I did something kind of crazy.

I purchased my first Thirty-One product two years or so ago at a party I attended. It was a Thermal Tote personalized with “Cheeky Sweetie” and it served me well through both my road warrior job and later, my office job. It saved me money and helped me lose weight. It still looks brand new today, so I knew the quality was really good. I also saw my mom adding to her collection of Thirty-One products and I never heard her say a bad word about any of it.

So, in February, I hosted a party. Only a handful of guests showed up, and my girl Laci ordered from afar, but I still wound up with $90 in free credit, 2 items at half-price, and 2 hostess exclusive items. My consultant, Katie, made over $125 at that party. I just lost $435 a month in income, and my eligibility for Pell Grants has ended, so making over a hundred bucks for talking about cute products for 30 minutes seemed pretty interesting, even considering the time in admin activities for the party and the mileage to and from my house.

When I got my order, I was ridiculously happy. It’s really so simple, and I could have recreated what worked for me with a mismatch of products from other places, but the coordination factor is already figured out for you with Thirty-One so you look so well put together with so little effort! I have tried purse organizers to facilitate my frequent purse changing habit, but nothing really felt like the best solution for me so I just kept looking. I ordered a tote, a wallet, a zipper pouch, and a soft glasses case in a cute yellow and neutral print and a coordinating scarf for a little kick. My idea was to use this set as a school bag, which worked so well that sometimes I just used it as an oversized purse, too. The tote was easily big enough for my 13″ MacBookPro, a couple of textbooks, a 5 subject notebook, and the zipper pouch. My wallet went into the outside pocket and my phone and sunglass case went in the other. My zipper pouch was key-I use it to corral all of my loose items like earbuds and lip gloss and hair clips. Some bags are great, except for the way they FEEL to carry. I do not like rounded straps because the outer one won’t stay on my shoulder, and the drop has to work with the length of my torso and the exaggerated hips I’m sportin’. This one worked SO well, but the best part was that it looked adorable.

Yes, I am totally admitting that fashion is a factor in functionality. For me and for many of you, I imagine, or Vera Bradley and Coach wouldn’t be in business because we would all just carry our things around in plastic grocery bags.

After considering it at length and encouragement from my friends and family, I decided to try Thirty-One for myself.

Everyone I know that is familiar with Thirty-One loves their products and they have great monthly customer specials. The hostesses are spoiled, as I experience for myself. Consultants earn 25% commission to start, and the promotion process is very reasonable, especially in an undersaturated local market.

The kit to begin was $99, and I figured at worst, I’d do badly and get to keep a kit worth three times that. But hey, whaddaya know, I earned my kit investment back and and then some in my first month. I’ve had time to check out the incentives and career path that Thirty-One offers and I’m excited. I have set some goals and I’ve already achieved one of them. I earned the first Start Swell level that will give me about $90 in products and business supplies for free. If I have three more parties in the next 30 days,(two of which are already underway thanks to the internet reach of a catalog party in 2012 lol), I will earn level two, another $80 in products and supplies. There are two more levels I can work toward in the next 30 days, too. Incentives are offered throughout the year, and there are two BIGGIES I will be working toward next year: a conference pass/$750-1500 in gift cards and an all expenses trip to Cancun.

I think I can do this, for two reasons.

First, the products are functional and they make functional look great. They provide solutions for this busy, whirlwind lifestyle that most of us in 2012 live. Whether you are single or have a houseful of kids, you are probably trying to simplify your life by getting organized. When you have a system, you can save time and spend more time doing what you love. Thirty-One provides ways to tame the clutter in your life, and with variety of prints and personalization, it’s FUN to do so. Products like that are EASY to sell, because they sell themselves. I believe in them, and I believe they can save you time and frustration, so I can be confident in presenting them as an option.

Which brings me to the second reason; I think this can change my life if I let it, and not just financially. Yes, earning just $500 a month will ensure I can finish school. But more importantly, if I can overcome my social anxiety by working Thirty-One parties, can you imagine the impact that would have on my future or on my relationships? Interviews wouldn’t be paralyzing. Outings wouldn’t be shadowed by my inevitable meltdown. Family functions would be something to look forward to. I could act silly without that gripping fear of judgement. I could dance without feeling like I was naked in front of my classroom. I could be more involved with organizations at my college. I could take on more leadership roles…I know I have the brains and the heart for leadership. But this crippling anxiety keeps me from breaking rank to step ahead. I’ve had enough, and I want control back.

