Category Archives: Nick

Focus 52: "Cold"

This weeks prompt has had me so frustrated.  Cold.  How on earth do I do “Cold” when I live in Florida and the temperature is a balmy 73 degrees?  Florida has been the hold out in the United States as the ONLY state that did not cooperate during “Snowmageddon 2011”.  Every single other state in the union had snow on the ground except Florida.  Not even a hint of frost in the weeks since the holidays.  Nothing.

So, I search my house for the usual suspects.  My refrigerator?  That’s cold.  Perhaps some sort of artsy photo of my fridge which looks more from the exterior like a photo album? It’s covered in photographs of my kids, my niece and nephews.  My grandkids.  My children.  My husband and myself.  Bleah. Not feeling that idea at all.  A photo of my thermostat set at 68 degrees with the air conditioning on “high” because it is so warm in my house?  My photo cannot convey the feeling of cold like that.  What can I shoot that would convey a feeling of cold?

I go to the bathroom in my barefoot.  It’s freezing on the tile floor.  My legs get goose bumps! Oh, a pic of goosebumpy skin for “cold”!  Alas, by the time I grab my camera, the goosebumps dissipate.  My moment of “cold” is gone.  It IS cold in my house though.  My nipples are rock hard glass cutters right now.  My boobs straining against the fabric of my t-shirt would relay the look of “cold”…but hey, Jan is running a family show on the Focus 52 project, so perhaps a set of high beams pointing south is not the way to go. (However, the photo can be sent to whoever has an interest in seeing it.  Simply fill out an email with “erect nips” in the subject line.  For a meager fee of $9.95, I will forward the photo to you.  I accept PayPal.  I will also be happy to supply you with a receipt for your tax returns.  The desire to look at 44 year old erect nipples would clearly be a charitable gesture and probably would earn you a deduction on your return.  Offer not valid in Canada.  Sorry, Jan. LOL) 

I turn on YouTube for some musical inspiration and listen to one of my favorite songs, “Cold” by Annie Lennox.  Didn’t really inspire much of anything except my desire to listen to the rest of the album, Diva, which is arguably one of the best albums of the 1990’s…or like, ever.  She’s an amazing songstress with the vocal prowess of a thousand lovebirds all cooing in perfect harmony.  However, there is nothing “cold” about this moment and so, my idea of musical inspiration falls flat.  I sit here, staring at the screen…empty as the thoughts in my head.  All roads are leading me no where.  I turn to Google Images and pop “cold” into search bar and hit “I’m Feeling Lucky”.  I get this.  Sure. Leave it to me to find the ONE site on the entire internet that has the word “cold” in it…but is under construction.  Seriously?  Billions of sites with the word “cold” in it and I manage to find the one site that is as barren as a woman’s womb post hysterectomy.  Great.  So, I do it again, only this time…I hit “Images”.  It suggests: Are you looking for “cold sores”?  Um, no.  No, Google, I am not and if I were…I most assuredly would have found them during my stint as a single woman back in the 80’s because, well…it was the 80’s.  Think “free love” during the 60’s…only with neon colors, shoulder pads and replace the pot with cocaine.  I politely decline the offer of cold sores and hit Images again…with just plain, old fashioned, herpe-less “cold” in the search bar.  I am presented with this picture:

which is awesome and all because A) it’s true and B) it takes you to the artists site who drew the above picture which is the infamous Natalie Dee of Toothpaste for Dinner.  And, in what can only be described as Six Degrees of Separation/Kevin Bacon style…Natalie Dee is the artist who drew the little princess that adorns my header, sidebar and all the comments I leave for you people.  The irony is just too much to wrap my head around.

The internet is a strange and wonderful little paradise of coincidences and extraordinary occurrences, is it not?

It is at this point that I give up.  I will have to just take the stupid refrigerator picture that I thought of earlier and just be done with it.  Nothing else is coming into my head at this point.  I’m tired, it’s 6:45 in the morning and it is friggin’ freezing in this house.  I leave my office, shutting the light off behind me.  I have to wake up my son for school in about 20 minutes so to go lay down in my bed right now would be the equivalent of foreplay without orgasm.  It would feel good for about a minute but then, I would have to leave before sleep comes and frankly, that’s just a damn tease.  As I am walking down the hall, I circle back and decide to just check in on my sleeping son.  And…there it was.  My picture!  The moment!

