It is what it is… *sigh* I’ll just keep the smile up on the outside, but ya’ll here know what’s happening on my inside. It’s nice to have a place to be real. ;)

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Have a happy and safe Fourth of July, friends!

*pink puffy hearts and swirly whirly goodness all over yo bad selves*

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Before I expound on my my wordage skillzesses… perhaps I will start from the beginning. OR… as a word creator such as my self might say… the beginnitives.

*dramatic pause*

My friend Carrie of the highly acclaimed Stop Screaming I’m Driving! put a little call-out on her Facebook for FB addicted moms, or whathaveyou. I was all, “I’m not addicted. I want to teach the world how I am not addicted, but rather an efficient and frequent user of social media!” And whatnot.

*dramatic pause*

Carrie had the privilege of, of… experiencing her first-time radioness (I am on a flippin’ new word roll!!!). The podcast of her smooth talkin’ can be found here. And as a result of her gig, she was asked by the producers if she knew anyone who’d be willing to make themselves vunerable.

Enter Jennyonthespot… a.k.a. “will do anything to get more people to hear her… giving no thought to reputation or consequence” or WDATGMPTHH…GNTTROC,  for short.

Prior to my interview on the the local station KUOW 94.9 FM…

…I had to give my kids the “what for”. Basically, if you interrupt my one shot at infamy, I will lose it… dear offspring. You owe me this, you OWE me!!!

*pops chill pill*

I took all three of my lovelies and told them,

You will all go watch a movie in the basement. *swings pocket watch like a pendulum* No one will get hurt. If you do not move, you will not get hurt. There will be no blood. If there is blood, I will not help you. There will be no pee accidents *gives Lucy the stink eye*. IF there is a pee accident, Joel… Olivia you guys need to clean it up.

Joel says, “You mean like we have to do with the dog?”

Yes. Wipe up the pee like you do with the dog. And if you guys behave PERFECTLY… I mean not one ANYTHING about ANYTHING… I will take you to Dairy Queen.

Joel aksed, “And we can get anything we want?” He asked knowing I usually keep the treat to a kid-sized dipped cone.

ANYyyyyyy. THING.

I trudged up the basement stairs and headed to my room, and waited for my radio debut. Well, if you don’t count the time I called into a radio show. I played my mandolin and sang the chorus to “Let the Sunshine In” by Pebbles and Bamm-Bamm to win tickets to some concert.

I didn’t win the tickets. Aaaanywho…

The interview began with a “fellow” of a learned institution who conducted a study of “Yadda, Yadda and Families are Losing Face Time Because of Le Interwebz”. I’m not making fun. I just like my title better.

After 3 hours 20 minutes or so it was my turn to shine. Rather than bore you with details, you can listen to the podcast here. My several minute clip is towards the last third or quarter of the podcast.

*sigh*

I couldn’t listen to all of it. Surprise of all surprises… I don’t like listening to myself. *eep*

I know I said “moderative” and I know I froze and couldn’t remember Farm Town. I knew it was a Facebook game, but I had never played it and then I started second guessing myself and all I could remember was Lil Blue Cove (which I never play either)… or is it Patch of Green, or… and then I just… Oh dear. My friend USO Girl was the friend who gave the example I used… But as I wrote before — I froze and even failed to pimp her out! Thanks, my friend for adding your input!

I had many friends on Facebook offer their ideas and thoughts, and the interview went so fast and furious and kind of went in a different direction than I thought… I wish I could have shared so much more. Op-ed anyone?

And this is why I blog. I am HUGE fan of delete, delete, delete, the edit feature, the ability to link and also dictionary.com. True story. I like the “forgiveness” of the written word.

However, if I ever have the opportunity to be on the radio again… I’ll do it. I am a bit of a glutton that way. I would also be willing to star in a made-for-TV-movie or sell jewelry over there on the QVC.

*waits for calls to roll in*

*whistling*

By the way, the kids got to go to Dairy Queen. They were AWESOME! While eating her peanut butter Oreo Blizzard (yes, I have raised her right) Lucy bragged and shouted, “MAMA! I didn’t get hurt OR pee my undies!!!”  Yes, a reason to celebrate, indeed.

