Kristen Hill

Oct 20, 2012

A Mothers Vent Wishful Thinking

I am a mother, a friend, a guidance counselor, a shoulder to cry on, giver of words of wisdom, driving instructor, laundry instructor, homework helper, chef, and insistent parent of values, morals and principles. I am no saint, nor will I ever be; but I have instilled upon my children which I believe to be wonderful standards in life.

Help others, don’t judge, never ever assume anything and do not dress like a slut.

My children, somehow I was blessed are all very handsome children, all features are proportionate, their bodies are sleek, toned, and well-manicured via the healthy way: running, biking, dance and skating.  If one of my girls chooses to have their nails done they will have to locate a way to pay for that on their own. I do not feel money, what little I earn should be spent on having colored finger and toe nails. I do not believe in having brows waxed and trimmed only if you can do it in the comfort of your own home. I am not opposed to beneficial beauty rituals just do not have the money for them and do not really feel it is important enough in life to go out of ones way for it. That is my feeling and who am I to say? I am just me; a nobody.

I would like all of my children to recognize that beauty is not founded in the bright light marque stressing Revlon, Maybelline, Juicy Couture, and Abercrombie & Fitch. My youngest recently asked me about a certain ad she continued to see in public, she asked why all the girls were really skinny and all had big breasts? I could have gone into a long drawn out explanation about marketing, exploitation of women, the raping of the natural weight of real woman but I told her that “if they put these unnaturally skinny and surgically enhanced breasts in the public eye then every woman that purchases one of their products is going to think she has a chance of looking that pretty”. She totally got it, without hesitating she said “oh, they are liars like all the guys in the commercials for the election.” “Wow,” I thought my child knows about the BS that takes place in our Government but has no idea about the disgusting marketing strategies that are geared towards her and my other children. Bravo, bravo…they messed up, they did not get to my children and I am sure many other young naive children were over looked by their false perception of beauty. I am just blown away as to how much they put out there, pushing product after product to the young when they know in reality (the corporations) that it is BS. I wish I had the time to go into this completely with what I think about the marketing strategies in regards to all the beauty products that are out there reeling people in. Yes, I understand the need to generate money, marketing, supply and demand and economics 101 to 505 (that is as far as I got), but with the damn world the way it is with the rich getting richer, the middle class almost wiped off the face of the earth, the beautiful becoming more beautiful and people dying in the name of greed…come on. Seriously? Really? Who give a rotten crap about what mascara makes your eye lashes longer, what tag with a specific brand name make your butt look better in their jeans and wearing this brand watch will make you happier, healthier, wealthier and more beautiful. Makes me truly think even harder about selling everything I have checking out of this damn dog eat everybody else world, pack it up with all my children in tow and hightail to a place that does not emphasis on beauty versus who I am.

My wishful thinking is that my children till the day they die never ever give in to the BS of what is beauty and what is not. Yes, beauty is in the eye of the beholder…to each their own…beauty does not come in a bottle nor a piece of cloth, beauty is who we are, what morals we live by and what we can give to others.

A Mothers Vent: What is that smell?

