My foot is still broken and it actually hurts more than it did last week. I don’t know, something just tells me that when you take your first step of the morning, feeling like someone is stabbing you in the top of the foot with a red-hot nail isn’t a good sign. But alas, I continue to hobble around (actually it’s more like lumbering but hobbling sounds slightly less unattractive, don’t you think?) and I’ve even gotten up the nerve to drive but it’s just with my toes and thus, I must drive like an old lady and break waaaaaaay before I need to stop.

So how was your 4th of July? Mine was the same as it’s been for the last few years. We go to the top of a hospital parking garage and watch fireworks over the bay. When my son was about 5 weeks old, we wanted to be near the bay to watch fireworks but all these dipshits kept shooting off firecrackers and I’m all HELLO? Mom with newborn is going RIP YOUR FACE OFF if you light another firecracker within 300 feet of us. My husband could see my own hormonally-charged fuse getting dangerously short so he hustled us away from there and spotted the hospital parking garage right down the street (where my son was born AWWWW!) Now we go there every year, along with a gazillion other people. But see, because it’s right there at the hospital? NO FIRECRACKERS.

Have I mentioned that I’m like a cranky old person when it comes to fireworks at the consumer level? I HATE THEM and I despise all the easily amused idiots (This is Florida. Need I say more?) in my neighborhood that insist on shooting off the really loud mortar-type fireworks until 2 in the morning. I seethe for hours and my kids don’t sleep and seriously…every year I hope against hope that someone will injure themselves playing with that stuff so that there will be one less asswipe to fantasize about running over with the momvan. Tomorrow I’m going to go yell at some kids to get off my lawn while shaking my cane at them (or in my case, a crutch) and then go for the early bird special at the Piccadilly Cafeteria, braking excessively with my big toe all the way there…

Saturday morning: It is, however, the bitter new occupant of this rather ugly, awkward and dreadfully ginormous cast.

Saturday evening:

Note the progression from merely chubby foot to slightly bruised and casted foot to totally purple and hideous casted foot.

Diagnosis: partial fracture and two heinously torn ligaments, compliments of a seemingly harmless little accident.

Forgive my naked and unfashionably hyper-cropped toenails. Once the cast was on and I knew I wouldn’t be able to get a pedicure next week in honor of BlogHer 08, I cut them super short.

Which reminds me… I’ll be wearing this stupid thing for the next 4-6 weeks and I’m not supposed to walk on it for more than a few minutes at a time unless using crutches (which I officially hate), need to keep it elevated, blah blah blah — so I can’t go to BlogHer this year.

I suppose I could guilt some of you into waiting for me as I hobbled ten feet behind you everywhere we went. Maybe one of you would even be so kind as to carry all my shit so I could use the hated crutches.

But I really don’t want to be that person so I’m going to stay home and live vicariously through Twitter.

And? I’m selling I’ve sold my 2 day full conference pass for the bargain price of $200. They’re currently going for $298 so it’s not a bad deal.

I considered giving it away but dude…we have a ridiculously high deductible on our shitass HSA (health savings account) and thus none of my treatment was covered. I owe BIG! bucks for this fun-filled suckstravaganza.

So help a sistah out and buy my 2 day conference pass. Hell, make me an offer!

Or if you don’t need a pass, perhaps you’d consider mentioning my little fire sale on your blog? Surely someone out there still needs one. Think of all the good karma you’ll be racking up :)

(And just so you know…I’m really sad about not being able to go. I’ll miss ya’ll)

After jumping through eleventeen hundred hoops that included one trip to the pediatrician, twenty days of antibiotics (for a sinus infection that was causing his eardrum to retract), a formal audiology evaluation that indicated my son is not, in fact, partially deaf, mountains of paperwork and numerous requests for things like birth and medical records, we finally went for the BIG speech eval today.

I don’t need anyone to tell me the child needs some intervention in the way of speech therapy. I also don’t need anyone to tell me that in spite of his sometimes unintelligible speaking, my son is whip smart and has excellent receptive language skills — meaning he understands everything we say — and apparently his vocabulary level is extremely high. He gets that from me ;)

Unfortunately, articulation was the last part of the 3+ hour evaluation and we ran out of time. Without including the articulation score being factored in, he ranks one percentage point above the number in which therapy would be recommended.

