Bubble Gum On My Shoe

Finding Balance & Love After Divorce

noreply@blogger.com (Cari) — Fri, 08 Mar 2013 08:47:00 +0000

Every now and then people ask me for advice. I know, I'm just as shocked as you are. That's the things about the internet, you can mask all of your unraveling and put on a brave face. Unless of course you are into emotional and irrational Facebook status updates, which are the new era's "cry for help". But before you go venting all your desperation on your timeline, why not go big and just blog! I speak the truth that a blog, or writing, can be a cathartic and healing experience. It can connect you with a very supportive community and open your world to life long friendships.

So my little piece of the internet has been around for a while, rarely am I serious, unless I am; and often is anything on this blog remotely helpful. Now seeing as I want to stay consistent on the blog here, I'm going to redirect you to my interview over at Care.com. You'll learn all the nitty gritty details about life after divorce, dating and finding love again. Yes, I know you can hardly wait.

Care.com approached me for an interview, for which I was not compensated. I will say I have used Care.com several times to find a trusted babysitter for my children, as well as PCA services.

The Real Reason I Haven't Been Blogging #Hoarders

noreply@blogger.com (Cari) — Mon, 04 Mar 2013 07:57:00 +0000

Okay, okay, you can stop all of the relentless harassment on my Facebook page, the emails, the phone calls, the sheer out-cry for the return of this fine literary accomplishment I call crap, and you call blog. Or is it I call blog and you call crap? Either or. The fact is,you have beaten me into submission. Well maybe Christina just did.

I've always been a straight shooter with you folks, and you're surprisingly still around. So now would not be a time to wax poetically about all the things I've been busy doing, as if I'm saving the world like the Jolie-Pitts. No friends, I have been busy with laundry and stuff. Don't get me wrong, I could come up with some mighty fine reasons for not blogging, but because I love you, I will spare you the b.s. Yes, you are welcome.

Here is the real reason. I was forced to get a land line, you know a phone besides my cell phone....I know. Well since I already have the Internets, it's almost cheaper to get the triple threat and get cable too. For those of you who may not know, I have not had cable for some time. And yes, my children and I have survived. We have gone idol-less, debate-less, reality show-less and Sponge Bob-less for many moons. I wish we were still Sponge Bob-less.

Honestly, there is some weird crap on television, and I have been watching all of it. Babies Behind Bars, My Strange Addiction, Dance Moms, you name it, I'm like a deer in the headlights, mouthing the words, "really?” I have thought about canceling several times, but I think my kids would now go through withdrawals and there are some things I just choose not to deal with in this lifetime, and right now that is one of them.

Now, I don't watch the entire freak show, just bits and pieces and go about my business, however, there is one show I cannot turn away from...Hoarders. If you're not familiar with this show, there are about eleventy different versions on television and all of them reel me in and I'm mesmerized. I don't know why, but it's like crack. The first hit gives you a buzz and you're chasing it thereafter.

This is nothing people

Now my point, Hoarders isn't just on for an hour, no, no, friends. Hoarders is shown in blocks, that is, 4-99 episodes in a ROW!!! So you can see why I haven't blogged, because I'm basically watching Hoarders. I am not a hoarder, nor am I a clean freak. I'm your mediocre, almost-middle-aged-smokin'-hot-Mama looking into the secret life of another person.

So stay tuned, I have some fun things coming up....including a twist on the A-Z Challenge. If you were in my A-Z posse last year, I'm calling you back.

I might have been watching Downton Abbey too.

So I Just Took Down My Xmas Tree

noreply@blogger.com (Cari) — Fri, 25 Jan 2013 01:33:00 +0000

Don't scold me. Yes, it has been darn near 3 months since I've blogged but I ~~made up~~ probably have a good excuse:

*I've been writing the next great American Novel about Glittery Vampires

*Been stalking this awesome Mama.

*Been in rehab, again, never, maybe, who knows, inevitable

*Contemplating and then ultimately taking my Christmas tree down...a few days ago.

You choose one. But really maybe I've just been with my awesome kids, my awesomer new-ish boyfriend and ignoring all my friends, family and obligations. Yeah, probably that.

So just when you thought I might say something brilliant, I disappoint. You'll have to settle for THIS mediocre piece of c*$p that miraculously got published.

Read all about my slacktivism as a good enough mom.

Why I'm Thankful for Mr. T

noreply@blogger.com (Cari) — Mon, 19 Nov 2012 20:34:00 +0000

{Enter commercial voice over dude}

In a world full of blogs with eleventy-million pumpkin pie recipes and DOOR BUSTER deals one blog defies the odds and says I refuse to follow the masses and blog a month of thanks, I refuse to give away Pilgrim and Indian salt and pepper shakers, I refuse to put my granny's secret recipe on Pinterest so you can repin it on your "Nom nom" board. This blog gives thanks to the gift that keeps on giving:

Mr. T

That's right, I'm taking this opportunity during the season of Thanks to thank baby Jesus or the Mayflower or whoever for, Mr.T. You all know how much I love my family, kids and peeps, right? Nobody wants to read my gushing, except maybe them, in which case I will write it on a note and put it in their lunch box or something.

But Mr. T is something to behold. The man is a legend, and dare I say, we have a lot in common.

Okay, Mr. T has a slightly more bling

Do not let the sweet smile and cardigan fool you, friends, I am a cold-hearted, ruthless, mo-fo type person. Seriously. If I had to compare the sheer magnitude of my badassery, Mr. T would be my only equal. Look at me; I'm oozing intimidation, just like Mr. T. But enough about how cool I am.

Mr. T. has really been in some of the most classic and/or iconic shows of our time: The A-Team, Different Strokes, Rocky III, and he even helped Scooby and the gang solve some mysteries. So you really can't deny the scale of his recognizable stardom. Nor, would I dare to challenge it, because Mr. T. don't play.

Mr. T has also given us some of the most useful quotes of our generation, allow me to elaborate.

I pity the fool

I got no time for the jibba-jabba.

First name Mr, middle name 'period', last name T!

and who could forget...

I ain't no computer hacker!

I also have no time for the jibba-jabba, and I pitied a fool once and all it got me was divorced and a couple kids. If only I would have heeded the warnings of Mr. T! Here's the thing, friends. We only have one life to live, so live it! It doesn't mean that we have to wear 100 pounds of gold chains and a Mohawk, albeit, that will get you noticed, but it does mean be yourself and own it. Stop making excuses and do what you love, what you are passionate about and if you don't know what that is; I highly suggest taking some time to look. Really look, beyond the picket fence of your yard, beyond your circle of friends, beyond what you think your limitations are and take a leap of faith.

I must show some love for Mr. T. who is really a self proclaimed Mama's boy. I seriously found that on the Internet, and you know everything on the Internet is true, so there. But I leave you with perhaps the crowning achievement by one, Laurence Tureaud, that is sure to make you smile. Remember to hug your Mamas this Thanksgiving, Mr. T. said so.

I think Mr. T and I may have had the same pair of Daisy Dukes in the 80's. A gigantic thanks to Twitter pal, @wildpokerman, for sending me the video link. It has brought me countless hours of joy and laughter.

Happy Thanksgiving, friends, and remember, when you're putting down one mother, you're putting down Mother's all over the world.

Reasons I'd Win A Fight: A Triad Post

noreply@blogger.com (Cari) — Thu, 15 Nov 2012 00:25:00 +0000

The Triad is back! If you have no idea what I am talking about, you should click, here. Well we technically never left, but one member has been has been forced into fur-baby parenthood, and we were unsure if she had totally crossed over to the dark side of cat lady land. At any rate, that’s probably just an excuse and the real truth is we are too lazy or forget what we were going to write about. If we ever get a petty cash fund, I’m totally hiring a {hot} assistant to unscramble our off-topic messages to one another.

Support the Triad's Movember efforts, I know, gnarly

I know some rumors have been circulating that we have broken up, and I’m here to set the record straight. Neither have we replaced any of the members or acquired another member, all Destiny's Child-like, making this a Bitchery Quartet. For the record, the Triad could never fight each other, we are all too awesome and it really would end in a tragic fight to the death.

However, I may or may not have found myself in the heat of battle a time or two, thus we bring you:

Reasons I’d Win A Fight

Oh Snap! I Think It Through

I am not one of those people that spew out the first thing that comes to mind when in the heat of battle. Most often, when that happens, people churn all sorts of jackassedness out, because they feel attacked or the need to defend, right away. Oh no, I sit back, take it all in, and then craft a witty response while attempting to keep my composure. This makes me more Ninja than Christina. I do not care to do battle in the, "You are, NO you ARE", format. Pointless. I don’t need the last word; I prefer to be the coherent one. I’m not in any way, shape or form fit for a reality show.

I Don’t Actually Care:

I almost threw a punch at another girl once, long, long ago, but came to my senses at the last minute. Why? I really didn’t care. Plus she was bigger than me. Know when to walk away friends, trying to prove bravery might only make you look like a bigger fool. Not much bothers me. Tell your drama to your Mama, or Llama, or Obama. I don’t care. I probably should, but I’m not going to allow your vie for attention bait me. You see, this doesn’t make me better than you, I just have more control.

