People's inner turmoil...and the folks who love to capitalize from it...

Lately I have been watching 2 shows that strike a nerve with me, Hoarders and Hoarding: Buried Alive. For anyone who's unfamiliar with these programs, they're about people who hoard things and their homes become unlivable. Sometimes they're just overstuffed with possessions, and other times they are downright filthy. And oftentimes the hoarders are not the only ones affected by their compulsive actions. Far too often their families are stuck in this nightmare, living in a house that by all means should be condemned and deemed uninhabitable. What bothers me the most are the episodes where there are kids involved, and tonight is one of those episodes.
One of the hoarders on tonight's show is a single mother of 3 little girls. She openly acknowledges that there is a problem, but has done absolutely nothing before now to rectify it. And her children are suffering the consequences. The refrigerator is stuffed with rotting food, so much so that the mother even says the smell could make someone pass out. One of the daughters is already exhibiting some hoarding behavior (she breaks down crying over throwing away a box of broken pieces of toys), and another daughter (who is only 7) is so depressed by the entire situation that she has written notes and letters saying that she wishes she would die. These little girls break my heart...they shouldn't have to live like this. Essentially for years this woman has chosen to put her compulsion before her family...her flesh and blood. I'm disgusted.
Now while on one hand I applaud the people on this show, the organizers and the therapists, for stepping in and helping...and I applaud the creators of the show for providing services for these people that they may not have had the courage or the resources to solicit otherwise...I just can't help but think that this is unfortunately objectifying or glorifying the underlying problem. These people clearly need help, more than what can be canned into a one-hour segment (half-hour, really, because there are 2 cases per show). And so much seems to be sugar-coated and glossed over...I can only hope the "real" work with these people goes on behind the scenes and after the show. Hoarding is a mental illness...these people need therapy, not 15 minutes of fame.

My love affair...with Reality TV

Sometimes being a pretty-much-single mom trying to make it on her own can be stressful. There's so much to worry about: bills, food, doctor's appointments, work, family, parenting...the list goes on and on. I prioritize my entire existence around my little chunky bundle of lovin', and I don't really take much time out for myself. There are moments when I need to relax and let my mind go numb for a while.
Solution?? Reality TV. I know most of it is staged to a certain extent, and it's for the most part tasteless and mind-numbing...but oohhhhhh, I love it!!!!! It doesn't require any real thinking, and most of the "characters" are so shallow that they give me an immediate boost of self esteem. And I don't discriminate, I'll watch anything. From C.O.P.S. to Jersey Shore to Teen Mom to Ghost Hunters. I like he "whodunnit" shows like Snapped and City Confidential. I love anything on HGTV, DIY, Food Channel, Travel Channel, or Cooking Channel. I love every last bit of it, it's my therapy. I'm not ashamed that I know who Maci and Farrah and Catelynn and Aber are, and tune into their teen angst-driven motherhood struggles on a weekly basis. Last night I became a fan of JWoww's Facebook page, and I fully intend to check out the rest of the Shore crew. I counted down the days until the new season of Jerseylicious began, and I don't care who knows it!! I need it, something has to provide a break from Barney and the gang from Sesame Street. And after spending my day trying to be Supermom, I don't necessarily want to watch anything too intellectually stimulating. Crime dramas don't really appeal to me (OMG except for Law & Order SVU, don't get me started...). Sitcoms just aren't what they used to be. I watch the news, at least once a day to keep current but more importantly to check the weather. With the exception of football season I don't care much for watching sports. I don't "do" TV movies, you won't catch me on WE or Lifetime or Oxygen weeping over the latest woman-done-wrong-by-a-man-but-survives-and-becomes-a-stronger-better-person flick. I've been known to watch the occasional Seinfeld rerun or Golden Girls late at night...you know, the "classics." Reality shows are my mainstay, though. Some might say it's a damn shame, but......anything to take me away for a little while when Calgon's not getting the job done.

