Author Archives: Steph

About Steph

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I like words. I suspect I would like sanity, but I really have no way of knowing. I can be reasonable, but not often.
September 11, 2015

Facebook is All Up in My Business. Literally.

By Steph

I’ve been sick the past few days, first with a migraine, then a serious allergic reaction which then caused another migraine. So I’ve just been a mess. I haven’t washed my hair or changed my clothes…I’m pretty fucking gross right now. But I have managed to brush my teeth at least once a day, so I feel like that’s a win for everyone.

Anyway. Before, during, and after a migraine I am always very slow thinking and confused. During an allergic reaction my blood pressure drops so I’m stupid then too.

So yesterday I sent a Facebook message to my friend Tara, but then I took a nap. When I woke up I was already out of my mind because I was getting a migraine AND I was super tired. I HAD JUST WOKEN UP, PEOPLE.

Sometimes getting in the bathtub helps my migraines. So I had napped…um…not clothed.

I woke up and saw that I had a Facebook message. I took my phone into the bathroom like people do and tried to read my message. Naked. While peeing.

SOMEHOW, instead of just showing me a message, I heard a strange ringing sound…not like a phone call…but kind of like a phone call. I didn’t know what was happening. I didn’t know if I had called someone, and if I had, then I had no idea who it might be. Suddenly I had this horrible thought that I might have just started a video chat.

I panicked. I admit it. I was NAKED, CONFUSED, and SITTING ON THE TOILET. So I threw my phone across the room. I cannot think of a single Facebook friend who I would want to see me naked, taking a piss, and barely coherent.

As I finished the details of urination, I heard a VOICE from my phone saying, “Hello? Hello?”

Now, the phone was facedown on the floor, but it has the back camera. And I still wasn’t sure what the hell was going on. I was still sure that I was not wearing clothes. Was someone looking through that little camera? Were they getting an upward view of my stuff?

I  was losing my shit for real, you guys. Losing it. I reached my arm as far away from me as I could, grabbed the phone, and ran back into my bedroom. I wasn’t thinking straight. Did I mention that I was still naked? I did what I assume any normal naked adult would do, which was shove the phone under some blankets and make a run for it.

After I found some clothes and tried to shake the cobwebs out of my brain (didn’t work), I delicately pulled the phone out and looked at it. It seemed okay. No voices were coming out of it.

I checked my messages and I had one from Tara asking if I was okay.

I answered back with, “Oh my fuck, did I just CALL you?”

She was like, “No, idiot.” So I told her what had happened and that I was scared to even touch my phone, and that I’d get on my laptop and chat.

Then, when I opened up messenger on my computer (phone safely shoved under a pillow) this is what I saw:

What. The. Fuck.

What. The. Fuck.

Obviously, I assumed this was her response to my accidental nude toilet video chat with who knows.

But. Tara says, “Wtf is that? I’ve never seen this in my life.”

I didn’t do it, she didn’t do it, Facebook was watching me pee, it was just too much. We agreed to put tape over all our cameras, hide our phones when we pee and/or are naked, and wear foil hats just in case.

THEN I get this message from my friend Michelle: “Hey gorgeous! Were you trying to get in touch with me?”

I told her the whole debacle and said, “I’m sorry if you saw me peeing.”

She laughed. And laughed. And laughed. And then finally told me that she DID NOT see me on the toilet. Whew.

She informed me that her phone had made a weird-ass noise and said it was me, voice messaging, so she did the obvious and answered it. Thankfully, she said the cameras were off. But that’s kind of an awkward situation, so maybe she was just trying to be nice instead of saying MY GOD you need to do some fucking landscaping and maybe stop eating so many poptarts!

Facebook was scaring me, but I was very thankful that nobody had to see me naked.

Then Michelle starts fucking with me, and I hear my phone making that weird ringing noise again and I almost run away from home and phones, and then my screen says Video Call so I just stared at it and nothing happened, although I DID have clothes on this time so I guess it would’ve been ok.

She’s all, “I wasn’t messing with you, I just wanted to see what would happen.”

WELL, MICHELLE, NOW YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS. I AM TRAUMATIZED FOR LIFE.

