Girls, Girls, Girls

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Today, I’m thankful for women.

I haven’t always “understood” girls. Especially the ones that tear each other apart and bully other girls. I never had too many friends that were girls because inevitably, there would be backstabbing, boyfriend stealing and gossip. I never wanted anything to do with it.

Usually, I would have one or two best friends that were girls, and two or three friends that were boys. It worked for me, since I lived with three girls at home. I always said I could only take so much estrogen.

Since my seventh and eighth grade years, I’ve had probably 7 or 8 total girl friends. Right now, not counting my sisters, I've had two and a half. Then, all the stuff I’ve been writing about lately meant that I had one and a half.

I ended up talking to the friend that I was having issues with and without ever talking to me or hearing my side of the story, the half friend sided with my friend. “She was really good at being mad at you when I was.”

Before I move on, I want to clarify: I say she was a half friend not to be mean. She moved a little over a year ago and I’m really bad at long distance relationships. We’ve talked on the phone a few times, Skyped a few times, texted a bit. But it’s mainly my fault and both of our busy lives that is to blame. I suck at life.

So that half was gone… which meant I had one.

ONE.

At a time that I’m about to go through one of the biggest life changes and events that a woman’s body can go through, having just one female friend is just not cutting it.

Now, more than ever before, I am yearning for female friendship. Girls to band together to support each other through whatever is going on in their lives. To hold each other up and encourage each other and understand all the things that only girls understand.

I’ve never been one to reach out, because I am extremely fearful of rejection. It’s one of the precious gifts I got from being an alcoholic's daughter. I was scared to reach out and be met with crickets.

I did it anyways.

I set my fear aside and so far have contacted two girls that are moms. One of them well, we didn't even get along in high school and the other reads this blog (HIII!!!) who I enjoyed immensely in high school but never got close too and BOTH of them have welcomed me with open arms and made themselves available to me in whatever way they can help. They both had different experiences with the delivery process so I am getting lots of great feedback – with a whole lot of honestly.

It truly is refreshing. My heart is so incredibly thankful right now.

Us women truly need to stick together, and when we do, it’s a beautiful thing.

Worth It

I went and got the new Taylor Swift album today. I went after work to Target with my sister, Kari, to get the CD with bonus tracks. I came home with the intention of making spaghetti, but I got really frustrated that my pasta pot wouldn't fit under my stupid-doesn't-work microwave and I just couldn't even face the whole cooking meat thing. I turned off the burners and told Bryan to have cereal and that I hated food.

Bryan then said that he liked me better when I was in a good mood.

I said me too and walked to the living room. I popped in the CD, laid down and listened. He made dinner because he? Is a saint.

I only have a few songs left before I'm sure he'll pull the "I listened to Taylor Swift for over an hour so I want to watch something that is loud, has guns and bad people blowing things up" card and that's what we'll watch. He deserves it.

He started his new job today and tomorrow he figures out the treatment stuff for his non-active not contagious tuberculosis. Yaaaay.

He can watch whatever the heck he wants, I say.

This post was not even remotely going to be about my evening.

When I was....12? 13?  I went to a Christian play, Acquire the Fire. I ended up befriending a girl and we became best friends. Every weekend, every summer break, every church service, we hung out. We were closer than close. I was one year younger in school than her, so when she graduated and went into the service, naturally, our relationship changed.

Then she met a guy... and it really changed. I fought as much as I could for the relationship. I called, texted, myspaced. I tried to be a part of her new life, even though we were states and worlds away from each other.

It all kind of came to a head when I went to visit her and I met the guy. I hated him.

Truly, there is nothing worse than hating your friends boyfriend. Ugh.

He was in the service and had seen some pretty bad stuff at war. He was angry and messed up; He did not want help.

We went to their friends' house and I remember that I felt really uncomfortable because there were kids up, it was late and the parents were drinking and cussing. So, I went into the kitchen with them to color and the boyfriend came in a little while later.