This means that even though the speech pathologist can clearly see that he needs help, she is required to go by the numbers. If she decides, based on some criteria I’m not aware of, that taking the articulation part of the eval on another day isn’t necessary and thus doesn’t have a number to factor into the overall score, he will be refused interventional speech therapy BY ONE PERCENTAGE POINT.

After all the BS we had to go through to get there, it hardly seems right to score the kid without completing what I would consider the most critical part of the whole thing.

Quite frankly, the vibe I got is that they systematically refuse anyone who doesn’t have a severe disability. And if that’s the case, then WHY refer him for the eval in the first place? It’s obvious his issues are not severe.

I don’t want to jump the gun and get all pissed off just yet because maybe she WILL call us and ask us back to finish the test, but if she doesn’t? I WILL BE LIVID.

The woman kept asking me what my concerns were and I tried to tell her that my concern is that he will not be able to communicate with his peers or teacher in preschool and that at three years of age, he should be able to have a basic conversation, which he cannot. Is this not a valid concern?

I told her that there is no way he could have attended in the preschool program my daughter was in at 3 yrs. because the ability to communicate was an absolute necessity.

She gave me a bunch of “Yeah, but…”

Yeah but nothing. I know my child and I know, as he is right now, that he isn’t ready for preschool.

But keeping him home? How is that going to help him?

Putting him in a class of two year olds? How is THAT going to help him?

Of course, if we had better insurance or were independently wealthy, I could just take him to a speech pathologist myself and skip all this shite. But we don’t and we’re not.

Mood: IRRITATED

——

In other news, I got a bread machine (AKA the best invention ever for people who detest cooking)! I know I’m about a decade late to the party but dude, I’m SO excited! It’s a Cuisinart Convection model and I can’t WAIT to get baking because, IMHO, one can never have too much bread in their diet. MOARRRR CARBS!!!!!!!!

Hello, homemade raisin bread and cheese bread and pizza dough and cinnamon rolls. I can’t wait to eat you up. NOM NOM NOM NOM!!!!!!!

It’s surrounded with a chainlink fence but the ground isn’t level so the ducks can squeeze under it and wander around in the little grassy area where people like me go to feed them. I go there, as opposed to other ponds, because there are always a bazillion ducks there while the other ones are hit or miss and nothing spells disappointment like kids all hopped up to feed ducks that aren’t there.

So I brought a bunch of stale bread and we proceeded to feed these gorgeous ducks and their ducklings, a few pigeons, these tall white birds with pink beaks and one odd small black duck-like creature with a bright red beak.

While we were there, an elderly couple came up and were watching us feed the ducks and talking to us. The woman went to the grocery store next door to get them some bread of their own while the man and I made small talk under a shady tree and P gave the last of his bread to the baby ducks.

I don’t know how we got on the subject but somehow we started talking about the environment and in his thick accent (Austrian or perhaps Swedish?) the man, who had to have been at least 70, noted that because of decades of rampant and unchecked use of poisons and chemicals, we rarely see frogs or butterflies anymore; that we’ve ruined the earth in the quest for financial gain.

Of course, this isn’t news to me and I was totally nodding my head in agreement when he said he fears for his grandchildren and he doesn’t want to imagine what life on earth will be like in thirty years. The sadness in his voice was palpable

We continued to talk and it seemed so odd that I would make this man’s acquaintance and that we would have this common ground. No offense, but I generally find older people, especially ones like my MIL, who has lived a life of privilege, to be completely clueless and apathetic about the things he and I were talking about so it made the experience a tad surreal.

When his wife came back, our focus turned back to the ducks and we eventually parted ways but his sad words are still echoing in my ears.

Or feed read me.

Or allow me into your inbox.

Have I told you lately that I love you?

For reals.

I love you people who take time out of your lives to read my drivelings. I love you in that abstract “I love you, man” beer commercial kind of way — but that doesn’t render the sentiment any less sincere.

Lately, however, I’m just…

I don’t know.

How do I say this?

I’m not feelin’ it.

How is it that one can feel so stifled by a creative endeavor of their own making?

Where’s the fun?

I really don’t want to sit here and whine about blogging because nobody MAKES me do it. And honestly, the blogging gods have been very, very good to me.

