A Little Bit About The Man I Call “D”

Some genuine Flint history here!…

…I was looking for something else when I stumbled upon this!!!
I truly believe that my father played a part in building Flint, MI into the automobile mecca it became in the late 1960’s!

Not only my amazing “D”, but hundreds came to Flint looking to become a part of the growing automotive industry.
My dad started young and was determined not to, eventually, let “some 30 year old punk”, become his boss.
He got the education and training needed to acquire a position in the big city! aka: the D! Well, more like Warren, Mi…

…Regardless, he retired after about 30 yrs of service to GM, as a Senior tool and die design engineer. He even pioneered and patented the door handle assemblies that we’re used in the Buick models in the late 1980’s! (In the pic with the BIG BOSS, my D is receiving the first fruits of his labor)

He’d came from a very humble beginning in North Dakota, and, retired with a very comfortable life here in the Mitten! He and my step-mother spent their days traveling the world!

He was an avid golfer and had played the game on some of the most beautiful courses the US has to offer. He truly loved the game and he accomplished the ultimate…
A hole-in-one!🤫⛳👏🏼 126 yds with a 7 iron! (glass trophy pic)

He lived his life with an inspirational attitude. Always positive, yet logical with a no-nosense approach to everything.

Right-wing to the extreme, I NEVER EVER in my WHOLE LIFE saw him in anything but khakis and collared shirts. Business suits and a briefcase were the Monday-Friday attire.
He believed in helping those who helped themselves. He expected nothing less than a hard lesson from bad choices, and yet he never pointed a finger!

“Always do what’s expected AND a little bit more”.

He was always a presence in the room. His genuine, hard-working, character was something men today, should strive to emulate.
Chivalry lived strong in my father’s heart, as I, nor my step-mother, EVER touched ANY type of door handle! I once saw him remove his professionally tailored sport coat to shield a female strangers hair from getting mussed up from the rain on her way into a restaurant.
And on a funnier note…. my awesome dad even took the blame for a loud fart his wife let go, in the middle of a crowded group of tourists!

“Oops, excuse me, excuse me”, he quickly boasted, as not to embarrass her.

Who does that????

The American Dream WAS once alive and thriving here. My father’s life was a testament to that. GM served our family well, hate to see the dream die for others!

My D lost his battle with cancer just a few yrs ago, but to anyone who knew him, knew that regardless of his pain, if you asked him how he’s doing, his response was ALWAYS the same… “Nearly perfect”!

He passed away on his birthday in 2013. I suppose he didn’t want to keep us grieving any longer than necessary.
I feel honored to be his daughter! He was TRULY a great human being!

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Medicine Is Good, At Times

It is so nice to be able to focus on what I choose to, not what my mind wants to. My mind would like to be all over the place, but not today. Today I took the medicine that makes the ADD go away. Literally, for the next few hours, I get to be as ‘normal’ as any non-ADDer. That is the only reason I can write right now.

It is also so nice to actually engage in conversation with my husband. He can yap and yap and yap, and I will catch every word. Usually, I cannot focus long enough to chat, let alone, listen to my husbands looooong stories. Today is a good day for me. Enjoy yours!

To All Moms Of Boys

Hello readers! It has definitely been a while since I’ve written. Getting my brain to focus on a post has been quite difficult lately. ADHD is to blame, it’s both a blessing and a curse!

This is not exactly ADHD related, but if you are a MOM raising only boys…. You need to read this! It was written by an admin in a fb group I belong to, exclusively for “boy moms”! I, myself, have 6 sons!

We are hard on ourselves and struggle often to raise these little male humans, obviously… Moms are not boys.

Again, this was not written by me! I just had to share! Enjoy!

What Does It Mean To Be A BOYMOM?

Everytime I read an article or social media post about what it is like to be a boymom I see a comment about how raising girls is exactly the same & just as hard as raising boys. Usually, the comment is made by a mother who doesn’t have any sons & I have to smile & shake my head because I know that she doesn’t understand. She can’t understand. She probably thinks that the term Boymom is simply a way to perpetuate gender stereotypes, a way to laugh off the boys will be boys culture, & a way to make moms with sons feel superior because they gave birth to the golden children that have penises.

