Sitting here looking through Amazon’s kindle store for a reliable reference book, I come across a book titled, “I Heart My Little A-holes: A bunch of holy-crap moments no one ever told you about parenting” by Karen Alpert. For shits and gigs, I sent a sample to my Kindle and thought, why not have a look-see?
See, Ms. Alpert created a blog, as I have. She let her mommy friends read it as I have. Then she was fortunate enough to experience success as a writer while remaining a stay at home mom. As I have not. Please don’t get me wrong…I have no ill will towards this woman, but god damn it…She did everything I’ve been working on much faster, and more than likely a hell of a lot better. Now I have all these fucking blog posts about my “adventures” of our psycho household (coupled with my mental illness and checkered past), which will go unnoticed nor successful. And I’m sure if I had the money to buy the rest of Ms. Alpert’s book, there would be way too many similarities to prove any originality in my “material”.
Sucky shit is what it is.
I know there are other writing moms out there; it’s not as if I don’t subscribe to Scary Mommy, Hot Moms Club, or Moms who Drink and Swear and the gazillion other laugh-out-loud published blogs, websites or articles. I sure as shit do and some of the stories make me want to hug these women for putting my voice and thoughts into words that I couldn’t find. I’ve experienced most situations with my four, but with my hands full and medication issues, I have never found the time to write about it.
Why am I so bitter towards the incredibly powerful, strong, funny moms that write these awesome books, blogs or sites? Because that’s what I should have done but sooner. The second I had my first babe, I should have started a journal to document the hilariousness that it’s been and never looked back. As long as I can remember, I’ve loved
writing, but before my diagnosis my top priority was trying to support these little fuckers without a degree and raise them as best I could. Until now, I’ve only had minimal “me” time (aka writing time). With our baby at 5-years old and none of them needing me as much, I’m able to catch my breath. And of fucking course, the general population is probably sick of hearing about how imperfect moms can actually be. My words and stories look rehashed. Boring.
I can’t hold a job. Not only am I mental, but jobs never work out long for me. In fact, with a whopping 55 jobs under my belt, I’m almost positive potential employers would laugh at my résumé, right before tossing it in the trash.
I’ve also tried going back to college for my BA in English…or communications…or journalism – you know, some degree stating I’m a “professional writer that should be taken seriously.” I’ve tried that shit multiple times over an eight-year period, and I’ve only managed a scrawny AAS in human services. Yes, human services. I was gung-ho, about getting my BA in Social Work right after graduation, but of course shit didn’t stick.
Suppose I could start a garden, as Keely wants for what…3-4 months out of the year?
But I’ve played that game before my friends. Instead of sifting through and pulling
weeds while breaking my fucking back and getting no help from the kids, I’d rather write. Lazy? LOL, I wish. No, it’s just that experience has taught me my kids also have big ideas that never “stick.”
Like that one time when Keely said, “Mom let’s learn how to make our own soap!” Fucking Christ – that was three or four years ago, and all that shit is still in our basement – do you know how much useless soap we have? It sits there, mocking me. Our soap wasn’t anything like Zum’s. In fact, I’m pretty sure it was the cause of Jax’s rash when we first started. But hell – we did gain a shitload of useless knowledge. Yay us.
So, now what the fuck do I do with all this time? All these half-written posts about random, nonsensical who-ha? I’ll tell you what I’m going to do – I’m going to air the same shit you’ve all heard or read, in hopes that one of you is a major publisher that thinks I’m the best fucking thing since sliced bread. Why? Well, why the hell not?
p.s. Hey seriously, kudos to all you moms and dads out there blogging your shit. You go. Keep doing you and don’t you worry – I’ll ketchup.
“Mothers are all slightly insane.”
-J. D. Salinger, The Catcher in The Rye (1951)