I think Thirty-One is going to help me get it.

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I have a most excellent excuse for neglecting the three people who still read my blog.

Meet my first grandchild.

Aidan James.

Born on March 28, 2012, at 2:31 am.

7 lbs 9.9 oz, 21 inches.

Completely perfect, even with his little conehead.

He turned a month old yesterday. It’s been one of the most stressful and most beautiful times of my life. I never thought I could love anyone like I love the four kids I’ve raised, but my grandson proves that thought wrong. Not that it’s been all rainbows and butterflies, but I am so very proud of his parents. Aidan always has his needs met. They love him and cuddle him and talk to him and keep him clean and fed and warm. I’m just…completely blissful with this new little love in my life. He’s brought such joy and hope to my heart.

Welcome to the world, Aidan.

Love, MiMi

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Which one of you did THAT shiz? Because you’re fired. >:-{

I don’t know why I can’t seem to write. I’m seriously starting to think I have ADD or something, because I sit down to do something, even something I enjoy doing, and I can not bring myself to JUST DO IT. (Unless not doing it will screw up my GPA. Then I can manage, but it’s REALLY FREAKING HARD.) I have opinions on crap that is happening in my world, and in the bigger picture, so why the hell can’t I just express them easily anymore? (My family would say I express my opinions JUST FINE, thank you very much. LOL)

School is going along okay…I’ve got four A’s and a B so far. Things are very much in the air though, because my campus has been in the center of a huge political storm. I enrolled here because it offered an IT degree rather than Computer Science, which I felt would have more of a theory focus than I wanted, and because it was a part of USF, which has a good reputation. Florida Senator JD Alexander has been on a crusade to break my campus off into an independent polytechnic university. I didn’t know this when I enrolled, and when the student body was polled, over 80% of the respondents were not in favor of a split, myself included. The Board of Governors or BOG, (which oversees the public university system in Florida), agreed in November to move ahead with the split, but put in place certain benchmarks to guide the process, which could take several years. Senator Alexander, hereafter known as the big bully, wasn’t satisfied with that plan and slipped a bill in that would immediately sever the school. He also proposed a 58% cut to USF’s funding for next year, (a full 20% of the $400 million dollar cuts to higher education were to be placed on USF), which many of us felt was retaliatory because USF didn’t just bend to his will. Thankfully, we have some bulldog senators who fought for our funding, and the burden of the budget cuts was more evenly distributed when the Senate was done. On the other hand, the bill for an immediate split was passed. Because of this, I really have no clue what will happen. I do know that this new institution will not be accredited for some time, contrary to what the big bully presented, which was one of the major benchmarks in the BOG’s plan, of course. No accreditation means no federal student aid, including Stafford loans, and obviously it means a degree worth MUCH less. Supposedly current students will have the option of finishing our programs at the USF Tampa campus, but the bill specifically says according to that campus’ criteria, and I don’t meet the completion ratio requirement to attend the Tampa campus…so what does that mean for me? Why do we even have a BOG, which costs taxpayers $6 million dollars annually to operate, if the legislature can just do whatever the hell it wants anyway? Grrrrr. I’m starting to get all breathing-in-a-brown-paper-bag-y about it so I’m moving on to another subject now…who the hell has brown paper bags just lying around anyway? I may live near a liquor store but I am not a frequent patron. Maybe I should be…

Moving on, guess what? My grandson is due in three weeks!!!! Wait, let me just type that again because it still feels surreal. My grandson is due in three weeks!!!! Holy shitballs. I can’t wait to see his little face. This hasn’t ever really been a mommyblog kind of blog, but y’all better brace yourselves for some bragging on my grandbaby. I think I am going to be pretty amazing at this grandmother thing. I’ve spent so much money on this little man already…I can’t wait to spend TIME with him. The kids painted their room and put the crib and changing table up…the house is ready for the takeover and so are we.

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This is an extremely long, and emotionally charged post.  I was raised to believe that the police are there to protect us.  I have always known there were some bad cops, but I believed they were the exception.  I believed that if you tell the truth, you will prevail.  Maybe I should have known better, looking back.  But these are ideals ingrained long before I ever had any personal contact with law enforcement.  In order to understand the impact what I am about to tell you has had on me and my family, you have to know about two prior incidents.