This can’t be further from the truth!

Boymoms know that there are many similarities between boys & girls. Girls can make messes & eat mud pies & boys can like to paint their toe nails & sleep with baby dolls. Girls can be obsessed with dinosaurs & boys can love to bake cupcakes. I have seen the #boymom & #lifewithboys tag used for everything from pee on the bathroom floor to a picture of a toddler boy who got into his mother’s makeup & put it on his face so he could be like mommy.

Boymoms are proud of our boys & each & everyone of them is different & unique in their own special ways.

But the truth is that raising boys comes with one huge difference from raising girls. A boymom is tasked with raising a child who she will never fully be able to relate to. We try our bests to give them all of the love & support they need & our goal is to raise them to be good men, but there are many instances in their lives when we are blindly guiding them through things that we have no experience with. Things we don’t fully even understand. I frequently compare it to living in a foreign country when you don’t speak the language. This is what makes being a boymom somewhat more difficult of an experience than raising girls.

It starts when they are toddlers & begin to explore their bodies. Boymoms are left wondering just exactly why little boys become so obsessed with playing with their penis & balls. We don’t see our friends daughters sitting in church with their fingers in their vaginas, but little Timmy has to be reminded eight times to keep his hands out of his pants.

Potty training is also a different experience with boys. Females have it pretty easy. We sit, push, stuff comes out, we wipe, & we are done. Boys have to worry about things like aim, spray, & volume. This is a challenge that seems to plague even the best of them their entire lives. Boymoms actually have to teach their sons to use body parts they have never had to use themselves.

As boys get older being a boymom gets more challenging. As women we could easily teach a preteen daughter about her period & sympathize with her when she gets bad cramps. However, as women we don’t know what it is like to have surges of testosterone running through our body. We have never had to worry about our voice cracking while reading out loud in class & we don’t know what it feels like to get a random erection in front of the entire school during a talent show. Despite our inability to relate we still have to help our sons through puberty.

Than our teenage sons start to be told to ‘act like a man’. Boymoms have never had to ‘act like a man’ because we are women. There are so many conflicting messages in the world about what it means to be a ‘man’ so again we have to help guide them through something outside our realm of experience. We have to teach our sons that they are bigger & stronger than women, including their own mom, & therefore must act as protectors instead of aggressors. This is something mothers of girls will never have to worry about.

These are just a few examples. There are many experiences during adolescence & adulthood that are biologically different for males than for females.

This is why we identify as boymoms. This is why we write articles & social media posts. This is why we come together as a community to discuss our experiences. Why we lean on each other for advice. Why we assure each other that things our sons do that seem wierd to us are normal.

We can’t always reach out to our friends & family that are raising girls or who only raised girls because they don’t know how it feels. We can’t always get comfort from the men in our lives because they also don’t 100% understand what we are going through. Parenting boys isn’t as hard for them as it is for us because they know what their sons are experiencing because they were once young boys too.

So we label ourselves as boymoms & we find our squad. The other women who understand. The ones who offer support with out judgement.

So mothers of girls, when you see a mom caption her picture #boymom or a mom who has a cute shirt on that identifies her as a ‘mom of boys’ know that she uses that caption or wears that shirt because she is proud of her sons & she is proud to be a part of the community of women who are raising their boys together. Allowing her to acknowledge that her experience as a mother is different than yours in no way diminishes your own experiences. You are a bad ass mom too & raising girls can be extremely challenging as well, but it is different than raising boys & it is ok for both boymoms & mothers of girls to acknowledge those differences.

