It's interesting how important a moment can be. Not just in the sense that several moments pasted together create a memory, but in a more broken down sense. A moment can define you. It can spell out the content of your character as easily as if you'd be working on it your whole life. It can build you up. A single shining moment can tell people that you are someone to be trusted, relied upon, supported. It can also have the opposite effect. It can tell people that you are not worthy...of their time, their effort, their emotion. Moments are monumental.
Going through everyday life though, you really don't think of it in those terms. You look back on memories, a cluster of moments that changed your life...but you rarely, before making those moments, consider how they're going to effect the overall direction your life is headed in. That's a pretty scary thing. You never really know where you're going until you've already made the decisions that are going to take you there...those moments. And...if they're the wrong ones, how do you recover from that?
I guess the trick is to learn to change your way of thinking. Instead of the big picture, look at the smaller one. See the end result, but pay attention to how you're getting there. Making circles and standing still confused for hours before getting there will still get you there, but will leave frustration in your wake. Analyzing the situation, evaluating your moves, and making them without hesitation gets you there faster, with more progress. Which would you rather be? Do you want to be the person that wakes up in 10 years and says "how did i get here" or "this is not the life i wanted", or the person who wakes up in 10 years and says "I got myself here" or "I made my dreams come true"?
Life can change in a second. An instant. A moment. You can be the villain, or you can be the hero. You can be booed off stage, or you can sing your heart out. You can back down, or rise to the occasion. The importance of a moment is choosing to be Somebody. Whoever that somebody is.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Friday, July 20, 2012
My Fam{ily}
What is family? A hand on your shoulder when the day has been long? A finger to wipe the tears as they stream down your face? A wolf at the door, protecting you from harm? A kind word when the rest of the world has turned it's back? Truly, it depends on the person, the circumstance, the people. I have a very blended family, and for that, I feel I'm grateful. As you make your way through life, you come across people. Some change your life for the better and then leave, some change your life for the worse and then leave, and others....change your life profoundly, and they stay. And if you're lucky, they make you better. They add something you've been missing, and you do the same for them. I can say that I'm blessed to have such people in my life. I was 15 when I met my first *REAL* boyfriend, and by that I mean, it wasn't just holding hands between classes and writing his name all over my notebook. (I totally did those things, but there were other things too.) I never imagined when I met this guy, that he'd effectively change my whole life. But truthfully, he did. Our relationship, in its entirety, lasted for about 5 years. We were high school sweethearts, and we were in love. We made some mistakes, and broke some other people's hearts, but what we were left with was something neither of us could deny, or regret....a family. Complete with a little boy, all our own, who looks just like his daddy, especially when he smiles. What my relationship with him ALSO brought me was a mother. A woman who would quickly become as influential in my life as my own mother, a woman who I'd share many giggles and secrets with, a best friend. It also gave me an Aunt...someone to spend time with, to laugh with, someone who gets drunk just as quickly as I do. Recently, it gave me a dad. As supportive and loving as I could ask for. He's as nerdy as I am, and as funny as I am, and as different as I am. He laughs at the funny things i laugh at, and he gets me. I don't know how, but some days, it feels like he's known me my whole life. With my dad, came a little girl. She's just 6 years old, and she's amazing. She's blond, with the deepest blue eyes you've ever seen in your life, and she thinks I hung the moon. She's my little sister. My best friend...has been my best friend for 12 years now. It's weird to think we've been at it this long. When you're in middle school, you don't imagine that the friends you're making are the ones you'll take with you the rest of your life. For her though, that was true. She's as much my sister as it's possible to be, which is good because I never had one of my own. She balances out my crazy, and I hers. We've been through a lot together, and I expect much more to come. Now, this boy and I broke up a LOOOONG time ago, and all that remains are the memories, and the tight knit family that he and I created together. He has since married a girl, who is great for him, and they have another child of their own. She's fantastic to my son, I truly couldn't ask for a more loving stepmother, aside from other feelings. He has introduced her into our crazy family, as he once introduced me, and they've been at it for 3 years or so now. And me? I've been through my share of hardships, including failed marriage, and heartache....but I stand here today, in love with someone else myself. Daniel and I have been dating for 2 years and 3 months now (if you count from the day we met) and we're taking it slow this time. As with any relationship, it