I run back into my office and grab my camera to take a shot of this:

My baby boy. All bundled up in his comforter, pulled up to his neck…because he is, wait for it…wait for it…

COLD.

Is it genius? No.  A masterpiece? Not by a long shot.  But, what it IS is real.  A precious, non-pretentious, non-staged moment in time that gave me a heart warming picture to share with all of you.  When our babies become teenagers, it is rare that we have a moment of peace with them.  It’s always something, somewhere, somehow.  They are too busy to slow down to talk to you…or, when they want to finally say something, of course it is always at the same moment that now, YOU are too busy to slow down to talk to them.  But, when they are sleeping, time stops.  You are transported to a time when you held the cards, you had the power, you called all the shots.  You fed them, you bathed them, you dressed them and then, that wonderful moment where you laid them down to sleep for the night.  How peaceful they looked.  How quiet and sweet when their big teenage gaping maw is not blathering on and on in your ear, on the phone, in front of the television or with the stereo playing way too loud…despite the fact they have headphones on.

Right now, at this moment…he is my little boy.  And he is cold.

I put another blanket over him.  Tousle his moppy brown curls, now tiger striped with peroxide orange streaks from his latest teenage whimsical decision to bleach his hair and plant a kiss on the top of his head.  In 5 more minutes, I will be waking him up for school.  He will be a moody, agitated, annoyed teenager again and I will be the screeching banshee standing over him caterwauling “YOU’RE GONNA MISS THE BUS…GET UP!!!”

But shhhh…because right now, he’s still my little angel baby…all wrapped up, snuggled and content.  And suddenly, this really cold house feels warm again…right along with my heart.

Barely out of Tuesday…

 

Sometimes, I find a song that touches me in a pretty profound way.  There are days that I listen to it and think “this is a great song” and then, the same song on another day takes on a completely different meaning. Today on Facebook, Adam Duritz of Counting Crows posted up his song “Barely Out of Tuesday”.  This particular song is not new to diehard Crows fans.  It’s a song that never made it onto any of their albums which is a damn shame.  Yesterday, I was under an enormous amount of stress and seeing as it is about 4am right now…and I am barely out of tuesday myself, I thought I would share it. 

Relative to nothing I have said thus far, I think I might have bitten off more than I can chew this semester.  I am taking an algebra course, an intermediate algebra course.  I have managed to get through many years of college and test out of having to take math courses.  This time, I was not so lucky.  As a pre-requisite to getting into the Bachelor’s program I am looking to get into this fall, statistics is required.  I’m not concerned about that because statistics really have very little to do with actual numbers.  However, this algebra course is required to be able to get into the stats class.  So, my suave manipulations of the system will not get me out of this one this time.  I suppose the luck had to run out eventually.  I probably did myself a grave disservice by not taking the intermediate course directly after taking the “pre” and “elementary” courses that preceded it.  Now it is eight years post degree and I have very little recollection of the “order of operations” or “distributive properties”, “associative properties” or “inverse/reciprocal properties”.   I did a lot of research on “Rate My Professor” type websites before settling on this particular teacher.  I knew I was going to need my hand held on this one and by all accounts, she is just that type of professor.  She allows scientific calculators in class.  She allows you to do your homework over and over again online until you max out your score with a perfect grade.  She even allows you to bring a “crib sheet” with notes into her exams.  One page only, handwritten notes.  “You write small enough, you can probably fit everything I teach you onto your study guide,” as she calls it.  “Write too big though and too bad.  You lose.”  Okay.  Fair enough.  Actually, well beyond fair and with a six point font type of handwriting, I can really make this work in my favor. 

However, she did stress that you, the student, will only get out of the class what you put into it.  “Don’t bother to open a book until test day and your grade will reflect that,” she said. “Study for at least one hour every day and you will do just fine.”

