Ramblings about Privilege and Parenthood

I just spent the morning talking with my partner’s mother. We have so much in common but we’re two very different people from very different backgrounds. She was raised in a life of privilege where she wanted for nothing and was always cared for. However, her father made her work for the things he provided and it built her character and work ethic. I was raised always wanting for something. Maybe we would have food but my mom was never home between work and her drug habit. Or maybe she was with myself and my siblings more but we were living in a battered women and children’s shelter and were struggling to get by. Sometimes she was just gone and there was no food, no stability, and no love. What’s worse is who she chose to involve in her life. I always had a roof over my head but I had to fear who would sneak into my bedroom in the middle of the night or worry that what got me yelled at yesterday would get my arm broken today. By 14 I was completely on my own. I always knew no one would ever pay for me to go to college. I knew I would have to work for every single thing I wanted in life. I knew I came from nothing and would be given nothing. I always saw these kids who had their college paid for and a job lined up with daddy as being so lucky and so ungrateful. I knew so many kids who were literally given a college education and they spent it getting shitfaced. I knew kids who were given houses, cars, jobs, everything, and they didn’t take care of any of it. They took it for granted. And I always wished I was one of them. That someone would just give me the chance and pay for my college or help me get on my feet so I could succeed. But I knew it would never happen. I knew I had to get it for myself. It felt like I started 5 steps behind and was severely disadvantaged and spent my childhood/teenage years playing catch up. While most kids are still living at home spending mommy and daddy’s money and getting everything paid for I was paying for my life and trying to pay for college. Alas, it’s next to impossible to pay for college tuition and pass your classes whilst also paying for a car, insurance, an apartment, and food. It’s very difficult to maintain working three jobs to support all of those things and then still finding time to go to class and study. College was never a viable option for me. You simply can’t raise yourself and pay for school out of pocket and work all at the same time and expect to make it with no support. It was just too much. I was sleeping for a half hour in my car between classes and work shifts. It would’ve taken me ages to finish school and all the while I would been falling further and further into debt because of loans, so I dropped out. I learned trades. I did whatever I could to keep my head above water. My mother always depended on a man to help her with the bills even though she had a nursing degree. She did put herself through nursing school with two kids and I will give her credit for that; but that was not how she lived the rest of her life. She never learned how to just be alone, in her own skin, on her own two feet and those feet alone. She always depended on someone else to help her.

I don’t want to be that. I want to be a self-made woman. I haven’t made it incredibly far in life as far as education and career is concerned; but I have overcome impossible odds. I know a few kids who grew up like me, endured things like me, and survived…but they’re sucking dick on K&A for a bag, getting beat by their 6th baby daddy, or they’re dead. Most of them are dead. If they’re not dead, they’re not all there in the head. I am. I was given this indomitable spirit that helped me survive. But now I want to provide better for my children than what was given to me. I’ll never hand them everything because that will serve no purpose other than to make them spoiled, entitled, and ungrateful. They will work for what they are given. They will learn work ethic, they will be taught to have drive and ambition. They will have character. I won’t let them become entitled little brats. But first, I have to figure out how I’m going to get this life for myself where I will be able to provide college for them. I have a good job that I love but I won’t be able to pay tuition with it. I won’t be able to give my kids the opportunities I never had with it. I have to strive for more. I have to be more and work harder. And I’m going to. I will not sit around and wait for someone to give it to me because it will never happen. Now I just have to figure out how to get from where I am to where I want to be. If I can just find the right way up, it will be okay. I just haven’t quite found it yet. But unlike some, I have the drive to work for it. So I guess maybe I am privileged in that way. My mother-in-law says that I’ll find later on in life that I’m lucky to have grown up the way I did. Granted, she doesn’t know even quarter of it. But she seems to think that my lack of an entitlement complex and my drive to make something of myself makes me luckier than the kids who are given all the opportunity with none of the tools. I have the tools. I just need to make my own opportunities. They say, “The grass always seems greener on the other side.” Who knows? Maybe I did make out and I just have to find a way to work with it….