has its ups and downs, but he loves my boys, and he loves me...and I couldn't ask for too much more than that. In addition to this side of my family, I have one all my own. Complete with parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. You'll hear more about them in my next post. I guess what I'm trying to get at is...blood doesn't necessarily make family. Family are the people who gather around the table every Sunday to just be together. Family are the people who stand up for you, when they can see that you just don't have the strength to stand up for yourself anymore. Family makes you aware of everything you are, everything you can be, and are also the ones to let you know everything you're not---and how to fix it. With a family as diverse and interesting as ours, there's bound to be some misunderstandings, some fights, and some silent treatments, but we always get over it...and we always come out stronger than we once were. These relationships know nothing of distance or time, or disagreements. We are, as we've always been. Together. In the end, your family is just made up of all the people who have always been there for you. And if you're as lucky as I am, to have a circle of so many incredible people in your life, then I'd say you're not doing to badly for yourself. Life is hard, and it's a journey, but it's easier when you have amazing people to take it with.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Say It Out Loud
There are days where I feel like a walking train wreck. There are days where the pain feels so raw that it takes everything inside of me just to crawl out of bed. There are days when I still feel like she's with me, like I'm carrying her, a whole year and a half later. There's pain. A lot of pain. And then, almost as if there wasn't, I snap out of it. I come out of the trance that is the anguish, and I talk about her A LOT. My facebook drowns in memory of her, and all I really want is to scream her name from the mountain tops.
So i do.
People who have not experienced loss of this kind don't understand. Many of them have a hard time relating, or talking about it. What is there really to say about a child who's life ended so suddenly?
What isn't there to say?
Isabella (or Bells as I call her) IS a sister. She's a daughter, and grand daughter, a niece, a cousin, and a best friend. She was loved, anticipated, played with, talked about. She LIVED. You could never talk about her enough. I could go on for days about her, and the short 23 weeks she lived inside of me. I could talk about my cravings, about her kicks, about her life. And I'll always remember with a smile on my face. Even if I'm smiling through the tears.
I'm not alone.
All over the country, and all over the world are mother's and father's experiencing this same loss. Dealing with this same hardship. Dying to scream their names, dying for ANYONE to want to listen. There are families, just like ours who are trying to cope, trying to create a new "normal". One that DOESN'T involve basic needs for that baby that they didn't get to take home. One that DOES involve trying to include her, keep her in your life, and keep her in your family when everyone else wants to forget. When everyone else tries to forget. Parents though, they don't. And they never will.
For this reason, the work that Carrie and Jonathan do is extraordinary for parents like us. They too, have experienced a loss. Their daughter, Elena is an angel. A fact that is hard to face, and a reality that never goes away. Because of the impact she made on their lives, they have started a movement. STILL Project is geared towards gaining awareness about a topic that at times can be "taboo". They're encouraging families that have experienced a loss to #SayItOutLoud. Their project is going to tell the stories of parents all over the world who want to share their stories, who want the world to know who their Angel Babies are. Their mission is exceptional, and so is their compassion. Today, and everyday, we will support this movement, and follow wherever it leads us. For the parents that participate, the world will know about their loss. For the parents that don't, they'll have learned to open up, to talk about it, to love, to mourn, and to live again.
They'll learn to say it out loud.
So i do.
People who have not experienced loss of this kind don't understand. Many of them have a hard time relating, or talking about it. What is there really to say about a child who's life ended so suddenly?
What isn't there to say?
Isabella (or Bells as I call her) IS a sister. She's a daughter, and grand daughter, a niece, a cousin, and a best friend. She was loved, anticipated, played with, talked about. She LIVED. You could never talk about her enough. I could go on for days about her, and the short 23 weeks she lived inside of me. I could talk about my cravings, about her kicks, about her life. And I'll always remember with a smile on my face. Even if I'm smiling through the tears.
I'm not alone.
All over the country, and all over the world are mother's and father's experiencing this same loss. Dealing with this same hardship. Dying to scream their names, dying for ANYONE to want to listen. There are families, just like ours who are trying to cope, trying to create a new "normal". One that DOESN'T involve basic needs for that baby that they didn't get to take home. One that DOES involve trying to include her, keep her in your life, and keep her in your family when everyone else wants to forget. When everyone else tries to forget. Parents though, they don't. And they never will.