Oct 19, 2012 I can't tell what it is: is it garbage that is on fire, is it socks mildewing behind some dresser, is it road kill sunk (not in the middle of a concrete jungle), is it marijuana? This smell has been lingering around the house, the back yard, the hall way...my son's room. I asked him that is that scent? "Oh, that scent?" he responds, "that is sage, mom, you know the stuff that is wrapped up you light it and it is too keep bad mojo negativity out of your home." "Ohhh yes, yes I know that very well, from my hippy days long gone." I tell him to be safe with it and don't light anything on fire; better yet whatever you are using to light it let me keep it until you are ready to light it again. I knew that was the wrong thing to say, to insinuate...that he is almost 18 and he does not need to be carrying around a lighter. "Mom, for crying out loud, what the hell? I am not a baby, this is my zippo I got it from my real dad as a gift!" Nice, I think...nice a zippo lighter rather than a day of fishing or teaching him how to drive or playing ball...I wonder what else he has given my son? I am to find out only too soon...
The episode slowly fades and after a couple weeks it is all forgotten...until I receive a call from the Principle of my sons HS. I literally fell of my chair and jumped out of my skin with rage. My son, my precious son, my rock of Gibraltar, my own son was caught at school with a pipe in his pocket. A what? I scream into the phone, a flippen what? I am furious, shaking with rage, fear and hopelessness. Police? What? Where? When? I am spuming question after question and not getting the answers that i want. I tell the principle to not allow the police to question my son until I have a arrived. I remind her that he is only 17, not 18 and I as the parent have the right to be there during questioning. She agrees, I hang up the phone while she is still talking to me and am racing down 4 flights of stairs. Had no time to sit and wait for the elevator. It takes about 25 minutes from my office to the HS this time it only takes me 12 minutes.
I run into the Principles office and there is my beautiful boy, all 6'1 of my baby red eyed, runny nose, and crocodile tears streaming down his face. "I'm sorry mom, I am soooo sorry mom," this is all he can say for the next five minutes as I am trying to talk with the police. I look at my son while the ego maniac cop tells me what the procedure are and what my child is facing legality wise. My son is still crying, shaking his head his long hair sticking to his nose and lips where it is all wet from his tears. I go to him and pull his chin up to where I can see his face, I actually do see in his eyes, the shame is which he has brought upon himself and the new load of headaches, fines, driving that have been placed on me. He stand up and towers over my big frame of 5"2. He bends down to hug me, a real hug he has his head on my shoulder and I am rubbing his back telling him softly in his ear that we will get through this, I promise him, give my mother’s word that it will all be ok in the long run. How much more can I take? I feel my heart is about to explode from fear, guilt, pain, shame, and more pain. My daughter is missing, my son is now smoking Marijuana...my other babies so far so good.
After several hours of talking, procedures, blah, blah, blah the officer gets to the some pretty real questions (about time), where do you get weed? How do you get the weed? Is it dealt in the school? Where do you get the money for the weed? Do you just share with your friends? I too wanted to know some of these answers. I speak up and defend my son as far as buying it, "officer, I am a single mother who half the time cannot keep my lights on let alone give enough money to my son to purchase drugs or let alone anything. He receives enough for bus fair and takes his lunch to school." After much to do about nothing my son finally begins to talk, he does not give out any of his friends names, but the Principle and I already can guess who the group is that partakes in this extracurricular activity. I want to know where he gets the marijuana and well as police. With much trepidation my son finally tells us how he gets it...with slow, halting words and his head held in is hands he utters two words "my dad." I can't breathe, my head is spinning I want to throw up all over everyone. I am sick, sick, sick. I have worked for years raising my children as I thought was fit and positive with morals, values, knowing the difference between right and wrong and then this good for nothing sperm donor comes waltzing ion and undoes everything good that I have done for my children.
He continues to tell us that his dad has a medical marijuana card. What the hell? This is BS, real BS. I am pissed and feel at this moment I can only do harm, I need a time out.
My son is suspended for two weeks, take a UA every week and will be tried as an adult and kicked out of school (he is graduating this school year) if he messes up just once, just once! He went to see his dad over the weekend (which I am not happy about), he comes home Sunday night looking guilty...he tells me while he was at his dad's he might have drank a beer. "You might have drunk a beer? Either you did or you didn’t there is nothing in between."
That is it. Just waiting to see what his UA's come out. His father says nothing and takes zero responsibility, all he can say is that he is an American and has his rights. What the hell was I thinking, making babies with this redneck who has an IQ the same number as his shoe size?
I was not fooled by the sage burning episode, I too was a teenager, it may have been one hell of a long time ago but nonetheless a teen. No one ever forgets that skunk scent of the green.
I was just praying it would go away.

