Posted on by AshGenX · 1 Comment

Bad Cop, Good Mom

For every mom (& dad) out there celebrating the successes and wonderment of their soon-to-be adult child (teen) – I’m willing to bet there is an equal playing field on the other side, of parents who sit there dumbfounded wondering where in the hell they went so wrong.

I’m one of the latter.

As I roll into the the final days of my forties, I often find myself lost in daily doses of “what the fuck” moments.  Man, this is without a doubt, the hardest of any job I’ve ever had… being a parent.  God knows I’m not stellar at it – but I’m not bad, at it either.  I think that for most of us, we are simply trying to do a better job than our own parents did.  I know that’s certainly the truth in my case.  I didn’t have great examples of a loving marriage, or storybook parenting to follow.  That being said, my goal was always to do MUCH better than they did – but how capable am I, really?

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It’s been 10 years since my divorce.  My boys were 7 & 3 at the time.  The oldest has splotchy memories of his life up to that point, as do most people.  The younger has no recollection whatsoever of his father and I ever having been a couple (I should be so fortunate – ha!).  Like most divorced parents, I too had those moments of guilt-driven parenting that caused me to be weak in my structure and follow-through with them at times.  All-in-all though, I have been the primary bad cop over the years, and as they (and I) have aged, that role has vastly broadened – due to both their normal path of growth and exploration, as well as my mounting wisdom and simple inability to put up with much of anyone’s shit.

My oldest son got mad at me in early 2018 and threatened to “go live with Dad” one too many times.  So, he landed himself a full time residency there for just shy of 3 months, when he had a fleeting epiphany that life at mom’s wasn’t so bad after all – returning back to his dual residency status just shy of his 16th birthday.

Teenagers… wow.  I’ve often said if someone had handed me the cliff-notes on how this was going to go down – I’d still be single and backpacking my way through Europe right now.  That is NO lie, my friends.

Being a child of the 70’s and 80’s was pretty simple.  Although my kids think it sounds like a low-budget horror film at times:  “So you’re saying you didn’t have any devices?” or “What do you mean the TV went “off” at midnight?”, or my absolute favorite when I overheard the youngest talking to another friend a few years back “Oh yeah?  Well, my mom was born back in the 1900’s”.  They’ll never know the glory of getting your friend to hang up and take your call over an emergency breakthrough, or the joy of having their own phone line listed in the white pages under “children’s line”.

“You can’t raise your kids in the world that you grew up in, because that world doesn’t exist any longer”

The reality is that world absolutely does NOT exist anymore – and I can’t use it as a colorful mental brochure on how to manage my own kids in a world filled with technology and social media. Not to mention living in a rather privileged suburb of Dallas, Texas, that is filled with kids raised by helicopter parents who don’t allow them to fail or experience failure on any level – showered by gifts of brand new, high-end sports cars at the onslaught of 16… further adding to the Gen Z’er’s “immediate gratification generation” label that I have so lovingly attached to my very own offspring.  Don’t get me wrong, they merely live among it, not BY it.  My kid got a 15 year old car with almost 300K miles on it!

Currently, my 17 year old is once again, holed up at his father’s residence.  Well somewhere between there and his grandparents (dad’s side) house.  Why?  Well, because the Bad Cop over here has rules, boundaries, and demands accountability.  Over there?  It’s a full-on “Lord of the Flies” scenario.  Parental figures rarely around.  My two boys and their impending step-brother, typically floundering around on their own accord for whatever the reason du jour may be – work, gym, etc. and when there are adults around, they (the adults) stay locked in their own bedroom because… well, I’m not real sure.  Maybe because they’re simply in hiding and refuse to deal with the chaos of parenting. I’ve often considered the gift of a conch shell so that someone over there can figure out who the hell is in charge.

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Oh, I suppose it would be helpful if I gave a little insight as to exactly WHY I’m the bad cop, huh?  Well, I helped my son get a great job doing what he has always wanted to do.  He went to work two days and on the third, called in sick because he supposedly hurt his back at the skate park.  I insisted that he go to the doctor, a chiropractor, or even just go into work and let them send him home – all based on his sniveling pleads of a “destroyed back”.  He did none of those things and then by the grace of God, was magically healed by 2:30 pm the same day and wanted to go to a concert with me.  I told him if he was too hurt to go to work, he was not going to attend a concert.  Period.

