Exposed: A short story

If anyone told her that today would be the last day of life as she knew it, Lisa would not have believed them.  She liked the way her life had order and she knew what to expect when to expect it.  Surprises weren’t her thing.  But today, that just simply wasn’t the case and she would have at least appreciated a little heads up.

She’d gotten off work a little earlier than expected and decided to do something special for her husband.  He was a hard working man and this week had especially been rough in real estate and surely, he was due for some much needed R&R and she knew just the thing he needed.

The drive home was much more pleasant than usual, she beat the rush hour traffic by a good two hours.  So far things were going just as planned and she couldn’t wait to see the look on her husband’s face when he came home tonight.

Upon her arrival home, she made a mad dash to the room which her husband dubbed his “man-cave.” He had just about every single game system known to human–vintage and modern systems alike–hooked up to this 70 inch screen television that was mounted on the wall.  In the center of the room facing the television sat a top of the line gamer chair complete with built-in wireless speakers and a detachable ottoman filled with all of the controllers to go with each game system that her husband had owned.

This room needed to be wiped down and dusted badly but for some reason her husband didn’t seem to notice.  Men.   Being the good wife that she’s been for the past two years, she dusted and moped the room.  By the time she was done it looked and smelled like an entirely different room and this made her proud.

Next on her to-do list was to tidy up their bedroom, clean their bathroom, then get started on dinner.  Her husband was in for a a full course meal, full body massage–and whatever that may lead to–followed by an aroma therapy enhanced bath in their whirlpool tub and to finish off the night, she was going to leave him to his games.

After a rough week, he definitely deserved it.

He was due home in thirty minutes so she was startled when she heard the doorbell ring just as she stepped out of the shower.  She threw on her robe and made her way to the front door.  Looking out of the peep-hole a woman stood too close to the door but she could tell that the woman was upset.  Her deep green eyes seemed to have a hint of fire in them, her eyes were rimmed  with red as if she’d been crying and the dark circles under her eyes told Lisa that this woman probably hasn’t slept very well in a few days.

The woman raised her hand to knock again, just as Lisa pulled the door open.

“Yes?”

“Ugh! I fucking knew it!”

Lisa took a step back, startled by the woman’s not so lady-like language.  “I’m sorry?”

The woman exhaled sharply “Does a man named Richard Wilson live here?”

“Um…No. There isn’t any Wilson here, you have the wrong house, I’m sorry” she started to close the door but the woman’s hand stopped her.

“Don’t you lie to me, bitch, does Richard Wilson live here!?”

“No. I told you there is no Wilson here, we are the Williams’s, I’m sorry you have the wrong house” Lisa’s tone was stern.  Her husband kept a bat in the umbrella rack behind the door and she was fully prepared to use it.

“Richard Williams” the woman said under her breath, “great, is this him?” leaning her shoulder against the door to keep it open she reached into her pocket and pulled out a picture.  In the picture was the woman who stood before her looking much better than she did at that very moment, three small children who looked to be ages, 2, 5 and 7 and…her husband. The man she’d lost her virginity to, the man she’d trusted to protect her.  She fought to steady her breathing and keep her hands still.  Her eyes darted from the children to her husband and back at the children.  They were his spitting images…only a lot lighter.

She met the woman’s eyes then looked over her shoulders to make sure her neighbors weren’t watching her and asked the woman, “How did you get here?, I don’t see any other car out there but mine”

“So, just because I’m stupid enough to get cheated on, I must be stupid enough to park my car near a potential crime scene, too, right?” After the woman saw the instant fear in Lisa’s eyes she clarified herself “No, no, not you.  But, there’s no saying what I’d do once I see that bastards face.” As an afterthought she added, “and I parked two blocks up, to answer your question.  So is that your Richard?” she asked nodding her head to the picture in Lisa’s hand.

“Come in” Lisa ushered the woman into the house.  She handed the picture back and promptly reached up to massage her temples.  She let out a sharp breath “Okay, um…first of all…I’m just…” dropping her hands she gazed heavenward completely lost for words.  “I don’t know what to say right now”

“Well, then let me say, fuckin’ hell, that bastard has you living like a goddamn queen meanwhile he has me and three children cooped up in a little two bedroom apartment on the other side of town!” she spun slowly on her heels with her arms stretched out, palms facing the ceiling, admiring the home “un-fuckin-believable”

For a moment there, Lisa thought to herself that she knew exactly why someone would leave a woman like the one who stood before her.  Aside from their physical differences, this woman had an awfully foul mouth.  But then she mentally kicked herself, this woman had every right to behave the way she was.  And if how she looked on the outside was any indication of how she felt on the inside, then Lisa knew this women was beyond pissed off.  Her curly dirty blonde hair looked as if it hadn’t been brushed in forever, and she looked to be about ten years older than Lisa, even though in the picture, which looked pretty recent, the woman looked a little younger than Lisa.

“Okay, wait…um. First off, I’m Lisa, and you are?”

“Gonna kill that bastard when I see him.” Her eyes were locked on an antique vase that sat on one of the end tables in the living room.  She let out a dry chuckle and shook her head, “Yep, my name is Maryanne and I’m going to jail tonight, that fuckin’ bastard.  You see that vase right there? My mother left me that vase in her will…it’s a family heirloom for fucks sake!” she laughed sarcastically “he told me it was stolen! I filled out a police report and everything!”

The vase had been an anniversary gift from Richard for their second anniversary, this past June.  Now, thinking back on it, it was a little weird how it didn’t come in a box of some sort and when she asked where he got it from he was evasive about it and told her not to worry about it.

Now she wondered what else he had lied about.  Two whole years she thought his name was Richard Williams and now she finds out its  actually Wilson; two whole years she thought she’d been his only wife, but here stood his other wife and she was white, Richard stressed that he didn’t find white women attractive; and then he had the nerve to have Children! Three children at that!

Lisa always knew how to keep her emotions in check just like her grandmother had taught her when she was a little girl, but Lisa was angry now and didn’t see the use in covering it up.  She wanted to curse up a storm.  She silenced her grandmother’s voice at the back of her head that chided her “Now remember Lisa, little lady’s don’t use profanity, that’s for trashy women”

She silently apologized to her grandmother for the things she was about to say, Grammy was just going to have to forgive her.

Lisa eyed the oversize clock above the couch in the living room. Richard was expected to be home in fifteen minutes.

“Look, that fuckface is expected to bring his asshole home in fifteen minutes.  We’re not going to kill him but we are going to get him where it hurts and make him wish he never fucked with us!”

Maryanne’s eyebrows nearly touched her hairline.  “Yeah, you don’t do the whole cursing thing, do ya? You kinda said ‘bring his asshole home’ and that kinda threw me. But anyway, what are you suggesting?”