He was drinking whiskey. I was stone cold sober because that's kind of my thing, but you wouldn't have caught me drinking in a place I didn't feel comfortable in. It was just me and him and we were talking. I had asked some lame question because I felt awkward, and he looked up from his glass and he said, "You know... sometimes when we [him and my friend] are play wrestling, I want to really hurt her."

I stared at him a long time, trying to keep my face calm. I was seething. I've seen domestic violence, I've been hurt by someone that lived in my home. WHY would he tell me this? Why would he tell his girlfriends BEST FRIEND this?

So calmly, I said... "Katie has told you my history, right?"

"A little." he said.

"You know her Dad was in Vietnam?"

"Yeah."

"....If you ever, ever hurt her, we will kill you. And there won't be a body to find. Is that clear?"

Mind you, I was 19, all of 5'3 and 128lbs and this was a near 6'0, tall, lanky infantry dude. My voice was steely serious. He got a surprised look on his face and said, "Yeah. I won't."

I nodded and before I walked out of the kitchen, I said, "Get some help."

When we got in my friends car, I was shaking. I begged her to break it off. She made excuses. Reasons. Validations. I told her to just break it off until he gets help. That it wouldn't be a healthy relationship.

She ended up dropping me off at her barracks and going back out with him. I slept on the bottom bunk, watched movies on her laptop and cried. I was sad because we never saw each other and she left me in her room, in an unfamiliar place to be with a douche-bag. I was sad because I could see the warning signs and couldn't help my friend. I was sad because I knew our relationship had shifted and there wasn't anything I could do about it.

The next day, she bought me an iPod. I had never had one before and I told her no. She had said, okay, she wouldn't. She insisted that she buy me a Danielle Steele book for my flight home. I kept looking at stuff while she bought it and she came back with both the book and the iPod.

Every time I see that iPod I think of that trip. I flew home listening to music she put on it, praying that she would leave him. When I got home, we were further apart than ever before. She wouldn't talk to me about her boyfriend and soon I stopped trying.

A few months later she called me to tell me she was pregnant and I started crying.

A few months after that her new best friend emailed all of her family (by pressing reply-all to one of her status updates) asking her when she was going to change her name. They had gotten married and no one knew.

At least I didn't.

I sat there stunned. I was so sad. After all those years, she didn't even tell me she got married.

I still tried. As much as I could. I would try to Skype with her. See her new baby. See them when the visited.

They were married for a few years and her birthday came along. I called her all day. Over and over and over again. I was devastated that she wasn't picking up my calls and I was worried.

She called me very late that night saying she had just gotten out of jail. That her husband had been cheating on her and they had gotten in a big fight and it got violent. He and his mistress lied to the authorities and blamed it on my friend so she went to jail.

I couldn't believe how it had all turned out. She's still dealing with the drama of that relationship and we talk only occasionally. Our relationship is all that it can be at this point.

Every once in a while I'll get so sad that our relationship turned out the way it did. That her kids won't know me as Aunt Megan, and my kids won't know her as an Aunt either. I doubt very much that if her son saw me he would know who I was. I wasn't there for his birthdays or Christmases. It breaks my heart.

Now I have another relationship that is falling apart. We haven't spoken to each other for a few weeks now, not about anything important. Our friendship is in this huge limbo and I can't help but wonder...

Will my kids know her as an Aunt? Will she be around for the delivery, birthdays and Christmases?

The circumstances of each relationship failing are absolutely different. I fought for the first one and I guess that's made me not want to fight for another. Why didn't/haven't either of them fought for my friendship?

I've been thinking about that question a lot. All I can come up with is, maybe I'm not worth it.

Life is a Process...

There have been multiple times over the past few weeks that I've opened up Blogger, hit the New Post button and just stared.

I suppose I would freeze because there are so many things I could write about. So many different words to type.

I could write about a friendship that was damaged and now just hangs in a weird limbo. With neither one of us doing anything about it and it seems like we don't want too. Words were said and there was a lack of reaction on a huge event in my life and I'm just not sure where to go from here. So, I'm going no where.

I could write about losing my dog, the dog I loved and cared for since I was 19. I could write about the terrible night he was hit by a car. The night I saw my husband cry harder than I've ever seen him cry before. The night that I watched my husband dig a hole, where he placed my dog, and then covered it. I suppose I could write about that.