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*****

In keeping with the “No, maybe that was more wrong than funny” theme… Here’s a little conversation one might have overheard at our dinner table not too long ago.

Boy kid (eldest): I don’t want to sit {here}. Why can’t I sit right {there}?

Me: BecaaaaaAAAAAaaause *special mom-inflection* if you sit {there} *rolls eyes* you and your sister will pick and pick and pick and pick and pick and pick and PICK.

Me (continuing): Besides. Not only does your picking drive ME crazy, but…

*wait for it…..*

*wait for it…..*

I can’t believe I pulled this “card”…

Me: …but it makes JESUS sad.

*cowers from certain lightening bolt strike*

Boy kid: MooooooOOOOoooooM! *special offspring-inflection* You know. We have feelings too.

Boy kid (continuing): You see, mom… feelings are like faith. You can’t see it, but you can FEEL it.

Boy kid (continueing): Or like the wind…. you know it’s there *insert hand movements for drama*… You can FEEL it, but you can’t see it. Eventhough we’re kids, we have FEELINGS too.

Me: Oooohohoho… You’re good, kid. *holds back high-five* I guess that’s fair. It wasn’t fair for me to pull the “Jesus card”. But you KNOW He doesn’t like it when you and your sister fight. Just sayin’...

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In other news…

Apparently there is still time (once a day everyday) to vote for ME any blogger of your choosing *looks over should, blows kiss, winks*. I thought voting closed last week, but much to my surprise… it doesn’t close until July 6th! At this point in the game it is becoming clear that certain bloggers *ahem* will not be the big, fat winner. But who needs “big, fat” when “going out in style” is really all certain *ahem* bloggers want. Yes, “style” is subject to interpretation. In my humble opinion, I just think the best interpretive filter is big numbers. *cheesy grin, blinking wildly*

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I had met this woman before. She is one my biggest hair fans. She likes my hair and is very sweet to take the time to compliment me on the dead cells that grow at length from my scalp:

Who knew hair could be so hawt? *tilts head to right and shrugs*

Aaaaanywho. This acquaintance and admirer of mine own dead keratinized cells… commented recently that she liked that my hair is getting longer again. Actually, I was just wearing it straight that day, so it looked longer.

But the part of the convo that left me thinking, “What was that?”… Here it is in spirit. Not necessarily “verbatim”, but thankfully AFTER my children were out of ear-shot:

Hair Fan: I love your hair… yadda, yadda, yadda…

Me: *sweeping soft golden strands from mine cheeks* Why thank you… *teeth sparkle*

Hair Fan: You have lovely children.

Me: Oh. Thank you!

Hair Fan: Do you stay at home with them?

Me: Yes I do.

Hair Fan: Good for you!

Me: Oh, thanks!

Hair Fan: *smiling and putting her hand on my shoulder* Maybe in 15 years we can get together and have coffee!

Me: Sure, but we don’t have to wait 15 years. We can do it before then! 15 years is really long time. *scratches head, gives the “confused” look*

Hair Fan: Oh, but you have kids and I really don’t like kids and if we got together now you’d talk about your kids and when I say I don’t like kids I mean I REALLY. DON’T. LIKE. KIDS.

*blinking*

Now, truth be told, I am not a HUGE fan of kids either. They smell, and the young ones pee on stuff… they’re loud and want stuff and their sense of fashion can be a deal-breaker for sure.

However.

