Back in the saddle

After my son was born in 2007 I had that itch to be creative and that burn to diarrhea my thoughts out onto the blog-o-sphere. So thereby I created my own blog just like everyone else and their mothers cat.

My blog was aptly named “Sarcastic, Funny and Brutally Honest”. I was influenced by Boobs, Injuries and Dr. Pepper where Crystal said she named her blog after three things that best described herself. So waahlaaa, I AM sarcastic, funny and brutally honest.

The blog was on blogger.com, I downloaded a picture from the internet of a kid getting crapped on from a turdy birdy and photoshopped it to include my blog title. I thought it fit the theme of the blog.

I blogged about things that I thought were funny. But then my kid got older and I lost direction and therefore I lost interest and I shut the blog down.

But…then in the beginning of this year (2011) I started contributing writing for DayTrippingMom.com which lead me to have that itch and burn again to be personally creative with my own writing voice. So here I am blogging on a new “Sarcastic, Funny and Brutally Honest”.

This time will be different though. I’m not going to try and be funny.

I’m just going to be me.

This will be the spot where I’ll write about my self and my experiences learning how to be a good mom, a good wife and a good person. And shit, with a life like mine and the wackanoodles I deal with-the funny will always be there.

The girl with no name

I was born to a single mother.
My biological father did the lickedy split before I was born. No pity please, I don’t care that he left. I’ve had no emotional connection to him like, ever.

My mom went on to marry (and then divorce) another guy and have my brother somewhere in the middle of all that.
When I was growing up I didn’t use my biological fathers last name, which was Hagan; I used the same last name of my brother and mom, which was “Prince”. I never felt connected to that royalty sounding last name, I always felt like it was on borrow. Like a library book that you had to return.

My husband and I met in 1999 and got married in 2004-his last name is “Eaglin”.
Shortly after getting married and while I was in college, I was seriously interested in conducting Psychological Research and I had delusions of becoming a ground-breaking scientist in regards to gender/sex research. I figured that using a last name like “Prince” – the last name of my brother and mother would get me more noticed than the last name of my husband “Eaglin”. Who knows if it would have even mattered, but that was my thought at the time.

Then I got pregnant and that dream went out the window.

Fast forward to four years later and I was pregnant with my 2nd child. I figured it was “about time” to stop resisting and change my last name. So I did. Well, sort of…
I  drove out to the DMV and changed my name. When I got home that afternoon I proudly announced to my FB peeps that I had finally “done the deed”.
Only to have a distant relative of my husbands tell me that “I was just borrowing that last name” and that we weren’t “real” Eaglin’s. (Extremely long story short-“Eaglin” isn’t my Father in Laws biological fathers last name either).

Not only did I drop that kid from my friends list faster than a hot potato, his statement of “borrowing” that last name struck me to the core and freaking bothered me.

It bothered me because it was how I felt my entire life. Like I didn’t belong-to a name or to a father.  I was the girl without a last name, floating through life without any gravity.

I thought about it for a long time, hours on end. That is, until I realized that I have done more with that last name and will do more with that last name, then that kid ever will have the ability to. So I let go of that anger and I allowed myself the opportunity to feel connected to my husband. I allowed myself to feel like I belonged to him.

It took me another year to finish changing my last name on all government records to “Eaglin”. But it’s done now, and now, for the first time I feel complete. I feel like I am where I’m supposed to be.

I feel like I belong.

I have a name, one that is mine and one that I can make my own. It’s not my husband’s families name, it’s our familes name. My husband’s, my son’s, my daughter’s and mine.

The girl with no name

I was born to a single mother.
My biological father did the lickedy split before I was born. No pity please, I don’t care that he left. I’ve had no emotional connection to him like, ever.

My mom went on to marry (and then divorce) another guy and have my brother somewhere in the middle of all that.
When I was growing up I didn’t use my biological fathers last name, which was Hagan; I used the same last name of my brother and mom, which was “Prince”. I never felt connected to that royalty sounding last name, I always felt like it was on borrow. Like a library book that you had to return.

My husband and I met in 1999 and got married in 2004-his last name is “Eaglin”.
Shortly after getting married and while I was in college, I was seriously interested in conducting Psychological Research and I had delusions of becoming a ground-breaking scientist in regards to gender/sex research. I figured that using a last name like “Prince” – the last name of my brother and mother would get me more noticed than the last name of my husband “Eaglin”. Who knows if it would have even mattered, but that was my thought at the time.

Then I got pregnant and that dream went out the window.

Fast forward to four years later and I was pregnant with my 2nd child. I figured it was “about time” to stop resisting and change my last name. So I did. Well, sort of…
I  drove out to the DMV and changed my name. When I got home that afternoon I proudly announced to my FB peeps that I had finally “done the deed”.
Only to have a distant relative of my husbands tell me that “I was just borrowing that last name” and that we weren’t “real” Eaglin’s. (Extremely long story short-“Eaglin” isn’t my Father in Laws biological fathers last name either).

Not only did I drop that kid from my friends list faster than a hot potato, his statement of “borrowing” that last name struck me to the core and freaking bothered me.

It bothered me because it was how I felt my entire life. Like I didn’t belong-to a name or to a father.  I was the girl without a last name, floating through life without any gravity.

I thought about it for a long time, hours on end. That is, until I realized that I have done more with that last name and will do more with that last name, then that kid ever will have the ability to. So I let go of that anger and I allowed myself the opportunity to feel connected to my husband. I allowed myself to feel like I belonged to him.

It took me another year to finish changing my last name on all government records to “Eaglin”. But it’s done now, and now, for the first time I feel complete. I feel like I am where I’m supposed to be.

I feel like I belong.

I have a name, one that is mine and one that I can make my own. It’s not my husband’s families name, it’s our familes name. My husband’s, my son’s, my daughter’s and mine.

30 and counting

30 is a scary number. It’s a number that makes me feel old and past my carefree prime. I have a lot to be thankful for and a lot that I have accomplished for being “only 30” but nevertheless, I still feel like a week old banana.

A couple of weeks after my 30th Birthday, my kids and I wound up eating lunch at a Wendy’s (I could eat their BLT Cobb salads everyday). This particular Wendy’s that we happened to be at was near several high schools. I was dressed in my usual “mom gear” which included: a t-shirt and jeans.

After we sat at our table, in walked a huge group of high school kids. Almost immediately the Wendy’s turned into a high school cafeteria. Only this high school cafeteria was nothing like the high school I went to. These kids looked sophisticated and more adult than I ever did or have in my 30 years of life. Those girls looked like they were ready to bust out and dance while standing in line to order their very own BLT cobb salad; not dissect a frog in science class. They were decked out in glitter and glam, leather and buckles with their hair nicely quaffed and their nails nicely manicured. The guys with them were equivalent (in their own carefree boy way).

Not only did the sight of these kids make me feel old and decrepid, they made me wonder. Did I miss out on something wonderful in high school? Was I the weird, homely dressed girl in high school–and not the pretty, dancing, BLT cobb salad eating, fancy girl?
For an instant I felt sad, I felt a longing for a chance to be a glittery high school student again.

But then it hit me like a ton of bricks…

I had my chance at high school, I may have been the homely girl that liked taking pictures, but  I had plenty of carefree fun, I ate plenty of salads, I went on and got a college degree and now I have a beautiful life to show for it. I may be 30 but..

I wouldn’t trade my t-shirt and jeans life with my kids for all the glitter in the world.