A mothers vent vs. teenagers bedrooms

Oct 22, 2012


I do not think it is truly the myth that "monkey see, monkey do." If that were really the case then my teenaged children’s rooms would not look like a squatter’s house. I cannot for the life of me understand why the hell a room cannot be picked up? What is so difficult about hanging up clothes (that is why there is a damn closet), throwing out not wanted pieces of paper, scraps of who knows what, empty juice cans, empty soda cans, banana peels, paper plates, half eaten pizza...trash, it all belongs in the garbage can.
I keep and have always kept a clean house, even when all 4 of the babies were all under the age of 5, I kept a clean house. I remember not being able to even think of going to bed unless the house was spotless; there was no way in hell I could have ever gone to sleep with dishes in the sink. I am not as anal as I once was, I can sleep if there are a few dishes in the sink, if there are clothes that need to be hung up (we are talking about three shirts and some socks to be put away), I can sleep. I know that I will rise much earlier in the morning than my beloved little heathens and have the kitchen dishes put away in less than 10 minutes.
Funny how the garbage can just fills itself up. They all claim to have not used the kitchen garbage can and that it all must be my garbage, therefore I should empty the receptacle and not one of them. It is the same with laundry. They tell me since I have the most change of clothes in one day that I should be doing all the laundry; washing, folding and putting away. I cannot understand their justification on that one...I do not even attempt to go there for fear of turning into a raging B***h.
The hardest part is when I do go into their rooms; I just shake my head, roll my eyes and then get mad. It is a maddening insane way to live, knowing what negativity is in store for oneself on a daily basis. I can’t help but go into their rooms every day, just praying and wishing and hoping that that little opening on the ground where there is room to meandering through the filthy area of sleep has widened. I hope that when I open at least one their bedrooms that it is going to be filled with sunshine, smell of crisp apple blossoms, and that the ground actually is a beautiful red Saltillo tile. I have forgotten what color their bedroom floors are. Seriously.
I have been asking on a daily basis since we moved into this house back in July/August that they clean their rooms, daily I ask, daily I am told begrudgingly that it will be done, daily I come home from working all damn day only to find out once again that their rooms are stock piled with my dishes and glasses. At least the kitchen cupboards are empty.
My room is clean, the bathrooms are clean because I clean them twice a week, and the living room is beautiful clean with a lovely scent because I dust the furniture, pound the rugs, and oil the piano. They have not a clue as to how much I do for them and all I ask them in return, after I have birthed them, lost my beautiful tight butt, have enough lose skin on my tummy to cover the state of Montana, lost a good part of my senses and my ability to think straight, give them all what little money I make...again, all I ask in return is that they clean their smelly, garbage infested rooms. Hell, they did not even remember my birthday on Saturday...not a word about it but they did remind me that they all needed to be driven somewhere and they all needed money.
It will come down to me loosing what little shitty sanity I have left to have those rooms finally clean and free of ants and teenage garbage. It will be very soon I believe. I feel it coming on and once it is in my system and the rage boils over it is a done deal. I have told them that one day they will come home (after I have driven for hours picking them all up) and their rooms will be empty. Anything that is on the floor will be thrown out and not just thrown out in our big garbage; it will have a new home to settle in called the landfill. However, that will just be the garbage crap, whatever clothes found on the bed, stuffed under the bed, found anywhere on the floor…will all be given to a shelter.
I really want to follow through with this threat in which they have been hearing about for the last three months, I am ready and willing…I just need to find the time, energy and build up enough mental resistance to their screaming tantrums they will all be displaying.
When it finally does happen, I will have my phone video set up to get in all taped and then I will post it on YouTube and hope it goes viral. Hehehehe
I do love my children more than life and would lay down my life a million times over for their happiness and health…but it is such a small request of mine…