I really make an effort to steer from gossip and slander here, so I want to be careful to not attack this person’s “person”. Also, it’s not that I’ve never put my foot in my mouth… I just question why someone would see fit to tell a mother, “Let’s have coffee in 15 years becuase I don’t want to hear stupid stories about your kids.” Here follows 5 reasons I don’t understand what happened there:

1. True. I am a mom. I will talk about my kids. I love them. They ARE part of my definition. And they will be in 15 years.
2. I am more than a mom. I have bewbies (go #30!!!) like any other gal and what’s more…
3. I am like the Scarecrow after he meets the Wizard - I have a brain!!!
4. And if #3 is true, then I have  the capacity to engage in conversation on subject matters beyond that which involves my spawn. But, you know what my youngest said the other day…. I digress. My kids are so cute and funny and…
5. I would never ask if you have a toy dog you carry everywhere you go, and then tell you I think dogs should be kept as pets and not toys, and then say, “When your Poopsie Whoopsie dies we can get coffee.” I can THINK all that, but…

At first I was amused. I get it. Kids are work and certain folk are just not good with kids. But, there’s a point where one needs to shut it. For me, she might as well have said, “You are uninteresting and have nothing to offer me or society.” I know that is not what she meant, but that was how her words made me feel.

And honestly, I know her intent was not to hurt me. Who knows, maybe she realized her foot-in-mouth moment later that day. I really don’t care that she feels that way. I am COMPLETELY fine with her not liking kids. But she just could have left it at, “Good for you!”

Next time I see her I will be polite, even warm. However, I will have a wall or two up. Also, I will not be carrying around a 2024 calendar. I am fairly certain I’ll be pretty booked that year.

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Joy. Fear. Overwhelm. Blessing. Pain. Recovery. Hope. Purpose. Love…

And it all started with this kid.

That’s my boy. My first-born. My son. A namesake. A compassionate. A comedian. A standard-holder. A promise keeper who holds others to their promises. He values consistency, predictability and laughter. He sees life in black and white, but appreciates quality sarcasm. From the moment I learned a life was growing inside me, I loved him to the very of the edges of my heart… who knew a heart was capable of growing higher edges…

This boy has changed my life. I have risen to such glorious heights and have hit the most painful dark places as a result of “becoming” his mom. Through him I am reminded to laugh more easily. I am reminded to take life less seriously. I am reminded I have every reason to celebrate my life… What a blessing I have been given in my boy.

The first time I ever performed the Heimlich maneuver - it was on him. That day was the worst day of my life. I pray I never have a worse-er one. I pray he never has a worse-er one. I pray for both.

The first time I yelled at a child of my own - it was at him.

The first time I kissed the soft temple of “my baby”, it was his temple.

The first time I breast fed, it was him.

The first time I realized I might not be able to do this “mom thing”… *sigh* My poor little boy… he has no idea the roller coaster we have ridden together.

I am a first born. I understand what he is going through.

“Therapist” anyone?

My first walk in the park with my own child, was with this boy. The first time I had to apologize for my child’s behavior… because of this boy. The first time someone cooed to me, “What an adorable baby!”… I was with this boy. This boy. My boy

He is all boy. He laughs easily. He laughs hard. He would give Count Dooku a run for his money. I am not even exaggerating.

He loves to cook. He loves to write. He glows when he watches his littlest sister (4) play pretend or sing or dance. One of my greatest joys is to watch his joy in her… He is extremely polite, but does get caught up in childhood mania! And that laugh… oh his laugh! He wants to grow his hair long… and has been begging for a puppy.

For his birthday this year, he will get his puppy. We pick it up tomorrow (or by this posting, “today”). The boy is a nurturer. The only regret I have in not having another child is I will not get to see my 10 year-old son love a new baby brother or sister. As I wrote above, he has a compassionate heart. His bent toward compassion was what bit me in the butt during his toddler years. I won’t revisit it here, I have written about it before…

However, you might counter my compassion claim about him if you saw him with his 7 year-old sister. That’s the exception. Arch enemies look to them for pointers - I swear. BUT, push come to shove… big brother has his sister’s back and will shift into “protector” if he sees the situation warrants it. Also, he may vomit if his skin gets within 5 feet of hers. Those two exhaust me.