By nature, I am a procrastinator.  I am also one of those really cocky students that truly believes she works best under pressure and at the last minute.  Math, I think, will be the end to this notion and probably the end to my perfect GPA as well.  On Thursday, after class, I told the Hotband that I am going to just “relax” for the night and give myself Friday off as well.  Since it’s a long weekend, I will have Saturday, Sunday and Monday to do homework. 

Best. Laid. Plans. 

I do nothing on Friday.  Nothing. Don’t even crack open a book to do some reading in Applied Ethics or my humanities course.  Why bother? I have this nice long three day weekend.  I have all the time in the world.  I have more than an ample window in which to get all my work done.  I have…

food poisoning. 

Friday night, my hubs ordered in from our favorite italian place.  Normally, I just have some pasta and meatballs.  This time I thought it would be nice to try their eggplant.  As I was eating it, I thought it tasted peculiar to me.  My husband tasted it.  He said it didn’t taste strange to him, so I just assumed it was me and continued to eat it.  Halfway through the dish, I decided that I really was not enjoying this meal at all.  It still tasted odd and a bit sour even.  About five hours later…I was vomiting my guts up.  At one point, I vomited so hard that the content of my bladder erupted.  Seeing as my face was occupying the bowl, I could barely swing my fat ass around in time to find the hole on which to set it upon.  My husband walks in to find me covered in puke from trying to twist around in time to pee in the bowl…and sitting in a puddle of my own urine.  I was shivering, felt like my body was ice cold while simultaneously sweating from every pore.  My husband helped me get up, clean myself up, change into fresh pajamas and sent me to bed.  Bed…where I proceeded to stay for the next 32 hours, completely obliterating Saturday as an option for homework and studying. 

I finally awoke on Sunday around 2pm, feeling like utter shit…like I had been hit by a bus.  I had a throbbing headache.  So, the hubs being the angel baby that he is, set me up in style.  A bunch of pillows, fresh t shirt and undies and some warm socks.  A nice cold glass of water on the nightstand.  Remote in my right hand, cellphone in my left.  My laptop plugged in so I could blog, facebook and tweet during the Jets game, the Golden Globes and of course, The Real Housewives of Atlanta.  I was in social networking heaven.  He also bought me a slew of gorgeous gourmet cupcakes for me to devour once I was feeling better.

Hello, lovers…nom nom nom.
 
Friday, Saturday, Sunday.  All gone.  No studying done.  Monday arrives.  I feel like ass, but able to get out of bed finally.  When I do, I am greeted by my son who apparently arrived at my house at some point over the weekend.  I was so sick, I scarcely knew he was there.  He was all like “Hey Mom, how are you feeling?  Good?  Great.  Remember you said you would dye my hair for me this weekend?  Remember?  Remember that?  Well, it’s Monday already and…and…and…”
 
“And you would like me to color your hair now.”
 
“Yeah.  Can you?”
 
“Yes.  What do you want done?”
 
“I want my hair blue.”
 
“Blue hair,” I reply.  “All of it blue or just certain spot blue or a blue streak?  What are we talking about here?”
 
“All of it.  Blue!”  
 
I sigh.  But, it is his hair. He is fifteen. If he wants to look like a smurf, who am I to stop that?  I schlep myself out of the house to do some errands I had thought could be done at any time over the weekend, you know, because it was a LONG weekend after all and I had all the time in the world, right?  So, I go to where my daughter works and buy some boobie car covers (also known as bras).  Hey, buy two get two free?  Bras in my size run about $40 a pop, so buying two to get two free is a deal that I would get out of bed for.  Then, of course, since Ross is right next door and they do their shoe/purse restocking on Mondays…well, I can’t let a perfectly good “get out of bed when you’re sick” errand run go to waste right?  Cute Jessica Simpson pumps.  Adorable Guess slingbacks.  Mine.  Productive.  Next.  Over to Office Depot because I need graph paper, a scientific calculator, some pencils and some folders.  All of this for my math class which equates to, in my mind, doing something productive in math for the weekend. There we go.  Guilt of doing nothing, alleviated with one quick trip to Office Depot.  Salvation in the form of a Texas Instrument calculator…oh, and the purchase of a really cute pink stapler.  Because, every princess should have a pink stapler on her desk, right?
 
