The Ranting Mom

It's been a while...

2011-06-29T03:08:00.002-06:00

Wow, has it really been since January that I've been here? I've tried to write, but every time I started, I couldn't continue. On the night of February 5,2011, my world collapsed.

Even now, I find myself choking on the words. My Gramma died. The strongest woman I have ever known didn't feel well and went to lay down, to never get back up. My rock, strength, love, my biggest fan and best friend....gone.

I don't remember much from the weeks that followed really, it's like I wasn't quite there, swimming in a sea of pain and disbelief. I felt nearly orphaned... alone... lost... I had responsibilities, but I broke like a doll... I barely made it out of bed for a month. I couldn't imagine my life without her in it... still can't.

All I wanted to do was forget, so it would stop hurting. Each time I remembered, it would rip me open all over again. I didn't know pain like that existed. Something had to give, I couldn't feel that way forever.

Over the past eight months, I have become quite involved in the world of dogs and dog people, it was this furry world I ran to heal. I found myself on the Board of Directors for the rescue I volunteer with, I took in a beautiful Pit Bull foster puppy (a breed I was terrified of), and best of all, I became a dog trainer. These events helped me not only heal, but become a better person than I was before.

My beautiful, foster pup lathered me with love and kindness. He would lay next to me and snuggle in. Every so often, he would look up at me with his beautiful eyes and try to plant a sloppy kiss on my face. He was 3 months old, tiny and adorable. I couldn't stop myself laughing out loud when he would tumble off the bed, or suck up for a belly rub. He came to me the week after Gram died, and he licked my wounds and tugged me right out of the abyss. He made me laugh out loud in a world where only pain existed.

At the rescue, the volunteers were incredibly warm and supportive. One in particular must have somehow understood how lost and lonely I was feeling without my Grandma to talk to, we used to chat several times a day... Gram was my person. This wonderful lady called me daily, "just to check in". She would listen to me cry (and apologize), get mad (and apologize) and say the most depressing shit on earth (and apologize). I am forever grateful that she helped fill the void and shared so much of my hurt. She lightened my load.

In April, I began training to become a dog trainer. I was not looking forward to the full time hours I needed to work, to become a part-time dog trainer. I hated that I would be away from my kids. I didn't want to meet new people and have to pretend to be happy. I was erratically wavering between anger and depression in the seven stages of my grief. Until, I met the two women who would be training me. Both were so positive, happy and exuberant, they made my bones ache.

Funny thing was, it felt good to be around them. So much better than the "who gives a shit" and "does it even matter" thoughts that were swirling around my brain. I began to emulate them, and I started to feel... happy.

I started to love work, at work I couldn't grieve, so I didn't. The death cloud that had been following me around for months started to look a lot lighter... and I could definitely see the silver lining. Anyone can train a dog, teaching someone happiness is something else all together. I owe them both so much, I have happiness... how can I ever repay that?

Not only am I happy, I am kinder, more patient and understanding.

Since Gramma's death, I have had the honor of meeting so many fantastic, kind and loving fur and non-fur people. All have eased my pain in some way or another, most without knowing how very much. I wonder if Gram sent them to me because she didn't want me to hurt so bad.

I wonder if she knew that I would become a better person because of them. I wonder...

New Year, New Promises... stream of consciousness...

2011-01-02T12:49:00.001-07:00

Stream of Consciousness Sundays is an idea I got from Adventuroo.com. Basically, you set a timer and type while it's going, no editing, no stopping... sounds like fun, and since I spend hours editing myself, this should be interesting... but I'm gonna add pictures afterwards, cause that just makes it cool.

The toasts have been made, he hangovers had and half the resolutions broken... This year I want to put it in writing, that makes it more real... my list of promises I make to me for 2011...

1. I will love me... the gooey, giggly, stupid love that you feel when your 13 for some silly boy... I wa|nt to look in the mirror and be grateful that I am in the same room with me... I want me to be the greatest thing in my life for the next year... wghich means, being someone worthy of that kind of love.... sounds like a great challenge...

This is an important one for me. I want to be positive, not more positive, positive... happy, uplifted, uplifting, enlightened... I want to be a person that people want to be around, that I want to be around... that I want to be around. I don't want to judge myself based on crap, meaning anything that doesn't come from within... I have spent years hating me for being overweight, ignoring all the great stuff about me because of being fat... Like the fat completely erased everything good and made me less... and it's not just weight, it's everything superficial... if I have a zit, ugly hair, old clothes... yadda yadda yadda, it's all just bullshit and no longer worthy of my energy.