When I demanded he come downstairs to have an adult conversation, he balked. He later left when I was in dispose, going back over to his dad’s house. The following day, I contacted him and made a statement like “I sure hope that one day you are able to learn success through your failures”. This was then morphed in his own mind into my having called him a failure, to which I was then told (texted) “this is why I want nothing to do with you right now”, followed by “you’re a real sack of shit, to be honest”. Wow. WOW! YOU don’t follow through with your obligations and I’m the sack of shit. Interesting. I won’t even go into what he said next, but it didn’t get any better. Two days later, he came to get all of his things. Unfortunately, over there on The Coral Island, the no supervision also goes hand in hand with no accountability. I have yet to receive an apology or any indication that his father is willing to play any role in fostering a discussion, apology, or any form of communication whatsoever. Only that he supposedly told him he shouldn’t talk to his mom like that.

It has been over a month since the incident.  I have been blocked on his cell phone & on social media.  I’ve been referred to as the big “C” word to his younger brother who was also sent with a verbal message that “he’s not coming back”.  Between bouts of being angry, I wrestle with being sad and the breathlessness I feel in the center of my chest when I start thinking too much.  What if something bad happens?  What if I die?  What if he dies?  What could I have done differently?  When my mom died, she and my sister were not on good terms.  God knows that’s not what I want for my son or myself.  I’m not sure what to even do at this point except hope for the best possible outcome.

Here’s one thing I DO know… my demands for respect and accountability will not change.  I don’t let those things slide for myself and I damn sure won’t let my kids exist in my world without having both.  I may not be the best mom on the planet, but I’m the best mom I am capable of being… a Bad Cop, a Good Mom.

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A while back, I saw some silly meme on the interwebz that said if you put “and shit” at the end of almost anything, it sounds gangsta:

“I’m rollin’ a blunt and shit”

“I’ll pop a cap in yo mama and shit”

or in my world:

“I’ve got a cold and shit”

“I”m bringing your pan back over and shit”

“Pass that gravy and shit”

So today, I’m here to discuss Thanksgiving, Christmas…and shit.

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I’ve always been a big fan of this holiday.  From my childhood memories of (very few functional) Thanksgivings – to being the contributor or the master chef of my own festivities – I love the idea of a house full of people, kids playing, the smells of butter, onions, celery, turkey, pie, etc., the soothing sounds of football on in the background, a warm fire…. that feeling of togetherness and love…..and shit.

As I’m currently in a serious relationship with a therapist – I really didn’t think much about his schedule this week, seeing that my own was pretty much a clean slate with little work involved.  His, on the other hand, has been back to back appointments daily – going as late as 7 or 8 o’clock in the evenings.  Ah… yes… family time.  How could I fail to see how many people would require a good dose of therapy the week of spending “quality time” with their family?! I may not see my own during the holidays, but I can guarantee you that if I did – my once a month would turn into once a week… and shit.

Personally, I don’t have much family to speak of.  Not in the way of holidays, anyway.  Yes, there are many of them scattered across the country (primarily in the south), but few with which I have spent holiday time with on any level at all.  This may sound a bit sad to some of you – but having been single for the better part of 8 years – it has made me very marketable in that no one has to put up with any crazy bullshit except from their own families.

Family and shit = therapy and shit.

I’m SO pro-therapy.  If you find the right one, it can make all the difference in the world. I know people who have attempted to go with no result.  They poo-poo the idea of therapy because it didn’t work for them.  Therapists don’t come in a one-size-fits-all box. You’ve got to find your person – the one that you can be yourself, fully and completely. That being said, if any of you goes to therapy or have gone, and have not been COMPLETELY honest with your therapist or yourself – just save your money.  You’re not doing anyone any favors here.  Just pony back up to the bar, order a shot and forget about it for a while.  Cheaper and much more fun that being honest with yourself or a stranger…. and shit.