When he was 14, my son was convicted of something he did not do, and spent five months in a juvenile program in North Florida.  He believed that the videos would prove his innocence.  When they didn’t prove either him or the ‘victim’ right, they were sent to the state attorney’s office, along with statements from the ‘victim’ and her friend, who wrote another boy’s name on her statement.  We never thought the state would file charges, but they did.  His public defender, (who handled every single juvenile case I ever saw get a public defender at five court dates over five months), essentially told us the judge wouldn’t believe him and our best bet was to take a plea deal.  Since juvenile cases do not have juries, we were scared.  We know that you tend to get punished even harder if you go to trial and get convicted, and he was having some other issues at home, and so we agreed it would be best to plea out.  To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t sure if he really was innocent, until the day he pled out.  When we arrived in court and his name was called, the victim’s advocate stood and said the victim agreed to the plea deal, but only because she had been harassed at school by my son ever since she reported him to the school resource officer.  I knew she was lying then, because he never set foot back in that school after that day.  He spent five months in that program, knowing he was being punished for something he didn’t do.  The strain on my family, emotionally and financially, was immense.  He learned then that the law is not about the truth.  He learned then that the law is about the perception of the person you are dealing with, and once you get involved with law enforcement, the truth doesn’t matter anymore.

My son was also assaulted while being held in the county jail, awaiting transport to the juvenile detention center in Ocala, Fl.  I saw bruising on him, and made a complaint.  The sergeant I spoke with initially was in charge the night of the incident, but he denied there being any incident to me on the phone and told me there was no video surveillance in the area in which my son was taken to and assaulted.  He did help me make the complaint, however, and a few days later I received a call from a detective from the jail, who told asked me to explain again what happened.  I did, including the conversation with the sergeant, which confused him because he did have an incident report.  I asked to see the video of what happened before my son was removed to an unsupervised area.  In a day or two, he invited Brian and I to come view the tape.  He showed us the area in which the incident took place, and then showed us the video.  I was torn after watching the video.  To Brian and I, it proved the officer was over aggressive, and what was described as my son aggressively waving his arms was actually him raising his two hands, palms up, as the officer approached him.  It was not arm waving…it was surrender.  When you lie about one thing, how can I believe you about what happened once you were out of the camera’s eye?  Nothing I saw refuted any part of my son’s story.  I wrestled with what to do.  I could have obtained a private attorney, or asked for an IA investigation.  Neither my son nor I wanted to ruin this man’s career.  What we wanted was an acknowledgment that he was wrong, and most importantly, that a regulation be introduced that prohibits taking an inmate into an unsupervised area for ‘redirection.’  We received neither, but I chose not to pursue the matter, because I was naive and I believed in what law enforcement stood for…I thought it must have been an isolated incident.  He went along with it because he believed that the truth of what happened didn’t matter; it was his word against an officer’s, and he was very familiar with how law enforcement took his word.  Now I regret that decision very much.

On Sunday, June 24th, at around 8-ish pm, Brian and I and our two daughters, ages 7 and 9, returned from a BBQ and pool party at my friend Adam’s house in the Orlando area.  It was a great day, and a quiet trip home, as everyone slept but me.  Our two teenaged sons had been home while we were gone, with several friends over.  I don’t recall the house being a mess or anything upsetting when we got home; it was just a nice peaceful ending to a fun day.  Or so I thought.

It being summer when it is easy to lose track of the days, (especially since I am not working and am on break from school, too, and Brian isn’t working regularly, either), and since I had mistakenly told the boys the party was Saturday for several days before I realized it was Sunday, the kids didn’t realize it was Sunday night.  My son and his girlfriend went to the corner store to get a drink, but when they got there, they saw it was closed and realized their mistake and headed home.  There was a car parked there, with four or five boys in it, who said something to them.  When my son’s girlfriend saw three boys jump out of the car with a weapon and run for my son, she screamed at him to run and she screamed for me.  He ran around the corner and made it to the edge of my yard before they tackled him and began to beat him with the weapon.  His girlfriend was trying to call me, but in a panic she must have misdialed or the call wouldn’t go through and somehow in the melee, one of the boys grabbed her phone out of her hand and threw it.

