Growing up I was never really counselled in the ways of becoming an adult. Everything I learned about sex, periods, babies, shaving, drugs, smoking, even make-up was learned along the way. I suppose my mom was shy about having those conversations because we NEVER had them.

I remember when I had my first visit from Aunt Flow; I told my mom that I thought I may have started my period as I trust a pair of stained underwear in her face.

OMG I can’t believe I told you that. Seriously, I was twelve. It happens. That’s life; lets move on.

Her reaction; “Yup, you got your period.” then stood up walked away, and returned with a bundle of Kotex in her hand.

That was it. Nothing more. Ever.

I began dabbling in make-up when I was about 14 years old. I remember the older girls wearing blue eyeliner and I wanted to too. I stole a tube from my mom’s make-up drawer and snuck it into my room.My heart raced while I quickly shut the door behind me and help my breath. I walked to the mirror and began testing my technique, then wiped every trace of it from my face when I was called for dinner.

Once the application technique was perfected, I felt I was ready to face the older girls as school. I proudly applied this awful blue eyeliner, only to my bottom lashes before heading to school. I walked from my room and came face-to-face with my mom.

“Get that shit of your face. You’re not going to school like that.” was her response.

I was heartbroken that after all that effort I was shot down so. I refused. As I ran to grab my school bag my mom as yelling after me – I can’t remember what – but I remember the hot tears that stained my face as I ran from the house and towards my bus stop.

I remember that I was too embarrassed I was crying to wait for the bus and walked the entire way to school that day. My eyeliner was gone by the time I got there from wiping away the tears. Instead, I had a messy tear streaked face as the principal met me at the front doors.

“Your mom called, she was worried that you weren’t coming today. Do you want to talk about anything?” he said as he eyed my red face fresh from crying.

“No, it’s okay” I said calmly.

“You know Sam. You don’t need to wear that make-up anyway. You’re a beautiful young girl and in time you can wear all the make-up you want, even though, you don’t need it.” He said as he placed his arm on my shoulder. I leaned in and hugged him, thanking him for being so nice.

“You can wait in my office if you’d like while you calm down. I’ll go to the class and let your teacher know you’re here.” He said as he lead me to the couch in the office.

“Thanks.” I didn’t look up at him.

When I got home from school my mom made me hand over the eyeliners I had taken from her. I handed her two of the three I had taken without anymore than a glace at her. I was so embarrassed that she had told the principal about this and mad that she wouldn’t even talk to me about it – like every other issue it was swept under the rug and ignored.

I don’t know when or how, but I started wearing make-up shortly after that because I can remember applying lipstick in the girls washroom the day of my grade eight graduation pictures.

To this day I still love wearing eye make-up the most. Mascara is my vice.

Sexy time!

That’s the best I can do at giving you my sexy face. Though, it looks more like I’m giving you the Stink Eye.

I’m giving away a tube of L’Oreal Double Extend Beauty Tubes Mascara at my review blog Glamorous Geek – whether you’re the winner or not, there’s a discount code for you to get $5 off a tube for yourself!

Ever root through your draft posts and read some of he forgotten? I have more than a few posts which I’ve started and only completed a sentence, a paragraph, a jumble of words which are completely incoherent. Some are embarrassing; some enlightening and some, maybe even offensive to some.

Over the past year there have been quite a few with the same theme.

The lack of sleep.

I haven’t slept in the same bed as my husband for a better part of the past 7 months.

Yes, seriously.

Hudson and I sleep in the nursery. I’ve laid out the spare bed in there and more often than not, sleep with him there.

I hate talking about it because either it jinxes everything and things go from bad to worse or I feel guilty for blabbering about it. Again.

Fucksakes, is she really talking about her kid not sleeping?  AGAIN? We get it. The damn kid doesn’t sleep.

Trust me. That’s how I feel.

Justshutthefuckupalready.

Not that I’d ever admit that I say that to him.

I’ve begged, pleaded and cried. I’ve even tried to reason with him by having an adult conversation.

I know, right?

So, please. Would you tell me why you refuse to sleep in your crib at night? What can I do to make this more pleasurable for you? What can I do to make you more comfortable? Is there something that I’m forgetting?

Just so you know, that doesn’t work either.

I get nowhere reasoning with the baby so I post and save stuff like this…

It’s been a nightmare trying to get Hudson to sleep at night.

Nothing like stating the obvious. It’s a true gift. I has it.

Coming up on midnight I’m still sitting here on the couch. I should be sleeping, but I’ve been informed I am not welcome to go to bed until Mike is asleep. Why? Because Hudson will not sleep. Let me rephrase that: Hudson will not sleep unless a part of him is touching a part of me. Srsly.