I’m In a Bad-Ass Gang, aka, Triad

You really can’t fight with someone that’s in a gang, or a Triad. Because we will defend each other no matter what. We are officially a gang because we have a caricature and twitter handle, that's official peeps. It's what all the cool gangs do. We will throw down in a battle with weapons, much like the Anchorman, Channel 5 News Team. I’m talking back alley brawl, tridents and grenades.

Now go check out Christina and Marjorie's posts and find out why we broke the fight club rules and went public.

Texting While Driving & Other Dumb Ways To Die

noreply@blogger.com (Cari) — Sat, 10 Nov 2012 16:47:00 +0000

You either text while you drive or you don't. Now I realize this is a one way ticket to Jesus. In my past life {or 6 months ago} there is a good probability you might find me texting, or tweeting, while driving. Don't judge. In my defense, if there can be one, I never did while my kids were in my car, so instead of killing all 3 of us, I only theoretically kill myself and leave them orphaned. Here comes the insane rationalization... In dead stop, bumper to bumper traffic, the Twitter would just call to me, and if I scrolled through, I might have had to reply a time or two. What turned me around? This little conversation with the bff:

I am en route to the airport to pick up bff. Bff texts me that she has landed and asks where we should meet. I, driving to the airport, text back, this is important after all. Later, she scolded me for texting while driving although conveniently forgets she texted me first knowing good and well I was driving...

As you all know I'm not much of a phone talker, unless you’re a super cute dude trying to sweep me off my feet, so I live and breathe by text and email. Bff always feels the need to add at the end of her texts, "Not driving are you?" Bossy pants. Well there is only so much a girl can take before she cracks to the relentless mothering of her dear, sweet friend, and quits. Cold turkey, baby. I might also add, this explains my decline in brilliant tweeting during the 5 o'clock hour. Thus, my tweeting entirely. Sorry friends.

I'd like to say that is the only stupid thing I could do to end up six feet under, but alas, there are more dumb ways I could die:

I get lost: To those who know me, they know I am directionally challenged. And when I say challenged, I mean don't even speak to me in fancy North, South, East, West talk. I need landmarks, mileage and minutes. In my defense I have a little driving anxiety which leads to panic attacks every so often, so to say that one day I might be trying to navigate to the gas station on the west-side and end up in the Bermuda Triangle is not far off. If I get lost in downtowu, uptown or the outskirts of town, I will curl up and die, especially if it's at night. Thank sweet baby Jesus for my iPhone with Google maps, MapQuest, iMap, maps 'r us, and let me map it out for you dummy apps.

Fall into a well: Like little Jessica? No. I'm not that teensy. My well would involve damp dark sewer water and bats, I know it would. I am pretty much a klutz, so if there is a well that needs tripping over, I'm your gal. Remember that well in Silence of the Lambs? That's my pit of doom right there.

Cut off my own finger while cooking and bleed to death: My kid's get total blame for this one. I am usually conscious of what I am doing whilst slicing and dicing in the kitchen, but every so often, I need to scream something along these lines:

Stop hitting your brother!

What did you say? /Knock it off? /Now what?

Glue does not go in hair.

How bad is it bleeding?

Don't judge. I know you've said at least 3-4 of those today. I'm here for you. So as I'm debating whether an E.R. visit is necessary, I continue chopping away, debating a tourniquet and slice, right on the ol' finger. Now there are two of us in the E.R.

I get really famous: Never say never, this blog could blow up one day, and I mean that figuratively not literally; although I have almost blown up this blog a time or two, literally. Savvy? Everyone knows when there is an extremely interesting famous person, like no one else; they die a tragic and sudden death. So I, being unique and interesting would be doomed if I were famous like the other icons: Marilyn Monroe, Elvis, Michael Jackson, Princess Dianna, and RIP.

Let's you and I keep this blog on the down-low so I can live out a long-ass life. This reminds me I need to give Christina my password to the blog so she can write a really moving post on my behalf when I die. However, if she and I go out Thelma and Louise style, you'll be out of luck, yet more than likely see it on the six o'clock news.

On a more serious note, a heartfelt thanks to all of our veterans who have served our country that allow me the freedom to post stupid crap like this. Happy Veteran's Day!

With A Rebel Yell, She Cried Mo, Mo, Mo

noreply@blogger.com (Cari) — Tue, 06 Nov 2012 03:13:00 +0000

That's a totally catchy title right? Oh just wait, it's about to get real up in here. All my ghetto slang aside, and my total tardiness of this post, I've got an important message {laced with sarcasm} to deliver. Plus a very important, yet terrifying announcement. Pinktober is over {love for the boobies}, Movember is upon us.

In case you haven't heard of Movember, it is basically this, I'll copy and paste for you, you're welcome:

Once registered at www.movember.com, men start Movember 1st clean shaven. For the rest of the month, these selfless and generous men, known as Mo Bros, groom, trim and wax their way into the annals of fine moustachery. Supported by the women in their lives, Mo Sistas, Movember Mo Bros raise funds by seeking out sponsorship for their Mo-growing efforts.

In essence, grow a stache to raise awareness and money for Prostate Cancer, love the boobs, but love the dudes too. This is something that is dear to my bestie, Christina's heart...go read this, she's way more eloquent, and funny than I am. I cannot even tell you how many dates the fake stache has secured her, seems dudes like a lady with a fake stache. I don't understand that, nor does she, and I can't speak to the caliber of men this attracts either.

Moving on, women {most women} can't grow a mustache, so we must find Movember alternatives, nobody likes wearing a fake mustache everyday, it's itchy and irritating, plus it sticks to your lip gloss. Therefore, yes, therefore, we must go alternative routes, Christina didn't shave her armpits last year, I also threatened her bodily harm if she posted those pictures on her blog. It was serious people, there was a poll and everything. That will come back to haunt her when she makes a run for the white house. This year, she is shaving nothing...

I cannot be as brave as to completely not shave, I'd be writing a post on how to terrify your boyfriend in 30 days and I just can't chance it. But heartless and totally conceited I am not. So here's what I'll do, you friends, have read about the woes of my eyebrows, I will not pluck, wax or thread the brows for 30 days. This is serious, we are talking straight up unibrow on the horizon. It will look something like this:

BEFORE Movember

AFTER Movember, that's me on the left

So here's the deal, friends, I grow the brow, Lord have mercy on those around me, you go to the Prostate Princess homepage and join or donate, and on the last day of November, I post a picture of my Burt looking self. Will it be worth it? Can't say, do you scare easily?

Here are the perks:

1. Prostate Cancer awareness!!!

2. You get to call yourself a Prostate Princess, or feel awesome about writing Prostate Princesses in as a tax write-off.

3. There are actually dudes on the team, they are hard core, not scared.

4. I am making snarky t-shirts for all the members {if you have a catchy slogan, please leave in the comment section}.

5. Because I said please, so go visit our page...PLEASE!

Go Mo!!!

Divorce Sucks, Then You Live...

noreply@blogger.com (Cari) — Fri, 26 Oct 2012 15:06:00 +0000

Divorce sucks, then you live. Meaning there is no such thing as an "easy" divorce. All of them are hard and heart-wrenching, no matter the level of love or hate you may still have. The good news is, that there is life after divorce, it's called, "holy crap, I'm a single parent, now what". That my friends, is almost tougher than divorce.

I am blogging over at amazing single Mama, Mutant Supermodel's blog today. She is doing a single parent series by other single parent bloggers to share experiences and give single parents a safe place to fall.

My post over there is probably the most vulnerable I have ever been about my divorce and the reasons behind it. It has been something I haven't really shared on my blog, but I think it was about time my experience needed a voice. So if you want all the nitty gritty dirt, click over.

Thanks for being patient in my blogging absence, I could say I've been saving the world or something, but I've actually just been eating a cupcake.

Now, go read, would ya!

What To Say When There Are No Words...

noreply@blogger.com (Cari) — Sat, 06 Oct 2012 16:04:00 +0000

My regularly scheduled post on how the 5 ways I’m like Mr. T, has been postponed. Yes, I know you are disappointed; you pity the fool and all that jazz. As you know though, as is in my life, when something needs to be said, I need to spew it out, otherwise is a mangled mess.

I have a dear friend going through a very dark time in her life. A time similar to my journey what seems forever, but not so long ago. Knowing exactly what she is going through, it would seem I have the perfect thing to say. But I don’t, because there is no perfect thing to say. I think back to that time, when I was reeling in devastation and the world was very dark around me, and wonder what pulled me through. Was it words of wisdom, revenge, kindness of strangers, God?

When our loved ones hurt, all we can offer is hope. We want so badly to take the pain away, that we try every cliché’ in the book to resurrect them to their unbroken glory. But truth be told, I think only listening, some hugs and perhaps a bottle of wine are the only true helps.

There are some things, my friend, that I will not tell you:

God Only Gives You What You Can Handle

That has to be the worst saying ever, and here is why: God didn’t give you any of this. God did not choose addiction or deceit, only humans make those choices. The burden falls to the transgressor, it is their actions that have brought pain; God only offers a hand. We can curl up and turn away or take a chance and reach out and walk to greatness. With God in our lives, our burdens are lessened; we don’t have as much to carry.