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Thanksgiving and Christmas…. two of what are considered to be the most joyous times of the year here in the USA – are far from it in many cases.  What is the happiest time for many, turns out to be the most depressing season of all for the rest.  I have an analogy I like to use when discussing people in general, that I like to call “Highland Park Christmas”.  If you are unfamiliar, this is a very upscale, FABULOUS, and wealthy part of Dallas, Texas.  Jerry Jones lives there…. need I say more?   Anyway, each year my kids and I go down there to ogle the lights, the multi-million dollar homes, the clip-clopping of the horse-drawn carriages.  It’s easy to look at these stunning residences whose carport Christmas trees are bigger and more expensive than all the trees I have ever had put together, with the window coverings to their homes opened and welcoming, the occasional human seen walking around inside…. and think to ourselves “Wow!  I could live like that!”.  So beautiful and welcoming on the outside for the whole world to see!

BUT…..

The dad has a mistress in all the states/countries he travels to for work, the youngest kid is a cutter, the oldest one a confused, possible transgender, who sells molly on the side, and the mom is doing Jesus – the pool boy, not the prophet.  Sure does look pretty on the outside.  A complete and utter shit-show on the inside.

What I’m trying to say here folks, is that what you see isn’t always what you get. Embrace YOUR shit.  Don’t let the Norman Rockwell depiction of what this time of year is supposed to look like, cloud what your soul wants and needs, based on the outer misconceptions of what is really going on….. a shit show…and shit.  Spend it with your grandma, enjoy dinner with friends instead of crazy family, go feed hungry people, sit on your couch alone and binge watch Netflix while eating a Marie Callendar’s turkey pot pie, go buy a molly from that kid in Highland Park and forget about it all together – I really don’t care what you do! Just enjoy your Thanksgiving, Christmas and or therapy… and shit.  Your way.

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Posted on by AshGenX

Liar, Liar….

Lying…. Nothing gets under my skin worse than that. It’s an awful feeling – especially when it comes from someone you care about.   I’m divorced because of lying. I was forced into bankruptcy in 2012 because of someone else’s lying. I’m single (yet again) due to lying. It hurts. It is betrayal in its most evil form.

All of us lie. If one of you dare say to me you have never lied – guess what? You’re a liar. It’s as simple as that. Above, I have described and experienced some extremely hurtful lies – lies that took me to my knees and drove me to what I can only consider the brink of my own sanity. Those lies and their repercussions had a lot to do with the increase in my alcohol intake, the control it had over me, and subsequently, my desire to kick that habit and embrace sobriety. That’s another story for another day though.

Anyone who knows me well – which I am discovering are fewer in numbers than previously thought, knows that if you want to light my bitch wick – lying is a sure-fire (pun intended) way to set it off. Just ask my ex-husband or my kids.

But what about “little lies”… “withholding information”…. “untruths”? Y’all know of what I speak – let’s take Santa Claus as a prime example. I don’t know about any of you, but I was literally CRUSHED when I was told Santa wasn’t real. Cried my head off – how could the jolly man in the red suit NOT be real? How could my parents LIE to me like that? Well, in case I haven’t introduced myself yet – my name is Ashley, aka Santa Claus. I too, did what countless of others have done to provide joy and hope for my own children. No, they weren’t as crushed as I was – but they also didn’t have a shitbag childhood like mine either – so maybe the stability they know so well made that transition a bit easier on them.

What about that friend of yours? You know… the one that is cheating or being cheated on. Man, that is the epitome of a sack of suck, isn’t it? Talk about a rock and a hard place. The majority of us has ZERO desire to get involved in someone else’s shit-show. Maybe it’s because we don’t want to be the one to hurt the other person. Maybe, because we know that the perpetrator will make US out to be the evil one who is trying to destroy a marriage, resulting in a loss of friendship. Or, maybe the perpetrator is the one who is our friend – but we play devil’s advocate and try desperately to be there as best we can.

Not all lies are made to destroy people. In fact, as outlined above –many are told/displayed as a way of protecting the ones we love from being hurt by either the truth itself – or by their perception of the truth. Now… they may not always SEE it that way – which is my current situation with someone that I love very much.   Did I lie? Yes, I did. Am I proud of that? Of course not. Was it out of pure love for said friend and the emotional state they are in, in order to protect them? Absolutely.

Here’s the deal – I knew it was wrong – it slayed me to do it. I looked her in the eye and told her I wasn’t lying. As fate might have it, she inadvertently found out in a pretty ugly way… within an hour of me doing it. I even discussed it with my therapist that very day before it all went down. I told him it was not in my character – he’s known me for over 2 years now – so that wasn’t anything he didn’t already know, but I had to tell him all the details of what had recently happened and how I feared even out of the goodness of my heart, that my friend would perceive as otherwise. He agreed on all of it. That he knows I’m not a liar, that he knows it would be a struggle, that he also knew I was doing it to protect her – and lastly, as I had mentioned to him, that the truth WOULD come out because I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. We both agreed that the truth needed to come out at some point, but not right away in order to avoid chaos and confusion.