It’s just that I don’t sit down and write anymore.

Now I just wait around for inspiration to strike, which would account for my only posting 1-2x per week these days. And let me tell you — it’s not easy being slave to inspiration. She’s an extremely cruel mistress at times.

So why is this, I ask myself? Is my life any less blogworthy than it’s ever been?

Hell no. And if I told you what happened yesterday in the thrift store, you’d totally concur — my days are rife with bloggable material.

Part of me feels like there is just nothing new under the sun when it comes to blogging. I remember when everything was so new and every day was like unwrapping a present. Such excitement!

These days, I feel like no matter what I’m thinking of saying, I’ve either already said it or someone else has or it’s something too personal to share with the entire world, particularly now that my kids are getting older and my eldest can read.

Again, I feel stifled — like I can’t just post five lines of whateverness. Or those “random” thoughts we bloggers are so fond of. No. There has to be a point. Or a moral to the story. Or it has to at least be amusing. There has to be some meat on that bone…

So why these ridiculous standards? I have no idea.

I mean I do have some standards that actually make sense to me… For example, on this blog I will not shill for free stuff (excluding trips because those are an experience). This is MY blog. A memoir, of sorts, of MY life. I don’t want to look back on my life via my blog and find my thoughts on some free cleaning products or cereal or whatever. I’m not knocking it. It’s just not for me.

I think that’s a reasonable standard, no?

However, this other self-imposed thing? I hate it. And thus, I kind of don’t enjoy writing as much as I once did.

Oh, how I wish… How I wish I was one of those people who doesn’t care one whit what other people think…

No…I’m not going to threaten to close my blog. There will be no contrived drama here. If ever do decide to, it will be quick and clean. I despise long goodbyes.

But I am going to try something new.

From this point forward, I’m just going to write what I want regardless of whether it meets some silly criteria based on what I think I *should* be doing. More me. Less pressure. I know for a fact that some of you can relate to this.

It’s a hard habit to break but I have to do it. And if it ruins my blog in the process, at least I’ll know I was true to myself. I can hang it up with no regrets and put my energy into other pursuits.

Another time, we were reading the instructions for something and they said “Do not allow children to mucky-muck, owing to small parts.” Just another wacky example of inaccurate translating…

Judging by the photos below, the same could be said about translating the text and concepts on products and signs from Chinese(?) to English. Something has definitely gotten lost in the translation.

(I don’t know who to credit for amassing these pics but they appear to have come from Engrish.com, so thanks to them for the chuckle.)

Here Crippie, you can have my seat.

.

The dork is delicious, not too sure about the barboo…

.

Time Limit for Teenage Boys: 15 seconds

.

Where the emo kids shop…

Weird, because horsebeans sound delicious.

.

I wouldn’t tickle this one!

.

Starbucks should be very afraid…

.

Mother gets her anus hair done here!

.

TWO DOLLARS? In America, we abuse our plastic for free!

.

Look up and down the aisle twice before proceeding…

.

Much tastier that the grown-up variety…

.

Not nice. Some of my best friends are liquor heads.

.

Go over there to die, please. Thank you.

.

You ain’t gonna find it there, I assure you…

.

Sounds better than canned water, doesn’t it?

.

All sauces are now suspect….

I should note that the poor little tyke had been screwed out a proper birthday celebration for the previous two years thanks to the all-important family reunion beach thing, put on by the huz’s clan, that we’ve attended for the past 15 years or so.

I like to think of it as “THAT WHICH CANNOT EVER BE HELD AT ANY TIME OTHER THAN THE 25th WEEK OF THE YEAR OR LIFE AS WE KNOW IT SHALL COME TO A SCREECHING HALT!”

See, it just so happens that mah precious babay’s birthday falls during THE SACRED WEEK and thus, we cannot have a birthday party at home because nobody on the huz’s side would drive their tired asses 25 minutes in from the beach to attend AND IT WOULD BE SELFISH OF US TO ASK THAT…even if it was his first birthday, which is, to most people (like his parents), somewhat of a BIG EFFING DEAL.

So we celebrated his first birthday at the beach and it sucked. It couldn’t have been more of an afterthought but who cares because, you know, HE’LL HAVE ANOTHER BIRTHDAY NEXT YEAR.