You’ll Come Out Of This Stronger

Maybe you will, maybe you won’t. Doesn’t’ make it worth it that is for certain. My hope is that you will, but it will only prove the strength you already have and your will to fight. People will say, “Be strong”, but really, what other choice is there? Despair offers two choices, concession to darkness or perseverance. Many choose to become a victim of circumstance and stay stagnant in distress, paralyzed, unable to move forward, because it’s scary. We then allow that to define us, our lives, we live and breathe it, we make excuses to be comfortable in it. You can be defined as wounded or warrior, the choice is yours, the path long, and oftentimes it is hard to differentiate which side is which.

You’ll Meet Someone Wonderful Someday

Maybe you will, maybe you won’t. But you won’t meet the right one until you are ready. Loneliness is one hard pill to swallow. And though we are never truly alone, life without a partner or companionship is hard and arduous. I think in my journey, it was important to discover that I would be okay despite being alone. That I was phenomenal without someone else. That my happiness did not depend on another person, and still it does not depend on another person. My own happiness is mine alone. You DO NOT NEED SAVING. Loving someone and being loved are icing on my double chocolate espresso cake, my friend. When you are complete, it will find you when you least expect it, but let it in. When it’s right, it won’t be scary. I know because I know, and am lucky to have a man I love in my life who did not ride in on a white horse to save me, he did not make everything bad go away, he did not promise me the world; but he makes me smile like I haven’t smiled in a long time.

I Won’t Tell You Your Ex Is A D-bag

Okay, I might once, because some things have to be said. But I know outlining his faults doesn’t make you feel better, it only hurts worse. Love isn’t something we can turn off. You may love him for the rest of your life. But I know that hurts to the core. We want to be angry, and I think that is healthy. Anger sparks change unless we bend to revenge.

I Won’t Tell You What To Do

I’m not going to lie and say I haven’t got advice for mile as far as what you need to do from here on out. But what you need and what I think you need are probably very different. Only you know where to go from here. Even not knowing is a choice. Sometimes the best choice. When we don’t have a definitive plan, we allow so many more opportunities to open up for us. Sitting in despair won’t bring opportunity, but neither will pushing limitations when we are weak. Gather your strength, feel your courage within before you walk; you will be better prepared for the journey. There is no rush.

What I can tell you is this.

This will hurt for a while. This will be the hardest thing that has ever happened to you. It’s going to suck. Tomorrow might suck just as badly, but it is a new day. It’s okay to embrace the total suckiness of the situation, I in fact encourage it. I like to call this the Adele Stage. Maybe a blog is born, who knows?

Someday, it won’t hurt so badly. Someday, the tears will lessen. Someday, you won’t feel as broken as you did yesterday. Someday, you will be able to smile again.

Today, breathe in and out, if that is all you can do. Don’t try to be strong for anyone and take care of yourself. Let the tears wash away the hurt; allow your wounds some fresh air. There will be scars on your soul, always. There has to be no definition to your journey, close your eyes and walk willingly, trusting God will take you there.

I know, because I know, that everything will be okay. In great despair, is amazing grace. Grab on, beautiful friend, your life is waiting.

Five Ways To Know You're A Cat Lady...

noreply@blogger.com (Cari) — Fri, 21 Sep 2012 03:07:00 +0000

There is an inevitable point in the life of a singleton, where one must ask themselves if they will live out the remainder of their days as a cat lady. Now let me just clarify, there is cat lady and there is crazy cat lady. You know what I'm talkin' about when I say crazy cat lady, and that is not the cat lady of which I speak today. Crazy cat ladies talk to invisible people, could be considered cat hoarders, and wear lots of layers. They also might have heavy artillery in their coat closet. Of course, that's all hear say.

This cat looks dangerous, I wouldn't cross it

Your basic run of the mill cat lady usually starts off getting A cat, because they live alone and want companionship. Now there is absolutely nothing wrong with living alone and having a cat, pets are great, don't be calling me a cat hater or anything. To be honest, more people should try living on their own for awhile. Cat lady-ness can be a choice too! I in fact, very well might live out my days alone or in my kid's basement. Good possibility of that.

So no more beating around the bush, here are five ways to know you are a cat lady:

Your Cats Have Long-Ass Names

That's right. The first step on the slippery slope into cat lady land is naming your cat something besides Sprinkles or Mr. Kitty. Sure, sure, I'm positive someone can make an argument for breeding or some such thing, but my friends, that's denial and you know it. If your cat has more than three names, a prefix included in the name, or a title, check yourself. Absolutely I'll give you examples.

*Hector Rodriguez Fluffington, Jr.

*Admiral Bingo VonBobbin Catbeard

*Miss Marple Pretty Kitty

*Snowball Megatron, but you call him Michael

Admiral? Really? Everyone knows cats hate water. I'm just telling you, if you rattle off some long-ass name for your cat, it's going to say something about you. It's going to say, you don't play around...and you might be a cat lady.

You Have More Cats Than There Are Kennedy's

If you are starting to name your cats after the Kennedy's, Osmond's, or Brady Bunch, there might be a problem. I of course would probably just say, the yellow one, the black one, the striped one, the mean one; but I'm not a cat lady. You could always number them too if you needed, 5, 9, 24; but numbers and denial don't mix.

You Can't Pay Your Electric Bill

If you are strapped for cash and can't pay your electric bill because all your money is going to gourmet kitty food and a weekly trip to Sam's Club for litter, you might be a cat lady. I don't think I really need to expand on this one, do I?

You Admit It

You Avoid Your Friends To Play With Your Cat(s)

Oh yes she did! This should not be happening at 30 years old, and this post might be an intervention. Because one of the 5 Reasons I'm Smokin' Hot, cannot be, "because my cat said so". I will have you know the Triad did not break up and we are dealing with the situation. We refuse to lose M.M. to the dark side. Make sure you read the Triad posts regarding cat ladies, here and here.

Did I forget any reasons? What are some more warning signs?

Or you could tell me some funny cat names, because that was kind of fun actually.

When To Introduce Your Kids To Your Date...

noreply@blogger.com (Cari) — Tue, 18 Sep 2012 21:44:00 +0000

The last few months my friend, Christina, and I have been discussing when is the right time to introduce your kid to your date, girlfriend or boyfriend. This all stemmed from her dive into online dating and the amount of men she encountered that were over 35 and had no kids, and a few "alleged" serial killers. It begs the questions, do they really like kids, do they get along with kids and if they would be a good parent. If you date someone that already has kids, you know their parenting style, but introducing your kids to a potential mate can cause stress if you break up and you don't want a revolving door of dates in and out.

My friend, Q, also tackled the topic on his show, Talk To Q, which you can listen to here. That had to seriously be one of the funniest hours of my life, and not just because I was smack talking the callers in the chat room.

I decided to tackle the topic over at the Parent Society, so click on over and read it and join the discussion.

When is the right time, or is there? I usually have all the answers, but this time I don't.

How To Blog Good

noreply@blogger.com (Cari) — Tue, 11 Sep 2012 22:35:00 +0000

If you are reading this, you are grasping at straws, that's right, desperate. But when people hit rock bottom in the blog world, they'll try anything. That's where this post comes in. Naturally, I do not know how to blog well, so I'm just going to make some things up and tell you what I do. You can either take my advice, or do the complete opposite. I'm sure one of the two ways will work out for you.

Yep, it's scary to hit publish.

Anyone can have a blog these days, no it's true, they let anybody do it. No tests to pass or anything. I'm not going to lie, kids, if you start writing and are looking for some instant gratification, a bajillion comments and followers...well you're going to be disappointed. As narcissitic as most of us bloggers are, we have to do some leg work so people know we're out there. If you're not willing to connect with people and put in as much give as you take, sorry to say, you won't last long. I think the average life span of a blog is a year anyway.

Your Voice

If one wants to write, they must have something to write about. What is it that you have to offer the world? Is there something you feel passionately about? The most important thing about writing is the connection. Can that person identify with you on some level, even a humorous level? Is it something someone might want to read? That's important. While milling over what to write about remember your audience. Do they really want to hear a timelined event of your day? First I went to the grocery store, then I ate dinner, this is what I made...trailing off into coma. Maybe the stalkers want to hear that, so if you are catering to them, go for it. But for the most part transferring from your planner to the computer screen equals boring. I'm not saying always a complete fail, it's all in the presentation. I write about dumb stuff all the time; it's all how you present it and finding a way to connect with your audience.

Write Your Outline

................At this point, you are either saying, "check" or "I need to write an outline? Who the heck does that?" This girl. Guess which one I am? Not the outline kind. If I were any kind of professional, or smart, it might do me some good to write an outline. But that's not how I work. I'm more of a organic kind of girl. For example, I experience an unsolicited Dr. Phil moment, I will hop on the computer and just start writing, it's magical really. Make sure you always jot down your ideas as you go also, it really stinks at 1a.m. when you are racking your brain trying to remember your brilliant blog idea and then you end up blogging about riding mechanical bulls. Which brings up another point, your blog will haunt you for the rest of your life, be careful. I'm obviously not, but I should be.