I am amazed by my son. His heart, his humor, his life. Thank you God for giving me a gift I certainly do not deserve. Thank you for filling my life through Joel. I pray for my compassionate son. I pray for protection of his tender heart. I pray he grows to be a man of integrity. I pray he is like his Daddy and the biggest communication problem his wife has with him will be that he talks too much! I pray his innocence, joy, and sparkle bloom in this world of sadness and conflict. I pray that I make decisions for him that will best fit the bent in his personality and that he will not be like his Mama and take things personally. Just say “NO!” to bitterness, son! I pray, pray, pray… because I know my husband and I cannot go this alone.

I love you Joel. I am proud of you. Oh how my heart delights in YOU!

You ready for that puppy?!!!

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And maybe I shouldn’t use this video in a courtroom to defend my forthcoming argument on why I think kids need they daddies. But, c’mon. That was AWESOME.

I read/see/observe slam after slam after slam on how poorly men behave, dress, don’t pick things up, can’t find things in the fridge, scratch their bellies, fart, breathe wrong, and/or don’t put their dirty clothes in the laundry basket. To name a few.

I am not saying there isn’t truth ringing in the claims listed and not listed above. I have known a handful of pretty pathetic men. Ya know, the “typical guy”. His muscles serve as a distraction for missing synapse connections in duh brain. Maybe it’s the muscle that sucks from the brain itself. I’m sure some scientific study is being conducted as I write…. However, I believe those men are the exception and not the rule. And in this case, if I were to use the label “exceptional”, it would not be a compliment.

Who knows, maybe those are they guys whose daddies were absent, either physically or emotionally. I probably shouldn’t make such a sweeping generalization. *shame on me* I digress.

I believe most men, like most women… are not perfect!

*gasp* I just said women are not perfect. Don’t hit me.

But I also believe we don’t want “perfect”. No. Fun.

I believe most regular fellas out there are just guys trying to figure things out in the midst of sorting through stress and circumstance and fridges with a ketchup bottle that never gets put away in the same spot.

And now my point - kids need their daddies. They need what Mommy simply cannot provide. Sometimes Dad will provide a looseness, or maybe bring in the reigns… Dads provide something that Moms just can’t. I can’t give a list. I can’t draw a picture. I can’t describe it in a poem. But there is just “something” about what a father can give to his children.

As I write, my husband is wrapping up a 5 day camping trip with my son. This is probably their 6th year of going to this Father/Son camp with a group of other guys. Those guys do things at Boys Camp we moms would NEVER allow, consider or conceive. And those boys need that. They need to be brainwashed.

Like running with large logs and chasing friends. *mommy gets chills*

I also adore my husband and though I find myself questioning his decisions (because I am always right) I trust him. I trust him not only with my son’s physical needs, but also his emotional needs. I trust him with our daughters too.

May 2009

August 2005

And this is where our modern-progressive society ticks me off. Dads/men get painted as these mindless, witless, blobs who scratch their bellies and play xBox in their basements while the kids run amuck feeding themselves corn chips, dirt and pop.

OK. I know this happens, but again - the EXCEPTION and not the rule. Even if it is one night a month *ahem* ;)

And as women whine and complain about “men”… they forget that they are talking about their sons! Seriously. I’m not saying there is not ever a reason to get justifiably irritated. But, *hello!!!* it goes both ways!

Also, Ladies with sons - as we criticize and make fun of “men”, our sons are hearing this. They are forming opinions about their fathers… and sadly, opinions about who they are becoming.

Our sons… Future daddies, future husbands… future men. As we speak ill of this “group” it is easy to lose sight of the fact that we have birthed and profoundly love that which we criticize, judge and… sadly (in some cases), hate.

*steps off soapbox*

I love my husband. He works hard. He is an honorable man with integrity. He loves us deeply. He leaves his dirty clothes on the floor, and steps over stuff. He makes the BEST margaritas. He half-listens and fully listens. He plays the guitar. My kids LONG to spend time with their daddy. He looses his cool, but I think he is more patient than me. I appreciate that because he wrestles with the kids, I do not need to. I hate wrestling. Some nights when we lay in bed, we talk in the dark and laugh… laugh… laugh… usually “one-upping” each other in comedic one-liners. He is not easily angered, and has an admirable and amazing ability to “mend and keep fences”… He is a peacemaker. He is not perfect, he admits it, and I adore him.