Final stop? CVS.  After mulling over all the possibilities… we decided on a nice electric blue which, best case scenario, will look like deep blue highlights over his black/brown hair.  Worst case scenario?  The boy will look like Cookie Monster.  
 I know you have some cupcakes too, bitch! I saw them. Now where are they???
 
Well, long story made real short (I’ll make the long story longer in a separate blog post that includes pictures), I ended up stripping my sons hair of its natural color, leaving him with bright. orange. streaks.  all over his pretty, mop top of curls.  Yeah.  There’s a reason I never became a professional hair dresser.  He takes a look at it. He stares at it.  I assure him that when I add the blue, it will cover up all that bright, light orange and…
 
“I LOVE IT!  IT LOOKS SO AWESOME!!!!”
 
“Seriously,” I ask incredulously.
 
“Holy crap, it’s AWESOME,” he exclaims again.  “Forget the blue stuff.  I’m keeping it like this.”
 
“Nick, honey,” I say, “It looks like I dropped a bucket of Clorox on your head from a really high place or something.  It’s just a big…splat…all over your head.”
 
“Dude, it is SO cool.  Thank you, Mommy!”  He gives me a big hug and dashes out of the bathroom, presumably to jump right on Facebook and let the world know that he know looks like a damn tiger.
 
So, how does this all relate to my earlier complaint about not getting to do any of my math homework this entire weekend?  Well, simply…it doesn’t.  While I didn’t enjoy being sick and definitely did not enjoy the uncomfortable feeling that accompanied not being fully prepared for my algebra class this evening, the full out, painful belly laughs that I shared with my son and husband Monday night were entirely worth it.  
 
Here I now sit, a mere 4 hours and 40 minutes into Wednesday or, as the song says, barely out of tuesday.  And I think I am willing to forgive myself this for the lack of drive or effort in completing my schoolwork.  If nothing else, this past Monday night showed me what most of us have known all along.  Family first and foremost, always.  If it means getting one little goose egg for a grade due to lack of homework preparation, so be it.  The moments that I spend with the kid and the hubs made that zero worth while…
 
and if you do the math, Happy Family – Algebra Homework + Digital Camera = Lifetime Memories.
 
I think I made the grade.   
 
 

I have to vent…

Okay, so Xmas is over. Finally. I have to admit that I absolutely hate this holiday. I think it is so commercialized and total bullshit. And, before anyone says it, it has nothing to do with being a Jew. I hate Channukah equally as much. Actually, I hate any holiday that demands you send cards, flowers, candy, presents and is lead by retail corporations and card companies. This includes Valentines Day as well. Garbage. You shouldn’t have one day a year to tell the person that you love how you feel about them. Just the same way that I hate the entire “Jesus is the reason for the season” crapola. Jesus is not the reason for the season. If you knew anything about Jesus at all, you would probably know that he would be positively appalled by all the gift giving and all the excessive purchasing that we do for our families. The man was rooted in the theory of “good works” as opposed to things. You want to celebrate Christmas? DO something. Feed the homeless. Clothe a child who has nothing. Adopt a child from another country through a Unicef type program and spend the damn twenty bucks to take care of them all month long. $240 a year will keep a child who is in a poverty stricken situation in clothes, in school, well fed and vaccinated against simple diseases that no child should ever die from. Volunteer. Go to a nursing home and read to the elderly. My kids know I have a die hard policy about donating their things to kids who are less fortunate before I buy you one single thing. I don’t exchange xmas presents with my husband for just that reason. We simply don’t believe in it. I bought my grandkids 3 toys each and two outfits. That’s it. Nothing crazy or excessive. Hubs and I spend our gift money on one another donating to St. Jude’s children’s hospital, the pediatric AIDS foundation, the American Cancer Society, etc. I’m not being holier than thou…I just believe that good works trumps good presents every time. I think that Xmas/Channukah should be about the kids, so I don’t really do the whole gift giving thing for the adults in my family. None of my siblings, parents, in laws, etc got presents from me. They know better than to expect it. I will sooner make donations to charity organizations in their names then send them a gift. My two exceptions this year were sending a gift basket of chocolatey yum yum red velvet cupcakes to friends who have been very supportive of the hotband and I this year. The other was to buy my bestie a dress that was absolutely screaming her name. I knew she would look beautiful in it and I wanted her to have it. She is always there for me and while I know damn well I don’t have to buy her anything to let her know how loved she is, I wanted her to have this particular item. It wasn’t expensive…but I knew she would be beautiful in it and she deserves that.