They say karma is a bitch…. Indeed she is. To me, anyway. Funny how the rottenest of people don’t ever seem to reap it, but people like me – one wrong move and the shit hits the fan.   I’ve always said “if you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember your story”.   It’s a phrase I live by.

After having been “found out” – I came clean IMMEDIATELY. I was so sad that my friend was questioning my loyalty to her…. I explained everything as it went down over and over. I swore to her that the truth was out and she could ask me a hundred times over, ten years from now and my story would be the exact same. It was the truth. As much as it hurt us both – I was relieved that it had come out, although sooner than I had anticipated.

Very few of you are personally aware of when I lost my mother many years ago. It is a pain that never, ever leaves you. My love for my mother continues to grow some 33 years after her passing – she is still with me as a guardian angel – I know this without a doubt. In those 33 years, I have never, EVER sworn on her soul for anything. As a matter of fact, it has never even popped into my head as an option until the night my friend found out I had lied. I looked her square in the eye and swore on the soul of my dead mother (on Mother’s Day weekend, no less” that I had told her absolutely everything. This is a dear friend of mine. Someone I love deeply and infinitely – it was raw, honest, and a true testament to how much I wanted her to believe me.

As of today, I have repeatedly been called a betrayer and a liar by a person I thought knew me so well. I can’t describe the hurt I feel as a result….. having sworn on the soul of my beloved mother. I feel almost dirty inside for having wasted such a personal plea to someone who cannot step outside of their own perceptions and accept that I truly love them and never meant them harm. As a person in recovery, I find it quite easy to own my shit. I have done all that I can, to the best of my ability to clean up my side of the street. Unfortunately, it falls on deaf ears – and for that, I have absolutely no control.

So, call it what you want – depending on my audience, I’m nothing more than a human, a friend, a liar. I’m sorry, Mama – so sorry for dragging you into this place. That being said – I know I told the truth, so it was not in vain.

Hug the ones you love – you never know when it will be the last time.

Signed ~

Pants on Fire

I never thought I’d be like my grandmother.  I used to get SO pissed back in the 80’s when she couldn’t figure out how to operate “call waiting”.  I had important shit to do, places to be, parties to go to.  She was stifling me.  I was never going to NOT be able to flow with technology.  I mean, how simple is/was that?  It beeps, you switch lines and answer, and then make a swift determination on who is the most important person of the two. That being said, I now have to call my 14 year old downstairs (and out of his cave) on a semi-regular basis to figure out what’s going on with my phone.  There you have it. I can’t imagine how she’d have possibly existed in this day and age – cell phones, automated answering systems, no humans to talk to…. ETERNAL HOLD.

As I type, I have been on hold with American Home Shield, waiting for some dingus to actually answer the phone and address my questions. About 3 of those minutes were talking to the pleasant sounding automated lady asking me what my problem was so she could direct me to the right place.  Here’s the issue with that “right place” – it’s never the right place!  It’s some bozo reading a script that typically has no knowledge of what the hell you are talking about.  They probably can’t even solve your problem – and in most cases, they can rarely speak English these days.

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There’s something to be said about how nice I am that I don’t yell at these people.  They hate their jobs worse than I hate them having their jobs.  It’s not their fault they had to resort to this level of self loathing just for rent and beer money.  Who am I to tell them that by simply being an innocent bystander (or loathsome employee) has ruined my day, my life, my schedule, etc.  This is an immense level of self-restraint on my end, friends.  I am indeed softening in my old age.

You know what my grandmother would’ve done?  I’ll tell you what – she would’ve yelled “GO TO HELL” and then slammed the phone down.  We can’t even get that kind of physical satisfaction now.  How hard can you mash the “end call” key to be satisfied?  Not nearly hard enough…

So here’s my advice:  put in headphones/on speaker, stick you phone in your pocket, purse, etc. and keep moving.  Find some shit to do.  Multi-task.  Be productive.  LIVE DAMNIT, LIVE!  This is the ONLY way to sanity in this particular realm – trust me.  Because you will hold… possibly forever… or at least until it’s time to color your roots again.  And when they DO answer, they can’t help you – not fully anyway.  But you can still feel good about yourself after having wasted those precious minutes/hours, because you… YOU did something (else) in the interim & the day is not wasted.