Michelle: We’re like cavemen seeing fire for the first time. AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH RUN AWAY!

Me: What happens if I do this….*jumps back and screams*

She had to go do grownup things like go car shopping with her husband without stabbing him. So she told me bye and to try not to show my twat to strangers.

I told her I could probably do that, but I didn’t think she could. (The car thing, not the twat thing.)

Then she had the bright idea that maybe she should do the twat thing while negotiating. “They might give us a discount if I just put it away for godsake.”

Me: If they aren’t giving you a good deal, just flash your vag. Do it.

Michelle: I will.

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38 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in Just Being Awesome, random bullshit, total chaos, your health is your wealth and this is why I'm poor

August 28, 2015

I Am Not That Mom

By Steph

I am Not that Mom

I am not that mom who sits on the floor with you playing My Little Pony for hours. I am not the mom who builds entire towns on Minecraft. I have never learned to play Pokémon and I never (ever) will. I am well aware of my failure in this aspect of parenting.

I am thankful for my husband, who excels in watching cartoons and playing video games. I smile when I see him and the kids tossing a football in the yard. (In the yard. No Throwing Balls in the House. Jesus.) I laugh when they wrestle and tickle and play, play, play.

I’m just not that mom.

I was the young soon-to-be mom, scared to death but determined, so determined, to bring you into this world and love you like no other. I was the single mother of two who worked long hours and still held dance parties with just my two boys where we sang at the top of our lungs and the laughter rang as loud as the music. Before you were even born, I was the mom eating cherry cheesecake so I could see you dance. (And because cheesecake.)

When I first saw you, I knew that you would hold my heart forever. Two more times I met my new sweet babies, and two more times my heart grew to wrap around all of you. When you were a baby, I was that mom who couldn’t sleep for looking at you. I can still feel you, so tiny, snuggled on my chest. When I see you asleep now, I still picture you curled up in footie pajamas, all wispy hair and dark lashes against perfect skin.

I was that mom who rocked you all night, patting and bouncing and shh, shh, shhing when you cried. I was the mom who panicked over every bump and bruise. I was the mom who kissed boo boos. I was the mom who spent untold hours waiting on casts for broken bones or bandages for cut fingers. (Safety scissors, my ass.) I was the mom whose leg you were firmly wrapped around the day we toured preschools. I was the mom who went to school online in order to work from home because you needed me.

I am the mom who signs notes and checks homework and packs lunches. I’m the mom who makes the doctor’s visits and dentist appointments and parent teacher conferences. I’m the mom who hasn’t worn anything but thrift store clothes for years so that you can go to school wearing clothes that are apparently hand-sewn by the famous athletes of the world.

I’m the mom who makes stupid jokes and sings off-key and acts sillier than I am just to see you smile. I’m the mom who wouldn’t trade those smiles for the entire world.

I’m the mom who loves you so much more than I could ever explain. And the mom who tries so hard to show you that.

But most times I feel like I am also the mom who is failing.

I’m the mom with chronic recurring depression. I’m the mom with generalized anxiety disorder. I’m the mom with PTSD. I’m the mom who has chronic migraines. I’m the mom with chronic pain. I’m the mom who sees more doctors than hairstylists. (Hahahahaha, I don’t even remember the last time I went to a stylist. But you have an appointment tomorrow.)

I am the mom who struggles every single day to accomplish the things that have to be done so that you can have a “normal” life. I am the mom who does your laundry even when I have to sit down to sort it. I’m the mom who makes sure the water bill gets paid so that you can shower. I’m the mom who clips your fingernails and buys you toothpaste and nags you to wear deodorant.

I’m also the mom who forgets things. Not the big stuff, like birthdays or Christmas, although there have been a few notes from the Tooth Fairy instead of cash. But I forget things that you already told me. I forget that when you were playing a video game yesterday, you scored 58 touchdowns and a free throw, and spawned…maybe a chicken? I don’t know. I forget.

But I’m also the mom who can tell in a single glance when you are upset, and who listens to you when you are sad and angry and when you are happy and excited, even if I do tend to forget your ponies’ names and LeBron’s stats and how to catch ’em all.

