It’s May. Already. Where the hell is this year going? Other than down the toilet (Thanks Trump!). May is Spring, May is new beginnings, May is the treasured month dedicated to Mothers. Or is it?
I’m Patricia. I’m the Mother of the infamous Rathgeber-Bruno Household. I go by Tricia. Only because of these three reasons:
- I’m named after my maternal grandmother and it’s super confusing if we BOTH go by Patricia,
- I hate being called Pat, Patty, Patrice, or any other form of my name that TOTALLY ages me some way,
- and lastly, because I fucking want to. That’s another thing; I’m a mom who curses (cusses, uses adult language, has a potty mouth, is rather blunt and unfiltered), a-fucking-lot. So if this offends you, maybe this isn’t the blog for you.
SO! To continue; I’m Tricia. I just turned 32 in January. I am from a bustling city Time Magazine calls “The #1 Ranked City of Suburbs Where Millennials are Moving”; *aka* Riverside, California. Now, I am considered a “millennial” but please, dear lord, don’t stereotype me–I swear I’m much more than a Starbucks-drinking-craft-beer hipster-connoisseur, who spends their life on Instagram. That’s ONLY part of who I am!
On April Fools Day, I just “celebrated” my 14th wedding anniversary. I’m married to the artist Derrick Rathgeber-Bruno. Maybe you’ve heard of him? If you’re from Riverside, you have.
Anyways, I air-quoted “celebrated” because by “celebrated” I mean I stayed home with the kids; cooking, cleaning and “recovering” after the (most difficult) birth (ever) of our 5th child (4th daughter). I didn’t get wined and dined. I didn’t get flowers. Or a gift (unless you count the priceless gift that is my colicky, chronically-starving, 5 weeks premature newborn daughter). I got aches, pains, stretch marks, saggy skin, cramps, postpartum bleeding, sore and cracked nipples, followed by all the responsibilities of being a SAHM. Derrick had to work, to provide, ’cause lord knows, children are HELLA more expensive than anniversaries.
And yes, you read that correctly; we have 5 children. Why do you think this blog is titled “Children, Cryin’, & Coffee”?
We have a range; we have a newborn (she’s 7 weeks), we have a preschooler, we have a first grader, we have a 4th grader and (ugh) a 7th grade teenager. Lord, help me.
The 4th grader is our only boy. He’s the spittin’ image of his father, when his father was his age.
So, yeah, there’s FOUR girls. Four sets (+ mine) of hormonal mood swings living in this house. And that’s not even the best part!
I live with mental illness.
And not your classic anxiety or depression; though those are legit and serious illnesses of the brain that deserve attention and empathy–especially validation! #EndTheStigma
I live with Schizoaffective Disorder; which is a fancy-short-handed way of squishing Bipolar Disorder Type 1 and Schizophrenia together into one cutely packaged diagnosis. My history with mental illness began decades ago–but I’ll delve into that a bit more in later posts.
For now this is just my Introduction Post; only giving you a small tapa-sized serving of my “crazy”. So, if you’re curious about how someone who’s been diagnosed as “Clinically Insane” (thanks psychosis!) who somehow still manages to be a wife AND MOTHER–then this is the blog for you!
I think that’s good for now. I’ll be back later–with a hodgepodge of a salad blend of stories–but for now, enjoy that appetizer, that is my intro! Bon appe’tit.