Brian was having a cigarette out front and he saw the boys running after my son, but he thought it was just some of his friends goofing around.  Until he saw one swing at my son’s ribs with a weapon, and my son hit the ground, the three boys on him.  He ran screaming toward them and pulled the boy with the weapon off, pinning him to the ground, while a close friend of ours who had just been dropped off pulled another boy off, who started screaming at Brian that the boy he had pinned was a minor.  That minor had the crow bar, and he hit Brian three times with it in the head and face, striking him on the top of his head, under one eye, and in the mouth, chipping his tooth.  The boys still in the car had pulled it around by now, and my guys released the boys they had.  When they ran to the car, one of them reached in, yelling, “You want that fire??!!”

I didn’t know any of this had happened.  I heard Christian come in and order his sisters and our friend’s son into a bedroom, later I realized it was because he was afraid the boys had a gun, and he didn’t want the kids in danger.  I didn’t know what was happening, but I could hear in his voice that it was serious, so when Emily started objecting, I yelled for her to do as she was told and came out to see what it was.  I saw my son, covered in dirt all over his back, wild eyed and out of breath.  And then I ran out front to find out what was happening.

I will never forget the warzone I stepped into when I stepped out of my house that night.  I saw a red car careen from my yard down to the next lot, pull a u-turn into an empty lot across the street, passing between a power pole and an electrical box, and then head toward what I thought was the back end of Brian’s car.  I stepped forward, and the tree between Brian and I no longer blocked my view.  It wasn’t the car they were racing toward.  It was Brian.  I was barefoot, but I took off running, and screaming.  I screamed so loud in those seconds that my urine ran down my legs as I thundered toward the car, running through broken glass but never feeling a thing, and my voice was gone for almost a week after.  I don’t know what I meant to do…but I wan’t going to tell another child that their father was dead without doing something to try to stop it.  I didn’t know it at the time, but he had already tried to hit him once and missed.  He pulled that u-turn to try to hit his mark again.  He accelerated as the car flew toward my daughters’ father.  There were no brake marks, when the dust settled.  Brian jumped out of the way, but the fender hit his ankle.  He didn’t even realize it right away, because of the adrenaline pumping through his veins.  I called 911, frantic, panicked…and I learned what had happened before I came outside.

I really thought they would help us.  I thought they would find the kids who did this-we knew two names, for crying out loud!  I thought the police were there to protect citizens against violence and crime.  But I was wrong.  I’m not really sure *who* the police protect, but I learned that week that it sure isn’t me and my family.  The true attack was yet to come, and Hernando County Sheriff’s department allowed those boys to use them as a weapon against us in a second, more devastating attack.

To be continued, when my heart can take it…

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I am going to be very raw and real here and to be perfectly honest, I am not sure I can even post this once I write it.  If I do, I may not leave it up for long.  But I need to write.  I need to try to organize my thoughts and feelings and try to make some sense of it all.

I’m struggling.  I usually do that when our finances get in a mess, and they are *really* in a mess right now.  I was denied food stamps, more than likely because DCF’s fax line was busy every time I tried to fax them the verification they asked for. For the full week before the deadline.  And I’m not even sure if what I had was acceptable anyway because how am I supposed to prove child support paid privately, instead of through the courts?  And why didn’t they want that in December when I applied the first time?  So I’m appealing and hoping the food stamps I still have from May are enough to feed us until then.  And how long am I going to wait to get a decision from unemployment about reinstating the benefits they suspended, not because I did not submit the information they asked for…but because I thought that the red starred items marked “required” were the only required information?  Silly me.  Or because I thought just submitting the information would be enough…not that I would have to call, for hours, to speak with a human and ask them to review it.  Silly me.  I thought “Submit” meant Submit, not “Whether you fill out this information online or not, we won’t review it until you ask us nicely to do so.”  Silly me.

All the bills that have already become due this month are late, except our car insurance.  In all honesty, if I can’t find a job THIS WEEK, or get both food stamps and unemployment reinstated, I may have to cancel the insurance and just pray nothing happens.  My kids have to eat, you know?  It’s illegal in Florida to drive without insurance.  But it’s also illegal to starve your kids or hook on the street corner and those are my alternatives.  We are completely out of money, we have no credit cards, and our completely minimized expenses are greater than our income.

And it’s not like I haven’t been trying to find a job.  I’ve probably made over 100 contacts.  Several, through friends seemed promising.  But the ONLY response I received that wasn’t a craigslist scam was from a small cafe about ten miles away, for a part time waitressing job.  My interview is on Tuesday.  If I don’t get it, I’m so screwed.