Lisa grabbed the bat from the umbrella rack and beckoned the woman to follow her. After grabbing a hammer from the kitchen draw, she lead her to Richard’s game room.  “Let’s have some fun, shall we? Pick your poison”  The woman selected the Hammer.

“I think I like you.  When You first opened the door I thought you were one of those snooty types but you’re kinda crazy, I love it.  So, where do we start?”

The women grinned at each other and worked the room. Once they were done they were laughing like a couple of school girls and it was safe to say they both were feeling better.

A sudden thought entered Lisa’s mind.  “Richard comes home every night, except for one week out of the month when he travels for his alleged Real Estate conventions, I assume he’s with you during that week, so where do you think he is all that time?”

Maryanne scoffed, “Real Estate? That little dick bastard told me he was a traveling sales man.  But then I thought about it…what the fuck is a traveling sales man? Where could you possibly have to travel for so long to sell?”

Lisa rolled her eyes heavenward.  “I can’t believe this.  But here’s the plan…”

Lisa quickly got herself ready and made extra sure she looked her best.  She opened her robe just enough to give him a glimpse of her laced bra, she brushed her long kinky hair up into a puff and put on some red lipstick, Richard’s favorite.  She was there to greet him when he walked in.    Needless to say he was instantly turned on.  She ushered him into the dining room where his steak dinner awaited him.  He finished it with the quickness, oblivious to the fact that Lisa hadn’t even touched her food, she just sat there staring at him.

“You’re not hungry, baby?” He asked when he finally noticed.

“Mmm, no, I’m not hungry for this kind of…thing” she bit her bottom lip and winked for visual effect.

“Damn, baby, say no more…whatever you want, I got you”

“No, baby, I got you” oh, he had no idea.

She went about the rest of the evening just as planned–except she held off on the sex. She was not letting that creep enter her body. She led him to his game room and let him do the honors of opening the door and watched as instant panic crept up on him from the sight that lied before him followed by the instant jolt of surprise of seeing his wife Maryanne standing in the middle of the room, smacking the hammer in the palm of her hand.  He spun around on his heels surprised to find Lisa mimicking the same stance with her bat.

“How does it feel to be exposed for the fraud that you are?”

“How….what…Listen baby, I don’t know who that is or what you think is going on, but I’m not a fraud”

“Are you sure? Because my friend Maryanne here–your wife–called the place that you claimed to have worked and you know what? they’ve never heard of you…they have no record of ever hiring a Richard Williams…or Wilson”

His glance over his shoulder was met with Maryanne’s fluttering fingers and tight smile.

“So, Richard, you have five seconds to get your ass out of this house before you get your skull cracked open”

He gasped “Baby, your language”

“5”

“Please don’t do this” he pleaded, tears welling up in his eyes.

“4”

“Oh and don’t worry, you’ll be hearing from my lawyer very soon. And the police since I see some of my stolen things…were actually stolen by you” spat out Maryanne

“3” continued Lisa “2….” she raised the bat but before she could get to 1, Richard scrambled out of the room and out the front door.

The women laughed “And where exactly is he going with only a pair of boxers on?” asked Maryanne.

“Beats me. But I know the police in this town have a thing about indecent exposure”

The women burst out laughing again.

If anyone told Lisa that today would be the last day of her life as she knew it she wouldn’t have believed them, but she also wouldn’t have believed that the first day of the rest of her new life would be filled with nothing but pure happiness.  Happiness that she thought she’d known.  And she got to experience it with her new friend Maryanne by her side.

via Daily Prompt: Exposed

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The stronger Sex?

All throughout history we’ve heard about how such great men have helped shape the world and everything we know.  We have heard about how men have fought in war and men were stronger by default simply because they are…men.

But if you really take a closer look you’d have to ask yourself, are men really the stronger sex?

Sure, physically, many men may be a wee bit stronger but what about every other aspect of life?

As of recently, men have been ticking me off, pissing me off, disappointing me and letting me down.  I have been really been walking around with hooked eyebrow.  What in the world is going on with our men?

In the celebrity world, we have T.I. stating marriage is a distraction and I’ve actually saw a man on my Facebook post the same exact thing stating, “I want a relationship but they are a distraction”

From what I heard Carmelo Anthony stated that LaLa has been married but he’s been single all along.

I can’t help but think, these men are bitches. Or maybe I should just say, these men are…men since calling someone a “bitch” implies they are weak and the word is also associated with women.

How could you go out and embarrass your wife like that? How could you publicly hurt her feelings? How could you ask a woman to marry you, have children with you (which puts our bodies through hell, by the way, with all of the changes and motions), support you and maybe even catch a case for you and you STILL have the nerve to hurt her? Men are supposed to protect their women, right? So what the hell is going on?

It’s taken me a while to finally put my thoughts into words because almost daily I’m baffled by the things men do.

The Facebook Killer. I mean what the hell?

Through the weeks I have probably thought of a 101 scenarios which can prove that women are more than likely the stronger gender  so forgive me if I forget some of my points but from the top of my head I’m going to list what I can. And yes, this list will be all over the map, because I’m upset and confused and desperately need to jot my thoughts down as they come.

So here it goes:

When a man cheats, he expects a woman to forgive him and take him back with no issue, but when a woman cheats, the man cannot do the same.  Why is that?

I am aware that there are men out there who are rape victims but they don’t come forward because they think it’s weak that a man should ever be raped by a woman because after all, men should want sex at all times and it’s unmanly to turn down sex with a woman, it’s “gay” if you will.  But I believe true strength comes from admitting you were violated and seeking justice.

Admitting there is a problem is a sign of strength, isn’t it?

All throughout history men have had to put women down just to prove they are stronger/ better.  Women had to fight for their rights and even when we were given equal rights, men felt so insulted and still cannot view women as equals.  Why is that? Are they afraid that a woman just might be able to do the same things they could only better?

It seems as if naturally women are more forgiving than men whereas men would rather just burn a bridge and never look back.  Isn’t forgiveness a sign of strength? Isn’t avoidance a sign of weakness?

A woman can work full-time, come home and cook and clean and make sure the children do their homework, are bathed and put to sleep, but it seems like most men are only wired to just work, eat and sleep, why is that? I need some answers.

A woman can be a stay-at-home-mom with four children under the age of five–which means she’s constantly moving around tending to each child, trying to establish a schedule, making meals, trips to the park, or other activities to keep the kids entertained–but the moment she asks her husband for a break so she can get me-time, most men would become overwhelmed at the mere thought of having to take care of four children at once. They may busy themselves with other things and the women possibly never gets that break, but when she snaps under pressure and stress, the man has the nerve to be confused as to why she did.