by Ashley Hebner

© All Rights Reserved 2016

The Eptiome of Peace

I’m truly blessed today to be sitting in a lovely rocking chair on the balcony my in-laws beach house. Their property overlooks protected land consisting of acres of green grass and marshland. At night it’s so dark that you can see what seems like every star in the sky. It’s a beautiful sight. The air is that perfect temperature of warm while still being breezy and refreshing. The birds are chirping and singing. My family is inside, all doing their own things. I’ve just realized I forgot my coffee however, and I’m not pleased about that. But I’ve found that perfect spot. I’m right where I want to be in my chair (nothing’s going numb), my laptop is perfectly propped on a pillow in my lap, and I’m comfortable. Fuck it, I’ll have to live without the coffee.

Anyway, we came out to the shore house for Memorial Day weekend. It’s 2 blocks from the beach in Ocean City, New Jersey and it’s quite peaceful. I have really, really, really needed this vacation. Life has become a whirlwind of being overworked, underpaid, and over stressed. I have so many things to be grateful for and I am, but I would kill to be able to sit down and slow down more often. I haven’t been able to write anywhere near as often as I want to and I find myself getting snippy and nasty. It’s not cool. I’m really a bit of twat sometimes. Seriously. Just ask the man who has to live with me. I’m easier than some people though; meaning that if you give me good food, I’m pretty much happy.

Today is a happy day though without frustration or work or stress. We have Ladybug (my stepdaughter) whom I absolutely adore and she’s been a ball of joy all day with her cute little sentences and big curious eyes. She’s the most beautiful and well tempered child I’ve ever known. She’s almost always happy and even when she does get upset it doesn’t last very long. She rarely throws temper tantrums and she’s incredibly loving. I’m blessed to have this little girl in my life. She’s in the other room falling asleep currently while I sit here utterly grateful for how much this place is just the epitome of peace. We spent the morning at the beach playing in the sand since the water is still so cold it’s basically equivalent to the seventh gate of hell. Then we came back for lunch and are now just relaxing. My other half and his father are back at the beach getting all of our stuff, my mother-in-law is somewhere doing her own thing, and I’m writing this to you. Just a short little piece about this place that will hopefully serve the purpose of getting the creative juices flowing…which sounds a bit gross at the moment. But for now, that’s all I have. Enjoy the picture; I think I’m going to go take a nap. The exhaustion is real these days lol. Toddlers have it right man. Eat often, sleep a lot, and have other people wipe your ass. Not a bad way to live if you ask me. 🙂

by Ashley Hebner

© All Rights Reserved 2016

DO NOT Touch The Belly!

Pregnancy. The gift of life. The duty and honor of raising a child. Something I believe to be one of the purest, most beautiful things that can happen to a woman. Feeling that baby kick inside your belly, knowing that you’re growing a life within you. That’s something that they just don’t make words for. Even the people around pregnant women tend to get smiles on their faces as they imagine beautiful newborns who smell just like “baby” and Johnson & Johnson shampoo. Pregnancy draws people in, making them curious with questions and leaving them wanting to be a part of something magical. Even if it’s just to ask a woman her due date or the gender of her baby, they can’t help but want to know. But why? I’m talking about complete strangers who are in no way effected by the gender of this woman’s baby or when it’s due. What makes them so curious? We are attracted to the beautiful, the innocent, the pure. We see something incredible and we can’t help but want to be a part of it. This is a magical thing.

But, what happens when the line is crossed? There’s really nothing wrong with asking a pregnant woman when she’s due (so long as you’re absolutely sure she’s actually pregnant). There’s nothing wrong with being curious about the gender of the baby. That does not however make it appropriate to reach out and touch that poor pregnant woman’s unsuspecting stomach. Yes ladies and gentlemen, that is the topic of this post. I realize this has been examined and discussed to death but I can’t help wanting to add my two cents. There’s something about a woman being pregnant that seems to make people think they have the right to touch a stranger. I have read multiple articles and discussion forums about this and to be honest, the comments seriously fucking worry me. You would be amazed how many people, even women, told the person complaining about it to “stop being selfish”, “stop being a bitch”, or to “stop robbing people of the joy of experiencing a baby kicking”. I’m sorry… maybe I missed something here, but that baby that’s kicking? IT’S INSIDE OF ANOTHER HUMAN BEING WHO HAS A VOICE TO EXPRESS WHETHER OR NOT SHE WANTS TO BE TOUCHED!!!!

