tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19371855795733740102026-09-16T06:57:14.895-04:00Becoming Badass is my way of documenting my journey towards the badass. Whatever the hell that ends up meaning for a middle class wife and mom of two.BecomingBadasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07362539778500186165noreply@blogger.comBlogger102125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1937185579573374010.post-89639695324564547762016-03-14T09:22:00.003-04:002019-10-21T15:00:24.180-04:00

https://media4.giphy.com/media/p7L8K5rlKl78s/200_s.gif I got sick this winter.  Really sick.  Sick to the point that my 12 year old thought I was going to die.  The flu shot done me wrong and I spent 2 weeks in bed with that and then another 2 weeks sort of in bed with pneumonia and then another 2 weeks trying to figure out if I was ever going to be able to do anything without

BecomingBadasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07362539778500186165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1937185579573374010.post-78220251899612891912015-10-29T17:47:00.002-04:002015-10-29T17:56:51.406-04:00

So this just came across my Facebook feed and it sort of seemed like a sign from the Universe or the blogging gods or whatever: 13 Signs You’re a Badass Mom I know, right? For the record, I scored an honest 10 out of 13- but I'd add a 14th. Badass Moms blog when they want.  About what they want. And they don't apologize for any unanticipated hiatuses (hiati?) along the way.

BecomingBadasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07362539778500186165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1937185579573374010.post-10193517497409984912012-11-03T23:45:00.002-04:002012-11-03T23:47:01.657-04:00

I'm not going to go into the whole "here's why I haven't been around" meme.  It's tired and played and really you can probably guess why I haven't been around.  Kids, TMOTH, parents, work, blah blah blah. I know- call the Waaah-mbulance.  That's not what I'm here to write about tonight.  Tonight's all about my boy. I've written before about the unique set of challenges and

BecomingBadasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07362539778500186165noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1937185579573374010.post-13834597343340519722012-09-17T22:39:00.001-04:002012-09-17T22:39:04.463-04:00

In the last week I've gone from "My mom is wicked healthy" to "My mom is having chest pains?" to "My mom is having a triple bypass?!". Suffice to say that in the last 24 hours I have experienced more terror, joy, tenderness and frustration than ever before. I've also learned that real badass steps up when things are more awful than I ever imagined possible. I told TMOTH yesterday that I'm not

BecomingBadasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07362539778500186165noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1937185579573374010.post-28387014414707654512012-09-12T15:47:00.002-04:002012-09-12T15:47:22.653-04:00

http://www.mommaspearls.com/2011/10/out-of-hands.html The world can get crazy, you know?  Not just the Great Big World, but also the little (but sometimes equally big) worlds we each inhabit.  It's not hard to get overwhelmed when we're trying to spin 10- or 100- plates at once.  Is it any wonder that things fall apart from time to time, leaving us standing, confused and

BecomingBadasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07362539778500186165noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1937185579573374010.post-4946192937433069122012-08-30T19:21:00.001-04:002012-08-31T07:30:33.986-04:00

Middle School meet and greet today. (Who thinks *that* sounds even less fun than the "Buy 1 get 1 root-canal and colonoscopy with your Mother in Law" special at the Jiffy Lube?) There were Lots of 6th graders.  Lots of their moms and dads.  Lots of sibs.  The girls were mostly shrieking and hugging each other.  The boys looked either totally cool or like deer in the

BecomingBadasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07362539778500186165noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1937185579573374010.post-40683024606817604192012-08-25T08:20:00.001-04:002012-08-25T08:23:14.294-04:00

I dare you to come up with something more terrifying than the task I have ahead of me today. Daunting, difficult, guaranteed to draw on every reserve strength and tenacity I have within me- this task is not for the faint of heart. Today, I take an 11-year-old boy to buy pants. Back-to-school shopping is always a thing, but this year it's tougher. Because there isn't anything that an

BecomingBadasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07362539778500186165noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1937185579573374010.post-83182065671375159952012-08-24T11:42:00.001-04:002012-08-24T11:51:03.506-04:00

I took my daughter to an amusement park this week.  Not a Six Flags/ Disney/ MegaWorld park, a smaller, local amusement park that she's loved since she was little.  The target audience is the under-7 set, but she begged and begged and I ultimately caved because we had unfinished business up there- specifically, a big old talking tree that we needed to visit. See, last time we were

BecomingBadasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07362539778500186165noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1937185579573374010.post-70051281056043782372012-08-14T09:26:00.001-04:002012-08-14T09:26:25.289-04:00

As we head into back to school, I can't help but feel like I'm getting ready for a battle. Like I need to set up an army of backpacks, composition books, sharpened pencils, and glue sticks in preparation for the war ahead. It's a never ending struggle between work, homework, activities, and housework. Luckily every year so far we've managed to battle to a stalemate, sliding into summer in a

BecomingBadasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07362539778500186165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1937185579573374010.post-34249800961609894632012-07-26T23:54:00.002-04:002012-07-27T08:55:28.791-04:00

So I'm going on vacation.  It's never actually been my strong suit, the whole "relax" thing.  It's not that I don't like the idea of lying on a beach with a Corona and a book, it's just that once I get there...the monkeys in my brain start chattering and then I start wanting to make plans and decisions and suddenly it's not so much "relaxing" as it is "getting something done," which I

BecomingBadasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07362539778500186165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1937185579573374010.post-26476993090304262572012-06-20T06:31:00.002-04:002012-06-20T06:31:54.038-04:00

My oldest graduates today.  Okay, actually, he's graduating from 5th grade which I realize lacks the academic gravitas of, say, a PhD or a certificate from Northern Louisiana Beauty College.  Still, it's a milestone.  For some reason, milestones have been sort of a bitch lately.  I hypothesize that it's either ego ("If he's getting older then I'm getting older!  WHAAAA!")

BecomingBadasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07362539778500186165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1937185579573374010.post-10388048778813186792012-05-25T22:51:00.001-04:002012-05-25T22:51:18.446-04:00

I woke up mad.  Actually, I went to sleep mad and the rotten night's rest I got (thank you hotel patrons who don't to shut. the. f. up. in the hall after midnight) only made it worse.  The "why" of the mad is immaterial but the reality of the situation was this: I was mad. Then the...person...who instigated my righteous anger called.  Wanted to talk it out and apologize.  My

BecomingBadasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07362539778500186165noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1937185579573374010.post-78485793577301381632012-05-23T09:44:00.002-04:002012-05-23T09:44:26.796-04:00

Sometimes the most badass thing I can do is just...wait, because it takes the strength of 10 linebackers to not *do* anything except watch.  And wait.  And have faith.

BecomingBadasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07362539778500186165noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1937185579573374010.post-64097647939294530092012-04-29T19:09:00.004-04:002012-04-30T08:52:33.472-04:00

I grew up on a farm.  Well, I sort of grew up on a farm.  I spent enough time on the farm (and made enough mistakes) that I think I qualify as having "grown up" there even if I didn't always officially live there. But I digress. One of the things I remember about the farm (besides the food.  Holy Cats, did we eat.) is that it was hard.  Wicked freaking hard work.  I

BecomingBadasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07362539778500186165noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1937185579573374010.post-78750520976736933302012-04-27T10:02:00.005-04:002012-04-27T10:02:56.262-04:00

stabby-copy.jpg I'm in a mood today.  Want to know why? 1.  Effect vs. Affect. Who really gives a rat's ass?  I tell you who- stupid academics. 2.  People who need constant validation. 3.  People who don't understand that their jobs are to give ME constant validation. 4.  My jeans.  Someone has replaced them all with pairs that are a size too small.  

BecomingBadasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07362539778500186165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1937185579573374010.post-79877168675937932842012-03-18T21:04:00.000-04:002012-03-18T21:04:41.963-04:00

Recently someone (okay, my shrink if you have to know) asked me "What I do" when I write. I sort of thought the verb was, you know, self-explanatory but...she just sat there and waited.  And waited.  Seriously- I think this chick would sit in silence for the whole 50 minutes if I let her.  So I felt like I had to answer. "I...um...I write.  You know.  I sit at my desk

BecomingBadasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07362539778500186165noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1937185579573374010.post-44305206316900178512012-03-16T19:56:00.002-04:002012-04-30T08:57:16.613-04:00