Are we not human? Are women robots or something?

Oh! And my favorite scenario! A man can lay up in bed with a woman, get her pregnant be aware of this pregnancy and still walk away from his responsibility claiming he didn’t want any kids in the first place or the kid isn’t his, or his day-to-day life doesn’t allow him to make room for a family.  Excuses, excuses, excuses.  So the responsibility of raising a child falls on the lap of the woman and often times when she has that responsibility she goes above and beyond to ensure that her children are well taken care of, yet she’s still considered weak because she may need government assistance to make up for the absentee father.

A man would belittle a woman based on her outer appearance then turn around and get upset when a woman decides she doesn’t want to be with a certain man.  It’s as if their ego can’t take rejection but they could dish it out with no problem.  I’m confused.

I was on Facebook the other day under a thread under an article posted in TheShadeRoom regarding the Carmelo Anthony and LaLa situation and a woman commented saying “My father told me don’t think a man can take what he dishes out because he can’t” and I was lost for words.  One, because a man knows this is true about men, and two, because a man knows this is true about men and most men aren’t doing anything about it.

Our generation of men are the most easily influenced group of men that I am aware of.  If a celebrity says they should call their wives and girlfriends, “Bitches” then our generation of men would do just that; if a celebrity states that a certain type of image accurately portrays beauty, then our generation of men would become bobble-heads and stop at nothing to destroy a woman’s self-confidence all because she doesn’t have a big butt, big boobs, long silky hair, light skin, “chinky” eyes and full lips. Then if a woman pays to get work done in order to fit the bill of men’s image of beauty, she becomes unworthy because none of her is “real”

Um, I think a lot of men have a lot of nerve.  They are never satisfied.  They complain if a woman is independent, they complain if she relies on government assistance; they complain if she works long hours, they complain if she doesn’t work at all; they complain if she works as a stripper to make ends meet, they complain if she would rather keep her clothes on and collect government checks to make ends meet.  All of this complaining and judging, ugh, aren’t those signs of weakness?

Correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t the saying go, “behind every good man is a strong woman”? or something to that effect? Which therefore means a man needs a woman and not the other way around?

Why are men so freakin’ selfish? Why do men expect women the stroke their egos day in and day out? Why are men so insulted by a woman’s strength to the point where he has to belittle her in order to feel good about himself?

I need some answers and I am open for a debate because I find none of this fair at all.  Women are supposed to take blow after blow and still be strong but if a man steps on glass he falls apart and it’s okay for him to.

I might add more to this should something else come to me.  But sound off, please, I am interested in hearing your opinions.

 

Broken Pieces

I remember being a young girl, just starting out in the dating world.  I had an idea of my ideal husband and our family, I had an idea of how I wanted the relationship to be.  I envisioned a man who protected and provided and told me what he loved about me.  I envisioned a man who openly expressed his feelings and wasn’t afraid to let me know when something was wrong.  I envisioned happiness sprinkled with an occasional issue because if I was going to be realistic, there is no such a thing as the perfect relationship.

After years of dating and trying to find my mister right, I ultimately found my husband. Our union started on Facebook under a picture of a mutual friend of ours and our first conversation was an argument–a playful one at that.  Two days later he actually added me on Facebook–two whole days later. Ya’ll,  he was thinking about me for a whole 48 hours before he worked up the nerve to add me on Facebook.  We spoke through Text messaging, BlackBerry Messenger, and even though I was nervous we had a brief conversation on the phone.  Before that conversation, however, I stressed to him that I was Deaf to which he seemed genuinely confused.  Not because I was deaf but because I thought it was an issue for him.  In my mind I thought it was pretty much common sense–if I’m deaf, how will we speak on the phone? But in his mind it was pretty much common sense that if I could speak then I didn’t have to listen to anything I could just talk and he would do the listening.  He flat out told me “I don’t give a f***, you can talk right? Okay, cool, I’m calling, now” and before I had a chance to protest his name popped up on my caller ID.

I was nervous and of course let the phone ring a couple of times–half because I was thinking about not picking up at all, and half because I didn’t want to seem to eager and answer on the first ring.  I eventually answered and lord his voice was smooth.  It had been my first telephone conversation in years and I really felt like a fish out of water. My thing was texting, it almost seemed weird that people still spoke over the phone.

We had a little conversation about I don’t remember what, but I do remember it was an on-going conversation because I remember thinking to myself “how is it possible that I understand this guy over the phone? I’m Deaf damn it!” I took it as a sign.  We were meant to be, simply because I could understand him over the phone.

We eventually made arrangements to meet in person and I strangely didn’t feel scared; I didn’t feel like I needed to bring a friend along, ya know, just in case.  It felt right.

On March 5th, 2011 I laid eyes on my husband–in person–for the very first time.

It was like a scene out of the movies.  Or at least it was for me.  As a white limousine taxi drove by in slow motion (I swear it was in slow motion!) I looked at him from across the street, standing there wearing all black trying to look intimidating.  I heard the words “Oh, my God, I just met my husband.” Once the taxi passed and the moment was over I realized that the voice was mine and I truly believed it.  March 5th 2011 at approximately 6pm, I met my husband.

We walked to the check cashing  place, talking like we’d known each other for longer than a few weeks.

He was trying to act tough but it was a little off-putting because he wasn’t making and keeping eye contact with me.  I started to think he didn’t like me and I started feeling so sad.  But you see, I was a 20-year-old and no longer a teenager so I wasn’t going to keep my thoughts to myself so I told him, “I don’t think you like me.” The look on his face was what I would later be able to dub as his “well, that’s stupid” face and he said, “and why do you think that?” I looked up at the side of his face and replied, “because you aren’t even looking at me, you’ve barely made eye contact since I’ve been here”

Insert “Well, that’s stupid” face here and I deserved it because, well…at this point we had just met in person twenty minutes prior.  But this guy wanted to make me happy so he looked at me and didn’t take his eyes off of me.  Talk about awkward.

We went to his house and engaged in conversation and I’m not quite sure how it happened–I probably may have rested my head on his shoulder and asked him to look at me…I don’t know, because what happened next had me forgetting my own name.

No, we didn’t have sex, I’m not that type of girl. Insert hair toss here.

But our first kiss was…magical. There was passion, there was fire, explosions if you will.  It was everything. It was kind of scary having such burst of emotions but at the same time it felt right.  Meant to be.

And that was it.  I didn’t have to look any further, I had found my husband and the father of my children.

I thought that he was perfect for me and he was.  He was literally a gentle giant.  Just by looking at him, one would assume he would crush skulls if someone so much as stepped on his toes but as the months went on, I quickly learned that looks were very deceiving in his case.  That’s how he’d gotten by in life; people were scared of him but I wasn’t.