I realize how excited people (even strangers) get when they see a woman carrying another life inside her. Especially other women who may have children of their own or perhaps aren’t able to have children at all. However, at the bare minimum, you should at least ask. Not only are you touching a complete stranger’s body, you are touching her child. Her literal flesh and blood. How would you feel if someone walked up to your child in the mall and just started rubbing his/her head? Probably a little freaked out, maybe enraged, or perhaps mama/papa bear protective? That’s because we are protective of our offspring. A pregnant woman (especially one who’s close to giving birth) is obviously more vulnerable than she normally would be. She can’t move as fast, fight as hard, or be as aggressive as she normally would be if she felt threatened. So when you touch her (which by the way, is threatening) you are showing aggressive behavior (whether innocent or not) to a person who is already in a vulnerable position. So, should she reach out and smack your hand or start rubbing your belly in return, you had it coming! People do this without even thinking twice and that is the problem, they don’t think! Or worse yet, they see nothing wrong with it. Judging by the number of uncomfortable reactions pregnant women say they’ve gotten when they rubbed a stranger’s stomach in return, I’m going to guess this isn’t too hard of a concept to understand. Pregnant or not, it is not okay to touch a woman anywhere that she didn’t give you direct permission to. It is in no way different from walking up to any woman in a shopping mall and rubbing her very not pregnant belly. A baby makes no difference to the level of inappropriateness. Sure the baby makes you want to touch the woman more, but it doesn’t give you any right to.

The fact that we live in a society that thinks pregnant women are being bitchy or too sensitive because they don’t want a stranger to touch their stomach, a body part that’s very close to their genitals and is inherently a sensitive region, is disgusting. The idea that pregnancy makes a woman public property literally makes me nauseous. The fact that men take part in this uninvited rubbing as well as women is a bit frightening. Even in my wildest imagination I can’t comprehend what it’s like to walk up to a complete stranger and touch not only their belly, but their baby, without any invitation or forewarning. I would simply never, ever do that. It’s just completely inappropriate, wildly disrespectful, and obviously invasive. Have some respect people. Smile sweetly, don’t reach your hand out, engage in a conversation that doesn’t involve questions like “Do internal ultrasounds hurt?”, and MAYBE that woman won’t become immediately defensive just because you walked within 3 feet of her. You never know someone’s history. Even if you completely ignore the fact that its inappropriate to start with you still have to consider that this woman may be a sexual abuse or rape survivor. For all you know that baby exists because she was raped and you just walked up and touched her without her permission. I realize that may be a harsh example but the sad truth is that it has absolutely happened to multiple people.

Think before you act. A pregnant belly is not a “Touch Me” sign. A woman’s body is not your playground. If you’re one of the people who thinks this isn’t a big deal then I challenge you to think about how you would feel if I walked up to you in front of a bunch of strangers and started rubbing your belly whilst smiling at you or maybe talking to your stomach, not your face. Some people would say “It’s different, I’m not pregnant”; to which I would reply “So it’s not okay for me to touch your stomach, a part of you that’s not exactly sexual but you can touch someone else’s child?” A stomach is hardly as grave a faux pas as a child, a human being, right? If you wouldn’t walk up and touch a woman who isn’t pregnant and you wouldn’t touch someone else’s child then don’t touch the belly!

I apologize for the rant but this really disturbs me. It’s not okay and the fact that women are attacked for saying what they are and are not okay with happening to their own bodies just shows another one of the big problems in our society today. It’s just another example of how women are expected to smile sweetly and not object to something that makes them feel violated and uncomfortable. It’s another way that our wants, our needs, and our rights (like to personal space), are not respected. Well, let me be the first to say, should a stranger ever touch my stomach without asking or after I’ve already asked them not to, I can and will punch them directly in the face, promptly.

by Ashley Hebner

© All Rights Reserved 2016

Marriage: What’s It Really Worth?