Blog About What You Love

At the end of the day it is a good thing that most blogs start off with small readership; you know, friends, family or anyone we can pimp it out to. But many blogs find they change throughout the course of their blog life and so looking back we I can be grateful only 2 people read my crap at the beginning. This blog started as a way to document and share progress about my son's Autsim, and look where we are now. Yes, that could very well be considered downhill. Naturally you have to give your audience what they will respond to. But find a way to say what you want to say AND connect. Not sure I know the trick there, just be yourself. People even respond to jerks, true fact, they get good ratings. Don't take yourself to seriously either, mkay?

EXTRA TIP: Think Twice Before You Sell Out

Every Mommy and Daddy on the planet has a blog these days. We are a coveted commodity, we are the people, people. So as you grow you will get offers to promote, giveaway, sponsor, products and links, either for money or fame...or nothing. I get tons of ridiculous offers a day. Some companies want you to do that for nothing, hmmm. When you take coupons for writing a 500 word post, companies will expect bloggers to write for coupons. I for one, do not write for coupons. Not because I'm better than you, but my time is precious to me. I am not going to ignore my kids while I compose a masterpiece for diaper coupons. Before you head down the slippery slope of free stuff, it may do you well to think about what that product says about you. Also, I can't take you seriously if you there is a banner flashing hookers from overseas in your sidebar. I'll also probably tell you there were hookers in your sidebar when I comment; you probably don't know, can't think anyone would want to advertise that. But to each his own.

I wrote this post in response to a friend who is considering starting her own blog. I actually can't be trusted to give any serious advice, so you'll have to help me out.

What is your best blogging advice?

Inbox Full: Why I Don't Listen To Voicemail

noreply@blogger.com (Cari) — Thu, 06 Sep 2012 04:58:00 +0000

I live in a little bubble I like to call denial. Step away, don't pop it, it's cozy here and I like it. So for many a year, I have gotten considerably worse about not only answering my voice mail, but listening to it.

I am constantly learning and growing in my life, kind of love that. Probably why I don't return phone calls, growing and stuff. So when we grow we must face hard, sometimes ugly truths about ourselves and either accept them or change them. So I am finally owning up to one of my flaws and admitting something to you all {pretty sure a great majority of you might have had an inkling}.

If you call me and leave a voice mail, 99% chance I will delete it without listening, 50% chance I will call you back.

I know it makes it seem like I'm all kinds of better than you. I'm not really. Had I stayed in therapy, I could've tackled this topic, but I just had bigger fish to fry like how to wean my children off the Angry Birds before I cut them off cold turkey and they have some kind of mental break from withdrawals.

I hate talking on the phone, sure, sure I love you, but rarely will I talk to anyone. My sister in California, yes, my bff in Tennessee, yes, and a smattering of therapists, teachers, and a friend or two mixed in. I find it very difficult to talk on the phone and get anything accomplished properly. Certainly not from my lack of having anything to say, I rarely shut up. Multi-tasker as I may be, I find it difficult to blog and converse, or wash dishes, or answer emails or troll Facebook. Come on, that's just rude. {My apologies.}

Maybe I used up all my phone talking-ness as a teenager when I was glued to the phone. And literally because we didn't get a cordless phone until I was in high school. You had to stealthily talk in code as all of your deepest, darkest convos with your bffs were there for all to hear from the kitchen. I thought I was stealthy, no, not stealthy whatsoever.

Why didn't kids of the 80's have all the bff, lol, ttyl and I'm sure the million others that I know nothing about. That's smart, I never would've got caught sneaking out. This was my form of texting:

Back to the business. So you, loving friend that leaves me a voice mail and I lazy-ass friend who glances at phone yet keeps checking off my to-do list, might have a conversion similar to this:

"Cari, did you get my message?"

Yes, I sure did {lie} I was just going to call you {double lie} I've been so busy {99.5% true}.

I don't know why I don't like listening to my voice mail. It is an unanswered question of the universe that I am not going to pick at. It is not an uncommon occurrence for my inbox to fill up, and then people get double worried that I'm dead in a ditch murdered by a serial killer. Yeah, sorry about that. Still kickin'.

So will I get better? Say I've changed my ways, listen to my voice mail and call you right back? Most likely no. In fact, I'm pretty sure, no.

All I can say is text me, I usually answer texts right away, they involve two seconds of typing and then I'm right back to what to what I was doing, like drinking heavily or helping the homeless.

Let's do a little unofficial official poll, because honestly you readers are a well rouneded group. Why you read this blog, I don't know.

Do you listen to voice mail? If so, do you call people back right away?

Can We Really Let Go Of The Past?

noreply@blogger.com (Cari) — Tue, 04 Sep 2012 02:02:00 +0000

“You have an inability to give up what has already been taken. Until you let go of the people and possessions that no longer represent who you are, or want to be new opportunities are blocked. Surrender rather than waste time and energy clinging to suffocating familiarity.”

This is what I was meditating on tonight. I have read this paragraph a hundred times, but never understood it until this moment. Okay actually I don't understand it, I'm more confused than ever, and you poor souls have to read me hashing it out.

I have convinced myself, quite well actually, that I had put all my heartbreak, mistakes, regrets, etc. in the past, and was moving forward. But then I read, “Let go of the people…that no longer represent who you are”. That really struck a nerve. I began to examine how I define myself, or even more simply, how I introduce myself. Quite often, not far into conversation, the words divorce, single mother, smokin’ hot, creep into conversation. And while those might be necessary to explain circumstance, they do not explain me, who I am, what I stand for. Except for smokin' hot, totally represent in that area.

“You have the inability to give up what has already been taken.”

Cling, cleave, and hold fast to all of our shattered dreams and broken hearts. Even in revenge or hatred, we cling to what we used to have. We hold on to “what might have been” for such a long time, for some it may be forever. What is lost will not be returned to us. As much as I believe we live in a miraculous world of endless possibility, my Ex-husband may never see the error of his ways. It seems forgive and forget gets mangled in our wounds and scars.

I don’t want you to get the idea that I am missing my marriage one bit, I do not. But it never did occur to me until tonight that I did sorely miss the thought of it. The happy ever after that I had sworn before God and friends, was broken. I also think (gulp) that I use divorce as a bit of an excuse sometimes for how hard things are. Not that I'm sitting on my tush doing nothing, but there is the blame piece. I have someone to be mad at when things aren't going my way, or aren't how I wish they would be.

I think for as much healing as I have done, I do catch myself saying, “my life was never supposed to be like this.” It makes me angry and resentful. In that moment, I think if he had never done x, y, and z, we might still be married and I wouldn’t have to deal with this. That’s a little smoke and mirrors game my heart and head plays with one another. Because if I rationally sit down and think about it, my life would be worse, I would be miserable living with an addict, and my children in an unsafe place. Why do I have any anger in moving forward to a better happier place? In many ways I know my life is richer, fuller, more satisfying as it is now. But sometimes it’s damn hard, and I just don’t feel like pulling up the boot straps and soldiering on.

I never should've quit therapy, because I could use some insight here. If I am ten times happier than I've ever been, why am I still angry about not having what "could've been". Could've been is complete crap and I don't want it, why do I still care? I should be happy in this moment. (for the most part I am) I am utterly perplexed. Is it human nature? Time? Realization? It'd be nice if it were realization and I could call this post good and move on.

And so now, I am still holding on, just a little bit. Not for unrequited love, but holding on to my past, allowing it to define me. I get so wrapped up in all those labels from the past that I don't allow any room for the future. So herein lays my conundrum:

How much of the past can we let go, without losing who we are?

I am a firm believer that my past has shaped me. I am not a believer in regrets. Yes, I have done asinine, foolish and wrong ~~illegal~~ things in my life, but I have learned from those things and it has made me who I am today. Apparently I am a slow learner in some areas of Life Lessons 101 as I have repeated a course or two.

If I release all the heartbreak, will I love with compassion next time?

The only conclusion I have at this point is the last line,

“Surrender rather than waste time and energy clinging to suffocating familiarity.”

Surrender. And see where the wind will take me.

Does forgive and forget exist? Can we release the past without losing who we are?

My Once Upon A Time...And Coffee

noreply@blogger.com (Cari) — Tue, 21 Aug 2012 04:59:00 +0000

Once Upon A Time a girl sat down to enjoy the most perfect cup of coffee on a beautiful day, not too hot, not too cold, closed her eyes and listened to the breeze whispering in her ear.

“What governs your life?” said the wind. “What influences you to make the choices you do?”

It was quite apropos that the wind should be asking this, as the girl was meditating on her current circumstances; reflecting on how she arrived at this very place in her life.

When she was a child, love controlled her. Her need to feel loved, special and seen dictated her every action. For as she was only a child, no other commodity was of any importance, love was the only thing she craved. She wondered why she was a burden not a blessing. She made it her mission to be seen at all costs, for if they really loved her, they would never turn her away.

When she was a teenager, greed provoked her. She wanted so much to fit in, that she overlooked the wonderful person she already was. She became a social chameleon for the sake of others, cared for status over what was sacred, would forsake those that truly loved her for just a moment of popularity. Greed for status enveloped the girl, and she lived in the shadows, reaching for the unreachable. And later learning the hard way all she had lost while she was blinded by shiny people.

In her twenties adrenaline consumed the girl. She now felt comfortable in her skin, she also felt invincible. She loved the thrill and did indeed live like there was no tomorrow. And fun she had, and she often smiled. The twenties were filled with much laughter. But live as she may, tomorrow did come, and the consequences of irresponsibility were weighty.