See: Stage Five Clingerâ„¢ & The Hot Fuzzâ„¢

Sometimes he still won’t sleep unless we’re touching.

Mike doesn’t care about when I go to bed, because well, I got to bed in another room. Duh.

Sitting in the dark I felt the horrible urge surmount as it has in the past. The longing for sleep; uninterrupted sleep has begun to cloud my thoughts. Reality is blurred and I find myself in a constant dreamland.

For a short instance, I felt the urge to shake the baby, put him in his crib and just leave.

Cloaked by darkness a single tear rolls down my cheek as my innocent baby nestles into my chest and dozes off. Seemingly only able to sleep sound as he’s cradled in my arms; I am awake while the house is eerily quite. I can hear the faint snore from the bedroom where Mike sleeps peacefully.

I am overcome with resentment.

Resentment which increases with each breath.

I cannot concentrate on anything other then stretching out in my bed and falling into a peaceful slumber.

Instead I have fitful moments of rest where I am unable to relax because I know I will be woken in minutes once he realizes I’ve laid him in the bassinet.

Day breaks and he’s peaceful; hoping to catch an hour of much needed rest, I lay my head down only to hear his older brother stirring in the other room.

My heart aches to be with them, always.

My body aches for sleep.

My mind aches for rest.

Oh the DRAMAZ! That must have been one of my emo nights.

Lack of sleep makes me emo.

Not the cutting kinda emo, just the “Woe Is Me” kinda emo.

Cutting wouldn’t be fun, that leads to bloody messes and scars. Not tough scars that have a story but cutter scars that make people look at you funny.

Not that I look at you funny.

Oh forget it. This is obviously going nowhere.

I’m going to bed.

Hopefully.

For a little while anyway.

Clearly this is me not talking about it, you know – in case I jinx it.

Shutthefuckupalreadywouldyou?

For those of you who are playing a long at home, this is what the past two months of my life have endured:

If you really don’t give a shit what’s been going on, then at least skip to the end because as traumatic as it was, it’s fuckin’ funny.

December:

Two weeks before Christmas, Mike lost his job

January:

We found out that my aunt (who’s really my second cousin) was suffering, once again, with a brain tumour and this time was terminal. She then passed away.

Mike went back to work, FINALLY! and that very same day a suspension coil broke, shredding the tire. Luckily Mike was safe and fine. The car? Fine – after about $600 worth of repairs. (Did I mention it was Mike’s first day back after being off for 6 MOTHER HUMPING WEEKS?)

At my aunt’s funeral, my brother and I decided it was time to start talking to our family again, after 10 years of following blindly we’ve jumped, feet first into resurrecting our relationships with our family, hoping that our relationship with our mother will remain intact.

February:

Shortly thereafter, my great-aunt’s dementia had increased significantly. She hadn’t been taking her meds and went to stay with family – whom I was just beginning to have a relationship with again. I drove back and forth daily to help my grandma care for her ailing sister-in-law.

Both kids have come down with the flu. It’s been a week and a half from HELL. Hudson doesn’t sleep at night – or during the day for that matter – and I am delirious with exhaustion most days.

Not to mention – I took Carter to the walk-in clinic because he seemed so sick. Wouldn’t you know that as soon as we see the doctor he’s tell her that he’s fine and he just wants to go home. The doctor agreed with him making me look like a freakin’ headcase of a hypochondriac.

** THIS IS WHERE YOU WANT TO START READING IF YOU’RE SKIPPING AHEAD! **

Hudson’s been having constipation issues from baby cereal. I stopped feeding him cereal for a while and then started again hoping that his system had matured a bit and that it would hold him off through the night.

Apparently his system’s still not all that mature because he got completely bunged up again. I gave him a glycerin suppository as I had done quite a few times before.

Yes, I’m getting to Teh Funny. Hold on!

So, I positioned him in front of me.

Bum towards me.

Know where this is going yet?

I inserted the suppository and tried to soothe him a little as I held it in place. Soon, I felt him begin to squirm and then some pressure, so I began to remove the tablet. Just as I did that, a HUGE turd flew from his arse and hit me in the chest.

I got shot with a piece of shit.

Literally.

I freaked a little, but was glad that poop came out and he would be a little more comfortable. So I began to insert it once more hoping that it would ease his pain and we could move past the Fligging Shit at Mommy incident.

But we were not moving past it.

No siree.

