How To Be a Bitch In 11 Easy Steps

I experienced the full spectrum of being a confident woman this weekend, one who doesn't take a lot of shit from anyone (male or female) and who when I speak my mind, people tend to listen.

I was surprised when the reactions to this was shock and horror that someone like me would think so highly of myself. Needless to say, there was some backlash. Luckily, my quick wit and sassy mouth stepped in and I didn't back down. This only furthered the assessment that I was, in fact, a bitch.

At first, I was hurt. I'm woman enough to admit that I cried about it. After a few days of feeling hurt and confused, I changed my attitude and decided to embrace the stereotype. I realized I exhibit all the characteristics that were being considered bitchy, and that I was proud of them. I refuse to apologize for them and if that makes me a bitch, that's what I'll be. Just remember, I'm being a bitch to you, so this is your one and only warning.

What makes me a bitch and why am I holding this degrading term in such high regard? Glad you asked...

1. Be a Woman
This one is automatic. The title of Bitch is one rightly reserved for the female gender. Men can be called "little bitches," but it doesn't hold the same negative connotation as it does for us sweet, tender things. It might be surprising (or not), but there have been more times in my life where my tits and ovaries alone have deemed me a bitch before I've even opened my opinionated mouth.

2. Be a Confident Woman
I was hot this weekend. It doesn't happen often, so I'm going to sing my own praises without shame. It was my goal and I succeeded. I was confident enough to take pride in my appearance and flaunt what mother nature gave me. Some find this to be inspiring. Others, as was so elegantly relayed to me this weekend, find it to be intimidating.

The downside to being one hot mama is that you instantly loose respect. People outright told me that this weekend and I felt it in the way they treated me. I didn't take the time to defend myself. I didn't have the time. I have more important people to spend that time on.

3. Speak Your Mind
Not only was I blessed with tits and ass, but a big, beautiful brain as well. It works wonderfully and just so happens to be connected to my mouth. If you want me to be quiet, find a genie and rub that lamp because that's your only hope.

4. Have Opinions
Not only is my brain beautiful, but it works. That's right, it's not just for show. I can think and speak and these are very powerful traits if used properly. No, you don't have to agree with my opinions and I don't have to agree with yours. If this keeps you from having a conversation with me, chances are my sassy ass would have destroyed you anyway. Congratulations on dodging a bullet.

5. Don't Take the Shit
If you would like me to do something, I am very agreeable and will happily oblige. If you ask nicely. If you treat me like an equal human being. I tend to treat people the way they treat me. If I'm not nice to you, that's why. If I don't like you for this reason, I'll let you know. 

6. See Through the Shit
 Likewise, if you try to sweet talk me but your intentions are less than honest, I will notice. It doesn't mean that I won't give you what you're wanting, but know that my generosity has a strict limit and several conditions. Limitations as in once and conditions as in this doesn't mean we are friends.

7. Don't Be a Sheep
I've never really been a follower. I tried it once, but I got bored. If I'm in a group and something is done or said that I don't agree with, I won't do it. I also don't give in to peer pressure. I won't necessarily call you on it since you are responsible for your own actions, but don't be surprised when I'm no longer around.

8. Travel Your Own Trail... Alone
I do what I want because I either want to or need to. I don't need a posse or someone by my side all the time. In fact, if you are by my side for an extended period of time, it's because you're fucking awesome and I trust you. That's a big thing. I am fine being solo and walking my path alone. Feel free to join me, but don't expect my priorities to change just because the occupancy has.

9. Expect a Certain Level of Respect
I am a human. This simple matter earns me respect. No, this doesn't mean I want to be held in higher regard than everyone else or that I think I'm queen shit. It means that I expect you to use manners and simply be a nice person, not just to me but to everyone. If you don't like me, that's fine. If you want to tell me this and tell me why, fine. But even a bitch such as myself can put differences aside and show some respect for another person. I don't know what you've been through or why you feel the way you do. I'm not going to make you feel like less of a human because of it either. I don't think it's wrong to expect this. Unrealistic, maybe, but not wrong.

10. Just Keep Smilin'
This has gotten me through countless tough moods and situations. Just smile. It will change your attitude, the vibe you emit and therefore the impression that others have of you. It will either make them smile too or piss them off. Either way, you're smiling, and that can never be a bad thing.

11. Don't Let the Bastards Wear You Down
My daddy always said this to me. At the end of the day, what other people think of you isn't important. You have people that know you and love you, so if one person thinks you're a total bitch, that's fine. Don't let them get to you because then they win. Their own insecurities gain power and they take it from your confidence. Don't let them take your power because they don't deserve it.