In her thirties, society dictated the girl’s desires. She looked back on her life and felt a great something lacking. She turned a corner and did what she ought to do and settled down. This was after all what she was supposed to do, was it not? Spinning carelessly on the carousel of life was lonely and dizzy-ing and she needed someone to steady her. At last now she felt like she could catch her breath; and the girl found peace outwardly, but not inwardly.

As she blinked, she was married and had two babies. Now every action, every breath was for them. All that was vain for self now vanished. She had indeed found true love in her children. She found healing in providing them unconditional love.

But soon great tragedy struck the girl’s life. She found herself weeping and sobbing, blaming and yelling into the wind, to stop it, to explain it, to fix it, to make it go away. And the girl was broken. One thousand pieces lie there in her hands and the girl did not know where to begin; how to put everything back together. The girl just did not know how.

After the howling subsided the girl lay silently on the ground, now tears streaming down her cheeks, and she heard the wind. There broken and undeserving, for the first time, she heard it. Only when she silenced her mind, let go of the control and relinquished reason, did she hear it. And the wind said this:

Get up girl. You have been given a great chance. A chance to begin again. You are not broken; you have not drowned, get up and live girl. What have you lost? Everything that is really important, you still possess.

People only hurt us if we allow it.

Words only have power if we give them power.

Grace is yours for the taking if you only hold out your hand and grab it.

And the girl did.

Now the girl was almost 40. She had less than she had ever had. And she sat having a perfect cup of coffee, and for that she was grateful. Now life was not about possessions, or puzzles, or being controlled, or figuring it out; it was about seeing that one perfect moment and holding it dear and thanking the creator for it. Her story was never about the lessons, her story is not about her loss; her story is about the quiet she found along the way.

This post is dedicated to the creepy dollar store clerk who called me "milady" twice, *shiver*. What started to be a once upon a time post about a creepy cashier organically took on a life of it's own. I suppose I should curtsy or something.

Thanks for screwing up relationships, Jerry McGuire!

noreply@blogger.com (Cari) — Mon, 13 Aug 2012 03:38:00 +0000

Unless you live under a rock, or have been incarcerated for a long, long time, you would be familiar with the movie Jerry McGuire, sports agent gone rogue (Tom Cruise) with single Mom love interest (Renee Zellweger) which gave birth to THE, in my opinion, most irritating quotes of all time. Actually, having that movie on an 18 hour loop in prison would be punishment enough. I once was stuck on a cruise ship during 911 and the only thing on the television for 7 straight days was that dumb Mel Gibson movie where he hears women talking, but I digress.

I like the preface of the movie, guy goes nuts, woman supports him, he kind of falls for woman out of guilt (yeah, you know he did), woman realizes she is the only one in love and oh yeah she has a kid, enter break-up, guy says he's not a quitter but not sure he loves her, love her or lose her, buh-bye heart throb, and fairy tale ending crazy dude magically comes to his senses and realizes he loves woman and her kid.

"You complete me".

"You had me at hello."

"Show me the money."

"Show me the money." No qualms, irritating yes, but bring it.

You had me at hello I can deal with. That doesn't sound the least bit romantic to me, it actually sounds kind of stalkerish and freaky. Really, if a dude said that to me in real life, I'd probably give him my squinty eye and go home. All I have to say about that one is that some things sound better coming out of two gorgeous actors mouths when they are knee-deep in totally unrealistic circumstances. Jerry McGuire isn't based on a true story is it? Should've done my research.

My main concern is "YOU COMPLETE ME". Women swoon over this line. I don't get it. I like romantic gestures and sweet nothings, sure do, but that line is a load of crap. I will go as far to say that line has totally and completely destroyed what people are looking for in a relationship and their expectations of what a relationship should be.

I'm not scarred and bitter, okay, only slightly, but I felt this way even when I was married, just to clarify. To need someone to complete you, would mean that you were void of something, empty, not enough? Why are we looking for the "other half" in a relationship? That is a ton of pressure on the other person.

Sorry Bill, I have to break up with you, you don't complete me.

That would be an unacceptable reason to give someone when breaking it off, why is it an acceptable reason to move forward?

When dating, or in a relationship, shouldn't we find our complement? I find in friendships, my best friends are my opposites, sure we have a lot in common, but I'm drawn to their brilliance, or frugality, or fantastic ability to decorate and organize. They are the Ellen to my Oprah. We can have so much fun together because they can talk me down from going all Thelma and Louise and I can get them drunk when they've had a bad day. My part of the friendship is way easier than theirs.

Perhaps it's my independent nature. But I don't want to feel lost when I don't have my other half. Lonely okay, sad, sure, miss them, yeah whatever. But my partner should build me up, be there for me, and love me for who I am without them. I know I'm already enough, totally imperfect, but perfect for someone. I am already happy and content; a relationship is just the icing. Nothing is lost without that in my life; there is only something to gain. But I will tell you now; you don't get to content without being willing to do the work to get there.

Inevitably almost always in marriage we reach points of disconnect. We grow despite a marriage, and rarely on the same time table. So if someone completes you, yet we keep growing, it's only a matter of time before they have no place. We wonder where does everything fit? Marriage and relationships need on-going re-examination. We have to look at our partner and say, what do they need? That is a two way street. A connection or goose bumps only last so long before we have to decide to put in the work or walk away.

So I wonder are we waiting for the person who will make us feel whole? The person who will fix us? The "one" who will heal all of our hurt? In my mind that person doesn't exist. I fear that is a dangerous way of thinking. When we convince ourselves of that, we are taking a shortcut.

No road is easy in life, this is for certain, there are hills and there are valleys. I don't want someone to carry me, just someone to walk beside me. There is no benefit to either of us if he carries me. He gets weary, I get bored and fat.

So please, America, let's lay "you complete me" to rest. We are far too good for that nonsense.

So talk to me. What say you, "you complete me", love it or hate it?

What Do You Stand For? I Call B.S.

noreply@blogger.com (Cari) — Fri, 03 Aug 2012 08:16:00 +0000

If you have been reading my blog for any period of time, you know I tend to have fits of rants. Not rage, rants. Best to let me unload and get if off my chest. Don't worry I'll be back to blogging about my normal crap in no time.

Today, all day, this post, these words have been swirling around in my head. What do you really stand for? Do you know? I mean really know? We can "say" we stand for a lot of things, but those are words, and what we stand up for is not the same as what we stand for. Yes, I know that is as confusing as it sounds. Good thing I'm going to elaborate. People and I think this is just a trait of human nature, see themselves so much differently than how they are. They convince themselves they are what they want to believe.

Actions speak louder than words. Your actions are what you stand for; your actions make you who you are.

Happy place, happy place, happy place.

Standing for something, doesn't mean getting as big and loud and asinine and as preachy about it as we can. All that means is you're loud and have something to say. If you want the world to be a different place, a better place, shut up and change it! Stop yelling and blogging and arguing about it and do something.

As I've said many times in this blog. My pet peeve in this world is people who do nothing because they think they won't make a difference. Making a difference does not mean doing something big; sometimes the smallest measures make the biggest impact. A smile could be worth a million dollars. Acts of kindness change people's heart, not hatred. Loving through the bad times makes love stronger.

Here's my nickels worth, because two cents isn't nearly enough:

If you want to blog about controversy all the time, look scary, and constantly live defending your views because you put it out there (yet you wonder why everyone's mad at you or doesn't like you), you don't stand for what you write about...you stand for drama.

If you want to preach your beliefs to anyone that will listen or won't, provoke fights, spar people on the interwebz, you stand for jack until you walk the walk, dude.

Let me say to all of you people fighting on every social media site available over chicken sandwiches, and I realize it's not about chicken sandwiches, neither side stands for anything by fighting someone on Facebook about it. When you can say you have done something in your life to help a person that has nothing to do with a status update, then you stand for something. Be an example of what you would like to change in this world, because saying it is not enough. Saying something is a start, and sadly almost always, the end.

I'm so far from perfect and I love it. My flaws make me who I am. But I do know, to the depths of my soul what I stand for:

Courage- because I live it, because I take risks in my life that will make me happy and make those that I keep close to me happy. I am not courageous because I get into a fight with my neighbor over property lines, I am not courageous because I tell someone exactly what I think of them (that's my arrogance), I am not courageous because I take unnecessary risks. I am courageous because I have walked through a little bit of hell and back and that shit was hard. I am courageous because I do not give up, I will not let someone else's attitude defeat me, and I will not let life defeat me. I am courageous because I allow myself to be wrong, sad, mad, hurt, scared and I let those things improve me, not rule me.

Loyal- I am loyal to a fault. If you are my friend I will rise to the occasion and I will love you fiercely. If you hurt me, you're out, but I'm a patient person, it takes a while to get me to unfriend you.. I am loyal because I learned loyalty from the examples of some amazing people who were loyal to me when I was a terrible friend to them. For them, I will forever live my gratitude through my actions.