We were in the thick of it because this time ANOTHER turd shot me in the chest. This one of a softer consistency making it STICK TO MY SHIRT.

I screamed.

Hudson cried the blue-in-the-face-I’m-going-to-die cry.

I took off my shit shirt (luckily I was wearing a tank top underneath) and got him settled, and as I turned to grab more wipes he let out a little sigh and then proceeded to PISS ON ME.

I screamed.

Hudson cried the blue-in-the-face-I’m-going-to-die cry.

And it was only 9am.

So ya. It’s been a crappy couple months – pun intended, of course -  and this morning was the preverbial cherry on top.

Hopefully things can only go up from here, right?

Right?

OMG, they HAVE to get better from here. Please, let them get better from here.

If you’re following me on twitter, you may have witnessed my breakdown on Friday.

Preparing for a dinner date with Mike, I had to pump some milk for Hudson. He was going to be spending a couple hours at the daycare for a special evening where they have the children and their siblings stay until 10pm for a mini sleepover-like party: friends, pizza and movies in their pj’s.

I was also trying out the new MilkBank Vacuum Storage System for my Parent Bloggers review (check it out here - THERE’S A GIVEAWAY!!) so I got out my pump – which I fuckin’ HATE doing – and managed to get a good six ounces of milk.

I placed the pump on the counter forgetting to use the base on the bottle and before I knew it the whole thing fell over and milk spewed everywhere.

I watched the liquid gold flow along the grout lines in my ceramic tiles as I envisioned myself sucking it up and spitting it back into the bottle; cupping it in my hands and pouring it back in; getting the turkey baster to suck it up.

Even as a tumbleweed of cat hair lodged itself in the travelling liquid I thought – for a millisecond – about just picking it out. Yes, seriously.

Then I was forced to accept defeat. I mean, I couldn’t feed this to my child anymore.

But it’s not like he’s an infant anymore. A little dirt won’t hurt, right?

I grabbed a stack of paper towels to clean up the mess.

I could wring the paper towel out into the bottle maybe…

I took a deep breath and covered it, watching it slowly seep through – the tears started.

I cried over split milk.

And I’d do it again.

** I’m giving away a MilkBank Vacuum Storage System over at my review site, Glamorous Geek. Please stop by and leave a comment for your chance to win one of your own! Giveaway ends Saturday at 12pm EST. **

:::

Grace in Small Things: Part 10 of 365

1. Sick babies – only because they’re both SLEEPING
2. Sunshine on a cold brisk winter’s morning
3. Finding my car parked at the end of the driveway when, for a brief moment I thought it was stolen
4. Finishing Maggie’s new site Violence UnSilenced
5. A stolen moment of cuddles with my very active three year old

With her permission, I’ve cross-posted this entry from Maggie, Dammit’s new site – Violence UnSilenced because I strongly believe in what Maggie is trying to accomplish with this site. Geared towards speaking out about domestic violence and sexual assault, Maggie has requested – and received – stories from surviors whom are willing to speak up and share their stories of bravery.

If you have a story that you’d like to share, please contact Maggie at maggie [at] violenceunsilenced [dot] com to have an opportunity.

For those that don’t have a story, but have admiration and support for those who do, please consider taking the pledge.

And no, I have not shared with with you to toot my own horn for designing the site, but instead, I donated the design as a gift for Maggie because she’s an incredible woman with a huge heart and I am extremely proud of her for taking this on.

:::

The day I announced I’d be starting a domestic violence blog, I signed up for two Google alerts. Any time the words “domestic violence” and “murder suicide” appeared in the national news, I wanted to know about it. At the time I wasn’t exactly sure what this new blog would be, and I thought the alerts would be a good start, a practical way to stay up to date on blogworthy news items. I thought it would give me ideas. I expected a handful of emails and a truckful of inspiration.

But from day one my inbox was bombarded. In fact, I was so overwhelmingly inundated by domestic violence and sexual assault related emails that I had to cancel the alerts to preserve my sanity. I’m not gonna lie; I felt very discouraged and small. I felt like this was a mistake. I knew this was a huge issue, but I’d never really looked at the prevalence of violence on a day-to-day basis and it blew my mind. Frankly, it delayed this project for a while. After all, who the hell am I?

I am not an expert. I am not an educator. I am not a counselor. I’m just a woman hobbled by an old experience, a journalist inspired by a story, and a blogger — and that’s when it sunk in. I’m a blogger who has been touched and astounded by the power of this community over the past two years. I know what it can do.

And that’s something.