I’m the mom who wants to slay all your dragons and breathe fire on anyone who dares to hurt you.

I’m also the mom who too often hurts too much to cook dinner. I’m the mom who lets you eat an unhealthy amount of macaroni and pizza rolls. I’m the mom who has piles of clean laundry on the couch because my arms ache so badly I can’t fold it. I’m the mom who gets overwhelmed too easily. I’m the mom who has to hide when things get to be too much. I’m that mom who cries in the bathroom when I’ve let you down.

I’m the mom who stays awake at night worrying about you. I’m the mom who wishes she could save all your hugs and all your “I love you’s” and get them back out on the days when there are no hugs, just slamming doors.

I’m the mom who loves you SO MUCH. You are the children who save my life every day. I’m the mom who is trying to be the parent you deserve, even when I’m not the one you might want.

*EDITED TO ADD: I am completely overwhelmed by the response this post has gotten. I love all you guys so much,  and even though everyone keeps saying that I’ve made them feel less alone, the truth is that YOU GUYS have made me feel less alone. Thank you all SO much for every like, comment, share, and kind thought. I’ve been trying to respond to all the comments, but as I guess y’all know, I’m sick a lot. But I have read every single one of them, and each one brings a smile to my face or a tear to my eye and sometimes both. I just wanted everyone to know how much your love and compassion for each other and your “me too” and your stories have affected me.

Love,

Steph

330 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , | posted in chronic illness, Depression, joy, kids, love, Mental Illness, parenting, small humans, thoughts

August 17, 2015

At Least They’re All Wearing Pants. I Think.

By Steph

5:30 AM: Wake up.

5:32 AM: Pour coffee. Panic about all the things. Put on running shoes because my feet are bitches.

5:35 AM: Attempt to wake kids up gently. One is already awake because he STAYED UP ALL FUCKING NIGHT. One begs for one more minute. One glares at me out of one eye. Find leopard print dress that daughter wants to wear, carry it around with me.

5:40 AM: Discover that although I spent hundreds (AND I DO MEAN HUNDREDS) of dollars on an array of Nike shorts, WHICH ARE ALL MY KID HAS WORN FOR THE LAST YEAR, he has decided today to wear a too short pair of faded black jeans with paint stains that I bought at a yard sale over a year ago. He also disdains the colorful new socks he begged for and that cost more than most prom dresses and wears instead two-year-old black socks that I’m pretty sure were left here by some random kid.

5:45 AM: Find my other son also wearing old black jeans. What. The. Fuck. NOBODY WANTED NEW JEANS. I WOULD HAVE BOUGHT FUCKING JEANS. Jesus. Whisper “fuck you” to older son because I know it will make me feel better and make him laugh. Say “JK!” because he loves it when I do the Teenage Speak like the other day when I said I was totally ratchet and they said “I don’t think you know what that means” so then I said I was going to go ham. I also don’t know what that means.

5:50 AM: Start making lunches. Drink coffee. Add more and more things to lunches because I don’t want them to be hungry and they won’t eat breakfast. Take things out of lunches because I am going way overboard and lunch boxes won’t close. Wonder what happened to the leopard print dress.

5:55 AM: Look frantically through son’s dresser for black shorts because he JUST CAN’T wear those jeans. Not those jeans, please just not those. Wonder what happened to leopard print dress. Son asks for iPod back because he was in trouble and it was taken away but it is the first day of 7th grade so I say Yes because I am a Nice Mom.

6:00 AM: Cannot find iPod or dress anywhere. Son says iPod is in my purse. That is ridiculous. I tell him I hid it somewhere he would never think to find it. He says it seems like I hid it somewhere where I also would never think to find it. He again claims that he saw me put it in my purse. I do not have time for this. Go look for leopard print dress, beg daughter to get out of bed, plead with husband to Find The Things.

6:05 AM: Accidently forget which child I am talking to and yell, “WAKE UP!” at 6-year-old who then bursts into tears as I frantically stroke her head and apologize because I got confused and thought she was the other kid who I have to scream at to get even a blink. She gets up.