Family- I stand for family. It is the most important thing to me; it will always be the most important thing to me. My kids inspire me and I live my life in a way that no one could ever dispute that. I will fight the injustice and stigma that comes with the diagnosis of a disability, because I know it makes a difference. For my son to have a better future, pushing forward for change, will give him a fighting chance. I could win verbal battles all day long, but guess what, that changes nothing for him by me trying to prove you are wrong and I am right.

I'm human. I'm wrong, a lot. But I can admit when I am wrong, and I'm not ashamed of it. I have nothing to hide, or prove, or pretend. You get what you get with me and I'm pretty transparent. Compromise is the only thing that will ever change the world, not being right.

So do you know what you really stand for? Do you stand for: God, kindness, respect, fighting injustice, gay rights, equality, etc. But how far have you walked to prove any of that? Not even prove it to anyone, just yourself. What have you done to make a difference, to stand for something?

Posting something on your wall doesn't mean you stand for anything anymore than wearing heels makes me a super model.

Okay, end rant.

Snakes Don't Do Tricks, Kid

noreply@blogger.com (Cari) — Tue, 31 Jul 2012 10:00:00 +0000

Outside my window there is a huge, {I can only imagine huge, having not seen it} toad, bullfrog, ribbiting monstrosity patiently waiting to slime me. Whatever, I know that's what frogs do. And no, I'm not Googling the variety of frog and deciphering the croak for technical accuracy for this post. Why you ask? Because I don't care, and I want someone to kill that frog. Now as I sit here, wanting said frog dead, plotting murder, but unwilling to actually catch it myself, I think, "gee, glad my daughter is asleep". Again, why? Because she would want to go catch it and keep it for a pet. Just like every little woodland creature, mouse, bug, tadpole, snail, slug, caterpillar, ant, grasshopper, or anaconda we happen upon.

I hear you toad-frog.

My daughter is an anomaly, well at least I think she is. Part princess diva, part tom-boy. How is that possible? The bigger question is I didn't sign up for that! Sure no choices yada, yada, but isn't there someone else in the parenting pool who was a little bit more equipped than me? I am all for nurturing who your child is and giving them tools for success. But if that means a pet snake, then I'm a cold-hearted rotten Mommy. There will be nothing of a slithery nature, rodent-like, or anything with antennae dwelling under my roof without me setting some kind of trap for it.

My daughter diva as she may be, also has a kind heart. This I can appreciate about her, no, I love that about her. But I don't need tears for killing an ant. No joke, she will pick up any insect or critter and set them free in the wild. Inevitably if reincarnation happens to exist, she will be fine and I will come back as an ant in the shadow of a gigantic magnifying glass. Whatevs, my cross to bear. {See how I did that? Nice little religion joke all rolled....yeah}

If you are going to have a pet, shouldn't it do something? By something I mean tricks. {Now Cari rationalizes} So far, snakes can't do tricks, they just coil up and look all snaky and gross. I would never sleep again, this is for certain. I consider the creepy crawly type "pets" to be more on the science experiment side of the scale.

My point is, if there is a point, it that I am not cut out for the slime-slithering side of parenting. Really let's think about it. These animals are always synonymous with Halloween. That is by design. It scares people! Halloween is telling us, do not domesticate these slimy 800 legged things, they will escape from their habitat and you will find the pet tarantula in your purse....and enter heart attack. See, it's just dangerous.

So I'm pretty sure God just doesn't get his laughs by letting people win the lottery, and instead loves to freak me out when I see my kid approaching me holding some sort of wild snake {apparently they are corn snakes}. They are all poisonous in my book, one being less poisonous than another does not make me want to stick around. So go ahead, God, get your laughs, I'm going to buy a lottery ticket.

The Apocalypse And Detox

noreply@blogger.com (Cari) — Tue, 17 Jul 2012 00:58:00 +0000

I am writing this post from the sandy beach of Hawaii. Okay, total fabrication, I am writing from my desk...in my house...dreaming of sandy beach. If life were a little more Hawaii and a little less, oh, crazy, for all intents and purposes, everything would be just peachy. Don't worry a state of the blog address is on the docket for later this week.

So because I like to torture myself and drag others along for the ride, I am in the process of doing a detoxifying cleanse with my bffs, Christina and Sue. Without the coffee it's all a blur as to if they dragged me into this or I volunteered. I'm weak, and I might actually cut someone for some carbs.


Detox Smoothie: cucumber, watermelon, spinach, grapes &kiwi. Yes quite good, but no Starbucks.

Not only am I detoxifying my body, but my life. Oh yeah, baby, I even quit my job. That was before the detox, so don't worry. But it's good for us to step back, de-clutter and simplify. Even when it comes to social media. That's right, I said it, unplugging. I do it. Obviously I do it, I haven't blogged for weeks; however I did write a very entertaining article over at Parent Society, good ahead, I'll wait.

It might mention something about fried squirrel, my latest addiction and if there is any truth to the rumor that I live in a van down by the river.

See ya over there.

10 Things You Can't Escape At A Family Picnic

noreply@blogger.com (Cari) — Mon, 02 Jul 2012 04:51:00 +0000

America, (and Canada) it is time to celebrate. We commemorate our freedom and the inevitable things that are bound to happen at your family picnic. Family picnics get a bad rap because there is no perfect family. Some families live a little closer to dysfunction junction than others, but we all have our moments, so who is to judge.

Maybe we could have some fun and make this a quiz:
1-5 "yes that's happened to me"=normal family
6-8 "yes, that's happened to me"= probably teetering on crazy town
9+ "yes, that's happened to me"= get checked out, and welcome, there is a support group, I am the President

Ten Things That Will Happen At Your Family Picnic:

Blow Off A Body Part

What is a family picnic without illegal fireworks? Somebody is going to procure some illegal pyrotechnics and possibly injure themselves while putting on a show. While fingers are the limb most likely to be lost, be careful of burns and deafness also. I'd like to offer you some firework safety advice, but I don't have any. They scare me, I'm a wimp. I like to watch them from a far distance, we are talking miles. I'm already worried Aunt Velma is going to catch 'Sparklers gone Wild' on her iphone. Be safe will you...and if you do blow off your finger, put it on ice, they might be able to re-attach it. Also notable, the next time you're in the firework tent spending a fortune, count the dude's fingers. If he tells you he lost them in Vietnam, he's lying. I will also take this opportunity to thank our service men and women, thank you.

What Did You Say?

Don’t' say something bad about my Grandma or anyone's Grandma for that matter. You just shouldn't talk about peoples Grandmothers. It will bring out the scrappy in almost anyone, and people who usually aren't scrappy can be scary scrappy when it matters.

Food Poisoning

Watch what you eat. I'm sure Aunt Betty's potato salad is fabulous, but if it has been sitting out in the sun for a few hours, you should probably steer clear and have some chips. They are probably soggy and aren't healthy I know, but food poisoning is not fun.

Food Fight

In the moment food fights might be fun, but it's all fun and games until someone gets an apple chucked in the eye socket. An apple at top speed square in the eye only gives you a black eye and no street cred. In fact, I will never live it down. I need to get my 7 year old into baseball.

Nudity

Don't jump in the pool in a bikini. Just don't do that unless you are okay with public nudity. I know I'm not the only victim of pool jumping nudity, just learn from your mistakes. Also be prepared for a heavy debate on whether your bikini malfunction actually showed nipple; very embarrassing.

Fight!

Fights at family picnics and weddings are pretty much a given. Sure, I know you have grievances to get off your chest; however, there is a time and a place. NEVER in the history of the world was a family picnic the ideal place to "talk it out". We all know after 3 glasses of liquid courage this won't be about the money they owe you, it will get ugly and escalate fast. Naturally after Grandma breaks it up by threatening a heart attack, you only look a fool. The family will eye you for 6 months afterwards wondering if you are going to pull a repeat performance at the Christmas festivities. By the way, you should also not shout, "Hey whore" across the park, yes, I witnessed that. For reference, I am neither the whore or whore caller.

French Indian

It is summer. The sun is not discriminating and will put the burn on you. You will offer, beg and tell some of your relatives to wear sunscreen and they will pshaw you because they have one eleventy-thousandth of Indian in them and "don't burn". Suffice to say, they will look like a lobster by the end of the day. Wear some sunscreen for crying out loud, even if you don't burn. Nothing takes the fun out of the 4th more than a lobster red sunburn and possible skin cancer. {Some ~~weatherman~~ weathermen blame their fake tan on the lil bit of French Indian in their blood, whatever you say, Barlow.}

My great, great, great grandfather...

Don't Eat The Kids Food

Don't deny to your child that you ate their last S'more. Nobody, I mean nobody can eat a gooey s'more without getting marshmallow on their face, it's physically impossible. So the evidence is clearly all over your face and then you have been caught in a lie. Nothing breaks all credibility as a parent than being caught in a lie, and you may never live it down. Again, know nothing about this, but I plead the 5th, S'mores are delicious.

Port-O-Pot Faux Pas

Do NOT forget your flip flops when going to the Port-o-Pot/Biffy/Portable Restroom. This seems like a no brainer, but I wouldn't feel the need to tell you if I hadn't witnessed it first hand myself. I would also go potty before you leave home. If you find it necessary to visit the porto-lieu, make it snappy, hot summer days don't make those things smell so fresh.

What Did You Forget?