Okay, end that rant. So not what I wanted to vent about.

What I wanted to get out of my system is how seething mad I am at my sister in law. Ever since coming home from Israel, she has treated me like utter shit or rather, worse than usual. You would think that after 11 years of being with her brother, I have more than proven myself to be a good and loving wife to him. She should be happy about that, but no. Always an attitude. Well, in the past 3 months, she has managed to A) Not show up to my granddaughter’s birthday party because she went to a baby shower of a friend of a friend, B) Completely ignored my sons birthday and now, C) opted out of spending Christmas dinner with us because she went to her friends house instead.

Mind you, this is the same woman who used to torture my husband for all the time he was spending with me when he and I were first dating. She used to harass him about how I was consuming his whole life and how he was blowing off his “real family” to be with me and my kids. Well, good morning…but it’s 11 years later. I think we have pretty well established that I wasn’t some fling he was just blowing off his “real family” for. When her marriage collapsed, my hubs and I were there for her completely. Absolutely supportive of her and her endeavors. Whenever she needs someone to watch her son, we are there for her. We invite her and whoever she may be dating that particular month to anything we have. She is never excluded. Yet, she manages to keep herself at bay when it comes to me and my kids.

Admittedly, I used to blame my husband for this. I told him, why on earth would she think YOUR kids are important to you if you allow her to continue this behavior of not acknowledging them at all? But now, it’s gotten to the point where HE is upset by it. I used to tell him how shitty I thought it was that his family doesn’t acknowledge my kids. Hotband has raised Nick and Sam since they were 4 and 12 years old respectively. They are now 15 and 23, for God’s sake. I think it is pretty well established that he loves those kids as if they were conceived from his own loins. We don’t ever not acknowledge her son. That’s my husbands nephew…and I love him just as much as if he were my very own son. When my granddaughter had her birthday party…she simply never showed up for it. No call, no text, nothing. Then, this past October, my son had a small birthday party at a Go Kart track. He invited his cousin, my sister in laws son. He showed up without so much as a card (not his fault, entirely my sister in laws fault). If my son had been a friend of my nephews from school, she wouldn’t have dared to send her son without a gift or a card. So, my husband *finally* worked up the balls to say to her…”Hey, what you did was kind of rude”. First words out of her mouth? “Did your wife put you up to this?” Yeah. My fault. *eye roll* Because my husband couldn’t possibly feel a little slighted that his family STILL doesn’t bother to acknowledge my children as OUR children. I had to laugh at that.

Another example of her shittiness? We flew all the way to Israel for her sons Bar Mitzvah. Nearly five grand in flights and food, etc. PLUS we gave him a gift of well over $200. In the Jewish tradition…the number 18 signifies long life. So, we gave him $18 for every year of his life. He was turning 13, a huge occasion in a Jewish boys life. We gave him $234 cash. Not so much as a thank you from her. Okay, whatever. But the kicker for me? My parents, who are not related to her or my nephew, sent my nephew a check for his bar mitzvah. I thought that was a really nice gesture on their part. They certainly didn’t have to do that. Does she have him call and thank them? No. Can’t be bothered. One month goes by. Two months go by. THREE months go by. Finally, one day, she asked if we could watch her son. As always, we did…and I told my husband to make sure that my nephew CALLS MY PARENTS and thanks them for the gift. It took my husband having to make that phone call for my parents to receive a thank you. I think that’s absolutely disgusting, tacky and tasteless.