For this reason, the work that Carrie and Jonathan do is extraordinary for parents like us. They too, have experienced a loss. Their daughter, Elena is an angel. A fact that is hard to face, and a reality that never goes away. Because of the impact she made on their lives, they have started a movement. STILL Project is geared towards gaining awareness about a topic that at times can be "taboo". They're encouraging families that have experienced a loss to #SayItOutLoud. Their project is going to tell the stories of parents all over the world who want to share their stories, who want the world to know who their Angel Babies are. Their mission is exceptional, and so is their compassion. Today, and everyday, we will support this movement, and follow wherever it leads us. For the parents that participate, the world will know about their loss. For the parents that don't, they'll have learned to open up, to talk about it, to love, to mourn, and to live again.
They'll learn to say it out loud.
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
That Feeling....
It hits you. Most of the time before you ever have the chance to see it coming and run from it. It consumes you-crashing over you like a wave and taking you down...down to your knees, begging for relief from the storm.
It's PANIC. It's FEAR. It's HURT. It's LOSS.
Maybe it was a song, playing on the radio---that always reminds you of her.
Maybe it was a picture...and hand, or a foot. That looked just a little like hers.
Maybe it was a smell....a gentle reminder of a time when she was.
Maybe it was a taste...a familiar craving...that you associate with that person.
It's GRIEF.
Whatever sparks the memory, it stops you in it's tracks. It owns you, and all you can do it just succumb to it. You close your eyes and just let it be, and you realize....you could see her whole life in these few minutes if you just tried hard enough. You think about the person she was, the person she would have someday been. You wonder if she'd be a singer like her mommy, or good at math like her dad. You wonder what her smile would be like, and you swear you can hear her laughter in the breeze. It stops you. In a very real way. You get lost in the moments...thinking of her, and you snap out of it, just as a tear rolls down your cheek. It's funny how I never knew an Isabella before mine was gone, and now, it seems they're everywhere. It shocks me how just hearing her name can send me spiraling....lost in a world of what if's and could have beens.
To cope with the panic and the pain, I cry. I turn on the shower, I run the hot water, and I sit in the tub, with the water coming down on me, running down my face, masking the tears. I sob, the shower drowning out the noises of my despair. I really let go. I break down...and i enjoy it. It's needed sometimes...and it helps.
So what about you? What kinds of things do you do to cope with your pain? Whether its a child, or a parent, or a sibling, or friend? How do you handle it, how do you deal?
In the end, all we really have is each other. Break the silence....don't be afraid to talk about them in public. Don't be afraid to say their names.
It's PANIC. It's FEAR. It's HURT. It's LOSS.
Maybe it was a song, playing on the radio---that always reminds you of her.
Maybe it was a picture...and hand, or a foot. That looked just a little like hers.
Maybe it was a smell....a gentle reminder of a time when she was.
Maybe it was a taste...a familiar craving...that you associate with that person.
It's GRIEF.
Whatever sparks the memory, it stops you in it's tracks. It owns you, and all you can do it just succumb to it. You close your eyes and just let it be, and you realize....you could see her whole life in these few minutes if you just tried hard enough. You think about the person she was, the person she would have someday been. You wonder if she'd be a singer like her mommy, or good at math like her dad. You wonder what her smile would be like, and you swear you can hear her laughter in the breeze. It stops you. In a very real way. You get lost in the moments...thinking of her, and you snap out of it, just as a tear rolls down your cheek. It's funny how I never knew an Isabella before mine was gone, and now, it seems they're everywhere. It shocks me how just hearing her name can send me spiraling....lost in a world of what if's and could have beens.
To cope with the panic and the pain, I cry. I turn on the shower, I run the hot water, and I sit in the tub, with the water coming down on me, running down my face, masking the tears. I sob, the shower drowning out the noises of my despair. I really let go. I break down...and i enjoy it. It's needed sometimes...and it helps.
So what about you? What kinds of things do you do to cope with your pain? Whether its a child, or a parent, or a sibling, or friend? How do you handle it, how do you deal?