I scrapped my van for $200 and did someone’s homework for $60 to pay the power bill.  I’m trying to sell my iPad to pay the mortgage.  I wish my mom and our friend who are on our cell phone plan would throw some in on the bill, because I only have half of that, and since I’m canceling the house phone this month, we kind of need our cell phones or I’ll have no chance in hell of finding a job-they will have no way to reach me.  I can cut the internet until school starts again in the fall.  We shut off the central a/c unit and are just running a window unit in the living room to try to reduce the bill.  The kids have been sleeping in the there because their rooms are like ovens. The pool is green because we can’t afford the chemicals, and our poor kids are stuck in this Florida hotbox all summer-we can’t afford to take them anywhere to do anything, and they can’t even use the pool in their own backyard.  I had to borrow money to get the MMR shot I needed to enroll at USF.

We are middle America and we are on the brink of losing everything.  I know everyone is having to tighten their belts a bit, but this is ridiculous.  I can’t be so close to homelessness, can I?  But yes, I can.  The mortgage is in my mom’s name…I can’t let it damage her credit, and she retired last year-she can’t afford the mortgage.  But I’m already late.  Might we have to leave to rent it out…opening a whole new slew of potential problems?  I hate this house.  But it’s our home and I know we will never find another house with enough room for $600/month.  Even if we could, how do we know the renters won’t find themselves in our same shoes two months in and we wind up homeless, and STILL with an unpaid mortgage?  So where will we wind up?  And we certainly can’t afford a deposit or we could just stay here.  This is how families get trapped at weekly hotels, never able to save enough to get back in a home because they can’t save the deposits while keeping the family under a roof somewhere now.

I’ve scrapped a van..I’m selling my iPad..I think I may have to sell the pickup truck from my Daddy which completely breaks my heart..even more than the fact that I may have to sell my car that I LOVE and try to find something reliable enough to get me to classes in St Pete in the fall, (90 minutes away, twice a week. And back.), that is cheaper..the only good jewelry I have means so much to me that I can’t hold back the tears any more at the thought of having to sell them.  My wedding rings, and things from people I’ve lost…my mother-in-law’s necklace that my father and sister in law gifted me for my birthday…the ring that my brother wore…my Dad’s wedding band…my Grammy’s gold chain and ring.

I’ve had some lovely people offer to help.  And I know it is prideful to not accept the help that is offered.  But I don’t want to be perceived as a mooch.  I WANT to pay my own way.  I want a job, a fair wage, a chance to prove that I have so much to offer.  I don’t want to need any help.  I hate being on unemployment and food stamps, but until someone gives me a shot to prove I can be an asset to their business, I can’t survive without them.  I can’t feed my children without them.  Every day I don’t have them or a job makes that more and more apparent.  I’m in a panic, all the time.  And I feel like I can’t take it any more.

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It is next to impossible to explain anxiety to someone who has never experienced it.  I’ve tried, repeatedly, with very disappointing results.  Variations have included:

• The feeling you get when you hear nails on a chalkboard or whatever sound has that kind of effect on you.
• A swarm of bees inside you, getting more and more agitated as they creep toward your brain.
• An elephant on your chest, sinking further into you every time you exhale.
• An overwhelming feeling of unease…like something REALLY! FREAKING! BAD! is going to happen if you can’t get out of your own skin RIGHT! THIS! SECOND!
• All the air being sucked out of the room, or, conversely, so much air being pumped in that the pressure being exerted on you feels absolutely bone crushing.

None of those are exactly right…but I think the sense of desperation is clear.  In that moment, I am nothing short of desperate to make the feeling stop.  Eventually it does stop, and I am swept with feelings of hopelessness, guilt, and a new sense of desperation, this time, to just be normal.

I wonder what it is like to be able to just decide to do something on a whim…to be able to face large groups without the inevitable meltdown that precedes every family function…to be able to cope when the myriad of little things that will inevitably go wrong do, in fact, go wrong.  I know that at one time, I didn’t have anxiety.  I wish I could remember what it was like, but all I can connect with it is the fleeting feeling of freedom when I am driving alone in my car with the windows down and the radio up.

I know it is hard for my family to live with me.  I know I am moody and I react badly to being disappointed.  I am impatient and I expect things to be MY way.  Sometimes I get so angry because I have explained over and over what I need from my family to help me control my anxiety but they don’t take it seriously, and I lash out, saying or doing things I regret. I don’t want to be the mom that the kids tell stories about and their friends make comments about how awful that must have been.

*Photo credit: amber10_75 on Flickr*

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