You are bound to forget something, just make the best of it. But usually somebody has to make a run to the store for plates, spoons, ice, napkins, etc. I find even when making a list this happens, and then I'm only harder on myself because I made a list and still forgot stuff. May as well forgo the list and wing it.

Family

Yes, you can't escape family at a family picnic. Wild or subdued as they may be they are your family. We can't choose our family in this life, might as well go with the list advice and make the best of it. Families will accept you for all your crazy, black-eyes, and nipple flashing; most forgive. The good ones have your back through thick and thin. Our families know our histories, and still support us. Yes, as dysfunctional as they may be, they are ours. Love them while they're here, you'll look back fondly on the stories of the family picnics when you're old....and faking your very own heart attack.

Have a safe and happy Happy Fourth of July, and Canada Day to all my Canadian peeps!

Did I forget anything? I'm sure this could've been a list of 20 easy...what else can't you escape at family picnics?

I Support @JennyMcCarthy: Enter Blog Suicide

noreply@blogger.com (Cari) — Fri, 22 Jun 2012 15:15:00 +0000

My post on why the Vogue editor’s "Top 10 don'ts of the summer" can bite me has been postponed due to controversy. What? Controversy in the blogosphere? Never. I'm usually not one to partake; I think bloggers manipulate controversial topics for page views and attention oftentimes. I usually steer clear and just write about dumb crap that you all read for some reason or another, thank you very much.

Today is not one of those days, however. I may be committing blog suicide, followed by a mass blog and twitter un-following as well as a possible lynch mob. I'm sure I'll receive some nasty comments, but I will publish them, because I'm ethical like that. Before I explain the crux of the crusade here, a little background if you will.

My son of 5 is on the severe side of the Autism Spectrum, or, he has Autism. I am a single mom with full custody and divorced. I rarely write about Autism on this blog. Not because it is not important, not because I haven't anything to say about it, not because I feel it would do no good. Autism consumes my every waking moment. I live it, breathe it, think about it, only second to my son to which I cannot compare. My daughter of 7 has taken a back seat to Autism, not by choice, by necessity. I read many Autism blogs and they are wonderful, inspiring and passionate. Because my son has Autism, doesn't mean I have to write about it; this blog is my escape from Autism.

I have battled the last 4 years through a divorce, losing my home and everything I had, starting over by myself and learning how to parent by myself. I could write about all the turmoil, the child support woes, the broken-ness of living with a gambler and drug addict, but I rarely do. This blog is my escape from douche bags also. Pardon my French.

I don't write about Autism and being a single mom because I don't want to complain. NOW WAIT...I'm NOT saying every Autism blogger or Single parent blogger complains, NO! I'm saying when I {I as in me, not you} write about it, that's what it sounds like to me. I need to write more purposefully as not to come across as a victim of circumstance. Like it or not, this is my life, may as well enjoy it. Perhaps that is a disservice to my readership. It's my blog, my prerogative, I write for me.

I drive 3 hours a day to get my son to therapy. I work full-time. I pay the rent and the bills. I make all the school plays and doctor appointments and meetings without respite. I go to 4 grocery stores to meet my son’s gluten/dairy/soy free dietary needs and cook from scratch every day. I do this and go to bed at night without someone to talk to at the end of the day. The emotional support is far and away the most important. I do these things because I am my kids' Mom. See all that doesn't sound fun to read. I don't want sympathy.

Autism is a mystery. Little is known about it, our children are guinea pigs when it comes to treatment. To date, I do not believe there is a cure, although I am trying to cure my son. I do believe there is treatment. Hell, I'd do a naked rain dance in Times Square to make him better. Since not every child with Autism is the same, not every child can be treated the same...see guinea pig. You keep trying new things until you find what works for you. "He's doing so good, or so much better" is not good enough. Do we accept a little bit of cancer left? No! I'll keep fighting and trying new things until he makes a full recovery. I will keep trying new things until my son has no signs of Autism and is considered and labeled, typically functioning in the areas of social and cognitive development, speech and motor skills; among others. I will continue biomedical treatment for my son because it works for him. I have seen results for HIM. Might not work for other kids, I'm not pushing it. But for a child who hardly spoke, or smiled, or couldn't ride a bike, to transform in 6 months because of dietary changes, I'm a grateful believer. Here is a portion of Jenny's speech:

As we continued to talk about alternative treatments for our children, I noticed the room separating into two sides. We were no longer talking as a whole anymore. There was a group of moms who didn’t want anything to do with what we were talking about. They slumped into a corner and had a “woe is me” attitude. I decided to eavesdrop on both conversations.

The “woe is me” moms were talking about how they didn’t get to shop or go to the beach with their friends anymore, and the “I’ll try anything if it will help my kid recover” moms were trading success stories about the latest treatments.

And, later…

“My other theory was that they enjoyed the victim role. I know that might sound mean, but I’m sure you’ve met people who are constantly having shit go wrong in their life. They complain and play the “don’t you feel sorry for me” game.

You can view Jenny's speech, here, the victim portion in question begins at about the 6minute 50second part.

I could've been nicer on my t-shirt too.

Two months ago I received an email from a reader asking advice about how she could support her friend with a child on the spectrum. And I quote the friend said, "sad, cries and acts like a victim". This is before Jenny even opened her mouth. Could Jenny have said this better? Of course. God only knows if I had every word I said scrutinized and published, I'd be hated by bazillions. But she is doing something. She has a platform and people are listening. She sees improvement in her child and wants to shout it from the rooftops. Thanks to her voice, I have seen miracles in my son. 1 in 88 kids has Autism, the rates are increasing and we don't know why. She says vaccines may be one of the causes. WE DON'T KNOW WHAT CAUSES AUTISM, so let’s talk about it, debate it, voice our opinions, get people fired up about it and bring change. We can hand hold and support each other as much as we want {and that is necessary} but it isn't changing anything. Insurance companies are pulling coverage; some states don't even cover Autism services. It costs $80,000 a YEAR to send my son to Autism Day Treatment. They take 12 kids in the program, TWELVE! I'm blessed, and know a hundred people that would scrimp ~~sell a kidney~~ {got one to spare?}and pay that much to send their child too.

Here's where I get crucified: I can see what Jenny was saying. When are we going to wake up and do something drastic? This is an epidemic. Just accepting some therapy is good enough and what our undereducated doctors say is just a band-aid. She wants us to do something. At least that's how I see it. Might not make me popular, but I've never really been one to care too much about what other people think.

I think there are plenty of idiots in this world. But I would hope there are many more that are not. I knew next to nothing about Autism when my son was diagnosed at age 2, so I did my research. Bets are 99% of parents would educate themselves after diagnosis. For every one person that mindlessly follows Jenny McCarthy without doing their research, there are 2 more people who will tell you she is an idiot and doesn't know what she's talking about without having tried any biomedical treatments. Neither of those do any good. I happen to agree with some of the treatments she advocates. I am also aware she is not a doctor. I do also think half the doctors that practice are not God, do what they are told and are drug pushers. So do yourself a favor and make an informed decision for yourself, bandwagons on either side of the road are not necessities in life. I have more respect for those who are bold and follow their own educated path; even if our viewpoints differ.

I respect the time and energy she gives to Autism. I respect the time and energy all the parents, caregivers and therapists give to Autism. I don't respect name calling, by either side. By Jenny for "victim Moms" or the backlash of the parents sinking just as low and calling her names or joining "I hate Jenny" pages.

I love the Autism community. They are my rock. They are also divided. This is nothing new. Divide us as you will, ABA vs. DIR, Biomedical vs. 'medical', Intensive therapy vs. non-intensive. In the community, we just learn to get along. We know we are all doing our best for our kids. It's hard for all of us. We all love our kids. I know from being on Facebook and Twitter, most of our grief comes from close friends and family who don't understand or care enough to support or educate themselves. So we have to agree to disagree on some things and do whatever it takes to eradicate the real villain...Autism. I don't want a 1 in 9 number in 2022. It's going to take more than t-shirts and walk-a-thons. {Which reminds me, Autism parents you should research the corrupt organizations Speaking about Autism and see how much money they really ~~make~~ contribute, another rant entirely.}

Because we differ on therapeutic interventions for Autism, doesn't make me better than someone who doesn't. But good enough is not good enough for my son. Why wouldn't you try, just try, anything to make your child's life easier?

I appreciate and welcome your comments and debate. Please be discreet or I'll have to get all meanie-pants on yo ass.

What to get ME (Mom) for Father's Day

noreply@blogger.com (Cari) — Tue, 12 Jun 2012 02:49:00 +0000

Sorry I've been absent from the blog for a bit. I've been:

a) Whipping my brat kids into shape, ala Bubble Gum boot camp

b) Working on my tan

c) Indulging in a romantic tryst with a hot dude

Could be one, could be all of the above, you'll never know. Okay friends, back to the post at hand. Tis the season of the boring holiday blog post, therein, Father's Day. You many have seen one or twelve of the following: 10 Perfect Father's Day Gifts, What to Get Dad for Father's Day, Homemade Father's Day Gifts, etc. The list goes on and on, endless and boring. Seriously? I'll tell you want men/Dads want for Father's Day...sex. That should about cover it. Best. Gift. Ever. If you are rolling your eyes and feel a headache coming on, try bacon as a back-up.