Boys & girls are equal but they are not exactly the same. #lifewithboys

I’d like to introduce myself… — Everywhere But Here…

Hi! My name is Kari Taber. This is the first blog I’ve ever written. My life has been such that I’ve heard ‘you should write a book’ more times than I can count. Hmmmm…. A book, no; a blog, yes! So, here they are , my issues, all typed up and ready for you […]

via I’d like to introduce myself… — Everywhere But Here…

I WILL be a success with ADHD

This is a response, to a reply on a Reddit post about ADHD, that I wrote…
Bless your heart, you have struggled long enough. I hear you, loud and clear, when you say that you are broke financially and emotionally. I completely understand about all the “what if’s”. I’m no different than you. At this very moment, I believe my bank account holds $1.76!! I am struggling to pay for real estate classes that start next week, and I have NO CLUE where the money is going to come from! I have such BIG HOPES AND DREAMS, am I going to GIVE UP, yet AGAIN, just because I can’t come up with 300 bucks???
… HELL NO!
NOT THIS TIME!!
But, in all actuality, it’s not about the money. It’s about the mindset. If you lack determination and drive, you will struggle. Most people, like us, just don’t have the drive. I sure didn’t! And I’m not even 100% sure if I’ve got it now, but I am NOT giving myself the option of giving up.
A couple of weeks ago, I did some serious soul searching. (I do this on a daily basis, lol, don’t we all!?) The conversation in my head began the same as it always does…” I suck, my life is going NOWHERE, I’m broke, something has to change, I can’t go on, this time will be different,…” I almost couldn’t even continue the conversation…… It was the SAME thing I’d been telling myself for years and I hadn’t listened to myself before, why should I now????
Here is where it gets real. Instead of talking to myself, I decided to take a good look at myself. I briefly glanced at my unproductive past, filled with dissapointments, failures, and damaged relationships. I, then, tried to focus on my future…..What future??? I could only see MORE failures ahead. I started thinking about the PEOPLE in my life that I had let down. My children, who at this time, had/have NO real role model in their lives to emulate. How on earth can I expect a positive, healthy, successful future for them, when I’m not living a successful life?? No wonder my family has alienated me!! Eventually, everyone, even my precious children, will have no use for me! What the hell do I have to offer anyone? I am of absolutely no use to anyone, I am seroiusly just taking up space. I AM, IN FACT, A FAILURE! I frantically began searching for a way out of this mess of a life I’d made and quickly realized there wasn’t one!! I WAS, for the first time, TERRIFIED!
Only my death will fix this, so I seriously contemplated suicide. I believed that if I wasn’t around, my precious children would be forced to live with people that would, hopefully, push them to be the BEST they can be!! I want that for them, they deserve that!
My mind was made up, I’m going to kill myself. But, I didn’t feel good about this decision. I knew I needed to die, I just didn’t want my kids to cry for me. 😥😟😭😭😭
And, in that moment, in some crazy twist-of-fate, something inside me snapped!!!
I CAN’T LEAVE THEM! I WON’T LEAVE THEM!
What the fuck am I thinking?? ADHD strikes again…telling me to give up, cant do this, failure! OH, NO ADHD! NOT TODAY!!
I changed my whole pattern of thinking. My whole pattern of thinking HAD TO CHANGE!!! I realized that the things i was doing in my life, up to this point, WERE NOT WORKING!!! So, I began doing the OPPOSITE of everything!! …
Aaaaand, guess what???
It’s WORKING!

Depressing Diagnosis

After my dx, I pretty much became an alcoholic! I was so relieved to finally know that I had a disorder, and that I wasn’t just a complete failure at life!! But I quickly spiralled into a depression bc I realized that my ADHD was never gonna go away, that I was never gonna be a productive part of society! That I was forever gonna be just a walking collection of symptoms!! That I was never gonna get that Bachelors degree, never gonna have a real career, never gonna get a fair shot at success bc I am NOT and NEVER gonna be “normal”!
Life is better now though! I embrace my ADHD dx. I have accepted the fact that I am a hunter in a gatherers world. Learned to love myself, just as I am.❤. After all, what other choice do we have??

