Tag Archive | stealing

Versatile? You better believe it!

Versatile Blogger Award

I love the Versatile Blog Award, because I think it really DOES describe me! I’m versatile in a lot of ways, in and out of the bedroom. 😉 This is my second time receiving this award and I am quite flattered!! 😀

A special thanks to Jack Joseph’s Mom for nominating me! I encourage you all to check out her blog. As someone who has suffered a rather traumatic miscarriage myself, I really feel for her. Even though I already had children, it affected me quite a bit. I passed my 8 week old baby/fetus onto the bathroom floor and wasn’t willing to let it go for a while, finally burying him/her in a little box in my yard. You could definitely see the features of my little developing baby, still inside the sac. I took pictures and everything.

To people who haven’t experienced something similar I’m sure it seems morbid, but that was all a part of processing the grief. I wanted to show everyone the baby and the pictures and not everyone wanted to see, which I understand, but to me it was important to acknowledge that my baby was real. I thank her for helping open people’s eyes and understanding.

On to the award! I again get to give 7 facts about myself and nominate 15 fellow bloggers! Woohoo!! In keeping with the spirit of versatility, I’m going to start out with some ways in which I fit the description.

1. From a very early age I was exposed to a lot of different people, cultures and ways of life. I was born in Hawaii, which is a melting pot in its own right, where people don’t wear shoes in the house and Polynesian and Asian traditions and languages mix in with a hodgepodge of others. Eventually we moved away and my mother married a man from South America, who barely spoke English. Of course, with him came his family and their traditions. So this little white girl had an Abuela and Abuelo and a zillion aunties, uncles and cousins. Later, my mother married a black man and I was immersed in a different subset of American culture. His family may have been less than thrilled that he was married to a white woman, but as for me, being a child, I was accepted and brought into the fold, again amongst a multitude of relatives. My mother’s mother is part Greek and my father was part Native American so add that to the mix and you can see how I grew to easily adapt.

2. Probably because of all this, I’ve always found it relatively easy to feel at home with different groups of people. In my teen years I could be found at all black parties (other than me of course) in the hood, or across town living it up with the rich white kids. The next day I might be running around with my Mexican girlfriends or drinking with the Natives. I could be seen with a group of friends with blue and green hair, mowhawks and various piercings, or with some sorority girls, depending on the day. During my married years I blended in with the conservative church folks and we lived surrounded by Amish. The only people I really seem to have a hard time relating to are redneck country people and hicks, lol. Not that I haven’t tried, it’s just the mindset seems harder to understand.

3. However, being the “white kid” growing up did have its disadvantages, lol. Occasionally it got me “drafted” into doing things my dumb ass should have said no to. As in “hey, Lovergirl, you’re white! Why don’t YOU return these stolen items to the store and get us some money! They’ll believe YOU!” Or “hey, let’s go to McDonald’s and Lovergirl can tell them they got our order wrong, so we all get free food!” I was a little too willing to go along with these schemes, lol, perhaps due to my overly kind, accommodating nature combined with lack of fear and faith in my ability to appear “innocent” but hey, most of the time it worked! It’s even been “here Lovergirl, hold my gun while I run into this gas station” and sweet talking teachers or the police. Yeah, I guess I’m blessed with a lot of pure luck too, lmao.

4. Speaking of stealing, I went through a phase as a teenager where I did some unsavory things, and that was one of them. I had a girlfriend who could walk into virtually any store and rob them blind. As far as I know she still does. My sister said awhile back that she asked her if she “needed anything” when she went shopping, lol.

From her, I learned some tricks. For one, she used to walk into a store, with no makeup on and just use whatever they had available to get ready to go out for the night. Like she’d be opening up eye shadows and mascara’s and lipstick, just putting it on there in the store, with no concern about whether or not she got caught. She’d finish with a spritz of perfume and off we’d go to a club or something, lol. SMH…..

I loved her to death but I even caught her stealing clothes from ME. Eyeroll…. Anyhow we used to walk into grocery stores and just walk out the door with 2 liters of pop, chips, whatever. One time another girlfriend and I filled an entire grocery cart, with things like pot pies and such and threw some empty boxes on top. Me, being the “white girl”, went up and sweetly asked the manager if it was okay for us to have these boxes and he said yes. So we took all of our loot and loaded up! Bad, bad!

