It's All A Bit Random

Say what you want to, but Eminem is a phenomenal artist.  His talent is unparalleled to that of any other artist that we have today or have had yesterday.  He’s original.  Whether you love him or hate him (there really is no in between), you have to admit the struggles he has endured to become what he is today is that which most can never imagine.  Do I think he’s a role model for kids?  Absolutely not, but he’s never asked for that or written songs without the parental warning.  His CDs clearly require a parent’s attention prior to purchase and in some stores an ID stating ‘over 18′ is a necessity to own a copy.  Sure, there are the many, many arguments regarding his lyrics, but please don’t make me pull out some Edgar Allan Poe verses as he would have also been known as a very dark lyricist had he been a song writer rather than a poet/writer.  Even so, there are arguments and complaints about hearing his music on the local radio stations of which children listen; here’s a thought – change the damn station.  Perhaps, as a parent, you would rather turn your dial to a station you prefer your child to listen to instead of what’s hip.  That’s certainly each parent’s prerogative.  I digress.

I have been giving the show ‘The X Factor’ a chance, something I never thought I would do, but after watching a season or two of ‘American Idol’ with Simon and then the train wreck season without his snarky remarks, I decided this show couldn’t be worse.  Luckily (though not unexpectedly), I was right.  The show isn’t too bad and seems to bring enough differences from Idol that make it refreshing.  Included in these differences is the show’s acceptance of people younger than 16 and older than 20-something; a limitation that Idol had previously.  In fact, the XF has even allowed group performances and despite the fact that I’m not a huge fan at all of that category, it’s a welcome change.

We, the audience, were introduced to an overly confident, boisterous, and quite overzealous 15-year-old boy named Brian Bradley, aka Astro.  I was on the fence with this kid from the go and saw many other talented people enter the show, but admittedly from his first audition something about him stuck in my mind.  He was becoming relevant and unforgettable.  I knew not to dismiss his future on the show and tried to judge him less harshly.  He continued to perform and wow when he took the stage and often rapped a song of his own hand – an original, something else that hadn’t been allowed on Idol.  He wrote his own lyrics and music and it worked.  Later, as the judges had to choose certain songs for their assigned contestants, he would prove his originality time and time again.  He would keep the chorus, music, and beat but would completely rewrite the song’s lyrics to fit his own image.  He morphed into a full artist, in my opinion.

The moment I realized he did so?  Tonight.  Tonight he sang/rapped an Eminem song from the movie ’8 Mile’ - Lose Yourself.  This song is epic in lyrics, is the epitome of what most young artists go through for success, and pierces your soul with a very real message – don’t give up.  As I said before, Astro has been rewriting every song on this show to fit him and tonight was no different.  His lyrics to this already popular and somewhat overplayed song was like a breath of fresh air.  The kid can perform, he can rap, he can mesmerize the entire crowd, and he nailed it tonight mentioning in his lyrics how he was homeless for three years, how his pancreas doesn’t produce insulin for him, how he hasn’t shed a tear, how he has only one shot – he really encapsulated everyone with it tonight.  He wrapped up the rap with a shout out to Heavy D who just passed away.

Mark my words – this kid is one to watch.  By that I mean on youtube, x factor online, and the billboard charts.  You don’t have to like rap to see his talent – this kid is here for the long haul.

Brian Bradley – aka Astro – X Factor Lose Yourself

It’s official.  The husband got the job that he applied for nearly six months ago and interviewed for 2 months ago.  He’s officially an employed EMT.  I’m exceedingly proud and after 2 years of finishing school and looking for a job, he’s succeeded with his goals.

The notice of his employment came the day before he was to be at orientation at 9am.  This would not normally be an issue except this job is just under 5 hours from where we live currently.  It didn’t give us a lot of time to prepare and no time to warn the children.  Because the call came in at 11am, we decided to take the rest of the work day off and check the kids out of school.  It was the only way to prepare them, and it surely worked better than “Hey kids, Dad got a job, he left and we’re not sure when he’ll be back – sorry you missed him”

Turns out yesterday was a paperwork type of day.  Sign your life away, pee in a cup, cough while someone holds your package of fun, and order uniforms.  He’s on his way home for the weekend and then off he goes again for the full schedule rotation.