6:07 AM: Daughter gets dressed in backup leopard print shirt and khaki shorts. Accuses me of always buying her clothes that match mine. That is just ridiculous because I would NEVER and I do mean NEVER wear leopard print. Although now that I think about it, my luggage and my blanket are leopard print and also my makeup case…

6:10 AM: Son says he’s ready to go. I tell him to brush his teeth and put on deodorant. Tooth brushing takes a long time because toothpaste cannot be found, he doesn’t know that two weeks ago I replaced the head on his spin brush, the bathroom smells. Has he not brushed his fucking teeth in two weeks? I can’t think about this now. Again with the iPod in my purse. Whatever.

6:15 AM: Daughter dances around and I tell her to go pee. She says thanks for reminding her! Jesus. I tell her to brush her teeth while she’s in there. Son AGAIN with the iPod. “We took it to BestBuy, remember? And I asked for it back but you said no and you put it in your purse?” I remember that we took it to BestBuy and I put it in my purse. Yes! Pull iPod out of my purse triumphantly and give it to him.

6:32 AM: Son asks what time are they leaving and I say TWO MINUTES AGO OH MY GOD. Other son gently says some shit about that being a little early, don’t I think? NO BECAUSE THERE MIGHT BE TRAFFIC. My kids will not be late on the first day.

6:35 AM: Ask son if he brushed his teeth and put on deodorant. He says he brushed his teeth but did not need deodorant because he was wearing cologne. Husband explains that deodorant is Every Day and cologne is only if you want. I say ALWAYS WEAR DEODORANT OH MY GOD.

6:37 AM: Daughter wants sparkly rainbow hair bow that matches leopard print Not At All. Ends up wearing sparkly headband that matches leopard print Not At All.

6:40 AM: Everyone starts to leave and husband says, “At least she didn’t make you guys line up for pictures” so I say OH MY GOD GUYS and get out my phone. I try to take a picture and say, “Why is it all black? My phone is broken. Shit! Oh wait, the case is on. HOLD ON WHERE ARE YOU GOING I HAVE TO TAKE A”….they are gone. I chase them to the car and take terrible pics. I hug them all tightly and tell them to have a good day.

6:45 AM: Back in quiet house. Pour more coffee. See leopard print dress in kitchen.

7:15 AM: Husband calls to tell me that they can probably leave a little later tomorrow because they are already there and the doors don’t even open until 7:30. I say that I thought there might be traffic. He says, “Me too” just to make me feel better.

28 Comments   |  tags: , , , | posted in random bullshit

July 14, 2015

The Tooth Fairy and Santa are Two Different Burglars

By Steph

My 6-year-old has approximately 15 loose teeth that she refuses to pull out. She’s my third child, so…whatever. I have more important things to worry about, like whether I should use markers or colored pencils when I’m creating masterpieces in the coloring book I stole from her.

Perhaps I should’ve paid more attention to the tiny fucker. (The tooth, not my kid.)

It was a simple trip to get ice cream. Thing 3 took two bites and declared that it was “too hard” and “was making her tooth fall out.” ICE CREAM? Ice cream is too hard? Seriously?

So I had to eat not only my own ice cream, but hers as well. Because I’m not about wasting money.

 

This is how it all started.

This is how it all started.

After that, we went to the store and like every other damn time we’re in public, she started regaling strangers with our life story. As usual, I held my breath and prayed that she wouldn’t burst into song, since she apparently thinks her life is a Disney film and my boobs are a good subject to sing about.

She started talking about her tooth so I said, “You should just pull it out so Santa Claus will come tonight.” I recovered gracefully, as always, and shouted, “NO! SHIT! I MEAN THE TOOTH FAIRY! The tooth fairy will come. Not Santa.”

Jesus. The little hustler took advantage of my confusion and added a chocolate bar to our cart.

I organized my bags just so, unaware that my cart and my sweaty butt crack were blocking an entire parking space.

I was ready to get the fuck home.

The candy bar was a gooey, melted mess by this time. Because I am a genius, I handed it to her, telling her that if she HAD to have chocolate, she’d just have to lick the wrapper. I know. I know, okay?