5. Oh, that wasn’t the only thing. I worked in a donut shop and a savvy (this time white) girl taught me how to pretend I was ringing up a dozen and only charge for one donut, pocketing the rest of the money. I also handed out tons of free dozens to friends, rationalizing that they threw away so many anyway, that it wasn’t that big of a deal. It’s true that they trashed huge bagfuls of donuts at the end of every night and because of some stupid regulations couldn’t even donate them to homeless people, who would instead come digging in the trash can after hours. Oh, and the friend who showed me how to pilfer the money? She went on to become a teacher, then a scientist and now a lawyer…hmmm… I knew a preacher’s daughter too, in college, who would take stuff from Walmart all the time.

6. I also went through a “car-hopping”, as we used to call it, phase. We never stole much of any real value, but we did dress in dark clothes, tape our fingers and break into vehicles to see what we could find. Stupid, just stupid, lol, considering most of what we ended up with was spare change anyhow and at first we were actually dumb enough to use scotch tape. ::: slapping forehead :::

Thankfully I outgrew all of that. I think I’ve mentioned before that my mother never has. She is a total klepto. If that is a real disorder, then she has it. She even stole a freaking VACUUM CLEANER for my baby sister’s new apartment. How the hell, in this day and age do you get away with that? I don’t even want to know…

7. I feel like I need to redeem myself here, lest you lose all respect for me, haha. Really though, now that I’m all grown up I’m pretty straight and narrow. I try and avoid all illegal activity. My focus is on being a good mom and example.

I still enjoy talking to people from all walks of life and the accompanying diversity. So let me proceed with introducing you to some more of the many interesting blogs out there!!

1. A True Unfolding
2. His Princess 307
3. Inner Musings of a Scarlet Woman
4. Love, Sex and Marriage
5. Ding Dong, its Mr. Wrong!
6. My Life as I Know It
7. Of Fries and Men
8. Secret Diary Of a Girl
9. Research to be Done
10. The Narcissist’s Blog
11. A Girl Named Clay
12. The Bad Wife’s Guide
13. Diary of a Lolita
14. Mr. Guy Pants
15. Ask Miriam

A card for Mommy Dearest

notmother's day

I hate Mother’s Day.  Maybe this seems strange coming from someone who is a mother, who very much loves my children.  My hatred of this holiday isn’t about ME and it isn’t about my kids, though I admit to stressing, in the past, due to their lack of effort to honor me for all I’ve done. 

My children’s failure to be appreciative didn’t stem from any fault of their own.  For that we can thank my unloving ex- husband.  He refused to set any kind of example for them in this regard, despite all that I had them do for HIM for Father’s day.  The children are not to blame and I was reluctant to try and drum anything out of them for fear of being selfish.

 So most Mother’s days preceding my divorce, I received nothing, not even a handmade card, from my children.  I would always ASK for help in cleaning the house, for one day, because this is all I truly wanted, a shining clean home for the day that I had nothing to do with.   The kids would try somewhat, but due to the passive-aggressive undermining of their father, it was never done the way he knew I wanted it to be.  Like, I’d ask for them to clean the floors and bathroom and kitchen and he would insist that it was really the ceiling fans other nonsense that needed a touch up.  So, I’d still be left with the very chores I was stuck with the rest of the year.

Anyhow, since becoming a single mom I have had the opportunity to take stuff like this into my own hands.  My children, in the past couple of years, seem to have become MORE appreciative of me and are happier to pitch in.  Maybe it’s growing older but I also think they see for sure that I’m the one doing all the work, when before it was more dubious and we had their dad going out of his way to put me down and acting as though I never did “enough”. 

God, I am SO GLAD to be out of that situation.  Last year I had to buy a tray and set out the stuff in advance myself but they actually managed to make me breakfast in bed and it was something they enjoyed doing.  It may seem self- serving to do stuff like this but I believe it’s important for them to show some respect, even if it has to be forced.

Now that we’ve got that out of the way, what is my REAL reason for dreading this day?  How can anyone purport to “hate” a day celebrating the women who gave us birth and all that they have done in our lives?  Perhaps you’d understand if you had a mother like mine.

All these glowing statements and quotes about the wonderfulness of mothers, how they are always “there” for us, all that they do, none of these pertain to her in the least.  It’s a very painful reminder of the very things I never had as a child, or even now as an adult, as far as a relationship or bonding with my mother.

When I describe my mother to people I usually try to put things in terms that they can understand.  I mention facts like that she is a drug addict who tried to kill herself twice and nearly died, that she lost 6 nursing jobs stealing meds from her elderly patients. I state that she’s been in jail for stealing.  None of that even begins to scratch the surface of what it’s been like in my life having this “non-mother”. 

