Someone suggested that my first post be an intro and the second be about myself and my life so that people get a "feel for me". A "feel for me" sounds weird. But here I am doing exactly that. I'm getting feeled up from whatever poor sap runs across my rantings.
This isn't necessarily how I had planned on starting this little shendig but its whatever. I had the white trash upbringing that most associate with Alabamians. I have a mom who came from loving Christian parents, who were loved and respected in their community. I have a dad who was raised by a single mother after she left her alcoholic husband. How they paired up is beyond me. Actually, I know...my mom was married to a lawyer who she promptly dropped to chase after the fresh new 21 year old meat she saw in the newspaper for killing a big ass deer. My dad was a single pringle in town to visit his momma because he was broke and apparently he wanted to go hunting. She nailed him, got him, and bada bing bada boom....here I am! Twenty-three years, 3 kids, multiple affairs later, he left her for his white trash co worker. I can say that not because I don't like her, but because she has no teeth and goes everywhere barefoot. She even has dentures but doesn't wear them. Who does that?
Anyway, moving on.
My childhood was happy, but filled with messed up moments. The human brain remembers pain, fear and anger better than the happy moments ( I can back this up with links if anyone needs me to). Naturally I remember the messed up stuff easier. The fact that I'm not buried under a pile of therapy in an asylum is pure luck. My dad once said he was taking us to Disney World. He drove up to the gate that surrounds the park and said "here we are". We weren't really going, he was an asshole who thought it was funny. My mom once threw stuffed animals at my dad during an domestic altercation. Yep, you read that right. Her defense was fluff stuffed teddy bears. That was the difference in my parents. My mom isn't a saint, but she's definitely the more sane. I wasn't going to go into all the gory details- but I feel like no one ever talks about those moments in their lives. I was molested by a family friend for 4 years. From 7 years old until I was 11, at 11 I finally had enough sense to say no when he told me it was time to go inside. I ran back to my grandmothers and never went back. I never let my sisters go back either. I have two sisters that will tell you I had it quite harder than they did. I took hits, beatings, and the blame for anything that would bring them harm. I'm not making myself a martyr, its just what I had to do. When you have a life like mine, its not a choice. I'm in my 30s now, and I resolved the issues I had with my mother long ago. My "father", is a whole post in itself. A dark, pissed off and hurtful post. I'll leave that there.
By the time I was 15, I was out of the house. My dad had enough of my shit. My "shit" was asking him why it depended on the Atlanta Braves winning whether I could go out with my friends or have company over. I moved out, got a very shady job at a few underground strip clubs that would hire minors. It was fun, and I made more money in one night than my parents made in a month. I came home at 17 by no other choice. I was pregnant by one very beautiful drug dealer. Every single person I knew warned me about "that boy". But when you are 15 and that boy is the calm amongst the chaos- you find solace.
At 18 I had my first child and while the said baby daddy wanted to help, my father made sure to shove his nose deeply in my business. He left and didn't pop back up until my oldest daughter was 13. But by then the damage was done, he couldn't connect, she couldn't either, and he quietly stepped back until she decides she wants him around. I give him credit for that. I loved him, and in a weird way I always will. He was my very best friend. I didn't have a relationship like that again until my current marriage. By 21 I was married to my first husband who I had 3 kids with. I feel like I was pregnant the whole time. He wasn't a bad guy, we just brought out the absolute worst in each other.
Since the apple doesn't fall far from the tree- I met someone and after 10 years, 3 kids, fights, and cheating- I left. I made the first choice in my life that was for me.
I told you...this is typical Alabama stereotype shit.
I could talk for days about my current husband. We met on Halo!! He's hella younger than me...he was 9 when I had my 1st daughter. But he's AMAZBALLS! He's the father of my son. He's a wonderful step-dad, and dad to our son. He is what I needed. For the first time since my first daughter I found a calm for my chaos. We're four years in, I don't think he'll ever grasp what my life was like before him. His life wasn't perfect; but damn it was close. Its the childhood I wanted...
As I mentioned previously, I am a mom...of 5...4 of them being little miniature assholes- they are girls. Don't get me wrong, I love them, and I love them dearly. But anyone who has EVER had a girl can tell you they are assholes in comparison to a son. My 5th child...if he was the first, he would have been my only. He's seriously the perfect kid. He's only 1 and I'm certain he'll be a jerk, but for now he is perfect.
My 15 year old is a loving-dramatic-know it all. Which is funny...because I have an 8 year old JUST LIKE HER. My 13 year old is a crybaby-sweetheart-smartass, and my 6 year old is JUST LIKE HER. So guess what? I call my oldest two "trial and error"...I had two and messed up so many times. My second set of girls are just like the older two so I'm trying to find where I went wrong! Just kidding, they are going to make excellent politicians one day! Maybe its that my girls are too much like me, or maybe I did my job too well. I have very opinionated, think for myselfers around here. An we clash- like a battle of the clans. Meanwhile, my son is like my husband...quiet and just stares at me when I start to lose it. They both offer kisses when I'm mad while my daughters and I see who can scream louder.
So here I am a 30 year old mom (I don't age past 30 people) who has 5 kids, a husband, a cat, and a blog. A blog that for some reason is keeping me sane in the middle of the night. My husband jokes that women bloat because of all the pent up shit. Maybe that's true or maybe writing out all this insane shit in my head is helping. I'm learning daily, and I fuck up constantly. That's the joy in life though, right? None of us are perfect. Well, maybe you are...but then again, here you are in my rabbit hole. Either way, I'm finding calm in my chaos.