Anyway, back to Christmas. My daughter invited her to Christmas dinner. It’s a big deal for Sammi. She and her husband made this big, beautiful dinner for us and the kids. She extended the invitation to her “aunt” to join us. She writes on Facebook that she didn’t know what time dinner was. So, my son in law writes back that it is between 7 and 7:30. No show. No call. No text. No FB message. Nothing. I figure, maybe she decided just to stay home and be alone. Later on FB, I see a photo of her with her on again/off again boyfriend at the home of a friend, enjoying Xmas with them. Wow. Really? She never even called her own brother to wish him a Merry Christmas/Channukah. My husband is so hurt and upset by her actions…but he for some reason, refuses to confront her. Maybe because of something she said to him a LONG time ago. She once told him that if he chose me over her, she would disown him as her brother. I think that stuck in his head and is now afraid of losing his relationship with her. I couldn’t fathom telling my brother that and my bro and I aren’t even remotely as close as my hubs and his sister are/were.

I don’t really know where this post is going. I suppose that I chose to blog this instead of writing her a very confrontational letter. I am so sick and tired of this shit. The only thing I can think of is that she is avoiding us because she owes us a pretty large sum of money. Of course, that would be utterly ridiculous. We borrowed a few grand from her a long time ago when things were lean for us so it’s not like she should be ashamed of needing the help from us. For God’s sake, we are family. Isn’t that what family is supposed to be about? Being able to lean on one another when things get hard?

Look, I don’t care if she hates me. I have tried to reach out to her in every single way possible. She’s made it blatantly obvious she doesn’t care for me as a person…but what on earth does that have to do with the kids? Moreover, what kind of human being shows such blatant disrespect for their brothers children? My kids are my husbands children. He loves them desperately. No different than if we bore them together, or if he had adopted them with me. But, I suppose since they weren’t crafted from his semen that they just don’t matter to her. My husband was in the delivery room when his grandbabies were born. He witnessed both their births. He loves those kids. I know he is hurting over this. I try to refrain from saying anything to him about it, but I know he was really hurt that she didn’t show up tonight. I want so badly to call her up and say, “look bitch, hate me all you want…but you are killing your brother’s heart.”

The whole situation is just so fucking sad. 11 years later. You would think that she would realize that my husband and I are in this for the long haul. You would think she would care more. I don’t know what else to do or say without causing some irreversible damage. I have held my tongue til it literally bled. I don’t know how much longer I can do so…but for my husbands sake, I will make the effort.

In conclusion? Family sucks.

Day 6 – Something You Hope You Never Have to Do


(This post brought to you by the word “Middy”, who publicly outed me on Facebook for not finishing up the 30 Days of Truth. Where does it say it has to be 30 CONSECUTIVE days, bitch? LMAO)

There’s a lot of things in my life that I hope I never have to do. Some of them are things I hope to never have to do…AGAIN. Bury a child. Return to drug rehab. Go back to nursing. Re-marry. Those are the things that come to mind immediately.

However, something I really hope I never have to do again is deal with my son being bullied in school. This blog post dropped off a couple of weeks ago after an incident at my sons school brought my flow as a writer to a crashing halt. In light of all the anti-bullying campaigns going on, I found myself smack in the middle of the controversy.

Apparently, my son was approached by a young lady in his school about smoking pot with her. He told her that he didn’t do that, told her that he thinks people who do are losers and left it at that. Should he have said that? Maybe not. No sense in making people feel bad about their personal decisions, but I was nevertheless proud to know that is his take on drug users. This in turn incensed the young lady.

Sometime around noon, she tapped my son on the shoulder. He had his back to her and when he turned to see who was tapping him, she proceeded to strike him, close fisted, right across his face. She left large, red welts across his cheek. As he was always taught, he did not retaliate with violence, but rather with a “What the Fuck, Lindsay?” She stormed off. He was sent to the clinic for some Tylenol and an ice pack for his face. At approximately 4pm, I received a call from the school telling me what happened. All the administrator said was that my son was involved in an altercation. She was not forthright with the details immediately, so I was incensed. The details were not coming out as fast and furiously as I wanted them to. Is he okay? Is he hurt? Is he safe? Where is he now? And…the all important, if this happened at lunch, WHY THE FUCK AM I FIRST HEARING ABOUT IT NOW??? To say I was livid is putting it in graciously mild terms.

The admin told me that the girl will be suspended, however, my sons “involvement” in the incident was going to be investigated. My sons involvement? He never touched her. Never laid a finger on her. What the HELL are you investigating my son for?? This girl is obviously a bully. According to my son, this isn’t the first time she has hit a boy in school, simply because “she can”. She knows they won’t retaliate.