So soon in the relationship there was so much passion and we often talked about what we wanted out of life and the steps we wanted to take in order to get where we wanted to be.  We found out that we’d been in a bunch of the same places all over New York City but we’d either missed each other or been there at different times.  We also discovered that we had a lot in common.

He never really had a fight before, me neither; he’d never been arrested, me neither; he’d never been to jail, me neither. He liked to laugh, me too; he was the oldest sibling out of his mother’s children, me too; he had dreams and aspirations, me too. But then there was that thing that set us apart. He liked to sweep things under the rug, rather than face them–wait, I couldn’t and can’t do that.

This is our main issue.

Imagine listening to a song that describes your life and problems perfectly.  Imagine feeling each pluck of the guitar, each key of the piano, each blow of the horn and the singer on the track has a voice that embodies your spirit in a way that words can’t describe–oh, it’s getting intense now. Now imagine the song getting to the hook and it just becomes too much to bear, this song is stroking heart-strings that you haven’t learned to use due to lack of security in your past.  Instead of facing the music, hearing it out until the end and learning to use those feelings that it evokes you just mute the song–while it’s still playing.  You so stubbornly sit in the silence, put the song out of your mind and pick another song from the playlist–this time a song that is least likely to evoke such feelings.

Are you frustrated yet?

My husband would much rather throw himself into some sort of work than to sort through the pain that he is obviously carrying.  It’s more important to him to appear strong and together than to admit that he needs help.  No matter what I try to do or say, if he’s not ready to receive it, it goes in one ear and out the other.

But nevertheless, my husband was brought up to value the importance of family.  And I love me a family man but his inability to face his personal issues has made him seemingly too scared or insecure to make decisions where our children are concerned. In his eyes I know what I am doing so his response to everything is “ask mommy.” I have reasons to believe that he is afraid of causing damage to our children but little does he know, all parents make mistakes–I make them daily–but it’s all about acknowledging when a mistake is being made and seeking a solution–a healthy one at that–so you and your children can grow and your children can become normal functioning adults one day.

I don’t think that he would ever be able to shift his focus from himself and the family he was born into, to the family he has created until he faces some of his childhood trauma that varies from family issues to cheating ex-girlfriends.  It’s funny now that I think about it, I used to say to my husband how much I liked his ex-girlfriends because if it hadn’t been for their eff-ups he would have never been able to find me.

Ha! I don’t feel that way anymore!

Even through all of this, I can’t help but feel a little selfish like, I want him to myself sometimes.  Am I wrong for that? Am I wrong to feel like he should put me and our girls before the family he was born into more often than not? After all we aren’t the ones who caused him any of the pain he continues to bury.

Oh, don’t let me forget about my husband’s inability to slow down.  He has a huge issue with putting too much on his plate at a time and then biting off more than he can chew.  He also has a huge issue with shifting his focus often to match his current situation.  In short he’s always overworked, overwhelmed and desperately trying to make everyone happy and often times I don’t feel I’m part of that “everyone.”

When I first met him, he was all about music.  He was DJ, he was a rapper and he loved everything about music, you could hear it in his voice when he spoke, the passion he had for music.  He had a dream.

Over the years, however, his focus has been shifting quite often.  Almost as if he is still trying to find himself.  As if he isn’t sure what he wants anymore.  As a result, I imagine how much pressure he probably feels he’s under, being 26 and married and having two small children under the age of five.  His younger brother claimed he wasn’t happy living in New York City so my Husband–having his superman complex–jumped in and offered him a place to live at the same exact time our youngest was born.  It’s crowded.  Anytime there is a conflict in his family he is the one who is called on to be the mediator.  In their belief, he’s the man of the family now following the untimely death of his grandfather; in my belief he’s supposed to be the man in our family and he hasn’t been the man in their family since he became a father.

He has all of these strings pulling him in so many different directions that I feel forgotten.   When I have an issue it seems like it’s too much for him to bear; he seems too unavailable and wrapped up into his world to even notice when my stress is eating me up; he doesn’t notice when I’ve lost some weight or when I’m in pain.  If he does, he doesn’t deem it important enough to mention it to me.  When I want him to make some time so that we can talk, he disregards it claiming there’s nothing to talk about.  So me being aware of his burdens, his pain and his lack of focus I keep a lot from him and have to deal with a lot on my own.

I can easily take his baggage and sort through them for him if he would just hand it to me but my husband is broken, and I don’t know how to fix it.

Am I wrong for wanting to help him to clear his plate and start taking smaller bites so that he could have time for our family? Am I wrong for wanting him to myself sometimes? Or am I being unreasonable?

Maybe I’m wrong

It’s hard for me as a parent to see my children in any type of pain, whether it’s pain caused by a small scratch on the knee, pain caused by hurtful words, pain caused by something internal, and especially pain caused at the hands of another person.

Excuse me if I might sound ignorant, but it is within my belief

pexels-photo
photo creds: Pexels.com

that the only two people who are allowed to put their hands on a child are the parents.  After all it’s the parents who brought the child into the world and it’s the parents who are solely responsible for grooming their child so that when they are ready to flee the nest, they would do so gracefully.   With that said, no one and I mean no one is allowed to put their hands on my children.

It is within my motherly nature to protect my children in any way possible now that they are so young and it kills me inside knowing that I wouldn’t be able to protect them from everything harmful in life; I can only teach them how to recogonize and avoid danger from afar and hope for the best.

It kills me inside knowing that there are some very horrible people in this world and I wouldn’t be able to throw an invisibility cloak over my children so that those bad people wouldn’t be able to see them and therefore harm my children; I can only teach them how to defend themselves and hope for the best.

It also kills me inside knowing that if pain is inflicted upon my children by the hands or mouth of another person, as a mother, I cannot react the way I instinctively want to react because I know that my children are watching me and how I behave and react will someday be how they behave and react.  And I wouldn’t want them to one day snap and end up in a world a trouble.  So I have to think, not twice, but four times before I act.  All. Of. The. Time.

Can you imagine how exhasting that is coupled with constant worry and other things mother’s are faced with?

At times I may seem calm as if things don’t bother me or as if I don’t see what’s going on around me, but please know that I am well aware of my surroundings; I’m deaf but I hear everything, I may be looking one way but I see everything. My children are the only reasons why I remain seemingly calm in situations where people would otherwise raise hell.  It’s called self-control and I want my children to have it.

Afterall, children don’t do as they’re told, they do as they see.

Unfortunately, there has been a time where someone, who should have been able to be trusted, put their hands on my daughter.  Though this incident took place months ago, even now it still angers me.  From the night that it happened up until this very moment as I am sitting here typing this out, I’ve replayed the incident over and over again in my head and each time I get even more upset.  I always ask myself why–after all of this time–does that incident still piss me off?