Or, I could write about how just a week or two before all this happened, I found out I was pregnant. Even though I had been told that it would be 'very difficult' for me to have a child, that doing so without medical intervention would be "entirely unlikely", after almost three years of not preventing it, God blessed me with this tiny, little miracle. I could write that I'm stunned, honored and scared. I'm equal parts excited and terrified.

I could write that just a week before I found out I was pregnant, my husband lost his job. In one fell swoop, I became the main bread-winner and a mom, lost my dog, and mourned a damaged - maybe beyond repair -  friendship.

Yes... I suppose I could write about any one of those things. But considering that each event is heavy on its own, I guess I can't blame myself for not wanting to rehash it all in writing. I guess I'm just still processing it all.

Trouble.

I have always loved pop culture. Even when I was in middle school I was aware of what movies were coming out and who was acting in them. I loved watching documentaries on their lives. Like E! True Hollywood Story and MTV's Diary series. I would read biographies (usually just the authorized) and would soak up the story. It doesn't just revolve around stars and their lives.

I love learning about peoples stories in general. Their testimony and their background. I think its extremely interesting to learn what made that person who they are today. It's fascinating, really. The roller-coaster we all ride, the various forks in the road. All of that is ridiculously intriguing to me. However, I'm also not one of those nosy people. I won't go searching and delving into who you are to strip you to the core. But if you are offering, I'm listening.

I've mentioned before that my father is an alcoholic. He's a good guy, funny and smart. But he's an alcoholic. It's just the truth. He has an incredible story. What I know of his life before alcohol became a major part of it is pretty amazing. But his life is halted every now and again when he drinks. Then he stops and he starts to live again. His reasons for drinking are his own, but they are there.

He, and his alcoholism, are a part of my story. It's undeniable. You wouldn't have me as I am today if it wasn't for his story. His story has affected mine in positive and negative ways. Which is true for all the people that I have met and had a relationship with. Once you meet someone, they are a part of your story. They are a notch on the belt of life, as it were. Sometimes, meeting someone once will affect your life in such profound ways that it alters the course of your life forever. Other times, you'll know someone for an extremely long time before the effect of that relationship is known.

The reason I'm going into this, is because The Hollywood Housewife posted a blog entry titled, aunt awesome.When I read it, I just kept nodding my head and saying yes! I have two nieces and two nephews and I have struggled with how to be an aunt.

Why? My aunts were mediocre at best. That is not a negative statement. There is no ill will. It is just a true statement. The relationship I had with my aunts is definitely not one that I want to replicate as an aunt. There were a lot of factors as to why I didn't have great relations with my aunts. The aunts on my Dad side spoke a different language than me. I was only close to one of them regardless of the barrier and she was more like a second grandma to me.

The aunts on my maternal side lived twenty minutes away and because of many different reasons, I think they  each gave up on our aunt-to-niece relationship. So, I would see them at special events and holidays and it would be nice. We'd catch up a little if we got to talk and we'd go our separate ways. Then, around the time of my wedding, there was a lot of drama and ugliness because of a labeling issue with their invitations, and things were said that can't be taken back. Whatever bond was there out of family duty was broken and since then, its been cordial but nothing more. Hellos and goodbyes. I wasn't angry or holding a grudge. My wedding changed a lot in my life, more than just the obvious ways. It was what it was and in the grand scheme, the righteous anger I could have felt for the rest of my life wasn't worth it. It's true, even when you have a right to be angry, doesn't mean you should. So, I didn't and don't.

Holidays have always been rough for me and I like to disengage during them. It's a childhood thing. When I got married, I wanted to make new, fresh traditions with my husband and pull away from travelling all over on holidays to doing what Bryan and I wanted, be with our closest friends and family. I saw how much that hurt my Mom and out of love and respect for her, we started going again.

Today, I posted that article and said that it resonated with me, that I only had one aunt who was not blood related that was there for me no matter what. That I desired a better relationship for my nieces and nephews than I had with my aunts. I want to be the aunt that I never had. But when you don't know what you've never had, its hard to be it. There is no example to live by.