Naturally, commuting 5 hours isn’t really ideal for a family of five and so now we must figure out what our next step is.  We’ll most likely rent as we won’t be established enough to buy and I’m not comfortable with that until we feel a little more secure in our placement.  He’ll be staying with his mother who lives about 40 minutes from Savannah, which is where his job is located.  Personally, that’s not necessarily an option for me and the little darlings that will undoubtedly wither and die at the mere thought of no internet, television, or game systems.

I have to get some things sorted out here at the office and at home before I even consider packing up our house for the second time in a year.  It’s strange – we lived in one location for 12 years and now we’re like little gypsies.  I digress.

Finding a job for me will be fun, finding a place to rent in a school district that is at the very least decent will be even more fun, and finding it all within a close proximity to the fire station will be the best part of all.

While I file away the laundry list of shit that needs to happen, I am faced with the hurry up and wait scenario.  The one where your life has changed drastically, but not really just yet – you can see a glimpse of the major change and know it’s inevitable, but it’s just not within reach now.

So, do be prepared for break downs, highs, lows, sobbing in the middle of the kitchen floor with spaghetti sauce boiling over, etcetera.

Today California rejected the ban on violent video games for minors.  They sited free speech for young children and extended this to video games much like ‘they’ do for books and movies.  Here’s my thought on this.  When the nation’s fathers decided on free speech as one of the rights citizens have, I’m pretty fucking sure it was intended for not only adults but also did not include violent or abusive video games and movies for all ages to see.  Asshats!  I’m tired of the government using what our founding fathers said as an excuse to be idiots.  Move the fuck on and come up with a real reason for rejecting something.  Grow some, would you?

The article I read continued on about how many failed attempts the courts have seen to get violence from books, movies, television, etc for minor’s access.  I’ve been a constant supporter of a parent’s right to know their child enough and do their job of protecting.  For example, I have three kids.  I know that one kid cannot watch anything scary no matter how badly she begs because while it interests her, she will undoubtedly have nightmares for days after seeing Ghost Whisperer.  I know that one kid can handle the scarier stuff a little easier but will still be uncomfortable at lights out but he can handle both mentally and emotionally the aspect of violence on the screen albeit game or movie because he’s mature enough and level enough to know what’s fake and what’s not.  He has the ability to separate these worlds.  I also know that my other kid can handle scarier things and never falter at bedtime but isn’t the kid who needs to watch violence because that spinning head kick thing will be practiced.  It’s not because he wants to take off someone’s head, it’s because it looked cool.  He cannot separate these worlds just yet at the ripe age of 8 and so we don’t allow violent video games and movies for him.  That’s our job as his parents.  Know your kids and know what they can handle.

However, there are the idiot parents out there that believe that society should raise their kids and they give their kids freedom that even my teenager doesn’t have yet, and so school comes around and my kid is taught how to properly deploy an uppercut to someone’s nose.  For this reason, perhaps that ban should have been granted.  My 13-year-old can’t get into an R rated movie that’s violent because there is an age restriction, there are some CD’s that the store won’t sell that same kid because of the violent words so sell your ‘freedom of speech’ excuse to someone who’s denser than I am because I’m not buying that shit.  You’re the same group of judges/politicians that will throw the kid in jail in 10 or so years claiming it was the warped mentality of too many violent video games, television shows, and music that caused this behavior.  You can’t have it both ways, dear government.  Produce a society with better parents with better judgment or slap on some restrictions to protect the kids who can’t protect themselves!!!

According to an 89-year-old fella named Harold Camping, the world is due to end at around 6:00pm EST on Saturday, May 21, 2011.  How nice of Jesus to make a reservation and I simply love how it’s not an ‘on-the-dot’ appointment, very 2011 of Him.

The redemption day or judgment day or zombie apocalypse has been all the rage these few weeks.  I’m not anti-religious despite being raised Catholic and I’m overly superstitious but even I have a hard time believing that the world is due to end.  I mean, I get it.  Ol’ Harold multiplied this scripture number with another, divided itself into itself, added four, multiplied that by itself, added 666 and divided by the tenth degree of crazy to get the time and date, but really…really?  It’s really become a perfect ‘Are you fucking kidding me’ conversation.  Maybe he should have left out the math and claimed the dates were on a grilled cheese, that would have been better, I think.

Anywho, this isn’t Harry’s first try at this date thing either.  He got it wrong in 1994.  Don’t you hate that?  Though in his defense, he later said, it was either 1994 or 2011, he had a 50/50 shot there.  Yep, Harry’s been the talk of the town and everyone is preparing for such disaster of the second coming.  And zombies.