Her reply to me was “We don’t understand how we can qualify this young lady who assaulted Nick as a bully. She’s in all honors classes!” *ROFL* Really? Because if you are a piece of shit who assaults other people, you can’t possibly be smart too? Well, hell…there goes my entire High School career! LOL

The first night it happened, I was enraged. I was literally pacing the floors wondering how I can get this girls address so I can beat her father to a pulp and claim “Well, I’m a girl. I can do what I want and get away with it.” I was so angry. Someone struck MY baby. My little boy. The child who I nursed back to health after open heart surgery and a time there that we weren’t sure he was going to make it back into the safety of my arms. MY baby. Who the FUCK are you to touch MY child? To make him feel unsafe? To harm him in any way whatsoever, simply because he opted not to conform to your drug use? Seething. I was literally seething. And what would be the aftermath? I told the administration that I intended to press charges of assault against the girl. When I told my son of my intentions, he begged me not to.

“It would ruin me in school, Mom,” he said. “Please don’t do it. It will ruin me.”

So here I am, caught between needing to do what is right to protect my son and my sons comfort and safety in the days that would follow thereafter. It was a confusing time for me, especially as I watched his facebook page, posting video after video of angry songs about kids being bullied. This obviously was affecting him deeper than he was letting on. And all I can think of was how angry I was. I am so angry. And Alone. And I want to hit something. I want to hit it so damn hard over and over again until it hurts as much as I do.

What to do next? What do you do?

I go to the girls facebook page and find that she has written in her “info” that she has bipolar disorder and anger management issues and that if you “fuck with her” expect to get “fucked with right back”. But, my son never did anything to her. He was a victim of abuse. For any of you who have read my blog for any length of time, you know I was the victim of abuse at the hands of a man who beat me relentlessly for years before I finally got away. I don’t tolerate it in my life any longer and I sure as fuck will not be standing for it in my childs life. Further, since when is bipolar disorder an acceptable excuse for bad behavior? Obviously this child does not have her parents involved in her life or they would see her facebook page, as I did, and be appalled by most of what was written there. I did print out a copy of her page and send it up to the school to show them what their precious “honor student” was capable of when left to her own devices.

Eventually, Nick was completely exonerated of any wrong doing at all. Opted not to press charges against this little piece of shit, but did let her parents know that I have six months in which to change my mind about that and a police report in my pocket. So, hopefully, they will keep their little mongrel on a leash from now on.

I hope, in the rest of my lifetime, I don’t have to do this again with my son. I hope that the rest of his school career is safe and nurturing. I never want to see that look of pain in his eyes ever again, nor do I ever want my level of anger to rise so high that I do something stupid in retaliation for a wrongdoing directed at any of my children or grandchildren.

If nothing else, it has only gotten me more involved in The Trevor Project, an organization that is seeking to stop bullying. Their agenda incorporates the bullying of gay teenagers to the point of suicide, but really, any child who is being bullied and threatened in school is encouraged to seek help before opting for the final act of suicide, simply because they just can no longer take the ridicule. Being different, whether it is because you are gay, you are fat, you are tall or you refuse to do drugs with your peers should not make you a pariah. People need to learn to respect that we are all different. We are all unique and everyone has a place in this world.

Bullies are small minded cowards with big mouths. Nothing more.

If you are being bullied in school or are the parent of a child who is being bullied, I encourage you to join in me in my endeavor to get out the word about The Trevor Project so that no more teenagers succumb to suicide due to being bullied in school. If you have an urgent emergency and need help, call The Trevor Project. That number is The Trevor Lifeline: 1-866-4-U-TREVOR (866-488-7386).

In the interim, I must encourage you to take 15 minutes out of your life and watch the short film “Trevor”, the movie that inspired The Trevor Project. It is 15 minutes that will change your life and make you realize that yes, it DOES get better.

You may watch the movie in full HERE Please encourage your children to watch it as well.

Nine children in the past 6 weeks have killed themselves due to bullying. Those are nine beautiful lives that were full of potential and promise being snuffed out in the springtime of their lives. So much in store for them, so much lying ahead for them and now, they will never know.

We have to do better. We have to.