A Mothers Vent, a child's pain

I don’t have much to blog about. Have spent the good part of my days all week searching for my 19 year old daughter. No one has seen her or heard from her. She is not taking her meds or her birth control. Without her med's she is completely psychotic without her birth control she could get pregnant. Wow, a schizophrenic pregnant 19 year old is not a good combination. The police do not really help; at first they would not even let me file a missing persons report. Something that has to do with the time line, age and pretty much bullshit on their part. We put up fliers with her photo and contact numbers, but to no avail, have not heard a word from anyone. I would like to think that she is ok, just sick, scared and can't manage to pull it together. That is such a better thought compared to the other thoughts I have had.
It is a sad, hurtful somber feeling knowing that your child is ill, not just ill but a sickness that is stigmatized in society; like she had a choice of getting sick or not getting sick. She was such a beautiful baby, born on Easter of 1994, my first born. I always knew something was wrong with her as a child, and once she was diagnosed at the age of 7 with Asperger’s it all made sense. Did not make it any better, but at least I had a name to put with her different approaches and mannerisms. Her current illness began to rear its ugly head during her junior year in HS. This was the year she had a little pig in her pocket that she talked with and the ghost boy that followed her everywhere she went, but only talked to her during the night. These were her friends, her only friends. She is a waif of a child only 5 feet tall, 90 pounds dripping wet, pure white almost translucent skin and dark, dark brown eyes. Wish I could take all of it away and put it in me so she can finally be free from this never ending battle of voices and being terrified. There is nothing I can do for my child. I have tried everything and have exhausted every resource that is available. There is nothing out here for individuals such as my daughter, who suffer endlessly because the state and insurance companies are all too greedy and they all want their hand in the cookie jar.
This is a debilitating illness which takes away all that is sane, all that a person is. It takes the light and sparkle away from their eyes leaving them dull and lifeless looking. This illness strips a person of even knowing who they are. It is a mess of an illness...it is close to what I think would be like living in Alice and Wonderland.
I am terrified for my child, my bright, beautiful, talented, gifted brilliant child.

I pray we find her. 

A Mothers (much to loud) Vent.

Breaking points. We all have them and we all will continue to have them. I am talking specifically about mothers...single mothers; I believe have finer more easy breaking points than others. However, don’t really want to start any research on that.
I lost it with my kids which not entirely their fault. They were not to blame...this was all my doing...venting...in a very unconstructive and unaccepting manner.
I lost my house after my husband left and was left with zero child support or alimony, he skipped the country and is back somewhere near his home in Germany. I am raising these children 100% on my own on a very meek salary. I lose it, weekly and sometimes daily but each time I lose it I feel horrible for my children. Nothing with the divorce or his leaving all of us did they bring on. It was his decision; I am sure with help from his Mistress of the last 6 years that helped him with his decision to leave. I digress, after losing the house the children and I have had to rent and I am not very accepting of this but I must do what I much do. The landlords are kind of friends, would not say very close friends but friends and I guess this gives them the right to come in the house whenever they want, tell me how to cut the grass, allow handy men to show up whenever they please and stay as long as they please. they came to the house yesterday after I had a unhappy morning of realizing that it had been a year ago that my scoundrel ex-husband had come back to the children and I asking for forgiveness from us all (which we gave two different times) only to have him leave, as usual days before Christmas. The third time to be exact, however this year he has not come back to put us through agony again. I don’t think he can get back in the country? It was a bad day; I was sad, crying, working from home, $3.77 in the bank for the next 7 days, driving my usual 38 miles round trip to two different school for the kids on an empty gas tank and having the landlords come over to tell me I need to move all our furniture out and have the carpets all pulled before Sunday because they are having stained concrete poured on Monday, which will take 6 days to cure. By the way that suggested the t kids and I should stay at a hotel for that week.  F**k me. Right. Then they inform me that the second half of the house will be done the following week and that too will take another 6 days to cure. I am beside myself. I felt numb. I wanted to literally scream at them until I burst their eardrums and watch them hemorrhage from their ears. I hit my damn breaking point. Hit it hard, full force and straight on.
By the time I started my 1.5 hour long drive to pick up kids from their (different) schools I was more than upset, I was completely bonkers.
My children suffered my rage which was so unfair to them. It was one of their birthdays and I had made sauce for dinner, pasta being her favorite dish and had baked a birthday cake and adorned it with 16 beautiful candles. I so messed it all up. I was crying when I picked them up and then began giving them heck because their rooms were messy, glasses on their dressers, plates stashed under a bed, an empty soda can on the bed, clothes all over the place...and then it really starts. The venting: no one helps me clean, no one helps with dishes, no one ever helps me cook, no one ever feeds the dog, no one ever says thank you to me, and no one does anything in that damn house but me and only me. Ughhh, it was horrible, I vented so loud that my vocal cords are strained today and are highly painful.
I made my children cry because I am sad, broken hearted, penniless, almost 50 and loathe the land lord.
my beautiful babies suffered because I am selfish and cannot find enough energy and happiness to get through one day without being a b***h to them.
I know the younger ones did not understand but at least my 17 year old, 6'0, blue eyed boy understood. He came to me later on and hugged me and told me how sorry he was that dad had left us and how he should help me more now that he is the man of the house. This made my cry even more. My son, my child comforting me, his mother telling me everything will be ok somewhere down the road; my child, giving me solace. I am doing everything I can do right now not to cry here in my office. I am riddled with guilt that is going to stay with me forever, guilt, guilt, guilt. I have not been fair to my children since my husband, their father left, I have put blame where blame should not have been, I have fallen apart too many times in front of them, and I have burdened them with my pain which is unforgivable for a parent.
My children are my life, the only reason why I breath, they are my soul...even with the trials and tribulations of everyday survival and my eldest' schizophrenia and Asperger’s, the financial despair, the heartbreak, I try to get through life and be the best I can be for them...but sometimes, just sometimes I just cant.

