Put a rug on it; now with better pictures!

You guys know my dog, right?

Silly me, did I say dog?  I meant horse.

*Who are you calling a horse?  I'm a teeny cuddly lap dog.*

Sure Maya, keep telling yourself that.  

And I'm still 29.

Maya and I have had our ups and downs, but for better or worse she's a part of our family.  We've come a long way together and after I outed myself, there was really no going back.  Maya is a very good dog, but she's still a dog.  I still hate picking up her poop, and I still very much hate all the dog hair that I have to vaccuum just about every other day.  I'm also not the hugest fan of her stink.  No matter how often you bathe your dog, they just have a smell.  It's not so much the fur as it is the dander and I hate it.  Which brings me to our latest decorating foray.

As long as we have Maya in our lives, we will have hardwood floors.  Carpet grosses me out anyway, but smelly dog carpet is the absolute worst.  Therefore it's all area rugs, all the time in this house.

This was our old rug.  We got it from Overstock about two years ago and it fit perfectly in our old house.  We had lots of light, so the muted colors were a nice balance.  However, our new house doesn't have as much light so the living room looked kind of dark and depressing.  Additionally, the rug was Maya's hangout spot and much like our old sofa, it stunk.  I regularly vaccuumed it, Febrezed it, sprinkled baking soda, but it didn't eliminate the doggie smell.  It was gross and I'm always paranoid about my house smelling like dog.

I'd been saying for months that I wanted a new rug to brighten the living room and because I couldn't get the stink out of the old one but Drew wasn't sold.  We actually bicker over it all the time:  The man can smell the slightest hint of oak or berries or what-the-hell-ever in a glass of wine, but can't smell 110-pound dog stink.  I'm always like "HOW can you not smell that?!  Are you nuts!?" 

Dog?  What dog?

All I detect is a hint of blackberries soaked in lavender,

 then sun-dried near a field of strawberries with a slight

oak-y texture and a buttery finish that lingers

with a whiff of licorice. 

One beautiful day, he relented and faster than he could change his mind, I ordered a new rug.  Now, rugs in our house have a shelf life of about two years, so I don't spend a lot of money on them.  I wish I could find a decent looking large rug for $100, but that's pretty much impossible.  So I try to keep it under $300, which is still more than I want to spend for something that's going to get thrown out in a relatively short amount of time.  The waste hurts my feelings but even professional cleaning doesn't get the stink out.

So far, we've gotten most of our rugs from Overstock, with the exception of the rug in Sofia's room, which came from Ikea.  That one is the next to go - we've had it cleaned twice and the shag just holds that dog smell.  It drives me nuts when Sofia rolls around on it and I hate getting on the floor to play with her because if I turn my nose in that direction, the dog smell assaults my poor nostrils.  But changing Sofia's room will have to be another post, because we've done some switching around in there too.

I finally got the fancy camera to work.

It might help to change the camera battery when it's dead.

This bad boy came from Rugs USA and I'm super happy with it. The navy is really rich and the stencil part is a soft cream that doesn't smack you in the face.  The bold pattern really changes the look of the living room too, which of course meant that we needed new pillows for the sofa.  Of course. 

 I raided Target's pillow section and came home with a little 

Nate Berkus bling.  The subtle chevron pattern echoes the pattern in our yellow pouf ottoman thing.  It's like I did it on purpose.  Which I absolutely did not - I just liked the sparklies.

It also pairs nicely with my sofa, which is now stained beyond belief.

I will never again buy a velvet sofa - they are not at all kid-friendly.

If I could do it again, I'd get something slipcovered but you live and learn, right?
The others are randoms that I thought might look good on the sofa.

The buffet also got an upgrade, of sorts.

Drew got a pretty major promotion at work and the new TV was his congratulations

gift to himself.  The damn thing can practically read your mind; it's kinda creepy

but I do appreciate being able to sit anywhere on the sofa and see it.