In the end, all we really have is each other. Break the silence....don't be afraid to talk about them in public. Don't be afraid to say their names.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Still?
I've been thinking about Bella a lot these past few days. Any time I do that, it brings up a lot of stuff in my head. Some of it is genuinely screwed up...and other stuff is raw, and real, and painful. Today, I'm going to share with you something that comes up a LOT....and I'm just tired of holding it in at this point.
Abortion is a HOT topic. There are people who are for it, and people who are against it. There are those who could care less one way or the other. There are those who have done it, and will admit it, and there are those who have done it but swear they never would. There are also those who haven't, and legitimately never will. Abortion is something so taboo. Aside from that though, there is one thing that most people can agree upon. A fetus is alive. There is very little dispute on that fact, people all around agree that unborn or not, the child that grows in the womb is a living person. If this is the case, I pose this question:
WHY was my stillborn daughter refused a birth certificate, under the reasoning that she never lived?
Didn't we all agree during our huge abortion debate that a fetus was living? Didn't we make the decision that unborn or not they were people? Because of where I gave birth to her, she's not recognized as ever having really been at all. New Mexico does not recognize or certificate stillborn births, and will not provide her with a birth certificate since she "did not live" nor a death certificate since technically she "did not die". As far as the state of NM is concerned, my daughter never was....and really, that's a hard pill to swallow. There are so many debates and so much fighting for the rights of those unborn children...who is fighting for the rights of the parents...like me, whose children were born sleeping? Who is going to recognize their LIVES? Just because she never took a breath on this earth doesn't mean she didn't live. Her kicks told me she lived! Her hiccups told me she lived! Her heartbeat told me she lived! Her smiles in her ultrasounds told me she lived! Any woman who has ever carried her child and then buried her child, as I did...will tell you they LIVED! Don't tell me that she didn't die! I felt it! It was I who felt her last kicks! It was I who rubbed my tummy, willing her to keep moving, though she never did! It was I....who felt her grow...and then felt her slip away. And she LIVED...And she DIED. Just because she did those things inside of me, doesn't mean they didn't happen.
I'm starting some research and I'm making a move. Stillborn children should be issued birth certificates! Didn't i push her out? Didn't i labor? Sure i did! Just the same as i had with my other two boys! She deserves a birth certificate. I deserve a birth certificate. And so do the thousands of other parents dealing with this every day. She changed my life....for the better. She taught me about love and loss and pain. So don't tell me she didn't live. She STILL lives. In my heart, in my soul, in my mind. She lived. She died. And she deserves to be recognized as having done both of those things. Regardless whether she was alive when she came into this world, she's still a person...and people have rights, don't they?
Why should my daughter, my Bella, or ANY other sweet angel baby be considered to be any less?
Abortion is a HOT topic. There are people who are for it, and people who are against it. There are those who could care less one way or the other. There are those who have done it, and will admit it, and there are those who have done it but swear they never would. There are also those who haven't, and legitimately never will. Abortion is something so taboo. Aside from that though, there is one thing that most people can agree upon. A fetus is alive. There is very little dispute on that fact, people all around agree that unborn or not, the child that grows in the womb is a living person. If this is the case, I pose this question:
WHY was my stillborn daughter refused a birth certificate, under the reasoning that she never lived?
Didn't we all agree during our huge abortion debate that a fetus was living? Didn't we make the decision that unborn or not they were people? Because of where I gave birth to her, she's not recognized as ever having really been at all. New Mexico does not recognize or certificate stillborn births, and will not provide her with a birth certificate since she "did not live" nor a death certificate since technically she "did not die". As far as the state of NM is concerned, my daughter never was....and really, that's a hard pill to swallow. There are so many debates and so much fighting for the rights of those unborn children...who is fighting for the rights of the parents...like me, whose children were born sleeping? Who is going to recognize their LIVES? Just because she never took a breath on this earth doesn't mean she didn't live. Her kicks told me she lived! Her hiccups told me she lived! Her heartbeat told me she lived! Her smiles in her ultrasounds told me she lived! Any woman who has ever carried her child and then buried her child, as I did...will tell you they LIVED! Don't tell me that she didn't die! I felt it! It was I who felt her last kicks! It was I who rubbed my tummy, willing her to keep moving, though she never did! It was I....who felt her grow...and then felt her slip away. And she LIVED...And she DIED. Just because she did those things inside of me, doesn't mean they didn't happen.