Dear Insane Clown Posse lady: You took over the lobby of the soccer club meeting last week with your rant on how the kids we see hanging around in parks are all devotees of the Insane Clown Possee and how they’re all going to kill us in our beds. I’d like you to know that 1)  I’m pretty sure that everyone in the room under the age of 7 (and boy were there a lot of them) didn’t

BecomingBadasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07362539778500186165noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1937185579573374010.post-46769624585857969392012-02-13T09:22:00.004-05:002012-02-13T09:22:37.021-05:00

Dear "Popular" Kid- You think you're too cool for my kid. Your mom probably tells you that, because my kid is a little different and not terribly athletic, that it's okay not to be friendly towards him- that it's okay not to respond when he speaks to you or invites you to hang out on a Saturday.  Maybe it's because my family hasn't lived here for a generation or because we don't belong to

BecomingBadasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07362539778500186165noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1937185579573374010.post-61021690626744356592012-02-07T13:00:00.003-05:002012-02-07T13:00:56.224-05:00

For the record, during a mammogram, snarling at the person handling your boobs to "Stop shoving me around like a piece of meat," is not a good idea. Nor is asking her how often people tell her she sucks. She gets vengeful. Ouch.

BecomingBadasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07362539778500186165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1937185579573374010.post-2330022313478934232012-02-05T08:56:00.003-05:002012-02-05T08:56:55.040-05:00

Jesus Bugs (aka water striders) are those little bugs that skim across the tops of ponds and streams.  You've seen them, I'm sure. I sort of love 'cause the idea of Jesus as this little bug, about to get eaten by a fish...I don't know.  I'm pretty sure there's a joke there somewhere.   Anyway, I've always wanted to be like a water skater- metaphorically speaking. Skimming across

BecomingBadasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07362539778500186165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1937185579573374010.post-17439046931433370762012-02-02T08:53:00.002-05:002012-02-02T08:53:52.873-05:00

My friend K asked me a really good question the other day.  "Why are you so terrified that someone might remember you?" It's a good question.  Without meaning to, I work very hard to be nondescript- to be on non-memorable- because it's safer.  "Keep your head down and no one will shoot it off," you know?  (Granted, that might be better advice if I lived in a war zone (as

BecomingBadasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07362539778500186165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1937185579573374010.post-47877820479304132172012-02-01T15:04:00.002-05:002012-02-01T15:04:27.931-05:00

http://tinyurl.com/6lh2k9y Somedays, I think the most Badass thing I can do is get out of bed, let the dog out, and smile at my family before I've hooked up the coffee i.v.   If I can manage to get through the ensuing 10-14 hours of drop-offs, pick-ups, technology snarls and bad frozen lunches without snarling at strangers, throwing things at my co-workers or bursting into tears at an

BecomingBadasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07362539778500186165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1937185579573374010.post-53797894698577130692012-01-10T09:54:00.000-05:002012-01-10T09:54:30.672-05:00

Remember this? This is what you'd think I'd done last night based on this morning's headache. In reality, I just went to book club and had a glass of wine. Okay, maybe two.  Though, now that I think about it, maybe it was more like this:   Hungover on a Tuesday after two glasses of Chardonnay? SO not badass.

BecomingBadasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07362539778500186165noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1937185579573374010.post-72280140510196466842011-09-29T13:40:00.002-04:002011-09-29T13:48:35.824-04:00

Back to school has commenced, with all that entails, and I've found myself pulled in a couple of new and fairly uncomfortable directions.  In spite of my swearing I'd never do it, I've gotten involved with the PTA and, unfortunately, they turned out to be very nice people which sort of sucks 'cause I'd mentally written this whole post about how crazy they all were.  (Trust me- it was

BecomingBadasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07362539778500186165noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1937185579573374010.post-49765917544646924262011-09-20T13:31:00.001-04:002011-09-20T13:32:12.555-04:00

You know that scene from the 90's flick Ghost?  The one with the potter's wheel?  This may job your memory: Yeah.  So I'm old.  Get over it. See, here's the thing.  I've been using this whole "potter at a wheel" metaphor a lot lately.  Not 'cause I'm teaching classes in pottery or anything, but because I'm trying to step back from this need to MAKE things happen.

BecomingBadasshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07362539778500186165noreply@blogger.com0