Personally, I’m more concerned about the zombies.  The CDC did this wonderful piece about readying yourself for such an attack and listed some essentials to have on hand.  They even mentioned how these essentials are basically the same as any other natural disaster.  Wait.  What?

*Blink, Blink*

The same as any other natural disaster?  Zombies aren’t natural, bitches.  AND, this list consists of water, food, important documents, and prescription medicines???  What?  Sooo, I’m going to what…invite them to dinner, get them to notarize my will, and then feed them some Klonopin in hopes that they calmly leave?  It’s times like these that I really question the morals, intentions, and legitimacy of the CDC.  I mean, if you’re going to try to prepare us, you should probably do it a little more accurately so that we attempt to listen to you.  Cause if you thought we didn’t notice that your list is on the Centers for DISEASE Control while dealing with Zombies that are not actually DISEASES, well, you’re wrong.

So, back to the list.  I saw no mention of chainsaws, crowbars, Egyptian obelisks, gas for lighting them on fire, or even an ax.  Nothing that would actually do damage to the zombie.  What the fuck CDC, What.  The.  Fuck???

So, I hope you go out and get these things as the zombies come out of hiding.  Don’t call the CDC, they’ll only offer water and it’s not even holy.

I’m trying to rationalize something that I think cannot be done within myself.  Alcoholism, it’s an ugly word.  Alcoholic is an even uglier one.  Day by day I question these words and their meaning and each day the question gets worse and holds more meaning for me.  What does it truly mean to be an alcoholic?  I know what most of society would consider it, I know what the bible-belt south in which I live thinks of it, and I know what my family – the ever so catholic – thinks of it; but I don’t know what it really means.

From the beginning of my memory, when I have heard the word alcoholic, I see (in my irrational mind) someone who is angry, sad, malevolent, violent, homeless, or withdrawn.  Someone who begins drinking as soon as the day begins or waits so impatiently for a certain hour to gong on the grandfather clock.  Someone who smells heavily of alcohol and mint and sways when they talk with their glassy eyes trying to trace your face.  I don’t see chipper, happy, bubbly, or friendly.  I don’t get the feeling of love and dancing until the wee hours of morning.  Perhaps my conception is missed.  Perhaps I am jaded in how I see things.

I am trying, unsuccessfully, to figure out if I fall in the alcoholic category.  I don’t fall into my previously stated preconceived notion of an alcoholic when I drink a cocktail or two after work.  I rarely drink more than two a night during the week.  It takes nearly five hours to finish these two.  Because my waist has expanded I began to think back on what has changed, drinking is the only factor I could find.  I haven’t changed my eating habits and while I splurge occasionally, I eat no more or less than I did.  I actually eat earlier in the evenings now that we’ve moved so close to my office, so that’s a plus rather than negative.  I don’t eat a bag of chocolate, I don’t frequent fast food, our family does not eat out more than two or three times a month at best, I don’t often snack late, and I still do not drink very many carbonated beverages.

Exercise is a cruel joke so that’s certainly remained the same.  Drinking is the only thing I can find.  Where I once had two or three cocktails a week and indulged a bit too heavily on the occasional gathering with friends, I now drink almost daily.  I don’t believe I so much need to drink as opposed to I prefer it to calm down after a stressful day.  Unfortunately, I have found that all of my days these last seven months have been stressful.  I can list the reasons at nauseam but none that I would consider bad enough to turn me into an alcoholic, even if you added them all up.  We moved due to income changes, my husband lost his job, I am three seconds away from being estranged with my parents, my children struggle with the move, my job has become insufferable, I am physically and emotionally displeased with the management team in my office, I work entirely too many hours and get paid for the typical 40 per week, I am always on call and have not had a day off without interruption in over a year, and I have gained back almost all of the weight I lost – all 65 pounds.

Have I become an alcoholic?  I don’t drink my lunch during the week.  I don’t hide my bottles, I don’t hide my drinks, I don’t get so drunk I cannot function but I drink nearly every single day and lately I find excuses as to why I need to fix myself a  glass of Southern Comfort to calm my nerves enough to go to sleep.  I fear the answer to that question.  Even worse, I fear that I know the answer to that question.  The remedy – that isn’t as clear.

Alcoholism, it’s an ugly word.

I know how many people ‘out there’ that cannot fathom how anyone would celebrate another human’s death.  I’m one of them.  I’m a person who values life unconditionally for all humans.  Someone who thinks that every human is worth their life; I believe that St. Peter, or whomever you believe, will be there to judge each of us on our day and only that person can make a decision for our fate.