Well, on the night that it happened I was pissed because it was unexpected and the person who put their hands on my child was honestly the last person I would have expected to do so.

Remembering the fear and confusion on my child’s face sent me to a very dark place and it took everything for me to come out of that dark place.

I had just given birth at the time; my youngest was just shy of four weeks old, everything was all happiness and smiles as my family adapted to having a new addition.

On this particular night I called my daughter to my room to let her know that it was bed time.  I was fully prepared for her to put up a fight and whine and complain about how she wasn’t sleepy yet and she wanted a few more minutes of playtime, but to my surprise she did the exact opposite.  Before I could even say my usual “it’s time to clean up and brush your teeth, grab a book so I can read you a bed time story” she beat me to it.  I was thorougly impressed with how much of a big girl she was being that night.  To my announcement that it was bedtime, she simply said, “Okay, I’m going to quickly clean up my toys, then I’ll go brush my teeth and then can you read me a bed time story?” I was damned near moved to tears.  My four year old wasn’t going to give me a hard way to go? That was certainly a first.

However, thirty minutes later when my daughter didn’t report to me that she was finished cleaning up her mess, I didn’t see her go into the bathroom or come into my bedroom and get a book from the book shelf,  I started to think that she fooled me and snagged an extra thirty minutes of playtime.  But as I walked past her bedroom to make my way to the living room with my three week old in tow, I was stopped dead in my tracks.

My usual lively four year old was trembling, rocking side to side, holding her thigh with her face burried in her pillow. A closer look told me she was crying; the side of her face was red. Now, she’s already dark in complexion so if her face turned red that should tell you something.

I simply asked her, “what’s wrong?” and she shot up, eyes wide showing obvious fear. She held her hands to the sides of her face and shook her head quite violently “I’m so sorry, mommy! It was by my accident! I didn’t mean to!” I didn’t even try to hide my confusion as she breathlessly tried to tell me what had happened.  I tried to get her calm down thinking she thought she would be in trouble for falling–because that’s what I thought happened.  I thought she fell and hurt herself or at most fell and broke something in the living room. But by the same token, I didn’t remember hearing a thudding sound so that just added to all of my confusion. With the help of some deep breathing on her part, I was finally able to understand what had transpired.

It’s possible, and I never knew that it was, for someone to see fire and have steam to shoot out of their ears.

Straight from her mouth my daughter told me that she and this person was playing as they always used to and my child playfully tapped the other persons face by way of playful affection. (think of a grandparent caressing their grandchilds face and giving it three taps) Now, to me, I knew this was all done in play because I know my child–I even had her demonstrate on me what she did and it only cemented what I already knew. She’s four and very heavyhanded like her father.

To the other person it may have felt like a purposeful full-force smack to the face but had they have used words instead of retaliation they would have gained the knowledge that it wasn’t meant to come out the way it felt.

However, when the other person was asked to tell their side, they only told what my four year old did to them.  They was mum about what what they did in return.  Which threw up red flags in my mind. Why couldn’t they admit their part? Is this not the first time something like this happened? Has something ever happened while I was asleep or in the shower–two times when my hearing aids aren’t in my ears?

It took me a good fifteen minutes to calm my daughter down enough for her to breathe normally again.  I let my daughter know that I knew she made a mistake and her “hit” wasn’t intended to be interpreted as it ultimately was.   As I would later learn that this person likes to initiate roughhousing but would only stop if something breaks, someone gets hurt physically or someone’s feelings get hurt.  I’ll have you know that this person is old enough–in fact way older than my child and a member of the oposite sex and therefore should have known better than to react the way that they did.

Now, when I think back on that day, I realize that it still pisses me off because I can no longer trust that person and when my trust in someone is broken it upsets me because I start to feel like my judgement in character should have been better.  It makes me feel like I not only endangered myself but worst–I have put my children in danger as well.  All because I thought  a person could be trusted.  It makes me feel like a terrible mother; like I’m not doing a good enough job to protect my children the way I should.  In short, I feel like shit.

I’m no longer wired to be able to forgive, forget and give another chance.  I can only forgive, but you will never be given another chance to mess with my family–especially my kids, ever again.

Naturally, since I became a mother almost five years ago, something in me disallows me to give people more than once chance.  Shockingly the transition from being a person who handed out chances like water to being a person who cuts people off if they so much as move a fraction of an inch in the wrong direction was pretty easy. After becoming a mom, I no longer felt like I needed a lot of people in my life; my main and only focus became the caring and well-being of my family (Husband, children and myself) everyone else could get dropped with the quickness and I cannot and will not apologize for that.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I understand that people are still learning and growing throughout their lifetime but I cannot subject my family to bullshit if I can help it.  They are not test objects to be used at anyone’s disposal in their journey to finding themselves or learning right from wrong.  That’s what your parents/ guardians are for.  And if they failed to teach you what they should have taught you, stay away from my family.

Just to be clear I am not talking about children here.  Children will inevitably make mistakes and over time learn from them.  I am talking about people who are of age.  And by “of age” I mean, people who are legally allowed to drive, legally allowed to smoke, legally allowed to drink, legally allowed to go out clubbing and will legally be placed in the big house instead of Juvenile if they were to ever break the law.

I don’t know, it might just be me.  But me personally, I would never put my hands on another person’s child–and I never have even when I was a teenager, even when I was a child myself (yep, that’s right, I never had a fight before).  Why? Because I’ve always known that other people’s children aren’t mine and I therefore I didn’t and still don’t have the right to put my hands on their child and for the bonus reason…..wait for it, now…..I knew better.  As someone who is clearly no longer a child (and I haven’t felt like a child since I entered High School back in 2005 when I was going on 15 years old) hitting someone younger than me not only seemed cowardice but it also seems predatory in my eyes.

In my eyes, if someone of age thinks that it’s okay to hit a small child, then what else do they think is okay to do to a child? I’ll leave that to your imagination.

Maybe I’m wrong.  But I don’t think that I am.

 

 

 

 

 

Maybe I’m not SuperMom

What we say we would do is not always what we will do when we are in the moment

Everyone–especially parents–talk about how they would react in the presence of danger; how they’ll make a run for it; how they’ll step in front of a bullet to save another person; how they’ll be so brave etc. etc.  But when you’re actually in the presence of danger everything processes differently.  I know this because just a few moments ago I had a scare. If things had turned out differently it would have either resulted in years of therapy or a funeral.