Intro: That lucky pregnant b****...

LOL, this is kind of how I felt throughout my pregnancy. No complications, no real morning sickness other than feeling a little queasy from time to time...my feet didn't even swell until the last month and I didn't waddle until about the last 2 weeks. And being an already overweight woman I faced pregnancy with fear over all of the horrible "what if's" I'd read about in pregnancy books. Luckily for me none of those worst-case scenarios played out. Once the initial "Oh crap, am I ready for this?" shock wore off and I had time to let reality set in, I was off and running. Physically speaking I was a pretty happy-go-lucky pregnant chick. Luck was in the cards for me, and everything went as it should without any problems. I didn't ever get sick...could eat whatever and not have any side effects...I felt GREAT up until the swollen, achy, exhausting third trimester. And even then te discomfort wasn't anywhere near unbearable. Yessir...I was living the life.
There was just one slight problem...
While I was busy being excited and nervous and feeling all those great feelings expectant mothers should feel, trouble was brewing beneath the surface. My relationship with my significant other was starting to slowly deteriorate. There were already underlying problems, I'm not going to lie...and these all seemed to become exacerbated by my pregnancy. There were trust issues (on both sides). There was an inbalance of power based on money and income, and some obvious resentment because of that. There was a total beakdown in communication. Throw in the fear, uncertainty, and stress that come along with pregnancy and you have yourself a recipe for potential disaster. I was suddenly faced with daily accusations, criticism, and emotional abuse. Suddenly I was public enemy number one. And as the months went by and my due date drew nearer and nearer things contnued to escalate. There were nights I would cry silently to myself, wondering what kind of mess I had gotten myself into and what kind of monster I had allowed myself to become entangled with. I would talk to the squirmy little person doing backflips in my belly and apologize for the hell that he was surely witnessing, even from the cushy confines of his floating coccoon. I feared for both our futures.
Luckily I had a wonderful support system of family and friends, all of whom helped me maintain my sanity and enjoy the impending arrival of my little bundle in spite of the problems I was having at home. It was no easy task, and I am eternally grateful for the love and support. Because without it I may not have survived.
But I did survive, and I came out of it a stronger, wiser woman. After about 10 hours of labor (22 if you count the little wimpy contractions at the beginning), and NO PAIN KILLERS thanks to my contractions being so bad I couldn't bend far or long enough for the epidural to be inserted, my son Brendan James (Brendan an Irish name meaning "born to royalty" or "prince," and James after his father) was born at 4:25 a.m. on Sunday, February 21, 2010. He was a whopping 8 lbs., 14 oz., and 21.5" long...again, may I remind you he was brought into this world with NO DRUGS. Just wanted to reiterate that point, in case anyone forgot. He had a perfectly round head (did I mention I had no drugs?), a perfectly chunky little body, a full head of thick, dark hair, 10 perfect little fingers and 10 perfect little toes, deep brown eyes, and the most beautiful face I had ever seen. He was PERFECT. Suddenly all of the stress, exhaustion, and physical discomfort I had endured throughout my pregnancy was totally worth it. All of my hopes and dreams were realized in him.
I barely slept the entire time I was at the hospital, because I didn't want to miss a single moment of my new baby. I kept him in the room with me, only being separated while he underwent tests and immunizations. He had jaundice so he needed to stay an extra day, and thankfully there was room in the maternity ward for me to stay with him...if not I would have slept in the waiting room, because there was absolutely NO way I was going home without my little man. Even his father, who had occasionally expressed interest but was largely uninvolved throughout my pregnancy, melted at the sight of his son. Brendan's first day home his father and I took turns holding him, neither of us wanting to put him in his bed. He was just too little and too sweet and too wonderful to not be cradled in someone's arms. From that moment on life as I knew it ceased to exist. All of the problems I'd been having before...stress from work, the constant arguing and anger in my relationship...none of that mattered anymore.There was a new sherif in town, and his name was Brendan.