I don’t usually mention the fact that she picked me up and threw me across a room as a baby for daring to wake her up wanting something.  I was 18 months old and this was witnessed by family members.  I don’t talk about how she used to leave me waiting for HOURS places (like cheerleading practice in junior high) because she “forgot” to pick me up.  I don’t tell people what it felt like to try and try to call my mother on pay phones and not get an answer or have any idea where she was. 

I might mention the fact that I was physically and mentally abused by several stepfathers but I don’t talk about how she tacitly turned her head the other direction and did nothing to protect me or my siblings. I don’t talk about the verbal abuse, the horribly cruel things my mother would say, the way she referred to me at times, the sudden rages she would have.  Once in a while I might bring up the time she told me, when I was about 13, that she wished I’d never been born, that I had singlehandedly ruined all of her marriages.

I might talk about how I rarely saw her for long stretches of time as a child and was left mostly in the care of abusive stepfathers or on my own but I don’t usually tell people how they would lock me out of the house as early as age 7 on her days off from work and tell me not to come back until dark.  Sometimes I’d have one or more siblings to watch over as well and I would get in trouble if we came home.

Nevertheless, I am a human being and rather than hate my mother for the things she did I still desired her love and affection.  I can remember saving every penny I had one Mother’s day, when I was 8 or 9, and buying her a little jewelry box at a corner store.  She took one look at it and was like “I don’t need that!  Why would you waste your money?  I can’t use anything like that!” rejecting it (and me) out of hand. 

In college one time, my mother told me she wanted to spend some time with me, to go shopping together.  I was actually really excited and went to meet her at the mall, only to be left waiting for hours and she never showed up.  I later discovered she’d gone to jail and was in the custody of the police for stealing merchandise from a department store.

Perhaps too many times, both as a child and an adult, I have come to her aid, comforting her when she was crying and upset, trying to help her with her myriad of problems and issues.  I took on the parent position in her place, trying to take care not only of her but of my siblings from a very young age.  I tried to help her get out of an abusive relationship, taking great risks for my own life and safety. 

When she tried to kill herself I was there, though I also turned her in to the FBI and the people she was getting the pills from.  I searched her house, finding piles and piles of stolen items and bottles of hidden drugs (only turning in the drugs).  I tried to talk to the doctors, about the possibilities of things like liver transplants (due to drug addiction she didn’t qualify) and encouraged her even after they said she was going to die (she didn’t, either time).  I stayed by her side and made sure she wasn’t mistreated and got into a rehabilitation program (three times now I’ve helped her into inpatient rehab).

The thanks I get?  Well, really not any.  She still spent her time trying to manipulate me into getting her more morphine and acts angrily towards me, as though I am the parent and she’s a resentful, rebellious teenager.  She still asks me for money, even though I probably have less than her, and if given turns around and uses it for things like buying cigars to fill with weed, when she told me she needed gas for her car.

I don’t know that I’ve ever met anyone as selfishly narcissistic as my mother so it’s frustrating to see all these memes talking about how sacrificing  all “mothers” are by nature.  I think about the time she lied and said my brother was threatening and “scaring” her so that she could get him out of the house at 19, taking him to court for a restraining order.  I mean, there are nicer ways to get a kid out of the house and just watching the bullshit that came out of her mouth when we were in court had my blood boiling.  She comes across as such a “victim”.

Yes, my mother has been abused by one of my former stepfathers (who was undeniably cruel), she had a rough life and started using drugs when she was very young.  She probably suffers from Borderline or Bipolar disorder and has been diagnosed with both at various times, as well as generalized depression.  In addition to that there is something just “wrong” with her that is hard to describe. 

She’s intelligent and managed to go back and get a nursing degree despite having dropped out of high school but there is something wrong, something lacking in her basic social interactions with people.  I’m not really sure what it is but one might suspect some sort of autism or mental disorder that prevents her from relating normally or bonding to her kids the way most people do.

I wonder sometimes if she just damaged her brain due to all the drugs but she is kind of an embarrassment to be around in public.  People notice there is something “off” and I pray to God it’s nothing genetic.  When I was a kid people used to call the house and be like “what is wrong with your mom??” and laugh at the way she sounded when she answered the phone.

 I always thought it was just due to her working late and so many hours and often being asleep but probably she was doing more drugs than I realized.  She’s admitted in recent years that my stepfather smoked crack and I know she’s done it before, though maybe or maybe not back then.  She once even slept with a neighbor to obtain crack. I was in college then but yeah, talk about embarrassing.

My mother has a habit of saying things that are very blunt and very uncouth.  You just want to cover your ears, like, I can’t believe she just said that out loud, and it’s a wonder I managed to grow up with any degree of social skills.  Now that she’s getting older she seems to really be going off the deep end.  She will corner you and start talking about off the wall things like how she believes aliens are going to take over the planet.  You want to laugh but sometimes it also makes me want to cry.