Be the Bitch. Hold the title. Know you're own heart and your own truth and you will always survive. Keep those close that see that heart and truth and love you for it. Forget those that don't take the time to look for it.

And never, ever, EVER apologize for other peoples opinions of you.
 





 

Will the Real Single Parents Please Stand Up

If there's anything I've learned in the last 6 years since giving birth to my first child, it's that parenting is hard.

I don't care what your situation is. If you know a child and are responsible for some aspect of that child, it's hard. I don't care how many children you have, what ages they are, how often you see them or what role you play in their lives. It's all hard.

I've written before how the village no longer exists when it comes to raising children. I used to be an active participant in this evacuation process until I witnessed it first hand. Now, I'm part of the village revival. This means that if your children come to my house, I will teach them manners and tell them the rules. It also means that if my children are guests in your home, you have my blessing to do the same.

One of the perks of being part of a village is the support. We've all had those exhausting and difficult days. You know the ones, where you end up hiding in a dark closet, crying because you just can't anymore. The days where you feel like a complete and utter failure.

I say "we've all" because this is a part of parenting. There are horrible times of parenting and there are incredibly precious moments that make up for it. This is what it means to be a parent.

Which is why I'm shaking my damn head today as I watch one parent lash out and try divide the village. This is the same behavior that led to the disbanding of the village in the first place. Somewhere along the evolution of parenting, it became a competition. What you do and how you do it or what you don't do and why or who helps or doesn't have become terms on which we divide ourselves and it's fucking ridiculous.

The blogger in question is a "single mom" that is calling out others posing as "single parents." She details what it means to be an actual "single mom." You can read her article here.

Ugh, I have so many points to cover with this that I don't even know where to begin....

Let's start with the term "single parent." Your relationship status has no bearing on your ability to raise a person. There. I don't care if you're single, married, divorced or just having a good ol' time with someone. Those labels don't indicate what kind of parent you are, despite what society has so erroneously decided. If you decide to let your relationship status impact the type of parent you are, then the problem is you.

I found myself nodding when the "single mom" was listing off her daily routine and responsibilities. I was nodding because I have those same responsibilities. The first plot twist is that I am married. The second plot twist is that these are the responsibilities of being a parent. These are things that all parents do. She is not "single" in this experience.

There’s no one there each night to tell me I did all right today and that our child is amazing. There’s no one beside me to laugh about that funny thing he said after naptime. There will be no one there every morning to remind me that it’s a new day with no mistakes in it yet. - See more at: https://www.scarymommy.com/cant-single-mom-it-youre-not-single-mom/#sthash.VtYFtQhx.dpuf

She comments that there isn't anyone there to "tell me I did alright today" or "remind me it's a new day." She details how she has to pay a sitter if she even wants to go to the doctor and that childless time with friends is expensive. This leads me to believe that she has unrealistic standards for what it's like to be married with kids. I also need to find a sitter if I need to visit the doctor. This is because my husband also works and his schedule is so unstable that even something planned weeks in advance can change the day before.

Her argument seems to be based on those with spouses that travel and deems their "extra work load" as temporary, where as hers is permanent. Just for the record, there is no such thing as a temporary work load when it comes to parenting. It's kind of a permanent thing. She extends an olive branch, but it's covered in stipulations.

Without going into the details of my own family dynamic, what I will confess is that I am the primary care giver. I am there, most of the time the only one, for reasons and circumstances that are our own. Does the ring on my finger mean I don't get a right to complain? Do I not qualify for support or encouragement because the government recognizes a spouse?

From the sounds of it, this mom has her shit together. Hell, even I was a little jealous reading it and know how kick-ass she's doing at the toughest thing in the world. Maybe instead of rolling her eyes at the other moms that are having an equally hard time, she should listen and offer words of wisdom and encouragement. Even hearing someone they know what that's like and talking about it is helpful. Maybe she could try join the village. We'd love to have her.

To answer her final question: No. I will not save the term "single momming it" for those who really are. Your job is no more difficult than mine. We both have situations that we need to deal with because we are parents. Our situations are different, but that doesn't make one any harder or easier than the other. We will both deal with loose teeth, scraped knees, bullying and heartbreak. We will both handle the same situations and we will both shake with fear and cry with frustration and laugh with delight at the beautiful people we are raising.

Because we are Moms, and it's hard. No further explanation or labeling or name calling is needed. We have enough to deal with already and such precious little time to waste on things so petty. Instead, let's grab a glass of wine after the kids are sleeping and pat each other on the back for surviving another day.