Last year was the same kind of nonsense, more or less, and P’s birthday was something of a non-event. We opted not to do the family reunion thing, which was being held 3 hours south, and had a small party with a few close friends. Woo hoo.

This year, I was determined to give P his very own full-fledged kid party and that’s what we did. And it was cool. Everyone had fun. And considering that it was held outside at a park, it wasn’t even that hot. No extended family members were in attendance, as expected, and we didn’t care. It was a great party.

I tried to make the party as green as possible but dude..not as easy as it sounds. We did, however, bring an empty box and collected all the recyclable stuff. Also, I totally broke from standard kid party operating procedure and didn’t give out a treat bag full of useless crap because seriously, does anyone need anymore plastic whistles or mini yo-yo’s or ball-bearing puzzles or tiny bottles of bubbles or themed pencils and erasers or mini-packs of crayons or plastic slinkies floating around in the back seat of their car or in the junk drawer or under their kids’ beds?

I also didn’t have the kids do one of those pre-fab foam crafts, which, no offense, has got to be the stupidest waste of time and resources ever invented. I hate those foam door hangers and visors and crowns etc. that you make them sit down and decorate. I can’t tell you much of that junk has entered my home over the years. Seriously. Cannot stand.

All I sent the kids home with was their booty from the piñata (Smarties and Sweet Tarts) and a punch balloon. Remember those? it’s a big latex balloon with a rubber band handle and you bop it back and forth against your knuckles? Now those? Are a fun parting gift. And they’re latex which is biodegradable. I know…am genius :)

Now, as promised, here’s the short list of what I learned this weekend:

1) Just blow up about a hundred balloons because they were the most coveted thing at the whole damn party. Kids kept accidentally popping them and then asking for more and when there weren’t enough (because they were supposed to be decorations!) there was some balloon-stealing and subsequent fussing going on (this includes the 4, 5 and 7 year olds, too). Next time, I’m just going to pass out a bajillion balloons to the kids and everyone will be happy as shit.

2) Don’t buy anything your kid actually likes for a piñata. Case in point — my son loves trucks and construction equipment so we got him a piñata shaped like a dump truck. Um hello? When your son sees everyone beating the crap out of the piñata shaped like one his favorite things in the world? It’s not going to be pretty. Next time I’m getting one shaped like a snake because when I showed him one outside the other day? He no likey.

3) From now on, I will always make food for the grown-ups. Because the party was at 10am, I made two quiches (one vegetarian, one with sausage and cheese) and they were totally gobbled up. Doesn’t it suck when you go to a party and there’s nothing but kiddie-crap set out to eat?

4) No matter that your son has never seen Cars or Spiderman or Batman, simply because he is a boy, some part of every gift, whether it’s the wrapping paper, gift bag, card or the present itself, will feature the aforementioned marketing juggernauts. It’s, like, a rule.

5) You DON’T have to have a specific theme for a party. I know all the party stores and party supply catalogs would have you believe otherwise but really — you can break that silly rule and nothing terrible will happen. I used party stuff from previous years’ themes (Thomas the Tank Engine and Fire Trucks and some generic red plates and napkins) and picked up a few other things emblazoned with construction equipment and cute frogs and Curious George and we just rolled with the totally unmatchy-matchy anti-theme theme.

6) People do not care how obnoxious certain toys are or how much they make you want to rip your ears off. They will buy them for your child anyway. And then LAUGH about it.

Amazingly, the whole party went off with absolutely no stressing out on my part — a miracle I can probably attribute to a minute dose of physician-prescribed Xanax :)

No way! Did I really just see that?

Indeed you did.

I laid on my horn, rolled down my window and suddenly a sailor took possession of my body, forcing very unladylike things to come flying out of my mouth.

I saw the occupants looking in the side and rear view mirrors.

Yeah, that’s right. I’m talking to YOU, douchebag! Who the f-ck do you think you are?!

The diatribe continued until the light turned.

I mean, really… Littering. Right there in full view of any number of cars. WHO DOES THAT ANYMORE???

Assholes!

The best part of the movie, for me, was feeling like you were watching the show again which I know is really REALLY dorky but I get attached to TV shows. Some characters are just so well-written that they seem real and when they go away, it’s sad.