There was no malice or evil intent in posting that. I was expressing a desire to change my story with my nieces and nephews. I had no control over how my aunts treated me or what kind of relationship they wanted with me. But I do have control over what type of aunt I am to my sisters children. I don't want this subplot in my story to be in theirs.

Unfortunately, one person read my post without reading the accompanying article from The Hollywood Housewife and inflected whatever she wanted upon it. She decided that I was taking shots at my aunts, and even after clarifying in the comments for all to read, it wasn't enough. After words were exchanged I deleted it and re-posted with "being an aunt is hard... hope that doesn't offend anyone." I was flummoxed that I was suddenly in trouble even though I wanted to be better. How could this be? How is it that someone is being discouraged from pursuing to be a better person, role model, confidant, friend? Aren't we, as a society expected to learn from our own mistakes and those of others and be better to the people we love?

The relationships that have been and not been in my life affect me and how I want to go about my future relationships. Because of the relationship I had with my father, I don't drink much. I want to have a better parent-to-child relationship when I am in control of one. I will do things right, I will do things wrong, and my child will change things to be a better parent based on their experience. That is how it should be.

There is an extreme difference between stating that you want to do things differently and better than you had it done to you and unloading about every offense, every characteristic that sucks, every awful thing they've ever said in a public forum.

Somethings are not a personal attack on who you are. Some things are just the truth, even if it makes you uncomfortable. If you don't like that truth, change it. If you can't, do better in the future. Let that story line, that experience, affect your relationships in the future. Don't make the same mistakes twice. If you've wronged a person, get over it, get through it, say sorry and don't do it again to someone else.

Get Real: Accepting Life

This is the third post in an on-going series, Get Real. You can read the first one here and the second here. Stay tuned while I go through this journey of self-discovery. 
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Wow. What a year 2012 has been. I didn't think life could get any busier. But you know, things are good.

Obviously, I still suck at updating the blog. Cleaning my house. Keeping up on laundry. Cooking dinner.

FYI, I attempted to make dinner twice this week. And I screwed up both times which resulted in no food.

Super. Wife points this week? -2.

I'm tired of trying to be what I think a wife should be. I'm just me. I'm 24. I still throw my clothes on the floor after a long day of work. I'd rather hang out with friends then scrub my floors. Whatever. Everything is acceptable. I have clean clothes to wear. I eat food. My house is clean enough. This is a season of my life where I can afford to let things slide. Before I know it I'll have kids, and they'll need to have home cooked meals, and the floors will need to be cleaned regularly cause they'll be crawling on them. I have plenty of time in my life to be a homemaker. My priorities will shift when that happens.

Right now, I just want to live. Do what I can. Have freedom. Not be so hard on myself.

So what if the garage is messy?

I mean, honestly, if I have to chose between hanging out with my husband on the few nights a week we actually get to see each other or organizing tools, Bryan will win out each time. Cause I kinda love him, ya know?

Allowances

Today I was reading Grass Stains, as I do every day and she posted on how her and her husband do allowance.

Let me just be honest with you right here, right now. I have been starting to think about babies every so often and..... poor Bryan.

Imagine my surprise when I'm like oh yeah, once I have a baby, I'll have a toddler, and a young kid, and a tween, and a teenager and then an adult. I should think of the stages PAST the baby phase.

Whenever I hear someone say allowance, I have to remind myself that exactly that is. It's a foreign concept to me. My full-blooded Portuguese parents did not do an allowance for us. I think part of that was there were no extra funds. My parents owned a mom-and-pop hardware/maintenance store. My Dad would fix TVs and sell vacuums and all sorts of tools, my Mom would do the books. They had a man named Andy working in the back and he'd do house-calls and I'd watch him soldering for hours with goggles that made him look funny.

Do you know many alcoholics that can maintain a business that is solely based on them being there?

Yeah. That, coupled with the fact that Americans stopped fixing their electronics and would instead just throw them away and get a new one, well, times were tough. My Mom went into insurance and my Dad followed soon after.