What is a marriage certificate really worth? Lately it has come to my attention that some people think the union of two people is not valid unless they are married. These people see this to be especially true once a child is involved. Obviously, most people who believe this are highly religious. Personally I don’t understand the sentiment. Yes, I would some day love to be married to the person whom I’m currently in a relationship with but, I don’t think that changes our relationship in anyway. It legally binds us and adds me to his health insurance but my commitment to him? That DOES NOT come from a piece of paper; it comes from my heart. Just as his commitment to me comes from his heart. When Christianity and Catholicism first started there wasn’t a way to legally marry your significant other. It was a vow two people made to each other. A promise. I already have that. So why is it that our children will be born at the wrong time if they happen to be born before we’re married? Why is that so wrong?

Maybe I’m coming from a different place than most when it comes to this topic but I have personally seen the horrible circumstances that marriage can bring (sometimes). I’ve seen people stay married and continue on in unhealthy, unloving relationships because they were told that “marriage is forever” and that “you have to stay together for the kids”. I’ve also seen those children grow up to pick partners who didn’t really love them or who weren’t good enough for them. I’ve seen children witness years and years of abuse between their parents because they chose to stay together long past their relationship’s expiration date. I’ve seen various men and women be forced into continuing the legal side of a marriage because the other person wouldn’t give them a divorce. I fail to see why someone would force another person to stay legally bound to them when that person doesn’t love or want them anymore but hey, who am I to judge?

My point is this, while I do value marriage and believe in it, I do not believe that it makes the bond between two people any more valid than it was before. Sure you’re making a commitment to them but am I old-fashioned for thinking that my agreeing to spend my life with you beforehand didn’t also serve the same purpose? For me personally, my commitment to a person comes from my heart, my spirit, my promises; not a piece of paper that any two people can walk into a courthouse and get signed on any given day. And because I believe this, I see no problem with conceiving or raising children out of wedlock. Marriage, to me, is a piece of paper that says what my heart has already felt, what my soul has already committed to, and what my voice has already expressed; but it changes nothing except the legality of it all. So again, just to be clear, I have nothing against marriage. But I do have a problem with people thinking that two people are doing their child a disservice by not getting married before they conceive. I have an issue with an innocent child being referred to as a “bastard” because their parents don’t have a piece of paper. Now I realize that marriage is not just a piece of paper in the eyes of religion but I whole-heartedly believe that my God sees my commitment and my love to my partner even without that piece of paper. In the beginning, before courts and marriage certificates and (big surprise) money became involved, all that existed was the lifelong commitment two people made to each other. I don’t need a piece of paper to prove that to me and I think that my God sees my commitment to my partner as being much more important than the ceremony and legality of a marriage. Am I alone on this?

by Ashley Hebner

© All Rights Reserved 2016

Innocence

At what point in life does innocence die?

The first time we hurt or the first time we cry?

Is it the gradual death of a million forced smiles,

that all eventually build up in their time?

Or is this loss just a thing that occurs,

Another part of life,

with no need for concern?

If that’s the case why can most of us tell,

when someone has crossed into the next realm?

What is it we see, that highlights the difference between innocence and aging?

Is it something under the surface that slowly changes?

Do we recognize that the illusions are fading?

Is it the damage that we’ve all taken,

or the inevitable consequence that comes with aging?

Is wisdom worth this innocence breaking?

And what is the opposite of this innocence?

It isn’t guilt,

just a loss of ignorance.

We become aware,

of all our surroundings.

The good, the bad, the ever outstanding.

Innocence is innocent because it’s ignorant,

with facts come pain,

and recognition of stimulus.

It’s not necessarily always a bad thing,

but once it’s acknowledged, it can’t be unseen.

That’s why that light disappears from our eyes,

To make enough room for the rest of our lives.

I don’t think innocence can be maintained,

Life’s too violent not to taint. 

by Ashley Hebner

© All Rights Reserved 2016

Addicts ARE People Too!