My girls and I are currently visiting our hometown New York City, staying at my grandparent’s house while we are here.  I took my girls to the park for a little bit for some fresh air then decided to go to Burger King to grab a bite before heading back to my grandparent’s house to watch Finding Dory (I got an E-mail from Netflix letting me know they released the movie today!) My oldest and I were both so excited because we’ve been wanting to see that movie for the longest! So we practically skipped over to Burger King.  On the way there I told my four year old, Julyza that we should take the food to go so we can watch the movie and eat at the same time,  she said okay but I could tell she wasn’t all the way down with that–and I was right.  Once we got to the corner of Burger King she said, “Mommy, I think we should sit down and eat in Burger King instead of taking the food to go.”  I was kinda hungry so I thought, sure, why not?

To my surprise the line was pretty long and there was only one lane open but the line was moving smoothly. We ordered, got our food and after debating about whether or not we should sit by the front door, we ultimately decided to sit smack dab in the middle of the establishment. Luckily for us because the seat we chose was right under the overhead speaker so we was able to jam while eating our meal.

Luckily for us because had we chosen to sit by the door I have no idea how tonight would have turned out.  And I’m glad I don’t have to find out.

We finished our meal and we weren’t happy with the fries but life goes on, right? Julyza stood up and threw our trash away in the garbage can that was right behind me.  So as we’re putting our coats on, we’re jamming to a song that I recognized but couldn’t quite remember the name of.  I pulled out my phone getting ready to Shazzam the song and as I’m flipping through my phone looking for the Shazzam app I asked Julyza what the name of the song was because I noticed she was singing along with it.  She opened her mouth to speak but the voice I heard next wasn’t hers.

She spun around at the same time that I looked over her head and needless to say we were both scared by what was happening right before our eyes.

Before I go on, I’ll just have you know that Julyza is very intelligent and she is, to a certain degree, aware of the fact that policemen are not doing their jobs properly these days.  There have been several times in the past where we would see a cop pull someone over or approach someone and she would ask me “are they going to get shot?” As a mother that tears me up inside.  She is only four years old and instead of feeling safe in the presence of a police officer she feels fear.  Fear that someone is going to get shot.  A fear that is quite understandable considering on how things have been going lately where the police are concerned.  So you could understand the fear that we both felt now that we were in a closed space, in close proximity to yet another Black unarmed man potentially being fatally shot.

I couldn’t give into my fear, I had to be in Mommy mode, I had to protect my children.

One minute everything was peaceful and happy; we’re jamming, and then the next minute we see guns drawn and hear yelling.  At first when I saw the guns, nothing registered other than the fact that this whole thing was going on right by the entry/exit way and I panicked.  How was I going to get my children out to safety? Then I got angry because before I realized they were cops I thought they were regular people either robbing Burger King or on a mission to go on a killing spree.

See, the thing about my hearing, I can hear sounds perfectly fine but it sometimes takes me a while to register what’s being said/ what sound I’m hearing.  So at first I heard yelling that pretty much registered as just that–yelling.  But as the seconds ticked by, I quickly realized the two men with hoodies and Yankee jackets (the typical NYC undercover cop outfit) were plainclothes police officers arresting someone in Burger King. Though, from where I was standing I couldn’t directly see who the perpetrator was or where he was, through the reflection in the glass I could see a tall man, in his 40’s or early 50’s with his hands up.  If I wasn’t mistaken he sucked his teeth and shook his head and if my lip reading skills were as on point as I feel they are he said “aw, come on man” before getting on the floor.  At the moment I was too scared thinking the worse that It didn’t hit me until later that that guy was far too calm given the circumstances.

The other patrons, though they rushed in our direction to get away from the commotion, were also calm as hell.  One lady even sat down and got comfortable and took her jacket off.  Her body language spelled out “oh god, not this s*** again” as if this was the most normal thing in the world! Another lady giggled at the first lady and everyone else had their phones out no doubt recording waiting for the worst to happen.  But out of all of these people Julyza and I are the only ones visibly shaken! I mean, if the other kids who were there were scared, they deserved an Oscar because they were calm as hell, whereas Julyza covered her ears as if expecting one of those guns to go off…like she knew the sound of a live gun was loud as f***.  She was prepared.

But there I was,me… mommy, frozen still trying to figure out how I was going to get my kids out of there.  I didn’t want to make any sudden moves for obvious reasons so I couldn’t take my 5 month old out of the stroller and throw the stroller against the window in attempt to gain access to the great outdoors.  Mind you, while all of this is going on I was texting my Husband and best friend letting them know with shaky hands what was going on.  My husband’s Cap-locks told me he was upset and since there are currently several states between us at the moment I’m sure he felt understandably helpless.  My best friend on the other hand evolved from disbelief to survival mode and told me to get the girls into the bathroom.

Ah, Yes! The bathroom! Sounded like a good idea but then it didn’t for some reason because then that would be yet another closed space–a confined one at that.

Just then I noticed that not one, not two, not three but four police cars were pulling up (All of these cops for one person…gee) and patrons started disappearing. Since everyone was so calm, I doubted they escaped to the bathroom, so where the hell did everybody go?

I looked back and saw that there was indeed a back door! In my moment of shock and fear I’d completely forgotten that this Burger King had a back door!

I didn’t waste another second, I got my kids the hell out of there, speed-walked half a block away before stopping to ask if Julyza was okay.  She was quite shaken and I knew she had some questions but from the looks of it she couldn’t quite form the words to ask.  So I told her that I was sorry she had to see that.  Then another idea popped into my head, I could use this moment as a teaching moment.

I have always told Julyza that she should listen to me when I tell her to and not to do certain things or else she’ll grow up and be forced to listen to the police.  I know she understood how serious I was but now that she witnessed how serious it is when you don’t listen/ follow the rules I thought this would be the perfect time repeat what I always tell her.

“Julyza, the only reason those cops would show up and point their guns at that man is because he broke the rules; he didn’t follow the law, he did something he was not supposed to do therefore he needed to be punished.  They are going to take him to Jail and while I don’t know what it was that he did he most likely didn’t listen to the rules and thought he could do whatever he wanted to do.” She looked up at me with sad eyes and nodded to let me know that she understood so I went on,  “So when I tell you to and not to do something it’s for your own good.  Because if you don’t learn to listen to me now you will grow up and be forced to listen to the police.”  She nodded again, this time she looked ready to burst out crying.  I reassured her that everything was going to be okay and we walked to my grandmother’s house in silence.

