Mom of the year

 As long as I'm on the subject of Jr. high trauma, I may as well note another amazingly tragic, almost too horrifying to believe drama. This one also occurred in 7th grade, but this time it involved menstruation and the 100 or so kids that rode the bus home.      In our bougie Jr high we had a pool. And those fucks they called coaches made us swim in P.E. class, because child torture was totally their kink. They didn't make us shower, thank the gods, but we did have to change together in the locker room, and the bathroom stalls did not have doors that locked. That means that privacy is not a thing, especially if you didn't have a friend in class to have your back and block you while you changed, or peed or whatever. My clothes and shoes got stolen a few times that year. They also didn't clean the stalls often enough, so that teeny little trash bin that's meant to hold 10 used menstrual pads/tampons per day, usually had 30 piled on top by 3rd period, and was not usua

     Few moments illustrate the tone of my Jr. high years quite like the Simpson’s T-shirt incident. My dad bought it for me from Spencer’s in an uncharacteristic apologetic moment for one of his drunken episodes. The show had just started that year, 1990, and it was pretty risque for us 12 year olds. EVERYONE loved it. And I had yet to see anyone at school with Simpson’s merch yet, so I was sure I would finally be the trendsetter I was meant to be.           So far in 7th grade, I was pretty invisible. Most of my friends from elementary school had changed and we could no longer relate to each other, or they found new friends that better matched the personas they were trying to achieve. The few friends I had left were players in a never ending game of 3 way calls and shit talk that none of us really wanted to participate in, but the act felt like survival. There was no way out, and being at the bottom of the social totem pole was like death. It was kill or be killed, even with your bes

      About 3 years ago, I got really bloated. And then my sleep was a mess. I had night sweats. Diarrhea. Weird elbow Rashes. Brain fog that was scary. I was like that for months and months. It just kept getting worse, and it was constant. So I started wondering if it was my diet.      First I eliminated dairy. That didn't help. Then I got rid of sugar. That also didn't help. Then I decided I was just fat and needed to lose weight. So I cut all the carbs from my diet and I noticed I had some more energy and I began to feel better. But then I got hungry and went back to the pasta, my old friend. And my symptoms returned full force, worse than before. I was telling my friend about it and she sent me a list of celiac symptoms and wondered if that looked familiar.      At first, the idea that gluten might be causing these very uncomfortable symptoms made me feel nervous, but hopeful. I just wanted to feel better. I was worried there might be something seriously wrong with my healt

     Today was my day off. After my new normal of waking up to the laundry list of damage Donald Trump has done to the country, and his subsequent psychopathic Twitter-storm about God knows what after I went to sleep the night before, I decided to take a mental health day. I have been in an absolute panic since January 20, and there is only so much my body can take. So I decided to do my most favorite thing. Roller skate and podcasts.      Podcast search brought up a series about Oprah and her show. Good deal, I love her. But I clicked on the last episode, "Making Donahue", first. I remember Donahue from childhood, because dad watched it every day, so that meant I did too. At first I hated it. I remember it being a lot of yelling, people calling in to add their opinions, my dad talking back to the TV, and feeling sorry for a lot of these people because they seemed upset. It was an awful lot to take in for a kid.      As I got older, I looked forward to hearing the latest t

     I received a series of angry emails and text messages from Gage's bio-dad's girlfriend one day (he stopped talking to me at all, even in email, once he got his new girlfriend, now fiance), about what a terrible mother I was for "letting Gage drop out of high school". They told my son they were disappointed in his choice. That they knew he could do better. That maybe living with them in California  is just what he needed to succeed in school. And so on. My reaction was deep, heartfelt hysterical laughter. Those two, bless their hearts, had zero experience raising a teenager, and were not the best examples of how essential and important a high school education is. Life was still beating the crap out of them and neither had ever held a job for long enough to get anywhere. They both love Gage very much, I do not doubt. But bio dad has not attempted to co-parent in a meaningful way ever, so any input from that direction was just noise, to be honest.      Why would I

Hi y'all!      I haven't been here since 2014, but I will only tell you why, briefly. First, we adopted Brandon, and he was far too fragile for my full-disclosure style writing. He needed space, and continuing the blog was impossible without including that part of our lives.      Then, I started to evolve in a direction that changed my worldview in a way which made some of my ideas and rants pretty embarrassing. I contemplated starting a whole new blog so I could spare myself from the shame, but that just wouldn't be honest, would it? ;) So, here we are. I have made friends, and lost friends. I have run 2 successful businesses, I started working as a cake decorator for a major company, I have two adult children and one who is in preschool. I have adulted at a fair level. I am also about to turn 40.      I am about halfway through life, if I am lucky. So.Much.Has.Happened. I'm scared and excited about the next 40 years coming up.      I have always felt it when t