“They deserve to die. It’ll teach them a lesson. They have to be held accountable for their actions. They’re all scum bags. They shouldn’t get medications for the withdrawal; let them suffer. Fuck them. Ew. They’re not real people.”

As many of you know, drugs (specifically heroin), are killing more people today than probably ever before. Statistics say that there isn’t one person who isn’t somehow connected to a drug addict, whether by blood or some other relation. The days of thinking drug addicts are dirty junkies living under the bridge with a needle in their arm are over. We (addicts) are your children, your waitress, your accountant, your school bus driver, your lawyer, your tattoo artist, your doctor. We come from amazing homes full of love where we want for nothing. We came from crack houses and lives riddled with abuse and poverty. We went to Ivy League schools. We dropped out in 9th grade. We’re hardened criminals. We’ve never been to jail or gotten so much as a parking ticket. 

We are everyone, everywhere. 

Addiction DOES NOT discriminate. 

Those sentences I wrote at the top are things I’ve heard or read in reference to addicts in the last week. There is still so much stigma attached to addiction that many people think we’re less-than-human and deserve to die. They think Suboxone and Methadone programs are an easy way out. They think that stopping an addict from dying by shooting them full of Narcan is preventing them from “dealing with the consequences of their actions”. I’ve never heard of anyone learning a lesson after they’ve died but hey, certain members of society think it’s possible. 

While this current trend of anger and resentment against the disease of addiction is understandable, it’s also alarming. It’s very easy to forget that that “piece of shit drug addict” is also a human being, someone’s baby, someone’s partner, someone’s parent. They’re another real person who feels pain, happiness, agony, sympathy, fear, and hopelessness. 

It seems to me that the common thread among those who hate addicts is that they also believe addiction is something you choose. I’ve argued this before and I’m sure I will for many posts to come. Does a person make the choice to take that first drug? Yes. Haven’t you? Have you ever smoked a joint in the locker room in middle or high school? Have you ever had a beer with friends? Maybe tried a little coke at a party? See that’s how “that first high” happens 90% of the time. It’s some young person just trying something for the first time. For those of us who have a predisposition to addiction that first high creates a phenomenon in our minds. It’s like we’ve finally found the answer to that hole in our souls. Many addicts report always feeling an emptiness inside them that they just couldn’t find an answer for. Drugs numb that aching hole. Some of us were looking for a reprieve from mental illnesses like depression, anxiety, or bipolar. Some of us were raised by addicts and saw this as the “normal thing to do”. Some of us were looking for a mental escape from abusive homes, bullying, loneliness, stress. Like I stated before, addiction does not discriminate. It happens to every shape, kind, class, and color of person. 

When we act as if addicts are just a cancer to society we dehumanize them. We turn them into the sick or rabid dog that needs to be dragged out back and shot. We turn them into objects, afflictions, things, “less-than-human”. And when we do this, when we strip away a hurting soul’s humanity, we also give away a piece of ours. 

I saw a police officer openly admit on Facebook that when they report to overdoses they would rather hang out and “tie their boots” than administer the Narcan that could save the addict’s life. Their reasoning was that so long as we use Narcan on addicts they are not truly “paying the consequences of their actions”. But I have to wonder, what has happened to us as people, if we’re okay with sitting back and watching someone die? Do some of us only become police officers to help the ones that we like or deem worthy? Do addicts somehow rate as being “less than” or subhuman? I have to wonder what kind of person would sit back and watch another human being die while that addict’s saving grace is literally in their hands. They may be addicts. They may have overdosed many times before and not learned their lesson BUT, that is not our call to make. 

There is no way of knowing if “this time” will be the “last time they use”. Maybe that last overdose will be the thing to push them to get clean. Maybe it will scare them just a little bit more last one. Maybe getting shot full of Narcan by that police officer who hates them will be the one thing that saves their life. Maybe they’ll catch a charge and be put in a jail or institution that gets them clean. Maybe someone saving them will actually save them. Who are we to take that away? Who are we to decide who gets to live and die?

We are not gods. If we were, addicts wouldn’t exist. 