I hate my breaking point as much as I hate my ex-husbands mistress (and him).

A Mothers Vent

My children and I were sitting down to yet another night of Mac-n-Cheese and whatever vegetable was in the refrigerator, when my third eldest said "mom, we should take a vacation and go to Hawaii"; I coughed and almost choked on my .95 Mac-n-Cheese. "Honey", I replied "if you think we could afford a holiday in Hawaii or for that matter anywhere, would we be sitting here eating this cardboard tasting cheap dinner?" I cannot even afford to buy decent food let alone take a holiday. It was certainly a let down for all of them. They moaned and pouted throughout the rest of our meek dinner...I felt like a loser of a mom. Wow, I thought to myself I cannot even take my kids on a two day holiday anywhere, there are no funds to be had. Now, if I had not put braces on all 4 of them, taken out college loans for the eldest, have them in a tuition laden school, buy them clothes, pay for their medical and dental insurance, drive them wherever they wish to go, let their friends live here for free, buy them birthday, Christmas gifts, pay for their driver’s license, pay for their haircuts, their electricity, their water, their Netflix, their shampoo, tooth paste, make up, their books, school needs, social needs, extra curriculum school activities, piano lessons, house rent, paints, canvas...(need I go on)then maybe I would have the funds and would be able to take them on a much needed holiday. But this is not the case. Someone has to take care of them and I do it all with love, care and moments of serenity.
After "I" did the dinner dishes and finished helping them with their homework and finished all my papers for my classes I had them sit down in front of our little TV and made them watch a beautiful film called "The Human Experience." They all protested at first but they did not cross me at that moment, they knew I was not to be out voted. "The Human Experience" is a film made by two young men in their early 20's who had grown up in a very low income part of Queens, NY and dealt with growing up along gangs, thugs and alcoholic and drug addicted parents...who basically did not give a damn about them. These young men set out on a journey experiencing life from every angle. They first lived homeless in the streets of NY for an entire month. Sleeping in card board boxes, begging for money for food and showering in shelters. After a month of grime and hunger (and the loss of 20 pounds apiece) they decided to go further. They went back to living at their previous home, which was a house run by a church where they began to work and saved money to go to third world countries. They documented their experience through the lens of a hand held camera.
There most saddening and rewarding moments came as they struggled to help keep children alive from malnutrition and disease in India and lived with an orphanage in Peru where all the children were mentally or physical handicap. They fell in love with all these children and lived as they did not knowing if they would survive the coming days or weeks or months. The love and tenderness they gave all of these children and the respect they gave to those who cared for them was insurmountable.
These young men wanted nothing in return 9unlike so many other Americans, who feel these deserve everything and more), they just wanted to help in any way human possible way. It was beautiful, heart wrenching, sad but glorious.
From the corner of my eyes I watched my children viewing this film and saw their expressions change from fear, sadness and elation. They all cried during moments of tenderness and when viewing and hearing how some of these children were treated by parents and society. I wanted my children to see how blessed we are, how much they have, how the rest of the world lives. Yes, so many millions of people have so, so, so much more than we do but we survive and are healthy (with the exception of my eldest) and have a Government that sometimes gives a shit about us.
At the end of the film my children were somber but full of questions and statements. It was what I wanted; I prevailed at teaching my children through the eyes of others just how much we have. It was a good night. I taught them a valuable lesson that I believe so many parents do not. Not saying all parents other than myself do not teach their children values, principles and morals, for I am not the best mother, I do not always make the best decision but I try and try and try to do what is best for my children and those that stumble into my home when they have no other place to go. However, if we could all teach our children that living is a gift perhaps they would find more reason to be filled with joy for what they have and not what they want?