The Story Of A Girl

I think I have finally figured out what is wrong with me;  not just the ADHD, not just the mild depression symptoms, not even the occasional bout with anxiety, but what is really wrong with me.  I believe I have found the reasons for WHY I behave the way I do, WHY I feel the way I do, even WHY I struggle the way I do.  Because isn’t that all we really want;  an explanation for our shortcomings, a reason for our bad behavior, or maybe just somewhere to place blame.  Regardless, an explanation is long overdue.  And digging deep into my past, I just may have found one!

Inconsistent doesn’t even begin to describe my up-bringing.  To say that I had NO idea what I was walking into, on a daily basis, would be an understatement!  Don’t get me wrong;  I grew up in a clean, calm, financially sound environment. And everything tangible was good;  plenty of food in the fridge, a new car to ride in, and all the playthings I could ever ask for… BUT, emotionally, I was completely and absolutely neglected.  At pivotal points in my childhood, where caring, understanding, an nurturing should have been ever-present, I faced loneliness, heartache, and fear.  When I was a  very young girl, about 3 or 4,  I remember all I ever wanted her to do was wake up.  My fragile mind just couldn’t understand why she wasn’t like other moms.  I couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t stay awake for me, I spent my days watching her sleep, and wondering why I wasn’t important enough to her… Deep feelings of loneliness, fear and insecurities began to develop.  Extreme bouts of sadness and crying spells became who I was;  an innocent, yet very damaged child.   I had no one else to care for me, as my only siblings were much, much older.   My father was always gone on business trips, or on a golf outing.  As an adult, I realize what he was running from.

Believe me, there were good days, and this is where the inconsistencies really show up.  On good days, mom was awake.  I’d walk in the door from grammar school and there she’d be, awake, alert and wonderful.  The mom I always wanted, we’d talk and laugh and go to the local 5 and dime store.  I really cherished the good days and I  looked forward to them as they were few and far between.  Most days, though, she was in her own world.  Her escape from reality was a comfort for her, I suppose.  And it wasn’t until I was an adult, that I realized her sleepiness was due to benzodiazipine abuse.  When she’d use, she’d  pass out, and I’d be left all alone.  Fear and emotional neglect is what I faced, constantly.  I craved companionship with her, I just wanted her to wake up!  As she’d snooze, I’d practice taking her earrings in and out of her ears, she wouldn’t even stir.  Those were the days when I’d be locked out of the house, crying on the back porch, because she couldn’t hear me knocking.  Those were the days when the prescription of pills would run out, now the only way she can cope is to drink.  The thing is…. what couldn’t she cope with?  In my childs’ mind I knew it must be my fault.  Maybe if i could be a really, really good girlI’d be worth staying awake for.  No such luck, her addiction to alcohol and benzos spanned her whole lifetime; absolutely and definitely affecting mine.

Some days, however, she wasn’t there at all. You see, years and years (even before I was born) had caused irreversible damage to my mothers intestines, and every 4-6 weeks she’d be in the hospital for 5 or so days.  It was horrible!  Those were the days when I’d come home from school and my older sister would be there at my house waiting for me. As, soon as I’d see her, I’d instantaneously feel my throat close up and my eyes start to tear.  I just knew her presence meant that my mom was in the hospital, again and that I’d be staying at her house.  Even now, it’s hard for me to describe the feelings I had when she was gone.  Neglectful, or not, she was my beloved mommy and  she was my world.  I would be completely devastated each and every time her health drove her to hospitalization and I had to stay at my sisters house. I would sit for hours, just inside the threshold of her house, with my heavy, winter coat on.  I would refuse to take it off cause then that would mean that I was comfortable with staying there, and I absolutely was NOT.  The feelings were mutual, I was nothing more than an inconvenience to my sister and her new family. That was evident in the was I was treated.  I was a little girl, whose mom was in the hospital.  Did I get hugged, held and reassured?  Um, no.  In fact, I was teased and ridiculed.  My feelings were never validated, just brushed off like I was a bratty, crybaby.   And so I hoped, in my little head, that if I kept my coat on, I’d be going home soon.  My coat and my belongings became my only link to my home and my mom, so I guarded them, viciously.  All I wanted was my mommy, and I  cried for her relentlessly.  wp-image-772939006