It’s always been easy to judge those who don’t live the same way that we do; it’s the human condition. We can only ever see things from our own perspective. So for a healthy person or police officer it must be impossible to understand why a heroin addict uses. But, we have to consider the fact that all of us have things about us that other people don’t and maybe can’t understand. And we all have an addiction of some kind whether it’s heroin, sex, work, or cleaning. The difference is, no one is going to let you die because of the bad choices that you’ve made. So why should addicts die for theirs? If they die as a natural result of their addiction then that’s on them but someone sitting back and letting them die? Now that is less than human. 


Being mean and saying “let them all die” is not tough love. It’s not the hard choice. It’s the easy way out. It’s swiping the problem under the rug and pretending it will go away. Many of these people who condemn addiction do absolutely nothing to educate themselves or even better, the public at large. They don’t donate money or time to rehabs. They don’t try to reach out and help the next person. They’re just full of hate. 

I understand what it’s like firsthand to be the victim of someone else’s addiction. I know the darkness that that can breed inside of your heart. I know what it’s like to put your faith in someone who disappoints you time and time again. I however chose to blame the drug. The person is sick. I’ve seen people who truly did not want to use drugs ever again use them because they didn’t know any other way and their brains have been rewired to tell them that it’s the only choice. I’ve seen people who knew that they were going to go to jail or lose their children if they got high again and they used anyway, even in the face of those consequences. This is not some logical thing that you can categorize as good or evil, light or dark. It’s a disease. A disease that effects the best and the worst of us. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy and if you’ve read my other work you’ll understand how big of a statement that is for me.

All I’m trying to say here is that we need to stop letting the stigma attached to addiction push us towards being uncompassionate and hateful people. The drunk guy begging for change outside the gas station is no different than your 17 year old popping Percocet to get through the state volleyball championship. The junkie shooting dope under the bridge is no different than the highest powered CEO on Wall Street sneaking away from meetings to hit his crack pipe. We are no different than you. You are surrounded by us, served by us, married to us, parenting us. All we are is a collection of beautifully unique souls put in this place to accomplish something and the addict is just as much a part of that as the priest is. Stop letting the ignorance and fear and pain control you. Don’t let it turn you into a nasty person. Cause I’ll tell you something, I’d let a junkie into my home long before someone who watched another person die when they could’ve stopped it. THAT is in humane. THAT is cruel. And it is outright insane to think that we should have a say in who lives and dies. 

If that addict, any addict, was your child, your sibling, your best friend, or your parent, how differently would you treat them? Would you hope someone said those nasty things about them? Would you be okay with a cop letting them die? Would you view them in the same way you view other addicts? 

WE ARE ALL PEOPLE, so long as we don’t lose sight of that. When we start viewing our fellow human beings as nothing more than wastes of space and sacks of meat we have become savages. 

by Ashley Hebner

© All Rights Reserved 2016

I Don’t Have All the Answers

I don’t have all the answers. I never have. However, a lot of people in my life seem to think I do. I’m not sure if this comes from them thinking I somehow know more than them because of the vast amount of life experience I have or if it’s just the opinion that my demeanor inspires. Who knows? But I’ve noticed the common thread over the years. Whatever the reason, I don’t allow people to think I know everything, because I don’t and I never will. So long as I realize that and stay open-minded I’ll remain teachable and that is an invaluable asset.

Nothing is worse than the person that you can’t say anything to because “they already know everything”. Ego and self importance are the killers of growth. We can’t evolve without humility and the open-mindedness to learn new things. If we don’t possess these qualities then occasionally life will beat a lesson into us. I’ve seen this happen just as much. Someone refuses to learn or grow, they know it all and can’t be told anything. Then a lesson they desperately need to learn is taught to them the hard way. I’ve been this guy before. It is not a good time. Life is much easier if lived with humility and open-mindedness. The ability to hear other’s ideas and thoughts and apply them to your own life with the intention of bettering it… That is an ability I admire greatly. I have much more respect for these people than those that think they know better than anyone else. Even when life proves them wrong time and time again, they hold onto to their ego like a warm blanket of disillusionment.  If you want to learn from other’s mistakes instead of your own then remaining teachable and open to criticism and taking suggestions is the way to do it.