I'm starting some research and I'm making a move. Stillborn children should be issued birth certificates! Didn't i push her out? Didn't i labor? Sure i did! Just the same as i had with my other two boys! She deserves a birth certificate. I deserve a birth certificate. And so do the thousands of other parents dealing with this every day. She changed my life....for the better. She taught me about love and loss and pain. So don't tell me she didn't live. She STILL lives. In my heart, in my soul, in my mind. She lived. She died. And she deserves to be recognized as having done both of those things. Regardless whether she was alive when she came into this world, she's still a person...and people have rights, don't they?
Why should my daughter, my Bella, or ANY other sweet angel baby be considered to be any less?
Monday, May 28, 2012
This One's For The Troops....
When I was growing up, I got the unique pleasure of living all over the world. My elementary school field trips were to Venice, Italy and other such places. By the time I was 12, I had stood on Juliet's balcony, and visited Rome. These were the perks of being an Air Force Brat...and I was damn proud of it. That was the silver lining to a world that wasn't always easy to live in. The hard parts were far more frequent. My Dad would be gone for months at a time, even a year on two occasions. He'd be off "saving the world" as he put it, and in my mind, that's exactly what he was doing. My dad would miss Christmas, Thanksgiving, Halloween, and countless birthdays. He wasn't there for my Sweet 16, a party i never did get to have. I hated it when he would go, and i thought selfishly of all the things I was missing out on, with no regard to the things he was missing, and how that probably hurt him. I grew up though, and went to high school where i never in my wildest dreams imagined I'd end up graduating and joining the Air Force, but that's just what i did.
Basic Training was and probably always will be one of my greatest achievements. Let people say what they will about AF basic training, it was rough. I'll give it up to the Army and the Marines, they probably have it harder, but basic training sucks regardless what branch of the military you're going into. It was 6 weeks then, and full of things i HAD to learn. Military traditions, and the importance of them. The TRUE meaning of the flag and how to honor and fold it. And then...there was the physical stuff. PT always seemed so stupid to me. Where in the world, in my DESK job, was i going to ever really NEED to be able to run a mile under 12 minutes, really? I figured no where, but I sure learned how to do it. By the time I was done with Basic, i was running the mile under 11 minutes. They work you hard there. Every Sunday, we'd go to church...whether you were religious or not, you went. They played this video there...at the start of every service:
And it's funny because...we all cried. We all related. We all knew, in that few minutes the magnitude of what we'd signed up to do. We realized that we were going to fight. We were going to leave the people we love behind...and some of us, might never come home. That song, every sunday...made it really real for us. And it made us PROUD. We'd start each new week after that with determination and animosity...anger. Everything we NEEDED to get through the day, to become who we needed to become...to finish. And eventually we did.
I didn't stay enlisted, as my obligations to my family became more that I could handle and still be active duty. I tip my hats to those who do it. A vast majority of the friends I made however, DO still serve. They go on the deployments, they are kept away from family, they're fighting for us...and just as they were in Basic Training, they're aware of the sacrifice they're being asked to make...and they'll make it if they have to. THAT'S what Memorial Day is all about. Answering the call of duty. Past, Present, and Future....and doing it with courage, strength and honor. I consider myself privileged to have worked with such amazing people for the years that I served, to have such amazing friends that continue to serve everyday, and such dedicated family, that did what they didn't HAVE to do...they served our country.
To The Heroes That Wear Dog Tags And Combat Boots Rather Than Capes, I Salute You.