With the old TV, you could only sit in one spot to have a good view.

Oh, and how about the zig-zag ottoman?  Cute, right?

My girlfriend Shunta was getting rid of it because it was too big for what she wanted

and I was all, NO!  Sell it to me!

Sofia loves it, and it was originally for the basement playroom but Drew

loved it too so it lives upstairs now.

Also, the mirrored buffet is a complete hit.
Sofia loves to watch herself make faces and dance around.
Yeah, she puts her hands on it and it gets smudged, but it's no big deal to clean it.
Sometimes I can even get her to clean it, so it's all good.

We still have a super long way to go towards being able to say any room but the kitchen is 'done' but getting a new, non-stinky rug was a major win.  Now if we can just get the balls to pull the trigger on that brown chair and ottoman and get it reupholstered.

Our chair could look like this and I would sit in it 

every day and tell it how beautiful it was and how much I loved it.

I wouldn't even care that it's too big for the room.

source

Because really, doesn't she look so pained to have to be laying on 
such an unfortunate looking ottoman?
Also, you get an idea of how big they both are if 
my 110-pound dog can sort of sprawl on it.

I'm kind of feeling like the front door needs to be painted too.
I'm thinking some shade of blue?

Unfortunately, reupholstering the chair is kind of low on the list as we have also rearranged all three bedrooms in preparation for The Situation.  PS, I really didn't think that name all the way through, as I am NOT okay with referring to it as Snooki should it turn out to be a girl.  I'm going to have to come up with something else.

Anyway, I'll show y'all the bedrooms next because I think you might be pleasantly surprised with what we've done - I know I was.

OH!  Do y'all know where I can get some more pillows for cheap?  I feel like I need more pillows on the sofa but I've maxed out Target's selection and I'm sure as hell not paying $80 for a throw pillow like I see on Joss and Main all the time.  Or do I even need more pillows?  I'm not sure.

Also, I'm still obsessed over what to do with the TV wall.  Do I do a shelf over it like Young House Love did?

source

Or do I do pictures around it?

I love this picture - the symmetry soothes me.

source

Refreshing things around the house always makes me happy and it has done a lot for my mental health to be able to feather our nest.  It makes me feel safe and secure and besides, who doesn't love to play with pretty things?

OH!  One more thing!  Would you leave your Pinterest URL in the comments for me?  I'm scouring for house ideas and I'd love to see what you guys think is pretty.  

Thank you!

I will break these chains

One afternoon, Drew and I were sitting at the dining room table and I asked him what he thought about spanking.  It hadn't occurred to me to ask him before we had a kid and I suddenly found myself getting nervous.  I had no idea where he stood on the subject and in my mind, I began planning how Sofia and I would steal away in the night, should he answer wrong.  It seemed like a long time, but it was no more than a second or two when he looked me in the eye and said,

"Belts are for keeping your pants up."

No lie, it was the single most romantic thing he has ever said to me.  I'm not the mushy gushy type, but I never loved him more than I did in that moment.  I felt safe.

That's how I know the cycle stops with me.  I have already made different choices than the ones my mother made.  My daughter's father is different from my own.  Her childhood is and will be completely different from mine and I did that.  I am breaking these chains.

For one thing, I respect Sofia as a person.  The parent-child relationship is the only one in existence where the balance of power is so skewed.  Actually there is no balance; the parent has 100% of the power 100% of the time.  Sofia didn't choose me or Drew.  She didn't choose this life and she is completely powerless over her world.  Plus, as a brand new person on this Earth, she doesn't have the skills and knowledge that I do; she is learning as she goes.  Unfortunately, you don't hear enough talk about people respecting children because too often they are treated like second-class citizens in our society.  This notion that they should be seen and not heard is not as old and out-dated as I'd like it to be.  Children are seen as objects to control and break and conform to some idea of what a person should be.  There is no thought to the fact that they already came into this world as fully-formed people and as parents, it's our job to keep them safe as they discover their place on this planet, just as we do everyday.