I wanted to watch Angela Chase and Jordan Catalano and Brian Krakow and Rayanne Graff (and Graham Chase who was sort of cute/hot for a TV dad) on My So-Called Life forever.

I wanted to watch Hope and Michael and their friends grow old alongside me on Thirtysomething.

I wanted to watch Felicity and Ben and Noel keep messing things up until they faced reality and became a threesome.

I know. Am pathetic.

But the good news is I hardly watch TV at all anymore, save the stray episode of teh awesomest Mystery Diagnosis, a little CNN and of course mah stories on Showtime (Weeds, Dexter & Californication), all of which are on hiatus for what feels like a freaking year at a time. HATINGIT.

I’m sure I’m missing out on some most excellent reality TV and lawd knows I’m practically a pariah for not watching Lost but I’ll make up for whatever network TV fare I missed this year by watching Lipstick Jungle again in the fall. It’s a cheap TV-14 surrogate for SATC but it’s not bad, really.

Hell, I may even become disturbingly attached to the characters and cry when it inevitably gets canceled. Because everything I like gets canceled within four years, you know. I’m like…TV show kryptonite.

Hey! Guess what? We got a scooter! It’s the coolest thing Seriously, SO. MUCH. FUN.

At some point, like riding a bike or driving a car, the novelty will surely wear off but until then, I’m in love. BIG BIG LOVE. (I know someone will probably say real motorcycles are even more fun but I’m new to all this small combustion engine machinery — 50cc’s is all I can handle right now)

We got it to save on gas because I have a Nissan minivan that’s a not-so-mini gas guzzler. We don’t want to sell it (who’d buy it anyway?) because we live in a hurricane state and if we ever need to evacuate, there’s no way 4 people and three cats in carriers are going to fit in my husband’s car.

The plan is he will ride the scooter to work (he comes home for lunch so that’s six trips a day) and I will drive his car, which is much better on gas, and we’ll only use the momvan when necessary. Since school is now out, we’re not carpooling so I don’t need all the extra seating and it will probably be parked most of the summer.

But all the practical stuff and the 123 mpg aside, I love the scooter. I can’t believe I went my whole life without ever riding one. The only thing more fun? Riding a horse as fast as you possibly can.

Yes, I was one of those horsey girls. I still am.

One of my dreams is to live on a farm (organic, natch) with lots of horses. And hired help to clean up after them — because manual labor that involves horse crap? So NOT a part of my dream.

Maybe I should just have friends with horses instead..

—–

Question for le masses: Has anyone noticed that Claritin makes them kind of um…bitchy? Just wondering.

(Post title courtesy of Christopher Cross, crooner of songs you love to hate)

He has this new bumper sticker on his car:

Don’t tolerate everything
Diversity is Devisive!

Your eyes do not deceive you. “Devisive” is, indeed, a misspelling.

I’m going to give him one that says “I are a devider, not a unider”

Ahahahaha…I are funnie.

(Did I mention Asshat Neighbor is a teacher?)

Me: *feeling fabric* It’s kind of hot. Why are they’re selling stuff like this now ?

TQ: Because it’s awesomely awesome

………………

Around the webernets: (Stuff you should read because I said you should, which probably isn’t that compelling a reason but humor me and pretend it is. Thank you. That is all.)

When Change Is Not Enough - Have Americans finally had enough? Sociologists note that conditions in America are ripe for a revolution. I, for one, can’t wait.

Little Girls Gone Wild - Fascinating interview with the author of The Lolita Effect. If you have a daughter, you should read this.

How Did Our Kids Get So Caught Up in Consumerism? Consumerism has become the dominant faith of every continent of the planet today. How does this really affect your children?

………………

I’m just going to assume you’re not one of these nuts and that you actually DO care about the environment. That said, if you look in my sidebar you’ll see a button for 350.org. If you would be so kind as to go here and get the code and put one in YOUR sidebar, you’d be doing something really good.

See, when you post the 350 Challenge badge on your site, Brighter Planet will offset 350 pounds of carbon in your name! 350 pounds! That’s like flicking off 100 lightbulbs for a day. Or going two full weeks without your car. Pretty fabutastical, huh?

Help 350.org go viral and get your badge up today!

……………….