Since I am the single parent, Mom and Dad of my two offspring, I think I deserve a Father's Day Gift also. Since sex is pretty much not happening, and I don't particularly care for bacon, I have some other ideas.

THIS:

I am the prettiest based on lack of facial hair alone.

An Auto-Mechanic Type Person and/or Gift Card To Auto Shop:

Don't take this the wrong way ladies; I'm all for women's equality and doing what they can do ~~better,~~ blah, blah. However, when it comes to vehicle maintenance, I would rather pass the torch. For example, just last week the tail light (bulb) of my car needed to be replaced. I, being somewhat thrifty and capable decided to do it myself. I can read the manual after all, where it is clearly outlined and pictures are included. An hour in, three lacerations to the forearm and a varying array of curse words later, the bulb was replaced. Who knew I had to disassemble the back half of my car? This is clearly worth the $25 dollars for someone else to do next time. Live and learn. I would also like someone to change my oil. I don't do that, nor do I have the desire. I don't even have the desire to sit at the Jiffy Lube for 12.5 minutes while the 3 high school kids do it for me. But I will. The car maintainability alone will drive me to marry again.

Tools:

After the bulb replacement debacle, I came upon a startling realization...I need tools. My toolbox includes two screw drivers and a hammer. What was I thinking when I said, "take the tools" in the divorce? I would now kill for the cordless drill and whatever wrench I could've used disassembling my tail-light. I ended up using one of my jewelry tools, bent nose pliers, to be exact, when I couldn't get the bolt to budge. Righty tighty, indeed. Tools would also come in handy when assembling the 58 slats into the mission style desk I acquired and promptly thought of making a bonfire out of. That friends is for another post, it's too fresh in my mind.

Breakfast In Bed:

Because I'm seriously still waiting from Mother's Day. And while I'm at it, it would be nice not to hear the complaints from all the other Mom's/Dad's on Twitter and Facebook about how "disappointed" they were in their gifts from their spouses/kids. Knock it off. The handmade card should be enough. We all just want to feel appreciated.

The list could really go on and on, golf clubs, spa days, and a new tie. But I'm going to end this before it becomes anymore painful, besides I'm saving it all for my Christmas wish list.

Happy Father's Day to all the Dads and Moms out there, I hope you know how much you are appreciated and loved.

Power Struggles: What Are The Odds I'll Make It Out Alive?

noreply@blogger.com (Cari) — Thu, 31 May 2012 01:36:00 +0000

The daughter, young lass, age 7, and I are having a bit of a power struggle. I, having been a young lass and blossoming tween once upon a time, know that this is only the beginning. I can't blame the kid; there has been a lot of change in her life the past few years/months/weeks with divorce, moving, and her Dad moving out of state. I know there will be outbursts, a little rage, tears, testing boundaries, etc. But as of late, I might be at the end of my rope.

See what I mean? I think she's flashing some sort of secret
gang sign at me.

I can tough it out, call me what you want kid, but I won't tolerate brats. Do I have sympathy? Yes, we can discuss how you feel; but the whole lashing out thing doesn't work well for me. Maybe I'm too strict, but I give lots of hugs, love and reassurance; so I don't think I'm neglecting any child around here.

I will say the emotional beat down the kid can give takes a toll after a while. Kind of like when people say, "Haha, Cari, you're crazy" after so many times, and then you think, wait...am I crazy? So your kid hits you with a verbal attack which you think you shrug off, only to later think, "am I really a meanie-head?”

No matter how many years you've had in the parenting trenches, you will never be prepared to hear the following phrases:

"I hate you."

"I wish you weren't my Mom."

"You are the worst Mom in the world."

Need I continue? No. If you haven't heard these yet, they are on the way. Things looked so promising when I brought her home from the hospital. Of course I apply my myriad of disciplinary techniques:

Ignore it and hope it goes away.

You know, a little, "lalalalalala, I can't hear you" in my head. But of course this only works for so long because the children are highly skilled at button pressing and know it will only take 5.8 seconds before I crack OR they will hit a sibling to regain your attention. That'll do it.

The Jedi Mind Trick

Child: I hate you.

Me: Well, I LOOOOVVVVE you.

Child: I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

Me: Okay, but I still love you.

Two outcomes here: they begin to laugh hysterically, or they have already passed over to the dark side in which case you've really just pissed them off even more, furthering a lifelong battle of wills to the death.

Punish

We have a no sass talking policy around this house. Not everything written in the policies and procedures manual is obeyed by the children. I really need to talk to the manager about that. This means I need to crack the whip! That's right, get all big and puffy and yell, or uh, give them a stern talking to, and take away some privileges.

Really at the end of the night, there was no clear winner and we hugged it out. I think this is always going to be a tough thing for me, being the only parent, finding the balance between disciplinarian and nurturer.

At this point in the post, I shall retire; as I am weary and will probably partake in some sort of adult beverage...but please leave some advice below, how do you deal with the power struggles?

I Might Need Bail Money...

noreply@blogger.com (Cari) — Wed, 30 May 2012 04:33:00 +0000

I have some news. Some of you might be excited, others of you might curse me and say things like:

"there goes the neighborhood"
"I thought she was sweet"
"Oh, that."
"Pregnant!"

Just kidding about the last one, not pregnant. But I did give birth to a brand new blog! I know, I know, brilliant segue. It's nothing really, only the shiniest, coolest, snarkiest Bitchery Triad Blog ever!

We {the triad and I}wrote a post, over there on the blog, it's very funny, head on over to get your fill while Marjorie gets her swear on.

Now skedaddle and go check out what we look like as smokin' hot cartoons.

June Cleaver Would Not Even Go Here! #Dogtopus

noreply@blogger.com (Cari) — Tue, 22 May 2012 05:36:00 +0000

I would consider myself to be crafty. I have craft supplies and what not, I'll do a little glitter and glue with the offspring. But there comes point where I draw the line. Food. Whatever you do on your own time is fine; I however will not be fashioning the Eiffle Tower out of Ramen noodles for my children. I suppose I don't entirely see the point. Let's talk about this, okay I'll talk you listen, with some photos for your viewing pleasure of course.

Mr. Owl, how many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Tootsie pop?

{Kicking it old school, if you don't understand the statement above, you might want to go back to your Bieber}

Source: chocolatecakemoments.com via Katie on Pinterest

I think I could probably pull off Mr. Owl up there. It doesn't require to many ingredients, glue or some fancy tool or edible food coloring. Some proponents of "food art" may argue, oh my kids are picky eaters, this will help. Really? I mean does that work? I'm giving my kids the benefit of the doubt and saying they are smarter than that. They aren't picky eaters, but they don't like cucumbers; if I served up Mr. Owl complete with cucumber tree, it would go down like this:

Me: Why didn't you eat your tree, honey?

Kid: That's not a tree, it's cucumbers and they are gross.

And that is like half a cuke there. I'd rather hide them in oh, a salad. That's right, I've fooled them with salad people.

Don't look at me like that.

Source: montrealfashionmoms.com via Laura on Pinterest

Bert and Ernie. Aren't they scary enough in real life? The unibrow? The huge cherry nose? If I were a kid, this would scar me for life. Maybe it's me and I don't like my food starring back at me, with the crazy eye no less. And then there is always the chance your kid won't recognize what you've made. Buzz kill right there. Why put yourself through that?

Panda Express?

Source: country-song0.blogspot.com via Sydney on Pinterest

Naturally, I did not delve into the ingredient breakdown of "food" pictured above. But I suspect this is rice. A heck of a lot of rice. Who wants to eat a huge glob of rice like that? No avacado, crab, or cucumber to be found! A rice ball is a rice ball no matter how panda-ish it may look. Some of this "cute food" is really just a waste and downright unappatizing. Think of all the remnants you throw away just to make the nose or hair on something. It doesn't seem green if you ask me. So save the Pandas!

Have Some Time To kill?

Source: mcc7.arrange.at via Tina on Pinterest

Source: dumpaday.com via VURRUKKULLUK on Pinterest

This is what I like to call, "Too much time on your hands". I don't think I could even eat that because of the sheer enormitiy of time this must have taken. Sure it's fun! The kids will LOVE it! Maybe, but I'm not eating Brocclapoodle. Also, I worry about the refridgeration time while you were widdling away at a bean stalk. That's pretty amazing. Hope you got an "A" at the culinary institute.

Stop It.

Source: pinterestin.tumblr.com via maryanne on Pinterest

The yoda shaped guacamole was worse, trust me. I see that you've labeled that "cheese ball". I wouldn't eat it. I don't like black licorice with my cheese. Stop this.

I SAID STOP!

Source: party-ideas-by-a-pro.com via Jessica on Pinterest

Please dear friends, why? Why can't we just eat hot dogs on a bun like God intended? Why the dogtopus? This isn't the first appearance Dogtopus has made on this blog...please see here. I'm not just asking, or threatening anymore; I'm begging. Stop the madness, really that platter of dogtopuses doesn't deserve 7909 re-pins on Pinterest, it's just gross.

And for the record, the plural form of octopus is octopuses. Thought it was octopi didn't you? So did I.

Now come clean. Have you made food art? Why? And what did you make? Will you stop?