I certainly wasn't raised that way; I had no opinions, I wasn't respected and I was definitely controlled.  I try not to blame my parents because I want to believe that they simply didn't know better, as we all only have one story to tell.  I'm not always successful and I still have a good amount of resentment towards them.  However, I do know better so I'm going to do better.

I tell Sofia I love her a million times a day, and more importantly so does her father.  We are breaking these chains.  She is safe and happy and because her environment is positive and encouraging, she is confident about exploring and she knows that when things get too big or scary, she has a soft place to land.  When she falls, she is quick to get up and brush herself off, saying "I'm okay Mommy."  And when she isn't okay, she knows that she can come to me for hugs and kisses and reassurance.  A lot of it seems like a no-brainer but a lot of times it doesn't happen, and I certainly remember times when I could have used a hug after falling, physically and metaphorically.

We don't hit or yell either.  Again, it seems like a no-brainer but we all know it's not, and I will never understand those who think that those are effective teaching tools.  Sofia is 100% dependent on me/us for everything in her world, she has nowhere near the maturity, coping skills or knowledge that we have, yet it's her fault for doing something 'wrong?'  It's her fault if she has a meltdown in Target?  Never mind that it's past naptime, or she's hungry, or this is the fifth store I dragged her to, but no, she's freaking out just to piss me off?  Really?  And so she should get smacked for that?  Really?

I have the power; I have the control.  It's up to me to keep my cool at all times in all things.  It's up to me to know her limits, read her cues and act accordingly.  And God knows, sometimes I have to drag her to five stores and sometimes we have to be out past naptime and God KNOWS I've been the Target meltdown mom because sometimes life happens like that, but it's never her fault.  

It's not easy and I've had to put myself in timeout to catch my breath sometimes.  It's frustrating and there sure have been times when I fantasize about escaping just for a few days just so I'm not on call 24-7.  But that's usually when I'm sleep deprived and the house is dirty and the laundry is a mile high and she just won't take a nap so I can get stuff done.  Actually, that's how I spent this past week.

But then, just as I reach the end of my rope, she'll go down for a nap and I can breathe again.  Or I hang out with one of my girlfriends and she's going through the same thing with her son and we draw strength from each other, just enough to get back in the ring.  And a new day begins.

My daughter is the coolest kid on the planet.  She's smart, she's opinionated, she's funny, and she's an absolute joy in my life.  I wish she wouldn't fight me for diaper changes and it would be cool if she wouldn't pee on the floor, but I just remember that she's figuring things out and she's definitely not doing it on purpose.  I respect her, I will keep her safe and not a day will go by that I don't kiss her a million times and tell her I love her.

It's my job and I love it.  The cycle stops with me; I will break these chains and I will do better.

................................................

Thank you for listening and I think that we should lighten things up around this joint, and what better way to shake off the old than to get down with some new?  Check it!

First there was this.

Then there was this.

Then came this.

Let's talk decorating, shall we?  We've been switching and changing all around the house and I have some fun and happy stories to tell!  It's about time for that, right?  Anyway, I'll be back soon with all the details and I hope you like them.  

Have a wonderful weekend!

Love the sinner, hate the sin

One of the things that happens when you're tired is that you stop caring.  You don't care what your house looks like, what your hair looks like, what you wear when you leave the house, and your patience is paper-thin.  This means you might say things that you wouldn't otherwise say if you were well rested.

Ladies and gentlemen, I am tired.  I'm solo parenting this week, which usually isn't a big deal.  I've solo parented before and it's just a part of my reality.  Drew has traveled for work since the day we met and I knew what I was signing up for.

