- P
- M
- K
Eight months ago, when I became a mother I learned two things. The first being that life speeds up tenfold when you’re trying to soak in as much of your baby as possible, and the second is that women, single mothers in particular, are the ultimate badasses. One person in particular is my sister, Laci. Countless nights have passed when I sat in a 4 am stupor wondering how in the hell my sister, a mere 18 months older than I, had managed to raise not one, but two babies and completely on her own at that. And these two babies are fast growing into boisterous young men.
For you to understand the superpower my sister, and so many other mothers I suspect, keeps so low key she hasn’t yet been recruited by Professor X, I have to take you over a decade back in time. Bear with me as I indulge you in a bit of family drama worthy of tabloids and Aunt Petunia’s upturned nose. It starts far back in Louisiana’s cliqued off high schools rampant with gossip and the first teen pregnancy of the year. My cheerleader sister was 16 and pregnant.
Laci had been dating the local long haired artist/ band member with mediocre artistic talent and, well as his 2007 AOL screen name put it, “dark damp eyes.” This was probably the first time she fell into a bad habbit of very bad men. Emotional, psychological abuse and manipulation and well as infidelity beyond the word’s definition ensued, naturally. I remember specifically plopping down to eat my lunch near the science hall, usually adjacent to my sister’s gang, to see her, belly slightly protruding past her American eagle jeans well into her second trimester, starring intensely at her frito pie- totally alone and abandoned. Like the Grinch of a little sister I was, my once cold heart suddenly grew 10 times that day, and I understood the power of my sister’s little heart.
Prior to her first son’s birth Laci had suffered the typical teenage angst, probably to a worse extreme than most. Her newborn love life had been a tragedy she likened to Romeo and Juliet’s. It, along with major concurrent family issues, lead her down a spiral of self-harm. Uneducated and desperate she managed in the only way she knew how. Pain. Still, she sought help. She sought education, she sought a way- as there always is one- to overcome and become stronger than those demons, the romantics so lovingly call them. She accepted her vulnerabilities, she accepted her shames, and she grew. And then Cayden was born and her hand stopped any harm, as they were now busy hoisting a baby boy about, playing peekaboo, and studying.
Can I explain to you the pride I felt as I witnessed my sister, once sick deep in herself, conquer and blossom? She juggled a little boy on her hip her senior year, managed to graduate, and continued to lead a relatively normal life. As you may have suspect, Cayden’s father was a present as snowstorms in Louisiana as was his court ordered child support, and still Laci trudged forward. Then, she met Sam.
Most people say trust your dog for they have an extra sense that far surpasses human. Well, my dog ****ing hated Sam. No matter how much time passed, no matter how many people she plopped belly up for, when this man arrived, her hair stood on end and growl from her ancestors escaped her curled lips. I believe their relationship began in 2009, though I could be a few months short; I have memories of him at my high school graduation.
Laci sure did love Sam… you now, when he wasn’t asking her to hide her son, degrading her postpartum body, insulting her human value, and deconstructing any self-image and worth she may have had for herself. By definition, you can assume him to a narcissist in the truest undiagnosed form. He found his insecure victim, drilled his roots deeper than in the Gulf of Mexico, and, boy oh boy, did her never let this one get away from stroking his ego. I won’t go into details that may land me a false defamation charge, but I will say for 5 years my sister had been strung along experiencing abuse in every form of the word. If you want to talk about toxic relationship, sit down for a cup of tea!
Amongst all this, and a few weeks short of a break up from said man’s infidelity, my sister found herself pregnant once again. Obviously, her mind immediately jumped to Cayden and how she could provide for him and another. I know I hold a very strong hand in persuading her of her ability to care for two children and still succeed. I was confident my sister was an incredible mother with enough love and laughter to drown the world, and by all means I was right. Laci missed none of Cayden’s baseball games, managed to have him eat his vegetables, and didn’t falter when she found herself once again, 9 months pregnant and abandoned by the father of her child. Though spaghetti and meatballs became a more regular meal, the mother that Laci was never faltered.
When Jameson was born in May of 2013, Laci solely breastfed him, rocked him to sleep and sang “Baby Mine,” more touchingly than Dumbo’s mother. That chunk of a baby never left her side, and I’m still not even sure Laci slept those first few years. I watched my sister heartedly celebrate each holiday to shame pinterest, attend every town family event she could, and play the part of mother and father so expertly she deserved an Oscar. All of this for her boys, so that they should never feel less of a family. With two boys, and two absent fathers, Laci attended school and became a dental assistant, cooked better than anyone else in our family, managed her depression, and even adopted a dog. My sister was Wonder Woman with a frying pan instead of a whip.