Okay, last thing and then I’m DONE telling you what to do, what to read etc.

We have a new forum over at Green Mom Finds. We haven’t had our official launch yet because, well, we feel like it should have some actual content before we make some big announcement..

But — because I do have the world’s bestest readers (and certainly the most attractive and intelligent), I’d like to invite you, informally and unofficially to come visit. While your there, consider registering, (it’s SUPER DUPER EASY, Takes like 4 seconds. SRSLY), stay awhile, share the green love… Now go! And for the few who actually answer my call and register/leave a post I will link you here for your awesomeness.

The Cool People That Visited the GMF Forum and Left a Post Because They Totally Effing RULE

Jennifer of The Smart Mama

Green Lisa (no web site)

Jodi of Mom’s Favorite Thing

Kris Underwood of Writing in the Mountains

Sassy Irish Lassie

Kara of Count Mockula (no url)

Kim from Kim Plus Eddie

Threeundertwo from Lit and Laundry

Kate2145 (no web site)

Christine from Green Parent Chicago

BERNTHIS

Me: Eating Lucky Charms. “All your marshmallow are belong to us”

Baltimore Gal to me: I love, love, love Lucky Charms. If I have them around the house I eat all the marshmallows.

Me to Baltimore Gal: They should make a cereal that’s just marshmallows (Anybody steals my million dollar idea, I keel you)

Baltimore Gal: I would SO buy that.

Me to Baltimore Gal : We sound really baked.

Motherbumper to Me: Dude, you just made me go grab a handful of mini marshmallows to add to my bran flakes. How wrong is that?

Me to Motherbumper: If mini marshmallows are wrong, you don’t WANT to be right.

—

It just occurred to me today that I often Twitter about junk food. I think I’ve covered the spectrum of donuts, cereal, tollhouse cookies and cinnamon rolls. It’s only a matter of time until I start waxing romantic about pizza.

On a less odd note, despite all my Twittering about food, I’m finally FINALLY! able to fit into my pre-second baby clothes.*

My secret? Heh. The Wellbutrin diet, of course.

I used to think it was due to my Uri Geller-like will power (No, I can’t bend spoons with my mind — yet. But I’m THIS CLOSE) and my unwavering commitment to those infrequent quarter mile treks around the block (and to the ice cream place up the street) but now I know better.

See, I’ve determined when I’m on the Wellbutrin, food holds far less interest. I mean, I’ll eat, but I’m not on a constant quest for foods with the perfect sweet-to-savory ratio (i.e. raisin toast with loads of butterrrrrrrr, pound caaaaake, Dutch apple pieeeee etc).

But don’t be jealous. Don’t covet mah crazeee pills — because you know how much those suckers cost when you’re an American and your shitty health insurance plan suddenly refuses to cover your doctor-specified name-brand crazy pills?

$200 a month. SRSLY.

At that rate, there BETTER be some unexpected weight loss.

——

* slightly tighter in the hips now after giving birth to a freaking toddler

That was almost two years ago and now that it’s all come to fruition, I find myself trying not to get too excited. This is partially because I live my whole life that way; not getting too excited so I can never be disappointed — but also because I have a tendency to majorly play down any kind of success I might have in anything I do or achieve.

I suppose that might stem from some deep-seated feelings of not being good enough or not deserving enough. It probably comes across as modesty or something but that’s not really it. I just don’t know how to toot my own horn and say “Hell yeah!!!” and that, I suppose, is because I don’t want to listen to any naysayers telling the world I really suck and I’m not worthy. And that? Really does suck.

But today, I’m going to put aside my self-consciousness and brag about this book — not because I’m in it — but because Rita Arens, our editor, worked her ass off to get this project off the ground and while all the bloggers that are in it are certainly part of it, it’s really her baby and SHE deserves the props and the “Hell yeahs!!!”

Never in a million years did I ever imagine that anything I wrote would ever be in a book so thank you, Rita, for giving me this opportunity. THANK YOU!

For anyone that would like to procure a copy of Sleep is for the Weak, a fine, fine addition to any home library if I do say so, you can click the cover image in my sidebar or get it from one of these booksellers:

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

BookSense (indie bookstores)

:)

Because I have been so misunderstood in this post and on this topic, let me clarify that I am not trying to keep my daughter from growing into “who she’s going to be” or anything of the sort. To the contrary…I want her to have as many wide and varied opportunities as possible.