Once my nerves calmed, I realized how badly I had to pee! With a clear head I replayed everything that happened and it dawned on me that from the beginning of the commotion I was so frightened that I had indeed almost peed on myself but I was so concerned about getting my children to safety I naturally set my bladder’s needs aside and tried to remain focused on the situation at hand.

two blocks later, my mind raced again.  Was I supposed to hang back and give a witness account of what had happened? I mentally kicked myself.  Two years of Studying Criminal Justice, graduating with a Cum Laude degree and everything I’d learned about how the system worked blanked.  I breathed sigh of relief when I finally remembered that I didn’t have to do anything but leave because there were no fatalities to witness–at least not while I was there.  Thank God, because I was no mood to witness death again (another story for another time)

At the end, I think Julyza and I came away from that situation with a few lessons learned. For her, she learned the importance of listening.  For me, I learned to always check for all possible entry-ways and exits (don’t sit near them, though), What we say we would do is not always what we will do when we are in the moment and I’m what I consider a scared-pee’er (you know, those type of people who wet their pants when they are afraid–luckily I didn’t pee, and even if I did, thank you Kotex U)

I want to say that if we ever find ourselves in a situation like that again, or worst, I would be prepared but now I know that no one could ever be prepared for the worst.

Throwback Thursday Presents: That Time When…

I’m not sure if I got the handle on this whole blogging thing but I think, in order to make things interesting I must shake things up a bit.  Like, who wants to be boring and a follower, right? So here’s what I want to do: every Thursday I want to share a throwback story about a part of my life.  Some stories will be dangerously hilarious and others might be ridiculously sad, but I really want to try this out so here I go.

The year was 2011, the season was the devil’s breath, I went to visit a friend of mine–We’ll call her Sarah for now as she and I are no longer on speaking terms but I wish to protect her privacy–in Fayetteville, North Carolina and I had an absolutely unforgettable time. At the time I was living in New York City, my hometown and Sarah had just left New York City a few months prior and moved down to North Carolina.

Sarah and I visited the army base where her sister and brother-in-law were both active, we hit the gym and pool, we hit a couple of clubs, Sarah even gave me driving lessons(I’m a true New Yorker, train and bus rides are more my thing; driving doesn’t come naturally for me).  However, through all of the fun and excitement, I just couldn’t get over how bloated I felt. In the pool It felt like I had a built in full-body floater on; I’d jump in the water and almost instantly pop right back up.

I did everything to get rid of the feeling; I drank water like a fish and that didn’t help, I pushed myself harder than I probably should have when Sarah and I worked out and that didn’t help either, I danced more and harder than a Go-Go dancer when we went clubbing and that didn’t help, I played with the flab on my tummy and talked to it and told it to go down and that definitely didn’t help, neither did sleeping on my stomach.  Nothing helped so I started thinking that maybe it was just somehow all in my head.

But, of course it wasn’t.  Sarah and I went to the mall one day after doing a little walking around we stumbled upon this kiosk that was selling this massage thingy where you had to stick the little thingies attached to wires on the desired body part in which you wanted to be massaged (it kinda reminded me of that monitor thingy doctors place all over your body when you’re old and getting a physical.)  Sarah was all “ooh” and I was all “ahh” so we ooh’d and ahh’d our behinds on over to the Kiosk and the cute little blonde who was working the Kiosk looked startled.  I initially thought it was because we were black–after all we were down south–but I wasn’t trying to cause a scene so I just ignored it and kept ahh’ing.

Sarah asked if she could try out the super cool massage thingy and the cute blonde is like “oh, sure, let me just put this here, and put that there and this here and you’re all set to go.”  From the way Sarah’s eye’s grew big and from the sounds of her moans I just knew I had to try it next! But when I asked if I could try it next, the cute blonde said no.

No? What the hell do you mean, no? Why not?

“Why not?” I asked her, feeling the New Yorker in me rearing her head. Boy, was this girl’s awkwardness turned up!

She bit her lip, rocked from foot to foot, fidgeted with her nails, she even stuttered.  And then she finally came right out and said,

“I can’t, er, because I am not allowed to use this machine on pregnant women”

Pregnant? Bitch, what?

Sarah and I just stood there, eyebrows raised mouths gaped with incredulous looks on our faces.  “But, I’m not pregnant…” I told her.  The corners of my mouth damn near touched my chin and my furrowed eyebrows almost switched sides as I watched her eyes go from “yeah, sorry” to “O.M.G” and her skin go from fair to  scarlet.

She stumbled over her words “Oh, My god, I thought–I just as–I’m so sorry”

Of course I forgave her because I really wanted to try this super cool massage thingy (and it was totally worth it!) I told her it was okay, but that didn’t stop her from going into broken record mode, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry”

Sarah and I waited until we were a few feet away from the Kiosk before we both burst out laughing. Sarah said she would give me something to help alleviate the bloating.

She gave me this laxative tea.  It was supposed to rid my body of any yucky stuff that it may have been holding back but…the tea didn’t work.  So the next day I had another cup and still…nothing.  The next morning I thought about having another cup and suddenly Sarah’s sister suggested we take a road trip to South Carolina to go to the Aquarium and then the Zoo.  On the way there I realized South Carolina was one hell of a car ride away and I also realized that the tea was starting to work…finally. At. The. Wrong.Damn.Time.

I told Sarah of my “situation” and she was just as dumbfounded as I was, “wow, why now?” she asked.  It was the million dollar question! “Well, you can’t poop in the car so hold your butt together until we stop somewhere” she said matter-of-factly. Yeah, Sarah, easier said than done…MUCH easier said than done.

We stopped at McDonald’s and I made a mad dash to the bathroom like there was fire on my ass (be quiet) but you see, the thing is I’m not a fan of PIP (Pooping In Public) so I was a little shy but then I had to think, did I want to be shy or did I want to let the demon out of me? Yeah, I opted for the latter.

As slowly as possible I let it out, careful not to make too much noise.  It didn’t help that the bathroom was extremely compact and my gas kept coming out like a pack of expelled fire crackers on the back of a motorcycle, but I was relieved…only momentarily, though.

With clenched butt cheeks I toughed out the rest of the car ride.  I toughed out the walk through the huge ass aquarium and I toughed out the stroll through the zoo (seeing my monkey’s took my mind off of my problems.)  I was relieved when we were finally on the way back to Sarah’s house.

But of course life is never that simple.  Sarah’s sister suggested that we go to Golden Corral for dinner as a “farewell/ Thank you for visiting dinner” for me. Oh boy, once again I was faced with a dilemma.  Did I want to try out a restaurant that I’ve never tried before? Or did I want to just spend the rest of the night on the toilet?  Yup, you guessed it.  Food won.

The buffet styled restaurant was huge! Food everywhere! I didn’t have much of an appetite but that wasn’t going to stop me from eating. I mean, If my “situation” wasn’t going to stop me, neither was my lack of appetite.

I ate a plate then told Sarah (in Sign language of course, to spare myself the embarrassment) that I really had to go, now.  She was a true friend and told me “So, go.”  Insert desperate blank stare here.  She got the hint and we walked together to the bathroom.