I would say the best choice I have made for my life was to choose him - for my husband… for the father of our children.

And if you look closely, you will see he spilled margarita down the front of his shirt.

We believe he has a small hole in his lower lip.

And he’s mine… ALLLLLL mine ;)

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Well, my hubs and I have taken it to the next level. Now, to be clear… I am not saying I DO curse nor am I saying I do NOT. I am just saying I feel that for me… I really shouldn’t *ahem*. As much as we try to keep it clean, sometimes there is nothing quite like a well-placed expletive. OR sometimes, there is no better way to describe an event or circumstance or happening than to use a word that is not allowed on daytime television.

So, Paul and I came up with the concept of dropping the last letters of a “bad word” and adding “doublehockeysticks” to the end. You can experiment on your own. I don’t want to be the one to have lead to your fauxfanity corruption.

*whistling*

I mean just the phrase “double hockey sticks” can be the new not-bad bad word! It can TOTALLY stand alone. Just think, you cut your finger off whilst chopping carrots or rutabaga (or CAKE!) and exclaim, “DOUBLEHOCKEYSTICKS!”

Aaaanywho… last night was one of those “happenings”.

My daughter Lucy (4) contracted a sudden and rather painful ear ache. At midnight. Just as my body decided to give into sleep. And also my husband has been gone for days (read: single parenting). Also I am not the only one in my family with an alter ego. My alter ego can be a priss, but LUCY’s alter-ego may have been birthed from the loins of….um… H E doublehockeysticks.

She is desperately whiny. Stubborn. Stubborn. Loud. Insistent. Manipulative. Adorable. Relentless. Demanding. Expressive. Stubborn. All this packed into 37 pounds… of Terror. Literally, at this developmental stage, she could be the dictator of a North Korean country *ahem*.

So, when she “fell ill” last night, I was already at my wits end as a single parent of 3 days. I was under-rested and in desperate need of some quiet time (read: SLEEP). Also, in case I wasn’t clear - Lucy has been a whiny, angry, discontent little mess for months. Being 4 sucks - for the public and the people who spawned them. For the little person trapsing around as a North Korean dictator, I think it might be fun in a satanic sort of way. I’m kidding about that last sentence.

What happened last night was this — I had to deal with a child that was in real pain. I had NO CHILDREN”S TYLENOL IN THE HOUSE and my husband was gone. I had no adult to go get some sanity (for us both) and there was no way in H E doublehockeysticks I was gonna take my 37 pound banshee out at 12:30 at night.

And I nealy lost my S H doublehockeysticks.

From 12 to prolly 4:30 (at some point I threw the clock against the wall my vision became wonky and I was unable to discern the numbers on my clock)… Lucy screamed - intermittently, frequently, and loudly… for all her pain. Not unlike the sounds she makes when she wants more chocolate milk or someone else’s toy. What I am trying to say is, the whining, crying, hissy-fit-ing… is killin’ me.

See the conflict?

I found I struggled with having true compassion for my little girl who really was in a great deal of pain.

A word of advice to all the 4 year olds that read my blog:

Never cry wolf. Save the whining and fit-pitching for worthy causes. As you hissy over the small stuff, you are numbing the compassion of your mother. The woman who you need to fetch water for your sick-parched throat… the woman you need to sing to you and stroke your hair… the woman you need to re-warm the cloth that is helping alleviate the pain… She is your Promised Land. 4 year-olds, this should be a good first lesson in not burning bridges.

*sigh*

I have been so exasperated by our struggles over the last monthssss, I find that when there is something that is worthy of her screams… it is hard to kick in my true, deep compassion - empathy. I feel manipulated. I take it personally. I found myself questioning whether she really hurt or if is was just more of the drama. Listening to her screams I knew it was different, but when one is has been broken, it’s hard. Last night was not only a battle of physical exhaustion, but a battle of emotional exhaustion. A battle of selfishness (mine) and of love (for Lucy). The books don’t talk about that part. Yes its hard to not sleep through the night, but there is another realm. It’s another state of being. A relationship with one’s little child is most certainly multi-faceted… which is great in a diamond, but…

The one thing that helped my get through was reminding myself that this was only one night. I can do anything for one night. Or can I. This whole “mom-thing” is hard S H doublehockeysticks.