It’s not always easy to hear other people’s suggestions for our lives or any given situation. It’s not always fun to admit that alone, we don’t know much. Even the most intelligent among us have a world of things they could learn. Recognizing this and embracing it gives us room to grow. As a child I wouldn’t let anyone teach or tell me anything. I was so jaded by life already that I wanted nothing to do with bettering it. My stubbornness came from a place in me where I truly believed that my life would always be horrible. Being as it’s Mother’s Day, I’m naturally going to write about my mommy. She was the person who taught me to be teachable (Ironic right?). She watched (and let) life whip my ass multiple times so that I could learn to grow through it and gain a little humility. After this happened she was always there to give me the life lesson and/or suggestions I so obviously needed. Over the years I learned that I needed to apply her wisdom to my life if I didn’t want to constantly get the shit kicked out of me by life.  So I started listening. I took suggestions, I tried new things. I grew and matured and developed. Now I know that being teachable is the most valuable asset a person can have or in my case, learn. That’s just my humble opinion of course, but I believe many would agree with me.  I respect those who are open-minded and willing to learn and grow above most others. I think it takes balls to say you don’t know shit and to practice the willingness to listen to others. That is worthy of respect. Again, just my opinion. What do ya’ll think?

To all the Mothers out there including my own:

YOU ARE LOVED. YOU ARE IMPORTANT. YOU ARE THE BRINGERS OF LIFE AND THE TEACHERS OF CHILDREN. I AM GRATEFUL TO YOU ALL. MOMMY, I LOVE YOU. I AM ALIVE AND WELL BECAUSE OF YOU.

by Ashley Hebner

© All Rights Reserved 2016

Garlic Shrimp Pasta with A Kick!

I didn’t particularly plan to post recipes on this blog but I am secretly a bit of a foodie and I love finding/developing really good food that’s easy to make. This is a recipe I developed when I was on a HUGE garlic and pasta kick. I’m always on a garlic kick honestly, but that month I was allll about the pasta too. 

So, Garlic Shrimp Pasta with A Kick! Fuck yes! Seriously, it’s bloody delicious, pretty inexpensive, and makes you seem like a master chef with a minimal amount of work. How could this get better? That’s right! It couldn’t. Oh wait! For those of you who have a gluten allergy/intolerance you can easily trade out the wheat pasta for a gluten free version such as Barilla (which tastes more like regular pasta than any other brand). Now it can’t get better. Mostly because I’m awesome. Moving forward… You will need:

•3/4 box of any pasta. I recommend a spaghetti (thin, thick, rigati, doesn’t matter), farfalle, or rotini. Penne and ziti are a little too much for the aglio e oilo sauce. ~Aglia e olio is just a fancy pants way of saying garlic, olive oil, and parsley. 

•3T of salted butter (unsalted is okay but you’ll have to compensate with more salt). 

•3T of olive oil (any kind is okay, I use extra virgin). 

•5-6 cloves of fresh garlic

•Parmigiano Reggiano cheese (you really should use this kind of Parmesan for its subtle nutty flavor. Shitty shaker Parmesan will not taste the same and Pecorino Romano is too pungent in my humble opinion). 

•1tsp. of salt

•1/4tsp. of black pepper (I use normal table pepper but freshly cracked would be fantastic). 

•1/16tsp. of ground (cayenne) red pepper. I highly recommend ground over flakes as you don’t end up chewing on chunks. This is optional and adds just the smallest kick that really rounds out the flavor. You can taste the flavor without needing to guzzle water like a triathlon participant. 

•1/4tsp. of garlic powder (We’re double garlicking motha fuckas!!!)

•1/4tsp. of dried parsley. 

•16-20 medium shrimp (Mine were a bit small so I used a few more)

•A dash of fucking awesome 

Alright first things first put a large pot of salted water on to boil…

Then you need to peel, crush, and mince your garlic into fine little bits. I can’t speak for all my fellow garlic lovers but I am not a fan of biting into a giant chunk of garlic. So, we mince. Crushing the garlic beforehand helps the mincing process along…

Then we put our 3 tablespoons of butter and 3 tablespoons of olive oil into a nonstick pan and turn it to medium heat.