Last night and today, I found myself completely conflicted.  I wish our world was such a world that we promoted peace throughout, that we dealt solely with the honor system, a world that didn’t need war, that realized how contradicting it is to ‘fight’ for world peace.  Unfortunately, that is not the world in which we live.  That is not a world that our children or grandchildren will ever know.  In order to live in a world such as that, all parties must be in corporation and I’m afraid that day is not today, nor is it tomorrow; at least not a tomorrow I can see.

I have, with many people of the world, have been reliving the horrific tragedies of 911, the day our country was brutally attacked.  I have watched interviews of surviving loved ones, ones that were pregnant at the time and whose children have grown up without their parent because of the events that unfolded that day.  While I was blessed enough to not have lost anyone on that day, I too was pregnant, my daughter was born six days after that morning.  I cannot imagine what our life would have been like had her father, my husband, been lost on that day as so many fathers were.  My heart breaks at the mere thought and my soul crumbles at the reality of how many went through this on that day.

So many families have needlessly lost a loved one due to the hand of one single man.  Admittedly, each individual was able to make a decision of whether to go through with the horrific acts, but they – having been born simply for this act – knew no better and so their life’s purpose, as they thought, was for this day alone.  One single man commanded this horrific day to happen.  One single man commanded the deaths of over three thousand innocent lives.  People who woke up and anticipated their entire day as we do each and every day we breathe on this planet.  These people expected to go home that day.  I can recall that day in grave detail as I was bedridden from pregnancy; I can remember how they reported men and women jumping 50 plus feet to their death in order to avoid the flames.  I watched as people hung out of the windows for help to only later see the entire building collapse causing their deaths.  It was appalling, it was needless, and it was sick.

I recall the disgust when I heard it was at the hand of one organization which was headed by one individual.  Last night, I was among many who heard the news that this man, Osama Bin Laden, was killed in a war that our country has been in for these nearly ten years.  Not only did over 3000 people lose their life of 911, but over 6000 soldiers have lost their lives fighting to find this man.  This includes those of American soil and does not even include those from foreign countries who have also lost their lives due to him.  He had no remorse, he had no care for any other person, and he cared not who was affected by the madness within himself.  This reason, this reason alone, is why I can understand the celebration of his death.  He lost his humanity when tens of thousands of innocent people lost their lives.  He lost his humanity when he disregarded human lives.  I value human life above all other but this man, this terrorist, this murderer was no human; he was evil and his day of judgment came last night.

Do I celebrate his death?  Not really.  Am I glad he is no longer alive?  Yes, undoubtedly.  Do I find justice in his death?  I’m not sure, but I think that his death lets the innocent deaths not be in vain.  I think that by finding this man who has eluded capture for over 13 years creates a sense of relief that our pain does not go unnoticed.

All this does not take away the fear I have.  I fear what comes next.  I fear what his group of brainwashed, programmed followers will do in retaliation of his death, his sons’ death, and leaving one of his wives wounded.  Because no matter how right I think this was, there are still people who don’t feel as I do.  I’m raising the next generation of our country right now and I cannot pretend for a second that I’m not scared to death with what they will inevitably face at the result of what our generation has done.

It’s a worry I can’t see being able to let go.  It’s the reason that tonight, I will go to bed and hug my kids tighter and be thankful that for tonight they are safe.  Celebrate, no, thankful, yes; worried – always.

I am finally sitting still long enough to pop out a post.  Apologizing in advance because it is probably not written as well as it should be.

It’s been quite sometime since I’ve written a Gay Rights post and feeling as if I neglected the ones I love, I’m compelled to do so today.  I’m a Gleek, for that I won’t apologize, and I adore their weekly messages as much as, if not more than their raw, beautiful talent.

I haven’t always been a Gleek, I remember when the show first aired and all the ups and downs of the critics – I remember telling my husband to wait and see how popular this show was going to become after I watched the first three or four episodes.  Life happened and I wasn’t able to keep up as I had planned.  I caught episodes here and there and eventually lost track.  As I predicted, the show was a hit and quickly became similar to the Opera in a ‘you either love it or hate it but you at least respect it’ kind of way.

Anywho, I returned to the show, watched a marathon and fell in love all over again.  Kurt is my favorite voice on the show.  It’s not just his singing ability but it’s is outreach too.  He encompasses what it’s like for a gay person in high school though he’s about 200% braver than anyone I knew in school.  He sets standards, he tells kids it is ok to be different, he faces bullying head on for those who feel that they can’t.