I want to improve my inside so much that my outside ceases to be important... who cares if I am overweight or zitty if I am positive, happy, living!... and if you do care... get the fuck out of here, I don't want, need or invite your kind... this is not the blog for you... If you've seen The Color Purple (and if you haven't, it's homework), you remember when Celie said "I might be poor, ugly, a woman, but I'm here, dear God, I am here!". That's how I feel... I am here! I want that to be my motto... I want to celebrate my existence and yours too for that matter.

2. I want to be involved in making the world better. Sounds like a grand plan, but can be done in the smallest of ways... So this year, I want to don my red underwear and blue tights and do something, anything meaningful, as long as it benefits another... and I encourage you guys to do the same... get off your bums and improve the world...

3. I will make music this year... my own music... and I will publish it on here for your entertainment... laugh at it or love it, baby... I have always loved music, poured over lyrics, listened to the same songs over and over again... I breath music, but never learned to play or read it, which I used as an excuse to not write my own songs... also, I thought they would sound stupid and not be good enough, crap, crap and more crap... Whatever, I am doing this for me.

4. I will no longer give a crap what others think of me... My opinion of me will be the one that matters... I will examine criticisms carefully, instead of blindly believing it and hurting myself with it... I use people's criticisms of me like a cutter uses a knife... it's incredibly damaging and abusive and I won't do it to myself anymore... by the end of this year, I will feel valuable and worthwhile.

I started editing myself without realizing it... oh well, next Sunday, I can try all over again...

Happy New Year Everyone, hope this year kicks the crap out of last year for you!

Love,

Me!

Second Chances?

2010-12-17T19:38:00.002-07:00

The holidays are upon us, which means that I am finding myself weepy and misty eyed at the slightest hint of sentiment. It's at Christmas that I believe that anything is possible, that magic really exists and this year, I might actually hear hooves on the roof, win the lottery, or possibly experience world peace. I love this time of year because I feel like a kid again, full of wonder, innocence and delight, at least, until, some asshole like Michael Vick opens his mouth and craps all over my winter wonderland.

Michael Vick

We've all heard how Vick stated that he would "like to own a dog again", I vomit a little in my mouth, at the thought. Vick committed his crimes less than 4 years ago, and just because he is a gifted Quarterback, all seems forgiven.

Why as a society do we forgive people, simply because they have talent? Tiger Woods lies, cheats, takes a blow torch to the sanctity of marriage, loses everything, and then is back playing golf with endorsement deals less than six months after the scandal. It's the same story with Vick, who playing in the NFL two short years after pleading guilty to Sponsoring a Dog in an Animal Fighting Venture among other charges.

I would love to believe that Michael Vick is rehabilitated and that he understands that what he did was sick, sadistic and wrong. However if you spend 5 minutes glancing at Vick's Wikipedia page you find the following:

"At the request of federal authorities before sentencing, Vick agreed to deposit nearly $1 million in an escrow account with attorneys for use to reimburse costs of caring for the confiscated dogs...Experts said some of the animals will require individual care for the rest of their lives.^[58]During his bankruptcy trial, the U.S. Department of Labor complained that these funds were paid at least partially with unlawfully withdrawn monies which Vick held in trust for himself and eight other employees of MV7, a celebrity marketing company he owns."

Fight Scars

Let's get this straight, federal authorities demand Vick pay nearly a million dollars to cover the costs to house and rehabilitate Vick's own dogs.

Vick then, unlawfully, used funds from his celebrity marketing company's trust account, to cover some of the $900,000.00 demanded. Am I the only one left with a bad taste in her mouth? He breaks the law to pay for the last law he broke? At least the U.S. Department of Labor complained, the NFL took him off suspension and it was back to business for Vick.

I honestly believe that people can change, but not so soon, and with so few consequences. What happened to the concept of earning it back? I would completely support Vick owning a dog again, if he earned the right. If he proved, time and again, he could be trusted with an animal. If he took the steps, did the work and put in the sweat and tears. In fact, I desperately wish that was the "Michael Vick Story", facing his disgusting past and working to be a better man because of it.