So there I am in the semi-empty bathroom in a stall, silently praying that I wouldn’t embarrass myself.  I let it out little by little, a toot here and there and finally I felt momentarily relieved again.  I was all “Ugh, never again, dude,” reached for some tissue and badabing-badaboom there wasn’t any.  There wasn’t any freakin’ tissue in the dispenser thingy! NOTHING. AT. ALL.

Luckily Sarah was in the next stall, so I waved my hand under the wall that separated the stalls to get her attention and told her I needed tissue, in sign language, of course.  She gave me just enough to wipe myself if I had only did number 1.  I signed “M-O-R-E” and she gave me more.

I wiped.

Then turned around to flush and it was that moment that I realized that I didn’t go to church enough nor did I ever have the desire to go and for that I was being punished.  As, one should have gathered, my stool was loose so when I was tooting, poop was shooting out–on the wall, on the seat, on the handle bar….everywhere.

Once again I found myself waving under the wall, this time frantically and this time I told Sarah to give me the whole damn roll.  She tried to ask me why but I didn’t have the type of time to explain, I motioned for her to hurry up.

I tried my best to wipe it all up (disgusting, I know) but the wiping only smeared everything.  I had to get out of there quickly! I bolted from the stall and at this point only Sarah and me were in the bathroom (thank goodness!) I told her what happened and she found the entire situation hilarious–let’s keep in mind it didn’t exactly smell like a rose garden in the bathroom so I didn’t know what was so funny.

After I washed my hands for the hundredth time I finally went to go dry my hands.  A mother and small child burst into the bathroom. I watched as she looked into the first stall (Sarah’s stall) and saw there was no tissue so she moved onto the next stall (the crime scene) and jolted backwards.  She angrily shook her head and muttered under her breath.  Now, my hearing isn’t perfect or even close to good but I swear she said “ugh, people are F***in pigs”

I took offense to that because I indeed am not a pig! But when she looked at me and Sarah and said “You see this s***?” we both pressed our lips together and shook our heads like “yeah, that’s crazy, right?” and hauled ass out of that bathroom.

And, That was that time when I learned to never drink any laxative tea unless I planned on staying in the house for a week, I learned to check the stalls for tissue FIRST before entering while in the public bathroom, and I learned that Golden Corral’s food is the bomb!

 

And so it begins…

Hello there! This is my first blog and I really don’t have much time to sit and write a lot as I haven’t exactly set up a workable schedule that would allow me to do my mommy-thing, house work and have a bit of a social life but it is currenly 12:48 a.m and both of my kids are asleep, I’ve done enough housework and I’ve gotten my fill of social time (A.K.A Facebook only because this snow wouldn’t allow me to travel today–or should I say yesterday?) As previously mentioned, I don’t have a lot of time so excuse me if this blog is riddled with run-on sentences and grammatical errors!

Okay, so first thing’s first! The name on the ‘first name’ line on my birth reads Tasia–pronounced Asia with a T in front, so for the rest of my life I am forced to tell people to call me just that: Tasia, Asia with a T in front. Pretty simple right? That’s how it’s spelled and that’s how it’s pronounced.  Wrong! Nothing is ever that simple (so I’ve come to learn) After twenty-six years of life I still have to say, “no, not Tah-see-uh, not Tah-sha and definitely not Tee-aye-sha.  It’s Tasia, Asia with a T in front.” I’m starting to think my first name was supposed to be Tasia’AsiawithaTinFront but my mother realized there wasn’t enough space on the line and ain’t nobody had time for all of that so she cut off everything after the apostrophe.  I guess that’s just one of the things that I will have to deal with for the rest of my life among other things like, say, marriage and motherhood.

Ah, marriage.  You say ‘yes’ to the engagement, ‘I do’ to the marriage and spend the rest of your life saying ‘wow, you get on my nerves’.  I think I’m still a newlywed, I’m not quite sure when exactly my “newlywed” status expires but my husband Cory (spelled with just those four letters, there’s no ‘e’ in his name) let me steal and keep his last name four days ago last year on January 4th, 2016. And after hitting my one year milestone I realize that nothing keeps me more insane.  That’s right! That wasn’t a typo.  I said insane and insane is what I meant.

It’s true when they say, it’s good to not only love your mate but to like them as well because if I didn’t like my husband at least 90% of the time the past five years that we have been together would have never came about.  In addition to that I have learned that it’s not a lie when people say marriage is hard because it is. It’s literally a contract you sign where you give another person permission to push you to the brink of insanity but in the fine print of that contract there go those pesky little letters stating that though your dude might piss you off you can’t put the voodoo on him.  Oops, did I accidentally imply that I’m the perfect one in the marriage? Between you and I, it’s true but because my husband might come across this blog (because uh, I will show it to him) I’m forced to lie and say we are equally annoying and cause an equal amount of frustration for one another.  See? I told you marriage was hard. Just kidding, Just kidding! Okay, Moving on!

Headaches aside, together, my husband and I have two of the most beautiful girls in the world! Okay, so maybe not all headaches are aside.  But in my defense, the headaches my girls give me are different.  See, when hubby gives me a headache it’s like “in old age I’m going to slip laxative in your oatmeal, honey, just wait on it” and when my kids give me a headache it’s like “meh, this headache will have nothing on the one my future grandchildren will give them, so I’m not even worried.” It’s all about patience.

Our oldest is four years old going on five this July and we named her Julyza, the month of July with zee-aye at the end. Ju-ly-za, not Ju-lee-za and definitely not Jules-za.  Julyza.  Our youngest daughter is four months going on five months on the 17th and she’ll be turning one in August. And no, her name is not Augustina. We named her Korianna and if you don’t know how to pronounce that then refer to your 1st grade English teacher, but I’ll give you a hint, think of the brunette from Frozen when you pronounce the ‘Anna’ in my child’s name.

My girls are two of the most hilarious little things to ever live, the main thing I post about on my Facebook page and the main reasons I keep going even when I want to just give up.  Oh! And they are also the reason a good friend of mine and fellow blogger told me to start a blog of own!

You’re probably wondering why I haven’t quite explained more about who I am and why I, instead wrote about the main key players that make my life as interesting as it is.  To be honest,  I’m still learning about who I am and I hope that through posting these blogs I gain knowledge of who Tasia is, what Tasia can do and what her strengths and weaknesses are.  The only things I know at this point is Tasia has a billion stories to tell and she cannot wait to share them with the world!

Is it cocky to write in third person?

Oh, and yes, I’m also deaf and yes I know how to correctly spell ‘definitely’ Just in case you were wondering. I’m extremely new to this blogging thing so forgive me if I’m doing it wrong!