Just keepin’ it real.

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Wait. That’s not what… Uh…

Hmmm…

I mean, I just happened to check out the Blogluxe site and whouldn’tchaknow I happened to see *whistling, looking to side* my vote count. I must say I am rather pleased that there are any votes at all. Heck, just to be nominated by someone not myself… is a reason to comb my hair every morning. It has given me the ability to revisit the self-affirmation regime I created:

As you look in your mirror… look into your eyes. Your beautiful eyes…. Smile at You. Tilt your head… No… the other way… There… That’s your good side…. So pretty….  Run your fingers through your hair. Tossel it a bit. Doesn’t that feel good? Now giggle. Just giggle. Throw your head back and giggle… Now look back into that mirror. Ignore the toothpaste spit on that mirror. Rather, focus on your clean, vibrant teeth… Oh yes, they are white… and clean… and lovely. Now smile. Tilt your head again. Lean forward and blow your gorgeous self a kiss… Nod. Like you mean it. Tell your reflection, “Yes.”

Just say “Yes”… Linger on the “Ssssss” in “Yesssss”…

Do all of this — Just… Because… You… Can… Take a deep breath. Make sure you are still smiling. Now repeat after me as I repeat the words of the original self-affirmer, Stuart Smalley… “I am good enough. I am smart enough, and doggonit… people like me!”

I’m kidding I don’t do that.

Aaanywho. We only have until June 23rd to vote once a day everyday… I have worthy opponents. Some are friends, none are foes. Truth be told, I stalk many of them. I have a personality that is prone to obsession. I just want to be loved.

Um.

Also… The person that is not myself who nominated me, is up in a different category:

Scroll and cast your vote(s) for Christy Nelson. She’s a GREAT resource. I can’t begin to describe her offerings - making, learning, sharing… the word “Renaissance woman” comes to mind. Plus, I adore her style :)

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You know what I get for going into the vast retail establishment of All of Satan? Temptation.

Are. You. Blinking? Can you believe that? Do you have any idea how evil this is? Do you??? Do you understand this makes my knees buckle? Think “first kiss”. It’s true. Powerful. *swoon* I love Oreos so much I even did I photo shoot with them one time:

Yes, that is a crown on that gorgeous stack of Oreos. I call them my “Gloreos”.

Do not doubt my love and respect for The Oreo.

I took a picture of the Oreo display to tweet:

I swear. The devil is totally screwin’ with me… #HALP

And then… THEN… You are not gonna believe what I saw when I turned around. A. Friggin’. Wall. Of. Cotton. Candy. I tweeted:

Not kidding about that devil. After I took that pic of the WALL OF OREOS, I realized I was leaning against…

And as if the Devil himself was chasing me with a flaming red pitchfork, I ran. For my hips life. I could literally feel my blood turning to sugar.

Are you ready? I made it to the end of the aisle. Are you ready??? Guess what display was at THE END OF THE AISLE OF SATAN …

If you were reading my Twitter stream at approximately 8:30 p.m. You might have read:

And I walked away with one… just ONE package of these… #willbegoingbacktomorrow #curseyoudevil

I. KNOW. !!!

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And THEN… *psh*… As. If. *huff* Lil Polly Pocket thinks she can steal my sunshine.WEML.

Eh. Like…. SRSLY??? Polly, did you just call me fat? Well, YOU have an usually large head. And you’re sealed in plastic. *sticks out tongue*

*****

New at Mom Fail: My Future Tattoo Ar-teest

New at Type-A Mom: Summer Brings a Mix of Fear and Excitement

New at Mom on the Spot: Wrapping-up the School Year

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