This week’s episode was one that I adore on a personal level.  It was about acceptance for who you are and loving yourself no matter what.  We live in an evolving generation, one where acceptance and understanding are easier to come by, even so I know many that do not find this in their lives.  I’m a heterosexual female who is an advocate and supporter of our gay community.  I have known friends who had a horrible time accepting their difference and telling their families and I have had a family member who continues to live a secret life because of family members being difficult to speak with and incapable of understanding.  Living a life of secrecy, unnecessary shame, and fear of being you is just ridiculous.

Kurt brought up the group PFLAG, a group I am not only a supporter, but member and pledge signer.  I was elated to see it mentioned on the show.  I’m sure it had many people googling the term to find out what he meant.  He mentioned starting a PFLAG group at the school and so with this I hope it will become more of a part of the show and get recognition of it out there.  PFLAG stands for Parents, Families, and Friends of Lesbians and Gays and it is a support system to those who need it.

Educate yourself, get involved, listen to your family members or friends that need to talk and if someone is struggling, lend your hand.  It’s the human thing to do.  Go here and learn more about this wonderful group.  Just as much as you demand, need, and treasure your acceptance, every other individual does as well.  We’re all humans living on the same planet with the same desires and needs.

I love to read.  I’m an insufferable reader.  Because of my lack of love for change, I find that I often re-read books that I love rather than chancing a book I don’t know.  A book that I love will become a part of me; I’ll carry it with me always.  The ones that I detest will haunt me forever.  I’ll critique the book’s story, grammar, the author’s writing ability as a whole and then I’ll get pissed and want to email or write the author to vehemently request that no additional books be written and that they take up employment as a trash compactor; the very same trash compactor that ate their sewage of a book.  Thus, I read the ones that I know and try not to stray.

Recently, I have strayed.  ‘Why’ you ask?  Because there are only so many times you can read Jane Eyre in a lifetime, or so I’m told.  In reading these classic novels and then turning to the popular books of the day, I am absolutely disappointed.  I am a 30 plus year old who sadly read the entire series of Twilight. I read these prior to all the hoopla and swoon of the quite unattractive movies.  I read them a few years back and the last when it came out, of course – right as the ridiculous mania hit.  While the story line was decent the writing was elementary at best.  I also read a series named ‘House of Nights’ in which I loved the story but again, the writing was elementary.  I realize these books are written for teenagers, but are we really selling our teens this short by assuming they cannot understand words that contain more than five letters and three syllables?  In some defense I read the series of Percy Jackson as well and it was mildly better written.  I have the habit of reading what my oldest reads.  He’s thirteen and I find that once upon a time I was a much cooler person.  Unfortunately, in order to keep this status I must read what he reads to keep to conversation rather than shrugs and glazed looks.

I had this conversation with a coworker who is older than I and has four children as opposed to my simple three who has raised her boys and one even made it to college so naturally this makes her superior.  That and she ‘volunteered’ all throughout their school days at a local elementary and middle school working with kids.  She tells me that I should understand that these books are written in a lesser vocabulary so the children will read them and that I should condone this because I should at least be glad the kids are reading.  Are you fucking kidding me lady?  I read the Harry Potter series, three times at least, pick it up – it too is written for children.  The difference?  It’s very well written with grammar that would make even Jane Austen proud and uses a smattering of new words that children would never had learned otherwise because you would rather them read the trash of sell-the-kids-short-and-use-small-words-only books.

It does seem that young adult books rather than general children books lose any talent for the written word.  It’s a depressing insight into how we think of our young adults.

I digress.  I will step aside from my soap box.

I decided to take a much needed break from data entry and peruse blogs.  Yes, yes, I know, it’s a stretch.  Work with me here.  Anywho – I log onto Twitter and see people promoting this blog and that and so naturally I click on over to read them.  Love them.  Hate myself but love them.

At this point, wallowing in my own self pity of horribleness and blandness and utter bemusement, I go to my blog.  I read the last few posts of my own.

*Blink*

*Blink, Blink*

*Blink, Blink, Blink*

*sigh*

Wow, I’m a depressing whiney baby lately, aren’t I?  So, obviously my next thought is: ‘oh for fucksake, this cannot be all that consumes me.  This can’t possibly be the only sewage that spews from my mind!’ and so I read further back.