It isn't, and for those dogs that were hanged, electrocuted, drowned and beaten to death at Vick's property, justice has been denied. Fortunately, for the 47 surviving dogs, there was life after Vick.

"25 were placed directly in foster homes, and a handful have been or are being adopted. Twenty-two were deemed potentially aggressive toward other dogs and were sent to an animal sanctuary in Utah. Some, after intensive retraining, are expected to move on to foster care and eventual adoption." Except from Washington Post Article - Saving Michael Vick's Dogs

It's rare to hear of a rehabilitation of this magnitude, simply because historically, fight dogs are quietly and quickly euthanized. Sentenced to death, assumed beyond help, because they were forced into a life of brutal violence.

Vick might be a Football V.I.P., but as far as human beings go, I want to scrape him off my shoe. The heroes that should have our attention, adoration and endorsement deals are the rescues, shelters, vets, trainers, volunteers, foster homes and adopters who work tirelessly to undo the effects of man's cruelty, indifference and stupidity. The people who considered the lives of these dogs and were wonderfully surprised at their resilience.

And, of course, the dogs themselves. Who, even after being brutalized by man, still work tirelessly to please us, to impress us and earn their kibble. It's a character trait, it seems, that Vick, sadly, does not possess.

Want to save an animal? Adopt, Foster, Volunteer or Donate.

Rescues and shelters are always in need of help.

The Story of the Michael Vick Dogs

French Onion Soup

2010-12-16T02:17:00.002-07:00

If you have read my earlier posts, you will know that I am not a culinary dynamo... I hate following recipes (so boring) and have started to experiment without them (so dangerous), the best of the best (barely edible) are going to end up here for your entertainment or enjoyment, take your pick. All recipes are made to serve my family of five.

The Ranting Mom's

French Onion Soup

I love this recipe. It's delicious, cheap and I end up with leftovers

You will need:

5-6 large yellow onions

2 cartons beef stock (1 litre)

1 carton chicken stock (1 litre)

1 can beef consume

1/2 cup each grated mozzarella and swiss cheese

1 tbsp parmesan cheese (the shaker kind is fine)

2 tbsp butter, divided for caramelizing onions

1 loaf french bread

3 cloves minced garlic (fresh)

dash of garlic salt and onion powder

pinch of thyme

3 bay leaves

salt & pepper to taste

Soup pot, frying pan, utensils for cooking

Preparation

Put stock, consume, parmesan cheese, garlic salt, onion powder, thyme, bay leaves, salt and pepper in soup pot.
Get goggles and start slicing onions, the size and type of cut is up to you, all I was aiming for was not cutting my fingers off.

Cooking Instructions

Heat a pan on 7 (mid/high), add butter and onions (divide onions based on size of pan). Fry onions until they are caramelized (turn golden brown, but not burned). It took me about 20 minutes to caramelize 2 cups of onions. This is the hardest part of the recipe as you have to keep stirring the onions to keep them from burning... stupid onions.
Turn the soup pot to 7-8 (mid/high) and add the onions as they caramelize, bringing the whole mess to a boil, once boiling, reduce heat to low and let simmer for 2-4 hours (or more, if you wanna).
When ready to eat, pre-heat oven to 400F, thickly slice the french bread, sprinkle equal amounts of the mozza and swiss on the slices and place in the oven to toast. When the cheese starts to brown, remove from oven and place on top of soup in bowls.

Prep Time: At least an hour, depends on how long you take cutting the onions and caramelizing the onions.

Cooking Time: The longer it cooks, the better it gets, but eating it after it boils should be fine too...

Add your changes or comments below....

In my honest opinion...

2010-08-24T11:12:00.004-06:00

Opinions are wonderful, they can be empowering, educational and intriguing. Everybody has at least one. Opinions are what make us diverse and exciting.

Opinions also have a dark side, a difference of opinion can destroy a relationship.

Have you ever complained to a friend about a situation, just wanting to process some small frustration, only to have your friend vehemently insist that you're a complete idiot for not dumping your boyfriend or telling off your boss?

It's terrible to feel that unless you give in and do what you're friend insists, they will think less of you. You're being held hostage by someone else's opinion, and if you do give in, you think less of yourself, it shakes your confidence.

I once had a friend who had so many opinions about my life and how to live it that I had to cut all ties with her. We were locked in a vicious power struggle over who knew better what was best for me. At the end of the relationship, I felt like a shadow, having allowed this person to force their opinion of me, on me, for years.