However, I have never solo parented while pregnant and holy shit, this is a whole other level of tired.  I'm only 8 weeks and change but so far The Situation has been kicking my ASS.  I don't remember my symptoms being this intense with Sofia and boy do they suck.  Thank God in Heaven the nausea has subsided but the fatigue.  Good Lord, the fatigue.  Is it because I'm older?  Because I'm chasing after a toddler?  Because I'm more out of shape? Because it's 12,000 degrees outside and the heat sucks the very life out of me?  Who knows, but I dread taking Sofia outside because we don't have a fenced yard and her favorite game is Mommy Come Get Me.  I try to keep up because she deserves that, but after about five steps I'm dizzy, my heart is pounding and I have to make a concerted effort to catch my breath.

I have never in my life wanted to drink more than this week.  Sofia hasn't had her Mom's Morning Out school this week because they're doing Vacation Bible School so she's been all mine 24-freakin-7.  But nope, no wine.  And to add insult to injury, no coffee either.  I mean, I know I could have one cup but unless that one cup was poured directly into my eyeballs or injected into my veins, there's no point.  So it's just me and what little energy I can muster.

That's also why I've been absent from the blog.  Because I know the next step in the progression of this story is to discuss my parents.  I don't want to, plain and simple.  I want to pull the covers over my head and pretend none of this happened because it's really just too much to comprehend and I'm too frickin tired.

But I can't.  I lay awake at night, replaying scenes from my childhood, none of them good.  My mother calls and wants to talk about regular mundane things and I want to scream at her "How could you?!?!?!"  But I don't, because what's the point.  I called my dad to talk to him about this and he hung up before I could say any more than "Hello."  I called back four times and he didn't pick up.

So I have some processing to do, and THEN I'm going to put this shit to bed.

Initially, I wanted to give a lot of thought to how I would address this issue with my parents.  I wanted to be objective and mature and try to see how they could behave the way that they have.  But I'm tired and I just want to type.  So once again, here goes nothin'.

.......................................

I don't want to write this post so much I just took a ten-minute break and read other blog posts so I wouldn't have to do this.  Thank God I did, because this here post just got a lot shorter.

This post.  Read it now.  It's important.

That right there, is the crux of why this hurts so bad.  My parents were my heroes; they were my idols and even at 37 years old, to find out that they are just seriously flawed and fucked up humans stings like no other.

My father is abusive.  

My mother has no self-esteem.

Victimizers find victims - it's like the Law of Attraction in the most sad and fucked-up way.

I could go into details and tell the stories, the ones that wake me up at night because I didn't forget them like I thought I did.  But what's the point - there is no redeeming value to pointing out all the ways they failed as parents and how it affects me even now.

However I will say:  Don't hit your kids.  Don't EVER hit your kids.  They will remember and you will mess them up.  They'll be able to function in society, but the memory of how you betrayed them in that moment will not ever fade and it will wake them up at night, because there is no way to look your child in the eye, tell them you love them, get them to believe you in that pure and innocent way that only children can do, and then hit them.  There is no way to get them to believe that you love them so much that 'you wouldn't even want a stiff breeze to touch their skin' and then stand by while they are spanked with such force that it rocks both their body and the one holding the belt.  It's not possible.

But before I slide off the bed and onto the floor in the fetal position and before the memories take over, I will stop.  And please for the love of all that's good and holy, do NOT tell me how spanking/swats/pow-pows are not the same as hitting and how some kids need to get spanked because that's the only way they'll learn.  Just don't.

And it sucks that finding out about my sister stirred up all this other shit, because I don't want to deal with it.  I had a front row seat throughout my childhood and I don't want to see this show again.

But here I am, watching the worst rerun in the history of ever.  As an adult, I've tried to change the story.  I've tried to tell my mother that she's better than this, that she deserves more, that's she's worth more than what she's given.  But years of abuse and brainwashing are so much stronger than my pitiful words.  Even when I use the words that my many (many many many) therapists have used with me:  Has he even apologized?  If your recognize that he doesn't respect you and won't give you what you need, what benefit do you find in staying in this situation? When you ask for what you want and don't receive it, what do you do next?