A Mothers' Vent again

Last week's vent was not necessarily something that I am proud about. It had been a tumultuous week, needless to say. My eldest had been diagnosed with Manic Bi-Polar, Schizophrenia. My first born, my brilliant, most talented child. Beautiful, eccentric, but ill. Very ill and of course will not take her meds. She is 18...there is nothing I can do but try and gain guardianship for her. But as usual it is easier to walk down the street with a bottle of Jack, in a bunny suit pulling 10 Kangaroos on leashes than it is too gain real mental health care. As well as that unfortunate situation, another inevitable undesirable, sad, life altering situation occurred; my father at the age of 81 passed away without any of his children by his side. As I stated it was a tumultuous week and again, if I hurt anyone's feelings or was not politically aware or respectful I apologize.

Now for the real vent. We slave as mothers out of love. We go through the nine months of change and loving from the moment we know we have another incredible life inside of us (what a gift...I think I would feel cheated had I not been a women...just to give birth) we go through the pain, real pain of giving birth, we deplete our natural God given resources until they are no longer viable until the next pregnancy, we cook, clean, change diapers, wake in the middle of the night regardless if they are crying or not...we wake because it is what we do, we kiss the booboo’s, we hurt when they hurt, we give guidance, we give advice, we praise and praise and give them everything that we are...just for them because we created them they are ours. Until they are no longer ours. That is usually around 14 maybe 15. We are no longer the center of their universe, there are rare moments when they stroke our arm and ask if we are ok? It is rare when their sentences begin with "us..".it is usually now "I" or "what." I need this, I need that, what about me, what about the new clothes you promised, I need a car when I turn 16, I think you are stupid, I am right you are wrong, what about my party, what about my allowance...oh I forgot the "can I...do this, do that, go here, go there...so and so's mom said she could, he could, they could."

Perhaps if they did not go through this mind blowing, frustrating phase from about age 14 to 24 maybe, just maybe I would not be the parent I thought I was. I am accepting of the 'I" and the "what" and the everything that they come up with because they are growing up and recognizing themselves as individuals. It is hard, sad but a very real part of being a parent to let go and let them make their own decisions...even when you tell them that decision is going to bite them in the behind. It has been a hell of a ride having to let go of even one, but I guess that is what it means to give life and get old (er).

My children were going through old photos and came across this one. This was 1999, it was the night before I was leaving for France for a week to attend a seminar in regards to Anthropology. That was the first time I had ever left my children for more than a night which was for giving birth to another most loved child. Wild. Wild. Wild. Ok, I changed the rotation in "paint" but it did not occure here.