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We’ve had a lot of changes in our lives lately, as usual. One thing that remains the same: the cantankerous nature of the elusive L word. I mean, not elusive in the sense that its never used. “Love” is declared a million billion times a day and has at least that many motivations shoving it out of people’s mouths and into the ears of vulnerable, unsuspecting prey. Its overused to a huge fault, said much too often and much too soon. Its elusive in the sense that it carries no meaning, no punch, no backbone for most who use it. Which is why I don’t use it much. If I say, “I love you,” I mean it and I won’t ever unlove you. I can’t. I have tried and tried and wish I could. Some people I have loved really should be completely pissed away and flushed down the toilet. Nevertheless, they still occupy a dank, chilly borough of my heart. That’s how I’m wired.

I seem very different than that to most, however. Instead of the huge, sensitive, bleeding heart that I am, I seem like a cold, hard bitch who could and will break you in half if the mood strikes. The exterior facade is a learned, necessary shield against the horrible world we live in. The interior hasn’t changed much since I was Anaiah’s age. My heart is the same. I love hard and unconditionally and believe in hundredth chances. A constant battle between heart and head is always going on, and that makes for a very exhausted, disenchanted me.

In the past few months, I’ve been asked more and more why I am “closed” and stick to my very small circle of family and friends. Why don’t I give people a chance? Why don’t I say “I love you” to everyone who says it to me, especially the people who I really do care about? I don’t have sufficient answers, but I have experiences that influence most things in my heart and head. So, I will share some experiences over the next several blog posts and hopefully shed a little light on my journey. Experiences aren’t excuses, just further explanation about why I am the way I am. All of that is the lubed up way to tell you that this is about to be where the “textually explicit” part of the blog begins. Comments are always encouraged and welcomed, but please keep the following in mind: I am not who I was. But part of who I was makes me who I am. And I like who I am.

The students were asked to reflect on the following quote from Flannery O’Connor.
“The truth does not change according to our ability to stomach it.”
They were instructed to write a short essay describing a time in their lives when the truth didn’t change regardless of how they felt about it. Here is one of my favorites:

My blog is suffering… but we all are lately. The kids and I have been battling little sicknesses here and there since before Christmas, and I have a cough straight from the pits of hell that will not get out of my chest. I’ll either get better or die. The doctor is not an option until I’m closer to death because its expensive. And we have no money to spend on crap like doctors and medicine and electricity. Fun times in the life of us.

Speaking of life, a trending question among the concerned and sometimes just nosy surrounding us is, “Chass, what are you going to do with your life?” Well, folks, luckily I have some options, and here they are:

#1) I can get a job working full-time making $12 an hour 8 am to 5 pm, which translates to $23,040 per year before taxes. I spend at least $10,560 on childcare per year, which leaves me with $12,480 per year to live on with option #1. Let’s subtract rent, which at the very least is $750 per month, totaling $9,000 per year, leaving us with $3,480 to live on, before taxes, after childcare and rent are subtracted. I’ve gotten out groceries down to $300ish a month, totaling $3,600 per year. That leaves us -$120 per year, before taxes and after childcare, rent and groceries. Moral of the story: At $12 an hour, the kids and I can have daycare, a place to live and minimal groceries, but we will not have gas, insurance, electricity, or running water. Option #1 can’t work.

#2) I can be a prostitute. This would give me more than $12 an hour (I have references), but the risk of STDs, bodily harm (remember, doctors and medicine is expensive…) and definitely not working 8am to 5 pm won’t work for the kids. I can’t be walking into PTA meetings or karate looking like one giant herpes sore or bruised and beat up. Oh, and its illegal in Texas and also Jesus frowns on it. So option #2 is out, also.

#3) I can live off of the government. Welfare, otherwise known as Temporary Assistance for Needy Families (TANF), is a thing, I’ve heard. I can pass the required drug test, if caffeine doesn’t count. The maximum benefit for a family of three consisting of one parent and two children in the household is $260 per month. That’s a joke. We’ve established that won’t even cover minimal groceries. Also, paternity information is required for all children in the household. While I obviously know who my babies’ daddy is, you must have an open child support case with the attorney general’s office (case number required when applying) in order to receive any benefits. The state wants to make sure you’ve exhausted the option of child support before they hand you any money. I get that, but what if, hypothetically speaking, Mr. Paternity is incarcerated and has voluntarily relinquished all parental rights? Well, citizens, there isn’t a check box for that one. The Health and Human Services’ gears get all jammed and no one has answers for that scenario. So, even if we qualified for public assistance and it was enough for us to squeak by on temporarily, we can’t get it. Ever. Because we can’t file for child support. Because my divorce and custody papers tell me specifically I can’t. Because my kids legally have only a mother and no father. BUT, the state of Texas insists that to apply for benefits, it is absolutely necessary to have a case number… Option #3, you’re pissing me off.

#4) I could be a full-time student. My FAFSA says I qualify for $20,000 in financial aid for 2014-2015. School costs $8,400 this semester. See the figures in option #1. This isn’t going to add up nicely, either.