As awful as she sounds, well, she’s still my mother and it still hurts to hear OTHERS insult or talk bad about her.  I still call her every Mother’s Day, even though she acts somewhat annoyed and like she wants to get off the phone quickly.  I don’t talk to her much though the rest of the year and she never calls unless she wants something.  Did I mention there are years she’s even forgotten my birthday?  Or she will call and mostly complain about how old I am making her feel, not really caring about ME.

My kids barely know who she is.  They will ask me questions like “who is YOUR mom?”, forgetting they have met before.  For the most part that’s probably a good thing.  Every so often she will try and play grandmother, showing up with piles of stolen toys and books.  It’s pretty bad when I’m even worried my own mother might steal things from ME. 

Anyway, I guess I’m lucky I had a grandmother who at least stepped in and tried to do some of the things my mom never did. Even when she was living a few hours away she came to some of my plays and choir concerts, the games I cheered at, the things my mother never bothered to show up for.  She sometimes paid for me to take classes or for other enriching activities and at various times even lived with us, eventually taking me in high school after I had run away and been sent to my dad’s for a year.  Even now she has much more of a role in mine and my children’s lives than my mother ever did and it’s HER daughter.  So she always gets Mother’s Day wishes too.

In any case, I am once again dreading The Call, the one I know I will go ahead and make.  I’ll call her and she’ll be kind of fake and talk about herself for a bit without letting me get a word in edgewise, then be like “okay thanks for calling” and hang up.  Well, maybe she will throw in a comment or two that will make me feel like she’s making judgments on things she knows nothing about. 

So  why do I do it?  Even despite the seeming underlying hatred my mother has for me I somehow feel obligated.  It’s like I just don’t think it’s worth rocking the boat.  One of my brothers hasn’t talked to her for years and openly rejects her which is really hard to see.  Another of my sisters spent years angry with her as well and she will say she “misses” them but never seems to give a fuck about the daughter that’s always been there doing everything to try and help.  Go figure. 

Some of my siblings call her by her first name yet I still call her “Mom”, a title she really doesn’t deserve. At times we’ve joked about how we are lucky she never took us all and drowned us in a pond somewhere, but behind the laughter is the very possibility that if a man had asked her to, well, who knows? She didn’t have much of a mind of her own.

Freud would have a heyday with me huh?  He’d probably say I hate my mother, lol, and I don’t know that I really do but I have a lot of resentment.  At the same time I feel sorry for her.  I pity her and her life and the fact that she just can’t seem to get it together.  I cringe each time she gets involved with a new man because it’s always the same old story.  He always ends up being abusive in some way or another and part of me feels awful for her while the other just wants to scream, quit doing this to yourself!  It’s your own damn fault!!

I guess the big thing is that I have to be ever vigilant not to follow in her footsteps.  That’s one of my biggest goals in life.  Fortunately I seem to be blessed with a mothering instinct that my own “mom” was severely lacking.  Still I am missing that role model and it’s forever a challenge to figure things out on my own.  Again, I am thankful for my grandmother in that regard and books and the internet and the ability to watch other people and learn.

I have a terrible example before me as far as men though and sometimes I wonder if I’m ever going to figure it out.  I feel like I really am starting to care about someone, like the Professor, and then lack the ability to know how to make it work, despite my efforts.

 My marriage, that I thought was going to be SO DIFFERENT from my own childhood, turned up a man who eventually showed true colors of being a lot like my mom.  He’s distant from the kids and unloving.  It kills me to watch.  Somehow I’ve got to figure out how to end the vicious cycle, so that my own children have better luck with relationships but I don’t even really know where to start when it comes to that.  The difference, at least, is that my kids know I love them.  Even my oldest, who has had some behavioral issues since the divorce, has admitted time and time again to various counselors, teachers, the police, etc. that he knows I care and believes I am a “good mom”. 

Still Mother’s Day comes around and I question every decision, everything I’ve said and done and wonder if I am “good enough” to deserve the accolades.  I’m nowhere near as awful as my own mother was but I’m definitely not perfect either.  All my years of being “Suzy Homemaker” seem like a failure because of the divorce and realizations about my ex.  I guess all I can do from here is my best and keep on keeping on. 

In the end none of us are perfect, though many appear from the outside to be so and we can only work with what we’ve been given to the best of our ability. Living up to what is expected of the “ideal mother” image isn’t easy and I sure as hell ain’t the Virgin Mary, lol.