So, in considering all this trauma, and very deep seeded emotional damage, I’ve come to the conclusion that I am incapable of deep, bonded, long lasting relationships.  I am forever in self-protect mode. My heart was broken long before I even understood what love was.  I was broken, emotionally, by those who were supposed to love me the most.  What exactly does that do to a person you ask?  Well, it breeds a fear of intimacy, it causes an intense craving for attention and validation, it harbors insecurity, and it destroys any feeling of self worth.  How could my only mother intentionally sleep through my entire childhood, and be so oblivious to the pain she was causing her little girl?  Why didn’t anyone see what was going on? Why wasn’t I worth more? Why is that the hand life dealt me? Why didn’t you save me? Why didn’t you love me enough?

I could ask questions all day and it doesn’t matter now, the damage has been done.  I’m just sorry to all the wonderful people in my life who have tried to love me, yet got nothing in return.  My heart is buried somewhere inside me, I don’t wear it on my sleeve.  It was broken a long, long time ago and I don’t know if it will ever be whole again. Those who reared me, failed me.  I cry for the little girl inside me, and I protect her with all that I am because no one else did.

I never learned how to love, how to show love.  A hug, to you,  may feel like a warm, loving, reassuring embrace.  To me, a hug is an uncomfortable invasion of personal space.  Sad, isn’t it?  This comes from an adult that wasn’t loved on or hugged as a child. This also comes from an adult that is tired of all the failed relationships in her life and tired of not feeling worthy.  I have learned to live in self-protect mode, and that is a very shallow existence. It’s a very lonely place to be.    Thanks for your interest. God Bless!

The Story Of A Girl

I think I have finally figured out what is wrong with me;  not just the ADHD, not just the mild depression symptoms, not even the occasional bout with anxiety, but what is really wrong with me.  I believe I have found the reasons for WHY I behave the way I do, WHY I feel the way I do, even WHY I struggle the way I do.  Because isn’t that all we really want;  an explanation for our shortcomings, a reason for our bad behavior, or maybe just somewhere to place blame.  Regardless, an explanation is long overdue.  And digging deep into my past, I just may have found one!

Inconsistent doesn’t even begin to describe my up-bringing.  To say that I had NO idea what I was walking into, on a daily basis, would be an understatement!  Don’t get me wrong;  I grew up in a clean, calm, financially sound environment. And everything tangible was good;  plenty of food in the fridge, a new car to ride in, and all the playthings I could ever ask for… BUT, emotionally, I was completely and absolutely neglected.  At pivotal points in my childhood, where caring, understanding, an nurturing should have been ever-present, I faced loneliness, heartache, and fear.  When I was a  very young girl, about 3 or 4,  I remember all I ever wanted her to do was wake up.  My fragile mind just couldn’t understand why she wasn’t like other moms.  I couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t stay awake for me, I spent my days watching her sleep, and wondering why I wasn’t important enough to her… Deep feelings of loneliness, fear and insecurities began to develop.  Extreme bouts of sadness and crying spells became who I was;  an innocent, yet very damaged child.   I had no one else to care for me, as my only siblings were much, much older.   My father was always gone on business trips, or on a golf outing.  As an adult, I realize what he was running from.

Believe me, there were good days, and this is where the inconsistencies really show up.  On good days, mom was awake.  I’d walk in the door from grammar school and there she’d be, awake, alert and wonderful.  The mom I always wanted, we’d talk and laugh and go to the local 5 and dime store.  I really cherished the good days and I  looked forward to them as they were few and far between.  Most days, though, she was in her own world.  Her escape from reality was a comfort for her, I suppose.  And it wasn’t until I was an adult, that I realized her sleepiness was due to benzodiazipine abuse.  When she’d use, she’d  pass out, and I’d be left all alone.  Fear and emotional neglect is what I faced, constantly.  I craved companionship with her, I just wanted her to wake up!  As she’d snooze, I’d practice taking her earrings in and out of her ears, she wouldn’t even stir.  Those were the days when I’d be locked out of the house, crying on the back porch, because she couldn’t hear me knocking.  Those were the days when the prescription of pills would run out, now the only way she can cope is to drink.  The thing is…. what couldn’t she cope with?  In my childs’ mind I knew it must be my fault.  Maybe if i could be a really, really good girlI’d be worth staying awake for.  No such luck, her addiction to alcohol and benzos spanned her whole lifetime; absolutely and definitely affecting mine.