Back to allowance, there wasn't any. But it's not like I felt like I was missing anything. I had no idea that parents would pay their children! I like to think that, if we were out and about and I was behaving and I asked for a quarter to get some of that delicious-for-two-seconds gum out of the machine, my Mom would say okay. If I wasn't or she didn't have a quarter, she'd tell me so. I'm sure I was pouty and ridiculous sometimes, but I don't remember it. What my mom said was law. If she told me to stay right by her I usually would. If she told me at the grocery store that I couldn't have gum, I wouldn't. If she said yes, then yay!

While I was in elementary school, my mom and I would pack my lunch. She'd make the sandwich, I'd get the bag, chips, Capri-Sun and she'd usually stick an apple or banana or something in there. She'd give me a dime to buy milk if I wanted. REGULAR MILK. I only cheated on Fridays and bought chocolate! Middle school, I'd pack my lunch and she'd give me two dollars on Friday to eat at the lunch cart that had burgers, curly fries, pizza pockets.

If I was going to a school dance or to a movie or dinner with friends, they'd let me go if I was good and they'd give me money to pay for myself.

In high school, they gave us $15 a week until we were able to have a job. However, $3 may have cut it when my sisters Alison and Kari were in school, but I was barely eating my freshman year. Kari, who was a senior at the time, vouched for me and told my Mom that $3 just wasn't enough for me to get a drink and a meal at lunch and a small snack at break. So, my mom upped it to $20 a week for me. The extra dollar helped tremendously! (And I'm not being sarcastic!) Then, my friends and I got wise and we started sharing meals, snacks and sodas so we could save some of our lunch money for weekend activities. But this would usually HELP my parents rather than hurt because my mom would say, "How much do you want?" and I'd say, "Just like....$5?" and she thought she was getting a bargain, while I thought I was working the system. I probably could have pushed for $10.

Once we got hired, no more money from them, at least for the little things. Since I was young, I didn't turn fifteen and a half until the end of my sophomore year, but I would babysit to pay my own way. I didn't like asking for money. I still don't. I literally got a job right at my fifteenth half birthday. My Mom and I were shopping at Mervyn's, (RIP, Mervyn's. You are still one of my favorite stores ever.) and I saw the kiosk to apply, so I asked my mom if I should. We figured that even though was I was younger than the legal age, I was just shy a few weeks, maybe they'd start me then! So, I sat right down and applied.

Oh, how I shmoozed that interview. I am GOOD at that stuff, let me tell you! I was excited and responsible and they loved me. I got the job and they put me on the schedule as soon as I was legal. I no longer accepted money from my parents, only rides to work. And most of the time a friend would take me. I'd get out of school and I'd work a 3:15 to 7:15 shift three times a week. I loved it.As I got older, I worked more to get paid more. I paid for all my clothes, make up, and activities. My parent's still kicked in for yearbooks and important things.

I was never paid for chores around the house, grades, or anything else. I was expected to be a part of the family and that means cleaning the house and going to school and studying. My reward was a clean house, good grades and the trust I built with my parents so I could escape with friends.

However, one thing that I wish my parents had done and that I fully intend on doing, is saving my birthday money. More times than not, I'd get checks in the mail and in a card for my birthday. They'd cash it and give me those funds. OH, how I wish they would've put it in an account for me. I wish they taught me to save and tithe with my money. Luckily, I'm really good at that and have never had any issues with money, but I just think about how if it was all saved, it could have helped me get a car or a new bike or whatever. It would have made me wait for the big stuff instead of spending on crap that I honestly can't remember.

Now, back to what I think I would do with my kids... I'd like to think that I would give them a monthly allowance. Probably starting from Kindergarten. I'm thinking that each child would have a jar system. One jar for saving, one jar for giving, and one jar for spending. I don't think I would give a certain percentage for them to do, I would just say that from every allowance there has to be something given to the giving and saving jars.