Anyone who’s spent time alone with children though, will know that after a day of a crying babe or nagging child you can’t wait for your co-parent to come through that door and give you some relief. You will also know how seeing your partner nurturing your child and how heartwarming seeing them present in a life memory is. After seeing Cayden pine for his father, Laci grew partial to excuse Sam for the sake of James. I won’t lie when I say she tried to make it work more than we advised, talked to him more than she should have, knew he was manipulating her and using her for his sexual needs with no interest beyond that. I believe the emotional abuse grew more extreme once the power of James came into play. The constant threats to take James from her for any reason because of his family’s financial advantage, use her mental illness against her despite her treatment and ongoing professional management, despite the decade that had passed from the worst of it were methods of controlling her. I will credit Sam in his skill, and discredit Laci in her blindness in wanting to give James his father despite her mental health.
Whatever she wanted, she wanted for her sons. To have someone to play ball with outside. To have someone to lift them on their shoulders during parades. To have someone to capture a precious moment that didn’t have to be a selfie between mother and son. For some reason she felt she wasn’t enough, that when she threw the ball they couldn’t catch it quite the same, or that for some reason her shoulders were too weak to bare their weight during the 18 wheeler parade on Fat Tuesday. But she’d done it all already, so why did she doubt? She’d done it all and her boys adored her and depended on her. They planned Disney trips together, they were regulars at the dog park, they chanted the “Bubbino” at Cayden’s baseball games, they ate guilty donuts on Sundays, cheered to snowballs at the Mandeville Lakefront, and snuggled down for Netflix movies in the evenings. Never once did it occur to anyone that the boys were in want of anything.
I believe the straw that tripped the camel in the first few days of December 2016, paired with my departure to South Korea and the current economic and political state of the world, was a constant tightening on Laci’s noose. Laci was promised to be a family again, touched inappropriately during visits, advanced upon romantically, and sexually used on the wings of such promises. And then called crazy and gas lighted into doubt and the victim of an emotional juggler. So finally, late one night after another 50+ hour work week, Laci, sleeping at our mother’s home, took one too many of her medications paired with alcohol and fell into a deep sleep where she confessed her exhaustion and the roaring of her monster even Newt Scamander would cower from.
Luckily, the winds took that storm quickly, and after receiving immediate psychiatric attention Laci rewoke. Her folly had tripped her, landed her face down in the mud, but she was able to stand up and wipe it away. And, how do you ask? When you’ve been tar and feathered by your own conscious and error? If you have a child you will know. When those deep needy eyes look into yours, confident in your ability, trusting in your choice, you know your purpose again. When chubby hands you developed in your womb and afterward grew from your body grasp yours to cross the street, you’re no longer worried about the ongoing traffic because you can look both ways and see what’s coming. Because across that street is the happiness your family deserves.
That’s what happened for my sister. Yes, for a moment she tripped over a fantasy that would never be, some Southern Living issue left forgotten on the ground. And now she sees. She began to move on and forward, faster and stronger than before. She enrolled in University once again to complete a degree in Engineering, worked on her self-confidence, cut unneeded toxic communication, and became bold. When she was approached again by the same methods she’d previous fallen for and refused to be victim of abuse just- as promised, she was robbed. Robbed of her mental and maternal accreditation, and worse of all, her son. And here is where I approach you.
If you’ve managed to hang in there and read all of this, allow me to bow deeply and beg for your help. Plead for your help to discredit the discrimination and stigma linked to mental disabilities in the family court system. Help to end personal bias when hard evidence objects towards it. The St. Tammany family court is renowned for its bias and decades old perception of parents with mental illness. My sister, Laci, suffers from depression, Yes. But that is but a small shard of the beautiful mosaic that she is. What is more vibrant is that Laci is an excellent mother, and desperately needed by her, not yet, 4 year old son. Since her hiccup 6 months ago, Laci has continually sought treatment and has progressed profoundly, with nothing but excellent remarks by her therapists.
She is amid a nasty custody battle that will cost the likes of $10,000 if not more to maintain joint custody of her son. Anyone who knows Laci, or has met James will know the incredible close bond the two of them share. Anyone who knows Laci, will know she has given the world for her children and will gladly give more. Please, if you have a dollar to spare, a Frappicino to pay forward, a bag of Cheetos you really don’t need, donate towards Laci today so that she can continue to fight. And next week, on her court ordered 8 hour weekly visit, when James asks if he can please, please go home with her she can tell him soon.