Basic Training was and probably always will be one of my greatest achievements. Let people say what they will about AF basic training, it was rough. I'll give it up to the Army and the Marines, they probably have it harder, but basic training sucks regardless what branch of the military you're going into. It was 6 weeks then, and full of things i HAD to learn. Military traditions, and the importance of them. The TRUE meaning of the flag and how to honor and fold it. And then...there was the physical stuff. PT always seemed so stupid to me. Where in the world, in my DESK job, was i going to ever really NEED to be able to run a mile under 12 minutes, really? I figured no where, but I sure learned how to do it. By the time I was done with Basic, i was running the mile under 11 minutes. They work you hard there. Every Sunday, we'd go to church...whether you were religious or not, you went. They played this video there...at the start of every service:
And it's funny because...we all cried. We all related. We all knew, in that few minutes the magnitude of what we'd signed up to do. We realized that we were going to fight. We were going to leave the people we love behind...and some of us, might never come home. That song, every sunday...made it really real for us. And it made us PROUD. We'd start each new week after that with determination and animosity...anger. Everything we NEEDED to get through the day, to become who we needed to become...to finish. And eventually we did.
I didn't stay enlisted, as my obligations to my family became more that I could handle and still be active duty. I tip my hats to those who do it. A vast majority of the friends I made however, DO still serve. They go on the deployments, they are kept away from family, they're fighting for us...and just as they were in Basic Training, they're aware of the sacrifice they're being asked to make...and they'll make it if they have to. THAT'S what Memorial Day is all about. Answering the call of duty. Past, Present, and Future....and doing it with courage, strength and honor. I consider myself privileged to have worked with such amazing people for the years that I served, to have such amazing friends that continue to serve everyday, and such dedicated family, that did what they didn't HAVE to do...they served our country.
To The Heroes That Wear Dog Tags And Combat Boots Rather Than Capes, I Salute You.
Friday, May 25, 2012
Mean Little Girls Grow Up To Be Catty Little Bitches....
I always thought it wasn't so bad to be a girl. We get all the cute stuff, we get sparkles, and glitter, and CUTE. And when I was younger, that was really all that mattered. What, in this whole wide world could be MORE important than cute? Not a damn thing. Then I hit elementary school, and I realized something important. Girls are NOT very nice creatures. They start hate clubs, and slam books, and rumors. They hate you for not being cool enough, they hate you for being too cool, and they ignore you if you fall somewhere in the middle. It occurred to me, as I watched my guy friends around me that this "hazing" didn't occur so often. Sure, they had groups, cliques, if you will....but there wasn't a whole hell of a lot of name calling or anything of that nature. And then...I got into high school and these very rude creatures turned into catty little bitches, and have been ever since.
It's true though, we're all guilty. Your best friends become your enemies and your enemies become your best friends and WHY is that, you ask? Because we LIE. That, and...I don't care who says it, and when, women can NOT keep secrets. Never tell your girlfriend something that you don't want ANYONE else to know, because she's telling SOMEONE, and it's likely to be someone you're both friends with. You wanna share secrets? Tell your mom! She used to be a catty bitch, but then she grew out of it. SHE'S the one to share secrets with, she's bound by "mom law" NOT to tell anyone else (except maybe your dad, if it involves sex or money) . Mom's are the way to go.
Now, i didn't remember that LITTLE girls were mean little creatures until Jason got into preschool. The girls in this class will slap each other, call each other names, rally all the girls in the class against one girl, and then "haze" her. And holy hell, i remember this when i was growing up. One of the girls in the class specifically had a birthday party this last weekend, and it sparked up a conversation amongst the kids in the class. One of the girls asked another if she was going, and she said yes, so the girl said "i'm going too." Another little girl, from out of nowhere goes "well i'm going too!" This caused the other two girls to look at her, sneer, and say "no you're not, because YOU weren't invited." and then laugh as they talk about how GREAT this party is going to be. The girl, looking hurt says "well why not?" and one of the other two girls says "because no one likes you. you're stupid." These are FOUR YEAR OLDS!!!!! I'm baffled by how young this kind of thing is starting.
And then i watch the boys. And the boys, they're simple about it. Some of the boys play with some of the boys, and others play with others, and that's just the order of things. When a boy strays, and asks to play with the other group, they simply look at him, and move over. There's no head games, there's no purposeful harm, there's just a scooch to the right, and then the other little boy goes back to what he's doing. Boys aren't spiteful like we are, at least...not just for the sake of being that way. But women, little girls, they are. They're mean and spiteful just to prove they can be, and truthfully, we allow them to be that way. As parents, we watch them, knowing they're doing it, and realizing "hey, that happened to us too." Its a vicious cycle.