You only want to heat it until the butter is melted and bubbling a little bit. Then we add our garlic and all the seasonings except the parsley…

Stir all of those delicious spices in, put the paste in the water, and add your shrimpies :)🍤

You want them in one even layer. You’re only going to flip them once. You want to cook them until you can see the pink coming up around the sides from underneath like the photo below. When you see this, flip those little fuckers over!

Finish cooking the shrimp until they’re pink on all sides with no grey or translucent parts. But be careful not to overcook them or you’ll have rubbery shrimp 🤐 Grate some of that Parmigiano Reggiano on top and stir it in…
Look at that delicious shit all cooked down in its buttery, garlicky, sexpotness!! (You can never have too many photos of shrimp. It’s just a life fact.)

At this point your pasta should be done. If it’s not, turn the shrimp to the lowest heat setting to prevent overcooking. Once your pasta is done (al dente of course) drain it and add your shrimp with all of its saucey goodness. Should look a little something like this…

Mix it up, grate more of that amazing cheese into it (just enough to coat the top like so)…

Now… TASTE TEST! Different pastas seem to suck up the salt differently. So taste it and see if you need to add a little more salt. If you don’t want to add too much, use the cheese. It has a natural saltiness. Then add the parsley, serve it up, and garnish with more cheese (obviously). 

Trust me, you won’t regret this. When I first came up with it I ate it 4-5 times a week for a few weeks. Played with it, fine tuned, etc. Now it is incredible and easy enough for you to make at home for your wife, husband, friends, or just yourself. It takes about 20 minutes. Enjoy!!

by Ashley Hebner

© All Rights Reserved 2016

Scars

Are they ropey and purple pink,

healing to white or buried deep?

Do you have scars that people can see?

Or do you wear your wounds somewhere underneath?

It’s an absolute fact that everyone is wounded,

we live in a world where everything gets broken.

We all have our secrets, our battles, our scars,

we just wear them differently and that’s what makes them ours.

I remember as a kid I was obsessed with scars,

this physical flaw that showed you survived.

I guess I viewed them as notches in your belt,

things overcame, achievements in life.

I saw a beauty in the battle wound,

an imperfection that proved you overcame,

so I decided to make my own scars,

for all my different kinds of pain.

And as the razorblade became my friend,

making scars became intimate,

this kind of pain eased all the rest,

and I was in control of it.  

But the people around me discovered my habit,

they knew my cuts were just a temporary bandage,

just a thing I used to catch my breath,

to numb the pain in a world of havoc.

I remember once, my mommy said,

“You’re going to regret those scars someday”, 

she was mad I wouldn’t use ointment,

because I wanted the scars to stay.

I looked her dead in the eye,

and said “No I won’t, these are my story in my skin”,

they showed everything that I survived,

and I still remember what each one meant.

Now I’ve grown and I’m 25,

and I still don’t regret these faded white scars,

they show every fucking thing,

I ever survived, in spite of the odds.

It’s a rare thing that my mommy’s wrong,

but her love obscured the method to my madness,

cutting is obviously an unhealthy drug,

but I needed to show that I survived the damage.

Maybe I did it in a twisted way,

and it would break my heart to see my child that way,

but in that pit of my own pain,

it was the guiding light to the next better day.

It was a single breath,

in a world of suffocation,

the necessary medicine,

for a dying patient.

And your goddamn right I romanticize it,

because I gave me what therapy didn’t.

Now it’s been 10 years since I picked up a blade,

and I know I never will again,

but in that time where I needed something,

it was what I used to survive and maintain.

Not every cutter is trying to die,

some just need a little help to breathe,

something to relieve the building pressure,

and give their mind some sanity.

I don’t condone it though it served it’s purpose,

but in my growing I’ve changed my motives,

I longer wish to show that I lived,

now I just live the life I was given.

But I remember you to never forget,

everyone has their scars and baggage.

by Ashley Hebner

© All Rights Reserved 2016