For you to understand the superpower my sister, and so many other mothers I suspect, keeps so low key she hasn’t yet been recruited by Professor X, I have to take you over a decade back in time. Bear with me as I indulge you in a bit of family drama worthy of tabloids and Aunt Petunia’s upturned nose. It starts far back in Louisiana’s cliqued off high schools rampant with gossip and the first teen pregnancy of the year. My cheerleader sister was 16 and pregnant.
Laci had been dating the local long haired artist/ band member with mediocre artistic talent and, well as his 2007 AOL screen name put it, “dark damp eyes.” This was probably the first time she fell into a bad habbit of very bad men. Emotional, psychological abuse and manipulation and well as infidelity beyond the word’s definition ensued, naturally. I remember specifically plopping down to eat my lunch near the science hall, usually adjacent to my sister’s gang, to see her, belly slightly protruding past her American eagle jeans well into her second trimester, starring intensely at her frito pie- totally alone and abandoned. Like the Grinch of a little sister I was, my once cold heart suddenly grew 10 times that day, and I understood the power of my sister’s little heart.
Prior to her first son’s birth Laci had suffered the typical teenage angst, probably to a worse extreme than most. Her newborn love life had been a tragedy she likened to Romeo and Juliet’s. It, along with major concurrent family issues, lead her down a spiral of self-harm. Uneducated and desperate she managed in the only way she knew how. Pain. Still, she sought help. She sought education, she sought a way- as there always is one- to overcome and become stronger than those demons, the romantics so lovingly call them. She accepted her vulnerabilities, she accepted her shames, and she grew. And then Cayden was born and her hand stopped any harm, as they were now busy hoisting a baby boy about, playing peekaboo, and studying.
Can I explain to you the pride I felt as I witnessed my sister, once sick deep in herself, conquer and blossom? She juggled a little boy on her hip her senior year, managed to graduate, and continued to lead a relatively normal life. As you may have suspect, Cayden’s father was a present as snowstorms in Louisiana as was his court ordered child support, and still Laci trudged forward. Then, she met Sam.
Most people say trust your dog for they have an extra sense that far surpasses human. Well, my dog ****ing hated Sam. No matter how much time passed, no matter how many people she plopped belly up for, when this man arrived, her hair stood on end and growl from her ancestors escaped her curled lips. I believe their relationship began in 2009, though I could be a few months short; I have memories of him at my high school graduation.
Laci sure did love Sam… you now, when he wasn’t asking her to hide her son, degrading her postpartum body, insulting her human value, and deconstructing any self-image and worth she may have had for herself. By definition, you can assume him to a narcissist in the truest undiagnosed form. He found his insecure victim, drilled his roots deeper than in the Gulf of Mexico, and, boy oh boy, did her never let this one get away from stroking his ego. I won’t go into details that may land me a false defamation charge, but I will say for 5 years my sister had been strung along experiencing abuse in every form of the word. If you want to talk about toxic relationship, sit down for a cup of tea!
Amongst all this, and a few weeks short of a break up from said man’s infidelity, my sister found herself pregnant once again. Obviously, her mind immediately jumped to Cayden and how she could provide for him and another. I know I hold a very strong hand in persuading her of her ability to care for two children and still succeed. I was confident my sister was an incredible mother with enough love and laughter to drown the world, and by all means I was right. Laci missed none of Cayden’s baseball games, managed to have him eat his vegetables, and didn’t falter when she found herself once again, 9 months pregnant and abandoned by the father of her child. Though spaghetti and meatballs became a more regular meal, the mother that Laci was never faltered.
When Jameson was born in May of 2013, Laci solely breastfed him, rocked him to sleep and sang “Baby Mine,” more touchingly than Dumbo’s mother. That chunk of a baby never left her side, and I’m still not even sure Laci slept those first few years. I watched my sister heartedly celebrate each holiday to shame pinterest, attend every town family event she could, and play the part of mother and father so expertly she deserved an Oscar. All of this for her boys, so that they should never feel less of a family. With two boys, and two absent fathers, Laci attended school and became a dental assistant, cooked better than anyone else in our family, managed her depression, and even adopted a dog. My sister was Wonder Woman with a frying pan instead of a whip.