But she’s seven years old. Do I not get a say in how she grows up? Should I support her no matter WHAT she wants to do, no matter how much it goes against the values we intended to raise her with?

If she wants to grow up to be a hooker, should I support that, too, simply in the interest of not squelching her burgeoning personhood? That’s what I’m hearing and it doesn’t quite hold up under the hooker analogy.

I’m all for any number of things that she wants to do and if, when she’s older, she still wants to cheer, after a mature discussion of the pros and cons, then she can do it if she wants. But while she’s seven, I’d prefer to do the decision making. My larger concern was alienating her from her friends but everyone is so taken with the cheerleading thing, most didn’t even notice that part of the post — which speaks volumes.

The missed point of this whole thing is not even about cheerleading. It’s about parenting, values, the decisions we are faced with and how our children’s happiness or lack thereof can influence us in ways we never imagined before having kids.

Incidentally, sign-ups are still going on but TQ has already started fixating on summer camp and her birthday in August. I asked her the other day if she was still interested in cheering in the fall and you know what she said?

“I’d rather play soccer or maybe take art enrichment after school”

She came to that on her own, with no input from me at all, and I cannot tell a lie — I’m kind of happy about it.

—————-

It’s that time of year again when signs start poking out of the grass all over my part of town. Yes, it’s time for cheerleading and football sign-ups. Girls get to cheer and boys get to play football and moms and dads watch eagerly from the sidelines as their daughters and sons set out on a path that should, God willing, secure them a better place in the social hierarchy of their school careers as one of the elite or at the very least, not one of the hopelessly uncool kids they might become otherwise.

Naturally, because all her friends have been cheering for the past few years, TQ has expressed an interest in joining. But I’ve conveniently “forgotten” about cheerleading sign ups the past two years because, quite frankly, I’m just not sure about it.

I mean, of course, there is a part of me that’s like “YES! Be a cheerleader and you’ll never be picked last for teams in middle school gym class or not be invited to the cool parties or be picked on by bullies” and believe me, I fully realize how utterly pathetic that is but you know, as a parent, you always want your kids to grow up as unscathed as possible.

Unfortunately, it’s not that simple because the other part of me is saying:

“NO WAY! I refuse to let my daughter get sucked into this elitist glorification of completely outdated gender roles where a girl is valued not for her brains or talents but rather her ability to jump up and down like a trained monkey while looking cute in a short skirt. She should be PLAYING a sport, not cheering while a bunch of jocks play the sport!”

I know that’s an extreme view of cheering (a bit exaggerated for effect) and I’m sure it will piss off a few of you but I offer no excuses. That’s my perception of it. And yes, I know it’s hard work. Of course it is. But this isn’t exactly competition level cheerleading. It is, literally, jumping up and down while looking cute in a short skirt. (When TQ was three, she was invited to be a mascot and we observed for a while before we declined.)

Equally vexing to me is the time commitment — two hours, two evenings a week for practice (6-8pm) and every Saturday morning they have a game. They’re barely second graders yet!

But then again, do I want to be responsible for what will eventually be a chasm between her and her oldest friends? Would it be better to just go with the flow and be like every other mom and let her do it? Even though it feels wrong to lead her into something I feel is limiting, in spite of it’s obvious positive social advantages? In spite of the fact that it’s not representative of our values?

It must seem silly of me to devote so much time to thinking about this but remember — she was asked to me a mascot at age three. It’s been up for debate for five years and the time commitment has always been the biggest obstacle until I started seeing what the first graders who cheer are like. Now it’s definitely a values issue. Additionally, my husband, independent of me, has also voiced his own concerns.

I know this is probably the time in which I need to stand firm because this is just the beginning of these types of dilemmas where my values and her happiness will be diametrically opposed but I have to say, I can now see why parents sometimes make decisions that, to the rest of us, seem so utterly nonsensical or counterintuitive to everything they appear to believe in…

We just want our kids to be happy and that’s the hardest part sometimes.

Now let’s up the ante and throw in a raging sinus infection, the accompanying antibiotics that make me dizzy and nauseated and? My effing period.

God definitely hates me.