The Day My Child Asked About Death

I knew I'd have to explain it to him one day. There would be tears and he wouldn't understand and he might even get angry. I've been preparing myself for it since the day he was born. Not on how to answer his questions, but on how to accept that he could feel so much pain and that I wouldn't be able to take it away.

I never thought the conversation would randomly present itself in the middle of the shoe aisle at Target as a commotion of school shopping buzzed around us.

But there he was, his blue eyes staring up at mine, his sweet and innocent lips mouthing the question.

"Will I die one day?"

Naturally, I was caught off guard, to say the least. I stared back, my mouth open and my brain scrambling frantically to combine the words that would give him comfort and not fear, all without lying.

I replied as honest as I could. Yes.

"Yes. You will die someday. Everyone dies. It's the nature of life."

I watched his observant, quick and smart brain working behind his eyes. I also saw the fear as the questions kept coming. Panic began to mar his still childish face and my heart and brain started doing aerobatic acts to keep the panic out of my own voice.

But I don't want to die. Will I be old? Does that mean Mamma will die one day?

As he processed the answers, tears filled his eyes and my heart ached for him. I held back my own tears, not wanting to show my own turmoil over the thought of losing him or my mother. I didn't care that we were sitting on the floor in the middle of the shoes at Target. I was talking to my soft-hearted 6 year old about death for the first time. The rest of the world would just have to wait.

How do I do this? I'm not prepared for this. What do I say? 

Unfortunately, death has always been a part of my life. I remember my first funeral when I was his age. I also remember the many funerals after. Where I was raised, death is a ritual. There is an order to things, steps that are taken, a cultural flow assigned to the passing of a loved one. I'm not complaining. In fact, I'm blessed for being exposed to it from such a young age.

I'm blessed because dealing with death has taught me how to live.

I learned that it's okay to cry over someone because other people are crying too, and they will cry with you and for you because they feel for you and that is a beautiful thing. I learned that death is the end of a physical life but that the soul lives on in memories and stories. I learned that death costs money, but that the money (or lack of) left behind won't tell you jack shit about how that person lived their life.

I've learned that life is precious and it's not to be wasted or taken for granted. I've learned that death can come far too quick and be far too painful. I've learned that our only true purpose in life lies in our impacts on others, because after our bodies are gone, that is all that remains.

My grandfather died when I was 16. He taught me (among so many other treasures) that life can be simple. That our most powerful tools are our brains and our own two hands. He taught me that kindness is the most important thing we ever have to offer and to offer it freely.

My best friend died when I was 17. She taught me to never take getting older for granted. She taught me to always smile, no matter what, because someone else was suffering worse than I was. She taught me to express myself and never apologize for it.

My father died when I was  26. He taught me what it means to be tough and to not let the bastards wear me down. He showed me what strength was and that what others see as being weak is not a weakness at all.

All of these lessons echoed in my head as I stared at my child. I knew that now wasn't the time to share all of this. It would be too much for him. I hurt because I knew that one day he would learn these lessons on his own, in the same way that I had.

"Death is nothing to be afraid of. The way to think about death is to think about life. Enjoy the life you have, like what we're doing today. You're having fun today, right?"

"Yes," he answered, his voice wobbling and his little hand swiping a tear from his eye.

"So we enjoy the time we have. We make memories and we laugh. That takes the fear away from death."

He nodded, sniffled, and stood up. I seized the chance I had and took him to the toy section. Yes, I may have manipulated the power of distraction. I'm not sorry, not in this case. He was sad about something that is sad, something he should feel sad about. But I didn't want him to dwell on it, either. Dwelling on death won't bring any answers, especially for someone so young.

As he plays outside now, laughing and running and breathing and smiling, it seems the conversation is far from him thoughts. Or maybe it isn't. I hope he continues to ask me about it because I will continue to talk about it.

I'll let him know that we should talk about it. I'll let him know that it's not something we can hide from. It's not something we can change. It is something, however, that we can live through and deal with. It is not something that can destroy us.

I want to teach them how to live life - a full life, a happy life, complete with death and sadness that doesn't tarnish or take away from any of the great things they'll get to know and see and feel and experience.

I will hug my babies a little more tonight. I will give them extra kisses and tell them that I love them. I will let them know that I love them because one day I won't be able to tell them. I want them to know so when they can't hear it from my lips anymore, they won't have a single doubt.

That's another lesson I've been blessed to be taught my death.