….. and remember, you can always give yourself the simple, old-fashioned satisfaction of just telling them to GO TO HELL.

Ciao ~

AshGenX

 

Posted on by AshGenX

She’s got crabs! Or does she?

Gulf Shores Threesome

Sometimes a story comes to mind that deserves retelling – well, oftentimes in my case.  This one brought the house down last night – by house, I mean Shelly, Leighton and me.  Hey – as long as I have more than just me laughing at it, there is some validity to it, okay?

In 2013, the boys and I took a trip to Gulf Shores, AL – their first trip to a “real” beach.  We drove from Dallas, spent the night in NOLA, went to a pre-season Saints game, then made it to our condo the next day.  Let’s start with this…. driving 10+ hours (whether split up or not) with two boys who spend the majority of the time arguing or beating the crap out of each other, is no cake walk.  Takes a couple of days for the shoulders to come down from around ones earlobes and begin to absorb any of the serenity that the beach has to offer.

I had a pretty sweet spot with a pair of beach loungers and an umbrella rented for the week, right in front of our condos.  Kristin was more or less stuck at the pool b/c her littlest was not having the beach.  Personally, I didn’t give my kids an option – heck, I can swim at a pool any day… the beach was my place-to-be, and instead of me keeping an eye on them – they were tasked with knowing where I was and reporting in.  You might call it irresponsible – I, on the other hand, call it 70’s parenting.  I’m am living proof that it works.  They’re like little birds….

Low and behold – not only was Pier 51 (beach-y convenience store) walking distance – they had 18 packs of Bud Light in cans (not a fan, but a beach requirement) with the New Orleans Saints logo on them.  A match made in heaven.  I parked myself in my beach chair with my cooler of Bud and drank the day away – just one of those “all day steady buzz” kind of days.  It was a good day.

That night after dinner – Leighton and I went down to chase sand crabs.  This was a favorite past-time from my own childhood I remember well and I was excited to introduce it to my over zealous 7 year old.  Steady buzz still in tact – we trotted up and down the coastline flash lighting and catching baby sand crabs left and right when – low and behold, the MOTHER of all the beach crabs I had ever seen went flying across our light and was gone!  I found him again!  Leighton chased him down and lifted the bucket cautiously when I got there.  The little (or big, rather) bastard took off like a light!  It was scary AND exciting and we were NOT going to let him get away!  I gave Leighton the light and I grabbed the bucket – we saw him again and he was moving FAST!  Finally, another 15 yards or so – with a move that could only be rivaled by the NFL’s finest – I tackled that crab with the bucket and I was not letting go.   Right then, some teenager appeared out of nowhere and when I began to lift my bucket – he tried to move in and take the crab!  Seriously?  Not on my watch, junior!  In the best, buzzed, classy mom voice I recall saying “get your hands of my kids’ G.D. crab or I’ll beat your ass!”  (very classy, indeed)

There was lots of commotion at this point – Leighton was screaming, I was yelling, the kid was saying something but I couldn’t hear him over the sound of my own voice. All I knew at this point was that m*$%@# f&$*@#% crab was mine (not Leighton’s mind you… mine)!  Somewhere in there I heard a voice say “it’s not real!”.  I guess it was the teen.  I was buzzed, confused, pissed, adrenalized… you name it…. I’m thinking “this little turd is trying to get an angle on me and steal my crab!”.   No the case, my friends.  Not the case.  This kid didn’t want MY crab.  He wanted HIS crab.  The plastic crab that was tied to some monofilament line and strategically placed via fishing rod – on the beach by Beavis and his Butthead Battalion.  Apparently, they had been fishing – or crabbing, for idiots all night.  They caught one alright.  A 43 year old mom, covered in sand, pulling ninja moves all for the sake of the win – or loss in this case.

Moral of the story:  It’s still not a good idea to go catching crabs, whether intentional or not.  Oh – and don’t threaten to beat up a teenager on the beach b/c your kids will NEVER let you forget it.  I blame Anheuser-Busch.