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Day 4: What are you afraid of?

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On the superficial side of things, I am really, really, REALLY afraid of ants. Here in the Southern U.S. we have big nasty fire ants. They seriously are like Satan’s public lice. They are everywhere and are just waiting to crawl on your feet, up your legs and bite the shit out of you.

Many moons ago, when I was a little girl, during an Easter family get together, my little dumb ass walked between two ant hills. And BOOM! Those motherfuckers starting attacking my chubby legs like an all you can eat buffet. My Great Uncle Ray snatched me up, ran me inside to the kitchen and threw me in the sink, pretty little dress ,panty hose and all. My legs were polka dotted with ant bites. It was horrible.

On a much deeper level, Im afraid of turning into my mother and pushing everyone in my life away. I don’t want the mental struggles I go through to hinder and hurt the people I love. I don’t want to be so deformed by my mental anguish, so poisoned and bitter, that I continue the cycle and infect my babies with it. I don’t want them growing up with the same shit I have in my head in theirs. They deserve better. I deserved better.

So, I know this isnt part of the prompt, I’m working on making myself better. I talked with L today about this very thing. And when I told him that I felt that he and the kids deserved better than a crazy, over emotional me he was quick to remind me that I too deserved it. And he’s right. We all deserve happiness and contentment. Especially with our selves. Our worries can not be the largest feeling we have. Love should be. Self love especially.

Also,

Fuck ants.

Day 1: Introduction

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Ok, let’s do this!

I’ve never been good at introductions, so let’s just hit the basics.

I’m Angela. I’m in my early 30s and I’m allergic to penicillin. I’m a long time nerd and weirdo. One of my feet is slightly bigger than the other and I’m right handed. I’m the opposite of a perfectionist. I’m a “eh,thats good enough”ist. I like to craft. Sewing is what I’m focusing on right now. I really love to sew, even if my projects are hit or miss. I also really love photography. Like sewing, its still hit or miss for me, but Im getting better. I lost my desire to create anything for a while and am slowly regaining it. I’m doing a photography challenge on Facebook that’s made me fall in love with my camera again. It’s pretty awesome. While writing this, I’m drinking a PBR and watching The Twilight Zone. I’m sure that says something about me as a person.

I’ve been married for almost 11 years to my best friend who I will affectionately call Mr. L.  We got married pretty young and have done some pretty incredible things. The most incredible are our four children.

Az was our first son and oldest child. He was born in Washington State on a cold day. When he was born, I became a different, better person. He was super smart and super sweet. I use the word was because he passed away November 2011, a week before my birthday. It was totally unforseen and unexpected. Every single day, every hour, I still hurt and long for him. He was my first best friend. He was a gift to the world. He still is.

Jo our little Bean Boy. He is quickly approaching his 8th birthday. He’s hilarious and kind and just a little high strung. He has ADHD and is currently in second grade. School has been hard for him, but I totally think that things are starting to look up. He loves making things out of clay and video games, just like his daddy.

Des is our little quiet giant. He is three and likes to play pretend. He really likes to play pretend. His current favorite thing is to make a story up using his fingers as people. He has beautiful blue eyes. His current favorite things is the new car seat we upgraded him to. He practically begs to go “bye bye” so he can ride in it.

And the baby is Miss Mar. She is our surprise baby. We didn’t plan on her showing up, or being a her for the matter, but she did. And although she is sassy and loud, she is amazing. Sometimes I can’t believe she’s real. She loves kitties and likes to burp. She likes to help and is constantly underfoot. She’s our own little Arya Underfoot.

My orgin story is kind of shitty. I had an abusive, narcissistic mother and an apathetic father. I was the scapegoat of the family. I’ve been no contact with them for a long time. I’m still working through mess that was left by that life. I will probably hit on that whole mess later.

I don’t know what else to say! I feel like I’ve said so much without saying anything. Talking about myself has always felt weird. At least I’ve completed Day 1 of this challenge. Self high five for that!

Opps Bag- $2

The closest mall to our house has a cookie shop. I actually think it may be called “The Cookie Shop” but I could be making that up because it sounds good in my head.

We were at the mall on Tuesday for the Mister to get his eyes checked. (Yes, theres an optometrist in the mall). I was walking the babies around when they were getting antsy. There was only one thing that would calm the savage beasts. And it was cookies.

We roll up to the cookie counter in the food court and I order some little sugar cookies for their little kid hands and a lemonade for myself. I noticed a sign near the register while we were waiting “Oops Bag-$2”. So I read the small text and found out that Oops Bags were overcooked, broken, a day old or otherwise less than perfect cookies. I immediately thought this was a great idea and asked for one.

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It wasn’t just because it was cheap cookies. I mean, I love cookies and cheap ones are even better ya know. It’s because if people were cookies, I’d be an Oops Bag. I’ve been broken, I’m older, and I’m a far ways from perfect. There are pieces of me missing that will never return. There have been parts of me burned,blackened, and ruined. And even though my life has been filled with people who passed over me and chose another, I’m still good. I’m still worthy. To a zombie or cannibal, I’m still delicious.

Just because we’re not perfect doesn’t mean we aren’t good enough. Our flaws are parts of our story. Our flaws are part of who and what we are. We should honor those things in us that make us who we are. For good or bad, we are who we are. And we shouldn’t be ashamed.

 

 

Anger

Anger is the coating for inadequacy.

Anger is the capitalization of pain.

Anger is a bad translation of misunderstanding.

Anger is unhappiness set on fire.

Anger is panic wearing stilts and dropping it’s voice.

Anger is Depresson’s paramour.

Anger is not a badge of honor.

Anger is the dictator that rules after a coup.

Anger is the jar of nectar tempting from across the room.

I know these things. I spilled the words from my heart. But I still let anger take over when I feel vulnerable, insulted, or rejected. Its a preset response that I want to eliminate.

I’d rather be seen as soft than as a hateful,anger bitch.

What paths have you found the break the chains of anger? What resources do you enjoy?

It took a bit of time to realize, I am not the perfect mother.

Sometimes my kid eats chips for dinner. Sometimes we skip brushing teeth. Sometimes we veg out on the couch and watch tv for hours. Sometimes Im short tempered and honestly, down right rude. Sometimes there arent matching socks for school.

And most of the time, they dont care. And neither do I. My boys are as happy as they can be and are growing and thriving. Im not the best mother, but Im the best mother I can be. And after years of not feeling good enough, I know I am.