was wearing Oshkosh overalls and jelly sandals, it was inconsequential to me. I remember the mimosa trees, and how they looked like deep jungle palms to me, especially when their feathery pink flowers were in bloom. I remember the azaleas I referred to as the Hawaiian flowers, because they looked like the pretty flowers you always saw behind the ears of Hawaiian girls in movies. I remember waiting for the jonquils to spring into bloom for Easter bouquets that would be handled till wilting.
I grew up on a diet of green beans, fried potatoes, pork chops, and iced teas. I shelled purple hull peas with my grandmother, and delighted in the violet shade my fingers carried for hours afterward. I found that shucking corn was not nearly as fun. I spent more than one day barefoot in dry dirt gardens picking squash and cucumber with my grandmother. I always thought her hands were beautiful. My parents took me to the lake during the summer, and I found a pirate’s treasure in tiny clam shells on Lake DeGray. My father would take me to the river to look for arrowheads, and when I caught my first sun perch I was the proudest little girl to walk the earth. My great grandfather would take me on walks, and I would pick every wild flower I could find. My mother called them weeds, but I assured her they were not, because they were pretty. There was an abandoned house full of foxes, and my grandmother would take my sister and I on bicycle rides so we could try and see them peeking out. My great grandmother would make chocolate pie and that was everyone’s favorite. No one could ever make a pie as good as she did.
I had an immense rock collection which I found in my own backyard, which was mainly made up of different types of quartz crystals. Living in Arkansas I saw so many types of lizards, snakes, and frogs, that when my mother bought a book to identify them, it became my own personal guide for entertainment. I would find a frog and put it in a jar until I was sure what kind of frog it was. Then I would let it go and search for something else.
I’m sure that people who’ve grown up in a big city know a lot more than me about some things- for instance, I never learned how to parallel park. But living in my small rural town, I gathered an interest in biology, geology, archeology, and an appreciation of history that I might not have found otherwise. I learned basic survival skills, like what natural plants are edible, what reptiles and plants are poisonous, and how to fish with a piece of Arkansas bamboo cane as well as a fishing rod. I used my imagination and played in the sun and rain, instead of playing gameboy ds. I learned kindness to strangers, instead of fear and cynicism for others.
How could I ask for more for my child?

Princesses are.... bad?!

It seems like every journal, newspaper editorial, or anything else I've come across lately has nothing better to do than malign the "princess craze" that every toddler is into. From bashing the Princess and the Frog to some woman bitching about someone at the grocery store saying, "hey princess" to her little girl, I just feel like I've had enough. Seriously, get over it.

Of course I understand that some parents are concerned about the princess craze- it's teaching my child a horrible gender identity, it's teaching my child that she has to be skinny with a big head, it's teaching my child...blahblahblahblah.

Okay, I know this is really mean of me, and I should know better, but I feel the need to remind a few people...

YOU TEACH YOUR CHILDREN. YOU DECIDE WHAT THEY DO AND WHAT THEY WATCH. YOU KNOW WHY? BECAUSE YOU ARE THE PARENT.

You don't want your kids to watch princesses or be princesses, tell them no. End of story. That's the great thing about parenthood. When they are that young it is as easy as going to the television set and clicking the "off" button. That's what it's there for.

But honestly- I don't see the harm. I grew up watching princess films- I also took ballet and had big poofy dresses and got to wear lipstick and be in pageants. Did it give me a bad outlook on my gender role or on how I should look? Nope. Being a teenager did that almost completely by itself. You want to blame someone? Blame it on the seventeen magazine you get for your thirteen year old daughter that has twenty or so articles on how to cut calories and the rest on what you SHOULD be wearing to look sexy. Yep. I said it, SEXY. You can find that word in seventeen magazine A LOT.

But instead of blaming it on the media, why not take a little initiative? When you are putting on make-up and turning your hair colors it wasn't meant to be, don't tell your child that looks don't matter. Because that's kind of hypocritical. Instead of being scared because your daughter wants to wear pink, and oh my god that "isn't a gender neutral color"- remind yourself that it is just a color. We got lots of 'em.

I just think some people are going way overboard. And keep in mind I say SOME people. Many people do have valid points about the films and toys available for little girls. The people I'm mentioning are the fanatics who seem to go in an entirely to severe direction with it. I mean yes, the early Disney films, women were idiots waiting on the prince to ride his white horse and save them (e.g. Snow White). But later on we get Alladin- where Jasmine is the princess and he's just a homeless man, Meg (Hercules) who is vivaciously proud of her femininity but strong enough to stand up to the God Hades and lose her life for what's right, Mulan, the woman who saves China, and Tiana- the hardworking waitress who takes care of herself in the 1920's New Orleans (The Princess and the Frog).

And even if princesses are bad role models, which I disagree with- take a walk down the toy isle. If it's not princesses it's little baby dolls that pee, play stoves and kitchen sinks, tea sets, and a myriad of other things that look an awful lot like training your little girl to be a housewife with eight babies. And I haven't found a fat barbie doll yet- but I look every time we go.

I must also mention this- they are CARTOONS. If cartoons were realistic, I am pretty sure my little girl wouldn't want to watch them. They are meant to be out of this world fanciful beautifully illustrated glittery images of wonder.

My little girl watches princess movies. You know what? She doesn't even like pink. Her favorite color is yellow. She doesn't care about the prince, she just likes the singing and the slapstick humor. She wants to be a teacher when she grows up, and she told me she doesn't want kids- she said I could have more and then she could just play with them. She is learning to cook from her step dad because that's what he does for a living. She doesn't like makeup, but she loves painting her fingernails because she likes the way they look when they are painted- she said it makes them look bloody (A little disturbing, but hey it's not gender biased now is it?). Overall I don't think my three year old is going through a gender identity crisis- I think she's a pretty normal little girl, bloody nails aside, with a piqued imagination and a joy found in watching an alternate reality made in animated film.

And really if there is one thing I'd want my daughter to learn from princess movies- it's this- be kind, be compassionate, believe in yourself, and it's okay to want things and go for them. Because I haven't found a princess movie yet that doesn't have that criteria. And if she wants to wear makeup and dye her hair so be it- but I'll teach her the same things my mom taught me- makeup isn't to impress boys or fill a gender role. It's something you put on because you want to be a little artistic with the canvas that god gave you. And hair dye is permanent. Real permanent. So if some gets on your face, you'll look like you have sideburns for weeks.

On another note, what do you think? Do you think it's bad that little girls watch Disney Princess films? Do you think that it gives them a bad example of a gender role?