I've found though, in my years, that often, the mean little girls, have bitches for mommas. You know the kind...where you just look at them and you can tell that they think they're entitled...special. They're not. I'd like to think that if i ever have a daughter someday, that she'll be a peace keeper, because...i was that little girl that was singled out and picked on. Me and my best friend in high school stood back to back and fought off all those little bitches of the world together....and we made it through. And we got tough, and we got hateful, and we got mean...because the world turned us that way. I guess the truth is, that whether you're born that way, or made that way, ALL women are catty little bitches. Which is guess is my point in all this. Mean little girls, grow up to be mean older bitches, and we raise our children, and they become them too. Some of them out of the sense of entitlement that their mommy's and daddy's provide to them, and some just because they HAVE to be, to survive. Either way....its happening younger and younger. Our four year olds are fighting the future bitches of America, and they're either turning, or backing down. I'm not sure which is the better choice. The only thing I'm REALLY sure of, is its shocking as hell, and kind of sad to see children so young being so mean....and i look back and wonder, were we that mean at 4 years old? And i imagine the answer is yes....and that's sad too.
It's true though, we're all guilty. Your best friends become your enemies and your enemies become your best friends and WHY is that, you ask? Because we LIE. That, and...I don't care who says it, and when, women can NOT keep secrets. Never tell your girlfriend something that you don't want ANYONE else to know, because she's telling SOMEONE, and it's likely to be someone you're both friends with. You wanna share secrets? Tell your mom! She used to be a catty bitch, but then she grew out of it. SHE'S the one to share secrets with, she's bound by "mom law" NOT to tell anyone else (except maybe your dad, if it involves sex or money) . Mom's are the way to go.
Now, i didn't remember that LITTLE girls were mean little creatures until Jason got into preschool. The girls in this class will slap each other, call each other names, rally all the girls in the class against one girl, and then "haze" her. And holy hell, i remember this when i was growing up. One of the girls in the class specifically had a birthday party this last weekend, and it sparked up a conversation amongst the kids in the class. One of the girls asked another if she was going, and she said yes, so the girl said "i'm going too." Another little girl, from out of nowhere goes "well i'm going too!" This caused the other two girls to look at her, sneer, and say "no you're not, because YOU weren't invited." and then laugh as they talk about how GREAT this party is going to be. The girl, looking hurt says "well why not?" and one of the other two girls says "because no one likes you. you're stupid." These are FOUR YEAR OLDS!!!!! I'm baffled by how young this kind of thing is starting.
And then i watch the boys. And the boys, they're simple about it. Some of the boys play with some of the boys, and others play with others, and that's just the order of things. When a boy strays, and asks to play with the other group, they simply look at him, and move over. There's no head games, there's no purposeful harm, there's just a scooch to the right, and then the other little boy goes back to what he's doing. Boys aren't spiteful like we are, at least...not just for the sake of being that way. But women, little girls, they are. They're mean and spiteful just to prove they can be, and truthfully, we allow them to be that way. As parents, we watch them, knowing they're doing it, and realizing "hey, that happened to us too." Its a vicious cycle.
I've found though, in my years, that often, the mean little girls, have bitches for mommas. You know the kind...where you just look at them and you can tell that they think they're entitled...special. They're not. I'd like to think that if i ever have a daughter someday, that she'll be a peace keeper, because...i was that little girl that was singled out and picked on. Me and my best friend in high school stood back to back and fought off all those little bitches of the world together....and we made it through. And we got tough, and we got hateful, and we got mean...because the world turned us that way. I guess the truth is, that whether you're born that way, or made that way, ALL women are catty little bitches. Which is guess is my point in all this. Mean little girls, grow up to be mean older bitches, and we raise our children, and they become them too. Some of them out of the sense of entitlement that their mommy's and daddy's provide to them, and some just because they HAVE to be, to survive. Either way....its happening younger and younger. Our four year olds are fighting the future bitches of America, and they're either turning, or backing down. I'm not sure which is the better choice. The only thing I'm REALLY sure of, is its shocking as hell, and kind of sad to see children so young being so mean....and i look back and wonder, were we that mean at 4 years old? And i imagine the answer is yes....and that's sad too.
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