So I’m starting small, and I’m sticking to what I know. My vision for this site is to bring the survivor stories of other bloggers to you with the hope that you will see yourself, or your brother, or your daughter, or your neighbor, in their words. With the hope that you will feel safe enough and inspired enough to chime in. With the hope that by the telling and the listening we will all be better people.I know what you people can do. I’m here to collect and disseminate your stories of abuse. I’m here to ask you to tell them, to hear them, and to spread the word.

Sure, I still want big things. I want to make a difference. I want to ‘be the change.’ I want to spark awareness and I want to reach you through your computer screen and I want to shake you and show you either that you are not alone, or that you are blind to what is all around you. I have such high hopes. But every big thing needs a beginning. This is ours.

Here is what I’m asking you to do.

1. SPEAK OUT: Tell your story. Read this, and email me at maggie [at] violenceunsilenced [dot] com with questions.

2. TAKE THE PLEDGE: Read the stories of your fellow bloggers. Subscribe to the feed, grab a badge for your sidebar, and add ViolenceUnSilenced to your blogroll and I’ll return the favor on the pledge page.

3. SPREAD THE WORD: Share this post in your Reader, Twitter it, Stumble it, Kirtsy it, Digg it, whatever it is you Internet savvy folks do. There are gazillions of personal blogs out there, and one in four women share this experience. I’d venture to guess a hell of a lot of men do, too.

When you’ve done as many of these things as you can possibly do, drop a comment here and you’ll be entered to win a necklace, the same one I gave away with the Violence UnSilenced naming contest, generously donated by my friend, Elizabeth. It says ‘Peace’ on one side, and on the other (facing a person’s chest) it says ‘at home.’ It is strung on deep purple suede, and valued at $84. It’s pretty awesome.

When Elizabeth sent this necklace to the winner of the naming contest, she surprised me by sending me one, too. I’ve been wearing it, and I hate to part with it, but I’ll happily give it up to one of you for helping me out with this cause.

Speaking of generous women, my friend Samantha — the blogger and wonder designer behind BlogNosh, Don Mills Diva, and of course, Okay, Fine, Dammit — designed the new Violence UnSilenced blog free of charge. She put up with literally hundreds of emails from me, and not only that? She chipped in the domain registration and hosting. I’m incredibly grateful and humbled by her help. If you’d like to show her thanks, be sure and check out her impressive portfolio at Temptation Designs.

Time to cross my fingers and hit publish. Thank you all for the support you’ve already shown this cause. I will post the first survivor story tomorrow, and end the contest one week from today on Monday, February 23.

Here’s to The Beginning.

www.ViolenceUnSilenced.com

****
Cross-posted at Okay, Fine, Dammit

I’m not all that great at accepting compliments. More often than not, I blow them off as people just being nice, or polite. I try hard to be grateful for their generousity and friendliness, but I’ve always tend to look for alterior motives.

I know, right? Cynical.

I see too many faults, always. It’s just human nature, I think; but if I have a good hair day I can’t just LOVE the fact that my hair looks great – I look for a fault in something else.

I hate it. I hate being so hard on myself. I want to love myself – including my faults – and that’s what today and tomorrow are all about, thanks to my friend Hilly.

Here’s how the whole thing works:

1.) You’re gonna grab yourself a banner.  If you don’t like this one used in this post, you can find another one here.

2.) You’re gonna post that banner and then tell us all something that you really like love about yourself (thus, the “self-love” portion of our program).

3.) Ask or beg your readers to post one thing that they too love about you!!!  If your blog friends are nice, you shouldn’t have to beg…much.

4.)  Enjoy yourself and spread the love by doing this on your blog!  If you want to, drop (Hilly) a line or a trackback so that (she) knows you participated too!

So, one thing I love about myself?

My sense of humour. I LOVE MY SENSE OF HUMOUR.

I love to laugh and have fun with friends and family. I love to laugh until I cry; until my stomach aches and I can’t breathe. I love to make people laugh.

Now, it’s your turn.

Tell me something you love about me. (please)

Something wonderful and fantabulous about ME! (please)

(I feel awkard, so awkward asking this of you. I love to make people feel great about themselves, but I just feel so weird about asking for it…)

And…

Happy Valentine’s Day!

:::

I’ve been really behind on my Grace in Small Things. But I need to do this.

Grace in Small Things: Part 9 of 365

(at this rate, I’m never going to get through this…)

1. A sleeping baby – because dammit that kid will NOT sleep at night.
2. A baby’s sweet head resting on my shoulder – FALLING ASLEEP
3. Baby snores AS HE’s SLEEPING
4. Baby sighs as he’s FALLING ASLEEP
5. Sleeping in my bed. Alone. Sleeping, not coddling, not rocking, not patting. Just SLEEPING.