So, in conclusion, life is expensive and there are no definite answers right now. I’m doing freelance work, applying for jobs and hopefully going to school, contingent on financial aid. We will see. I usually don’t put financial matters out there, but I’ve been getting feedback lately that is uninformed and simply ridiculous. Have I applied for jobs? Yes, hundreds all over Texas. Have I received interviews? Yes, over 25. Have I been offered jobs? Yes, several. Why haven’t I taken them? Because, see option #1. Life is expensive, and more so as the sole provider for a three and four year old. Any help we get is from the goodness of people’s hearts. No one on this big, beautiful earth is legally or financially obligated to help our family of three. This is just our world for now. I am not pretentious or too good to take a $10 or $12 an hour job. I can’t take it. My hands are tied. I can’t pay bills and support us on that. Whether I’m $200 or $2,000 short for the month, I’m still clearly short. Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, my friends.

I’ve been quiet for awhile. I haven’t been too busy, just quiet. Life speeds up, then slows down. I could say its unmanageable at times, but it isn’t. We always manage to manage. Word modifying a word. Shameful.

Anyway, I’ve been quiet. There have been things to process, and you know I internalize eons before I externalize. Believe me, its a good thing for everyone outside of my box. I’ve continued to be amazed by people on all ends of the spectrum of humanity. I generally love the humanness of people. The flawed, hasty, emotional, chaotic mess that makes up all of us is beautiful and sacred somehow, and touching that makes finding the eye of our storms that much more precious. However, some parts of the raw human underbelly are downright shitty and offensive. Ha, yes, this girl right here said “offensive.” I know you’re thinking, “What in the holy hell has taken over her mind? Nothing offends her…” Let me tell you, some things absolutely offend me and should offend you, too, if you’re worth your weight in beans as a person.

If you are petty, you offend me. Since Webster defines “petty” as not very important or serious, I know no two people have the same definition. What is petty to me is maybe important to you, and that’s okay under most circumstances. After all, my toilet paper rolls from the top, not the bottom, and if you screw that up in my house, I’ll come behind you and fix it. Ridiculous to some, important to me. Silly example, but you get the point, and easily forgiven. I fix the toilet paper, you call me neurotic and obsessive-compulsive, I agree with you, we laugh. Done.

Here’s a not-so-easily-forgiven example: You actively or passively criticize my manners, mouth or parenting. Sisters and brothers, we are navigating life to the best of our abilities while we are hear on Earth. All of us struggle, and all of us wake up day after day with the intentions of doing better than we did the day before. You don’t get a thank you note following a gifting holiday? I suggest you let that thought pass out of your mind as quickly as it came in. If thank you notes and general accolades are the backbone of relationship maintenance for you, please bow out now. We are real around here, and we think about real things and have real problems. I grew up southern, and female and Baptist. I get the social importance of thank you notes and casseroles. However, at some point, after shit got quite real for us, it just seemed a little silly. I’ll oblige those who came before me and send thank yous and deliver casseroles when it fits into my already busy, complicated, atypical world. But if I don’t, I don’t and you be grateful that your world allows you the time and energy to actually ponder such pettiness… of course, maybe only in my book, but that’s the one I’m writing.

I’m thirty-three years old and sometimes, I have the mouth of a well-educated sailor. Little passive comments and scoffs are not going to change that. Believe me, I could be judged for a lot worse. I seek and nurture relationships with family and friends who love us for us. Period. “Catholic guilting” doesn’t manifest change any more than “Baptist bureaucracy” manifests organization. (Side note: I love my Catholics and my Baptists… If the previous analogy left you feeling butt-hurt, eat a Snickers. You’ll feel better.) If your take-away from this post is that I said shit a few times, please lose the link and reconsider your place in our lives. Why are you here? Self-imposed obligation? Curiosity? Spite? Go. Go now. The kids and I have been throwing away that kind of litter for years now and lately I’ve gotten more aggressive with it. Again, petty. Be thankful you have a spare moment to ponder my soul due to my affection for profanity. I promise, my soul is just fine. If dropping the f-bomb in traffic is the worst thing I do all day, we should all feel lucky.

Parents are really catty by nature. Seriously catty. You see me correcting my son at a restaurant or bribing my daughter with a treat, you smile and walk on by. Most parents who feel the persistent urge to “help” me through situations or offer unsolicited advice come from affluent, two-parent families in the suburbs. That’s not us and I am not interested in what you have to say if that is you. Guess what. I don’t have anyone to clean my house, pay my bills or discipline my children for me. I do that. All of it. By myself. So before you criticize corporal punishment or suggest that I should “hug it out” with my kids, consider the differences in our situations. Mutual respect and a sense of perspective goes a long way. I do things a certain way generally because I have to, not because I want to. I wish I got to sit around and do fun, June Cleaver, Pinterest activities with my kids all day and had someone else to worry about the finances and the spiritual well-being of my family. Turns out, that wasn’t the hand I was dealt, and I’m doing the best with what I have. If you aren’t helping, you’re hurting, and we are simplifying around here. I’ve been apologizing for silly things for far too long. I am who I am for very specific reasons. If you have questions about why I do and say what I do and say, please feel free to ask. I want to fill you in if you are truly interested in understanding. However, if you are driven by the need to teach me a lesson or prove a point, you can pack that shit back up and move on down the road. I’m not interested, and I promise, neither are you.