I’d just pulled out into traffic when I heard, “My toof!” I glanced back and decided that I wasn’t cut out to be a mom.

The tiny maniac, grinning and covered in blood, chocolate, and tears, proudly handed me her tooth. I put it in my purse, handed her napkins to bite down on, and took the liquefied chocolate from her gross little hands. Thanks to my unparalleled grocery placement skills, I knew right where the wipes were, so we were able to clean ourselves up a little.

I breathed a sigh of relief. We survived all that, while I was navigating through heavy traffic, and I handled it like a pro. Don’t tell me I’m not mother of the fucking year. Ha!

The mental high fives came to a screeching halt when we came up to an intersection with a flashing yellow arrow. We were in the middle of a left turn when flashing turned to not flashing and cars started coming at us from every direction.

What. The. Fuck. WHAT’S WITH THE YELLOW ANYWAY? In my day, yellow meant slow down. This was bullshit. Just then, my daughter stood up, leaned towards the rearview mirror, and said, “I’m going to look at myself. I can do that because you never buckled me in.” ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

With complete control over myself and the situation, I yelled, “FUCK!” Then, “Sit down. Oh my god. Sit down.” We made it out of that godforsaken intersection and I pulled over.

Seatbelts on, I was pulling carefully back onto the road when my husband called. I thought I would tell him what we had just been through, and he would laugh and not be appalled that I even had a driver’s license.

I should’ve known better.

Just as I answered the phone, the forgotten bloody chocolate disaster slid off the dash and into my lap. “SONOFA…Here. Talk to your daughter.”

Somehow we made it home in one piece, WITH the tooth, and I’m never leaving this house again.

Can you explain this yellow flashing light bullshit? What’s the grossest mess you’ve had to deal with while driving? Can my kids come stay with you for the summer?

 

36 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , | posted in Just Being Awesome, parenting, small humans, total chaos

June 3, 2015

School’s Out For Summah!

By Steph

There are only 4 days of school left.

As I argued with a sleepy 6-year-old this morning about getting ready for school, I yearned for the upcoming lazy summer days. I can smell the sunlight already, even if it is a cloudy, wet, chilly day today. That will change the minute school lets out, I’m sure. 

School's Out For Summer

School’s Out For Summer

The weather is not the only thing that will change during summer break…

    This morning:

    Thing 1: “Just 5 more minutes.”

    Thing 2: “uuunnngggghhhhh”

    Thing 3: “No. I don’t want to get up.”

    Summer mornings:

    Thing 1: *sleeps till 3 p.m.*

    Thing 2: *sleeps till noon*

    Thing 3: *pops out of bed at 7 a.m. yelling, “IT’S MORNING! IT’S MORNING!” *

     

    This morning:                                                  

    Thing 1: “Did you wash my jersey?”

    Thing 2: “I need socks. No. Not those socks.”

    Thing 3: “These pants feeeel funny. Take them oooooffff! This shirt is too____ (boyish/sparkly/pink/any color or texture known to man).”

    Summer mornings:

    Thing 1: “Did you wash my jersey?”

    Thing 2: *wears only gym shorts all day, every day.*

    Thing 3: *alternates between no clothes, a princess dress with heels, or the pants that “felt funny” when she had to wear them to school*

     

    This morning:

    Thing 1: “Have you seen my shoes?”

    Thing 2: “Someone stole my shoes.”

    Thing 3: “I want to wear my boots/high heels/your shoes/no shoes. And these socks feel funny.”

    Summer mornings:

    Things 1, 2, and 3: *Run outside on a moment’s notice, wearing shoes and socks they found themselves and put on with no assistance or ‘funny feelings’.*

 

Ahh, I can’t wait for summer, with the joyous sound of children’s laughter, the playing outside in the warm sunshine, sleeping in and swimming and barbecues…

…and the endless requests for three-course meals, the constant nitpicking and fighting, the crispy red sunburns, the incessant whining, itchy bug bites and tangled fishing line and talking, talking, talking….

*Ahem.* When does school start again?

18 Comments   |  tags: , , , | posted in parenting, small humans