Nothing changes.  It hurts so much to bear witness.  As a child, I didn't know.  I mean, I knew but I didn't understand.  As an adult, I understand perfectly but it doesn't take the pain away.  I don't want her to be weak.  I don't want him to be a dick.  I want her to stand up for herself.  I want him to stop being such a dick.  I want him to acknowledge just how wrong he's been, how he failed us and I want him to apologize and ask for forgiveness.

But even as I type that, I know it'll never happen.  Narcissists are scary people; they will charm your pants right off and toss you in the gutter without breaking their stride.  You only exist for what you can do for them and as the ultimate accessory, we were the 'perfect' family except no one knew what went on behind closed doors.  No one knew about the lack of affection, the personal devaluation that happened on a regular basis (What do you know, you're just a snot-nosed brat.  I remember saying "I'm 32, I'm not a snot-nosed brat.  Stop saying that.")  No one had a voice, no one was respected.  Behind closed doors, we weren't a family.  We were accessories that were not to step out of line without dire consequences.  And while there were physical incidences, it's not like we were locked in a closet for weeks on end; it was much more subtle than that.  It was not listening when I spoke, not respecting me if I didn't want to go somewhere, making fun of me for being sad or upset, never feeling loved.

My father has never told me he loved me. Isn't that something?

And when it's that subtle, it can happen nearly every day and you begin to just think that's how things are.  But it chips away at you and you start to think that maybe you are invisible, that you don't matter.  And one of two things happens:  you become weak and you bow under the pressure because it's easier to just give in because you don't want to fight and you'll keep the peace at the expense of your soul.

That's what my mom did and that's why she has been married to her abuser for 38 years and counting.

Or you become a fighter and you go DefCon five at the slightest indication that you aren't being respected or heard because I'll be good and GodDamned if I ever in life let anyone think I'm a doormat of any kind.  Get into epic fights with every guy you've ever dated because they dared not acknowledge that you spoke that one time on that one day.  See: every fight I've ever gotten into with Drew because I'm deathly afraid of turning into my mother and even the slightest tiniest inkling that he even might maybe be treating me like my father does her, is cause for war.  Even though my therapist tells me on a regular basis that I'm not my mother and I could never be her even if I tried, I'm still scared.  Because I've seen what happens.  You still function in society, even holding down a pretty major job with a secretary and everything, but I've seen.  There's no light, there's a heaviness, there's illness and pills.  God, more pills than I've ever seen and you can't tell me that they're not interacting with each other.  The sheer number makes that impossible.  It makes me so sad.

And I'm tired.

I'm tired of carrying around these secrets, I'm tired of pretending to the world that my parents are people that they're not.  I don't know what happened in their lives to bring them to this point.  I don't know what made my mother believe that she wasn't worthy of the highest love and praise and that she didn't deserve any better than what my father dished out.

I don't know what happened to my father, plain and simple.  He never talked about his past, but I can only imagine coming of age in the Deep South smack in the middle of the Civil Rights movement affected him.  Lynchings, separate entrances, fire hoses, getting dragged behind trucks - those were all a part of his reality and perhaps something broke inside.  I'll never know.

I'll never know what makes my parents tick and I wish they were better people.  I can only speculate as to why my father pretended my sister didn't exist and it's not that hard:  A failed first marriage didn't fit with the picture of the perfect family that he wanted.  And a daughter certainly didn't, especially when he could 'replace' her with me, his most adoring fan.  It sickens me to think how much I idolized him and how much he took advantage of that, and most of all, how quickly he tossed me aside when I stopped drinking the Kool-Aid.  But I'm not surprised - as soon as anyone in his life gets too close or stops being what he needs them to be, they're gone.  He always made it out to be that they dropped the friendship ball, but I know better.  It's because they were no longer his #1 fans, and he has no use for anyone but #1 fans.