With the giving, I would have them split it between our church and a charity. With the saving, I would put that and all their birthday money in their own special account, which Bryan and I would be adding to for college and other expenses. Their spending money could be used for whatever they desire. The ice cream truck or to hang with friends.

Also, I never knew what my parents made. I still don't know what kind of living they made. I know Christmases were for coats and shoes, not toys. We had lots of hand-me-downs, supplemented by a few new things here and there. Our basic needs were met at all times. However, when my kids are of age, I'd like to be really transparent about our finances and they way our house runs. I want them to know how much we spend on each child every month, from medical expenses to savings to their allowance. What we tithe and how we give to those less fortunate. I want them to understand how a house runs on as basic of a level as I can make it, so they never take for granted how hard their parents work and how you live within your means, always.

I haven't talked to Bryan about allowances and I don't know how he feels about them. I know I'll have a chore chart and that'll be taken into consideration when they ask to hang with friends, watch tv or any other type of free time. But I don't want them being paid for being a part of their family. Now, if they come to me or Bryan or their siblings and say, I'll do YOUR chores for a dollar, I'd be down with that.

It teaches work ethic, yo. :)

Get Real: The Best of Intentions

This is the second post in an on-going series, Get Real. You can read the first one here. Stay tuned while I go through this journey of self-discovery. 

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My house is a disaster zone. 

Every surface has something on it. Mail, magazines, books, tech stuff. 

EVERY. SURFACE. 

Everything is just messy. 

During the work day, I'll get all motivated. I'll say to myself, 'When I get home, I'm going to prep dinner, and then I'm gonna start a load of laundry and clean up the living room. Put dinner on the table, then maybe give the dog a bath. Yeah... I'll even organize my linen cabinet!'

I get all excited about the things I'm going to do. How its going to be so clean and refreshing! Maybe I'll even buy PLANTS!!

Guess what? 

I get home, I look at the state of things and I lay down and shut my eyes.

I can't be the only one that does this... right? 

Probably not. Please don't think my house is like some episode of hoarders. It totally not. But it's definitely lived in. Bryan's socks are on the floor in the living room, there is a water bottle or cup here and there, there are boxes of pictures that I need to sort though and scan. 

Honestly, if we just took 10-15 minutes every day it wouldn't get like that. But we don't. Who has 10-15 minutes to spare? Not us! On any given week Bryan and I will have two nights at home. TWO. That's it. Mondays and Wednesdays. And sometimes, he practices music on those days. But on average, we'll say two. 

By the time that dinner is prepped, cooked, eaten and cleaned up its 8. By that time, we're done. I don't want to move, Bryan wants to watch a movie, and the house goes uncleaned.  No laundry gets done. 

I just don't know how to get and/or stay motivated once I'm off work. 

So I thought about it. 

And thought!

And thought!

I came up with nothing. I mean, honestly. What type of person can just get motivated to clean? Stupid people. That's who! 

Eventually, I decided that I need a plan. Nothing too crazy, but I basically needed to SHOW myself that I do, indeed, have time to clean up the house AND have lounge-around free time. I may not get as much of it as I want, but it's still there. And that works. 

Here is a limited snap shot of my Google Calendar for tonight and tomorrow. Obviously, most nights I'll only need ten to fifteen minutes to quickly put away junk, but to start out, I'm putting extra time because:

1. I have a lot to do.

2. I'll need time to develop systems and change things around to be more efficient.

3. I have a lot to do. 

But, as you can see, I've made sure to put free time on the calendar, so that I have something to look forward to. I need to know that mindless sitting and wonderful snuggling with Bryan is going to happen soon. It's motivation. 

I'm hoping that having a clean, organized house will help get my zest for life back. I won't dread coming home, I'll be excited to tackle new projects, and I won't be as overwhelmed. It's an easy thing to fix and control. 

I always tell Bryan that our house is the base of operations. It's the place where we retreat to rest, regroup, celebrate and grow. Working on our home and getting it to a place where I feel like I can fully relax seems like a logical place to start. 

In the interest of keeping it real, today is the FIRST DAY I'm trying this. I don't know if it'll work. But every good idea needs to have a starting point. Today is as good a day as any!