Some days, however, she wasn’t there at all. You see, years and years (even before I was born) had caused irreversible damage to my mothers intestines, and every 4-6 weeks she’d be in the hospital for 5 or so days.  It was horrible!  Those were the days when I’d come home from school and my older sister would be there at my house waiting for me. As, soon as I’d see her, I’d instantaneously feel my throat close up and my eyes start to tear.  I just knew her presence meant that my mom was in the hospital, again and that I’d be staying at her house.  Even now, it’s hard for me to describe the feelings I had when she was gone.  Neglectful, or not, she was my beloved mommy and  she was my world.  I would be completely devastated each and every time her health drove her to hospitalization and I had to stay at my sisters house. I would sit for hours, just inside the threshold of her house, with my heavy, winter coat on.  I would refuse to take it off cause then that would mean that I was comfortable with staying there, and I absolutely was NOT.  The feelings were mutual, I was nothing more than an inconvenience to my sister and her new family. That was evident in the was I was treated.  I was a little girl, whose mom was in the hospital.  Did I get hugged, held and reassured?  Um, no.  In fact, I was teased and ridiculed.  My feelings were never validated, just brushed off like I was a bratty, crybaby.   And so I hoped, in my little head, that if I kept my coat on, I’d be going home soon.  My coat and my belongings became my only link to my home and my mom, so I guarded them, viciously.  All I wanted was my mommy, and I  cried for her relentlessly.  wp-image-772939006

So, in considering all this trauma, and very deep seeded emotional damage, I’ve come to the conclusion that I am incapable of deep, bonded, long lasting relationships.  I am forever in self-protect mode. My heart was broken long before I even understood what love was.  I was broken, emotionally, by those who were supposed to love me the most.  What exactly does that do to a person you ask?  Well, it breeds a fear of intimacy, it causes an intense craving for attention and validation, it harbors insecurity, and it destroys any feeling of self worth.  How could my only mother intentionally sleep through my entire childhood, and be so oblivious to the pain she was causing her little girl?  Why didn’t anyone see what was going on? Why wasn’t I worth more? Why is that the hand life dealt me? Why didn’t you save me? Why didn’t you love me enough?

I could ask questions all day and it doesn’t matter now, the damage has been done.  I’m just sorry to all the wonderful people in my life who have tried to love me, yet got nothing in return.  My heart is buried somewhere inside me, I don’t wear it on my sleeve.  It was broken a long, long time ago and I don’t know if it will ever be whole again. Those who reared me, failed me.  I cry for the little girl inside me, and I protect her with all that I am because no one else did.

I never learned how to love, how to show love.  A hug, to you,  may feel like a warm, loving, reassuring embrace.  To me, a hug is an uncomfortable invasion of personal space.  Sad, isn’t it?  This comes from an adult that wasn’t loved on or hugged as a child. This also comes from an adult that is tired of all the failed relationships in her life and tired of not feeling worthy.  I have learned to live in self-protect mode, and that is a very shallow existence. It’s a very lonely place to be.    Thanks for your interest. God Bless!

WOW! What A Wait!

If you go to a psychiatrist with true ADHD symptoms, a diagnosis should come within minutes.  It should only take a professional mere moments to distinguish ADHD behaviors from those just being lazy or drug seeking.  I’ve heard, in some places, it takes MONTHS for a diagnosis!  WHAT!!! MONTHS!!!  That’s crazy! What the hell kind of ADHD assessment takes months?  If you are struggling and awaiting a diagnosis, I am truly sorry for your situation.  I was diagnosed in minutes and on meds the SAME DAY!!  truly life changing.