P.S. I need sleep. And LOTS of it.

P.S.S. I wrote this post quickly last night as I headed to bed, and last night turned out to be the WORST that we’ve had in a long time. Nothing could calm him restlessness and we didn’t get to bed until 5am.

P.S.S.S. He’s now napping in his crib. I am not tired at the moment, but will be the instant he wakes up.

P.S.S.S.S. I’ve been trying to catch up on the house and work and my other site while dealing with family drama.

P.S.S.S.S.S. Well hasn’t this just turned into a pity party. What a douchebag I am.

P.S.S.S.S.S.S. Sorry I’m feeling sorry for myself at the moment.

P.S.S.S.S.S.S.S. I need wine. Yes?

My great-aunt seems to be doing much better since she’s been staying with my Aunt M and her family. Having family around constantly has played a big part in helping her “recover” from her grief. Having people manage her meals, sleep and medication has greatly impacted her ability to cope.

I’ve been so affected by the events of this past week that I completely crashed today. Thankfully Mike was home for the day due to the weather. He took both boys out with him to run some errands as well as spend a couple hours at an indoor playground. They weren’t out of the house for more than 5 minutes before I went upstairs and fell into my bed for a five hour nap.

Emotionally and physically drained by the family drama as well as an infant who is completely against sleeping at night for more than and hour and a half at a time.

Seriously.

I’ve been avoiding talking about it with hopes that it would change, but it’s not. It’s not changing at all.

We’ve tried crying it out a few times and he’s fallen asleep on his own, but only manages to stay asleep for about 30 minutes to an hour. The minute I put him in his bed, he jolts awake and begins screaming. If I leave him scream in the crib Carter is awaken – which starts a whole new set of problems.

The instant I pick him up, his head hits my shoulder and he’s fast asleep. I rock back and forth as I slip in and out of consciousness. I beg him, I plead and pray for even a couple hours of consecutive sleep, but it seems no one can hear my pleas: until today.

Today I peacefully fell into my bed and was asleep the instant my head hit the pillow. I think I could have slept the entire day away, but had enough hours to keep the weepiness and moods swings at bay.

At my wit’s end, I decided to try the very last thing I had yet to try: placing Hudson to sleep on his stomach.

I was / am leary about it. I am terrified at even the prospect of SIDS. I *think* he’s old enough now to be able to sleep on his belly (like his mom and big brother do) and have a restful full night’s sleep.

I’ll let you know how it goes, but for now…let’s just pray that there are at least a few hours of consecutive sleep in my future.

After our first family get together in ten years, I’ve been left numb. Truths have been spoken – at least what I believe to be truths – light has been shed. The image of my past is slowly coming into focus. I’m not sure whether I should patiently wait, watching, as its images become clearer or do I look away and keep the images I have forever burned into my mind intact?

I am beginning to learn things I’m sure I was never expected to find out. I’ve asked that the veil be removed, my life not be cloaked in secrecy trying to protect me. I’m no longer a child. I want to know. I need to know.

For the past three days, my newly re-found family has called on me for support as my great-aunt has not been well since her daughter’s passing (My “Aunt Liz” is technically my second cousin Liz). Her eighty-four year old mind has been affected by dementia and her health has rapidly declined over the past month. Since comprehending the passing, she quickly spiraled into grief so deep she stopped eating, drinking and sleeping.

Her husband, my great-uncle has been trying to care for her himself, while he too grieves the loss of their only child. He’s not sleeping since all his time has been spent watching and following my great-aunt as she leaves lights on, forgets that she turned on the stove or began running a bath. He’s reached his wits end.

My Aunt M called Sunday night in tears explaining what has happened and how – now more than ever- we need family to rally together. We need to help our elders as they cope with their new stage of life; a stage where they are currently preparing to move from their family home into an adult living / retirement home.

So I’ve been driving 2.5 hours round trip each day to help my eighty-four year old grandma (everyone else is working and my cousins are in school during the day) care for her sister in-law while my great-uncle does what he can to clean and organize their home.

As much as I worry about the outcome of this re-found relationship and what it may mean for existing ones, I am more than grateful that I am now there for them.

And with this sequence of events, I’ve began wondering: Why now?

I truly believe there is a reason for everything.

Maybe, without knowing it, I wasn’t ready until now.

Maybe now is finally the time I am ready to stop following blindly; now is the time I’m ready to learn about my family’s falling out; now is the time to be there because they need me more than they have before.