Anyone who’s spent time alone with children though, will know that after a day of a crying babe or nagging child you can’t wait for your co-parent to come through that door and give you some relief. You will also know how seeing your partner nurturing your child and how heartwarming seeing them present in a life memory is. After seeing Cayden pine for his father, Laci grew partial to excuse Sam for the sake of James. I won’t lie when I say she tried to make it work more than we advised, talked to him more than she should have, knew he was manipulating her and using her for his sexual needs with no interest beyond that. I believe the emotional abuse grew more extreme once the power of James came into play. The constant threats to take James from her for any reason because of his family’s financial advantage, use her mental illness against her despite her treatment and ongoing professional management, despite the decade that had passed from the worst of it were methods of controlling her. I will credit Sam in his skill, and discredit Laci in her blindness in wanting to give James his father despite her mental health.
Whatever she wanted, she wanted for her sons. To have someone to play ball with outside. To have someone to lift them on their shoulders during parades. To have someone to capture a precious moment that didn’t have to be a selfie between mother and son. For some reason she felt she wasn’t enough, that when she threw the ball they couldn’t catch it quite the same, or that for some reason her shoulders were too weak to bare their weight during the 18 wheeler parade on Fat Tuesday. But she’d done it all already, so why did she doubt? She’d done it all and her boys adored her and depended on her. They planned Disney trips together, they were regulars at the dog park, they chanted the “Bubbino” at Cayden’s baseball games, they ate guilty donuts on Sundays, cheered to snowballs at the Mandeville Lakefront, and snuggled down for Netflix movies in the evenings. Never once did it occur to anyone that the boys were in want of anything.
I believe the straw that tripped the camel in the first few days of December 2016, paired with my departure to South Korea and the current economic and political state of the world, was a constant tightening on Laci’s noose. Laci was promised to be a family again, touched inappropriately during visits, advanced upon romantically, and sexually used on the wings of such promises. And then called crazy and gas lighted into doubt and the victim of an emotional juggler. So finally, late one night after another 50+ hour work week, Laci, sleeping at our mother’s home, took one too many of her medications paired with alcohol and fell into a deep sleep where she confessed her exhaustion and the roaring of her monster even Newt Scamander would cower from.
Luckily, the winds took that storm quickly, and after receiving immediate psychiatric attention Laci rewoke. Her folly had tripped her, landed her face down in the mud, but she was able to stand up and wipe it away. And, how do you ask? When you’ve been tar and feathered by your own conscious and error? If you have a child you will know. When those deep needy eyes look into yours, confident in your ability, trusting in your choice, you know your purpose again. When chubby hands you developed in your womb and afterward grew from your body grasp yours to cross the street, you’re no longer worried about the ongoing traffic because you can look both ways and see what’s coming. Because across that street is the happiness your family deserves.
That’s what happened for my sister. Yes, for a moment she tripped over a fantasy that would never be, some Southern Living issue left forgotten on the ground. And now she sees. She began to move on and forward, faster and stronger than before. She enrolled in University once again to complete a degree in Engineering, worked on her self-confidence, cut unneeded toxic communication, and became bold. When she was approached again by the same methods she’d previous fallen for and refused to be victim of abuse just- as promised, she was robbed. Robbed of her mental and maternal accreditation, and worse of all, her son. And here is where I approach you.
If you’ve managed to hang in there and read all of this, allow me to bow deeply and beg for your help. Plead for your help to discredit the discrimination and stigma linked to mental disabilities in the family court system. Help to end personal bias when hard evidence objects towards it. The St. Tammany family court is renowned for its bias and decades old perception of parents with mental illness. My sister, Laci, suffers from depression, Yes. But that is but a small shard of the beautiful mosaic that she is. What is more vibrant is that Laci is an excellent mother, and desperately needed by her, not yet, 4 year old son. Since her hiccup 6 months ago, Laci has continually sought treatment and has progressed profoundly, with nothing but excellent remarks by her therapists.
She is amid a nasty custody battle that will cost the likes of $10,000 if not more to maintain joint custody of her son. Anyone who knows Laci, or has met James will know the incredible close bond the two of them share. Anyone who knows Laci, will know she has given the world for her children and will gladly give more. Please, if you have a dollar to spare, a Frappicino to pay forward, a bag of Cheetos you really don’t need, donate towards Laci today so that she can continue to fight. And next week, on her court ordered 8 hour weekly visit, when James asks if he can please, please go home with her she can tell him soon.
Organizer and beneficiary
Laci Rodriguez
Beneficiary