It seems that once upon a time I had wit, charisma, and a fraction of talent with this whole blogging/writing thing I started two years ago.  In fact, I saw no self pity or even sappy attestation of a blog gone bad.  There wasn’t blog after blog about my parents, my brother, my past, my pain – nope, I was a good blogger and obeyed the untold rules of the blogging world.

It’s evident that I must go evaluate the state of my current being and wonder just what the fuck happened here.  How did I get so goddamn poignant!?!

Wait!

So, before you read all the crap that’s recent (cause I just refuse to delete shit anymore) please read this for proof that I once had humor, or this for proof I was fun, or this to prove my insanity by talking to the days of the week cause right now even that’s better than the recent crap.

I have been both blessed and cursed with a really great memory as well as an uncanny ability to block the memories I’d rather not dwell upon.  When the need arises I can recount those buried memories as if they happened yesterday, but through much persistence, I have managed to keep a lot of them just where they should be…buried deep in the memory bank.

Recent events have caused me to dig up some of the not so pleasant memories.  Some that are horrifying and difficult to write, let alone to have people read, and then some are just frustrating.  I’ve written, and soon deleted, the horrifying ones, the ones where I speak of sexual assault on a level no one wants to imagine experiencing, the ones where I’ve felt my life spinning out of control in a drug and alcohol infested haze, the ones where there is a year I can hardly remember due to the effect of the drug and alcohol infested haze.   The ones where I admittedly decided I was trying to kill myself without admitting it to myself at the time.

This one though, is a memory that’s simply frustrating.  I can remember how I planned my life out as a little girl and then as a teenager.  I knew exactly the type of person I wanted to be, the life I wanted to live, the way I wanted to be; and then real life happened.  It’s true, I wasn’t one of those girls that dreamed of all the fluff that usually finds the minds of girls, I was the one that knew I wanted a career, I wanted to be a working mom with an agenda, I wanted to be married to my sweetheart, children running around, few worries in life, working hard for what I had, and just living life.  After all, that’s what I was shown as a child from my parents.  Both my parents were working parents and despite the little hiccups of intense rage and eggshells, we basically had what I thought was a normal life.

I started working when I turned the legal working age of 15, though I was babysitting for money since several years prior to that.  Working was what I knew I had to do in order to be independent, another lesson from my parents.  I remember thinking how unfair it was to hold a job through high school when my friends didn’t have to, when their parents provided them with the adequate amount of spending money and shopping money while I had to save mine for whatever I really wanted but my parents deemed unnecessary.  Looking back now, I’m insanely proud of me.  I worked at the belittling fast food chains that plague the adolescent.  I didn’t have some glorified shelf-stocking job, I handled food or I took care of unappreciative customers and I did it with a smile.  I did this because that’s what was available to me and I needed a job.  No, I wanted a job.  Need to me, at that age, implied something that I wish I had but didn’t really want.  I wanted a job, any job, that would let me be able to buy and pay for the then so popular colored pagers (cell phones were nonexistent).  I wanted a job so I could buy my own dinner when out with friends, I could buy my own cute and stylish top for summer, or that adorable and tiny bikini.  Even at my worst of times, even during my drug infested state as a teenager, I held a job.

In fact, the only time I didn’t hold a job was when my third child was born 364 days after my second child was born and we decided daycare cost more than I made.  I stayed out of work for almost one year.  That was the only time, in my life, that I didn’t hold a job.  My quality of jobs soon improved – thank the world.  I now work in an office and make a pretty good living for myself, so much so that I’ve been able to support our family of five when my husband lost his job due to the economy.

I have been independent and depending solely on me since I was seventeen years old.  I have lived completely on my own since I was nineteen and a single mom, I worked two jobs and raised a boy, I bought my own home, I did all this on my own as a completely independent nineteen year old.  I made a vow during those few years when it was just my oldest son and I that I would never again need to depend on anyone financially, and I have successfully held that for the last 14 years.

Lately I have been so consumed with the negative relationship I have with my parents that I forget it was their raising that turned me into the truly self sufficient woman I am today.  Despite the abuse, the emotional neglect, and the strained relationship, they taught me the best thing any parents could teach me and I have prevailed in life because of it.  That’s not to say my life has been exceedingly difficult and money has been scarce to say the least, but I made it – I was able to make in my own world and that is a feeling I hope to instill in my kids….minus the abuse, emotional neglect and strained relationship.