I'm pretty sure none of this makes sense, but you're seeing me work through this as it's happening.  My mom calls, wanting to check on me, telling me she's thinking of me and I want to have compassion for her.  She's broken and you never ever pick on the little guy.  Not that I'm perfect - I'm so afraid of turning into to her that when she's been particularly weak, there was one time that I looked down at her and told her to 'dry it up.'  I regret that to this day.  

Picking on the little guy just makes you a dick, and I've been a dick to my mom and my dad has made a 'marriage' out of being a dick to her.  These people were my heroes.  I credited these people with giving me a 'solid upbringing.'

She actually left - she's had her own place for almost a year now and I've never been prouder of her.  I know how hard it was to make that step and before this sister nonsense, I was sure to randomly call her and tell her how proud I was, to reassure her that I was there for her, that I would never turn my back on her, that she's strong and worthy.  I've never told her not to go back to him because I don't want to alienate her.  Instead I just ask if the reason why she left is no longer a factor.  When she says it still is, I just ask her why she's going to go back to the same situation, what's the benefit?  She has no answer.

She still sees him; she was actually with him when I called to tell her that I had spoken with my sister.  It kills me because he's not even trying to get her back.  He's not contrite, he's not trying to win her over, he's not changing.  He just says she 'needs' to come home.  To cook and clean for him.  It's disgusting and I wouldn't piss on him if he was on fire.  

Yet, he was my idol.  He was my hero and he wants nothing to do with me and has had no problem going for years at a time without speaking to me.  If I ever went that long without talking to Sofia, I would go mad.

This time, we're going on a year and I have a feeling that this is it.  It wouldn't surprise me at all to end up getting that phone call many years from now to come see him on his deathbed or that he's already passed.  I'm near positive that's how this is going to play out and it sucks.

I want better for my mother, but I'm having a really hard time accepting her in the face of such blatant disrespect and betrayal.  She said she 'forgot' talking to my sister all those years ago and even now, my dad is trying to turn her against me saying that I just want to stir things up and make her life hard, how he should be the only thing that matters in her life.

"You know that's classic abuser behavior, right Mom?  You know that's what they do, right?  They isolate you and make you think that no one cares about you but them, that no one will ever care for you like they do, except you know he doesn't care, right?  You know that, right Mom?  You know you deserve better?  Right?  Right?"

Most days I feel like I'm fighting a fire with an eye dropper.  I feel like I've already lost and it makes it hard to have mundane conversations with her about how I'm feeling, or what Sofia is saying and doing that day.  And I realize that I have no idea how to love the sinner and hate the sin.  I don't know how to pretend that the abuse isn't happening, but even I know you can't love away an addiction.  You can't love someone more than they love themselves - believe me, I've tried with my fair share of guys and it never ever works.  You alone can't lift someone out of a real live depression.  No one can fix another person.

I know these things; my brain tells me these things but my heart just sees my mommy hurting and I want to make it all better.  

And then I just get tired and I want to close my eyes and pretend it never happened.  I want to go back to the times when it was good, because it wasn't all bad.  There were good days, fun nights and I would rather remember those times than wake up in the middle of the night because I heard the screaming just like it was still happening.  

I don't know what else to say.  I had hoped that through writing this, I would figure out how best to deal with my mom, but I'm no closer than I was when I started.  She called today because I had a doctor's appointment yesterday but all I wanted to know is what she's going to do when her lease is up.  All I want to know is how she can continue to see someone who is........such a DICK.

But I don't, because what's the point.  I've already had my ranty moments, where I told her that he could burn in hell; she already knows how I really feel.  

She just needs me to be her daughter but man, I sure do need her to be my mother.  


*It's late and I'm tired and I'm just hitting publish on this one because I kind of just want to be done with this whole thing.  I apologize for being all over the place and if it's hard to follow, but I really just can't go back and edit this one.  Thanks for understanding and as always, thanks for being here.*