It's a hard line to walk, being vulnerable enough to confide in someone, and strong enough to say "none of your business" when that person oversteps.

Life is about mistakes and lessons, some good, some bad. Some of the best things about me have been borne from my greatest mistakes, and I am immensely grateful for them.

Please Listen

When I ask you to listen to me

and you start giving me advice,
you have not done what I asked.

When I ask you to listen to me
and you begin to tell me why I shouldn't feel that way,
you are trampling on my feelings.

When I ask you to listen to me
and you feel you have to do something
to solve my problem,
you have failed me, strange as that may seem.

Listen!

All I ask is that you listen.
Don't talk or do - just hear me.
Advice is cheap - 20 cents will get you both
Dear Abby and Billy Graham in the same newspaper.

And I can do for myself; I am not helpless.

Maybe discouraged and faltering, but not helpless.

When you do something for me that I can
and need to do for myself,
you contribute to my fear and inadequacy.

But when you accept as a simple fact

that I feel what I feel, no matter how irrational,
then I can stop trying to convince you
and get about this business of understanding
what's behind this irrational feeling.

And when that's clear, the answers are obvious

and I don't need advice.
Irrational feelings make sense
when we understand what's behind them.

Perhaps that's why prayer works - sometimes -

for some people, because God is mute.
and he doesn't give advice or try to fix things.
God just listens and lets you work it out for yourself.

So please listen, and just hear me.

And if you want to talk,
wait a minute for your turn,
and I will listen to you.

Author Unknown

Not Fair!

2010-08-21T12:57:00.001-06:00

"It's not fair!"

I hear this complaint often in my career as a Domestic Goddess. When you parent three kids, fairness becomes a balancing act. Last week, it wasn't fair that I fed my five year olds fish before my three year olds.

After several minutes of her crying and me explaining and apologizing I finally said "kid, life's not fair, get used to it" and left it at that. I realized that the sooner my kids learn this, the better off they'll be.

Fairness cannot be controlled. Life will at some point hand you a stinking bouquet of "not fair". How you handle it, is completely up to you.

That's the message I am trying to teach my kids and, to be honest, myself. I abhor unfairness, life is tough enough without having the chips stacked against you.

Last year my son was reprimanded by his teacher with a note sent home for me to sign. The note explained that my eldest was in trouble for horseplay. My kid argued with what his teacher wrote, explaining that while in line, some kids were shoving and he was pushed from behind and fell into a locker. I called the teacher to get the story.

Her:

"I was in the classroom and heard a loud bang, when I came out, your son was on the floor after ramming a locker, he was fooling around".

Me:

"You didn't actually witness him fooling around, how do you know he wasn't shoved?"

Her:

"I didn't have to witness it, I saw him on the floor and heard the bang"

I wanted to reach through the phone and choke her for being so... idiotic, the unfairness of it all. While throttling her would have made me feel immensely better, it wouldn't have done any good.

I ended our conversation with a "I disagree with you, but since neither one of us saw what happened, let's just put it behind us" and sat my son down for a chat.

I told him that I believed him and she was being unfair. We talked about how sometimes you are stuck with someone in a position of power who abuses it, and that sometimes people make mistakes and act unfairly. I asked him to let it go and promised him that we would come up with a plan if she did it again.

I would like my kids to have a quiet grace but a strong resolve when being treated unfairly. I want to teach them to walk the line between righteous indignation and indifference. To get what they want from the situation without letting it get to them. I want these qualities for myself.

I won't read the newspapers because I get so angry. Next time you see some crazy chick yelling at her paper in a restaurant, it's probably me, sorry about scaring your family.

My anger makes me want to do something about it, to make changes. Whether that be in my life or for a cause. What I want to learn is how to not let it negatively affect me, to pick my battles and let the rest go.

Yesterday, I took the kids for smoothies, we were next to order when this guy walks in, just as the till opens up, he cuts in front of us. I say "excuse me, but we were here first". He doesn't even look back at me when he says "f*#^ off".

How dare he! With my kids there! Oh, I wanted to destroy him. I kept my mouth shut for the kids, but launched into a invective in my head that would make Mike Tyson cry.

Once we get our smoothies, I herd the kids back to the car, just in time to see Mr. Potty Mouth ram my passenger side with his car door, get in and drive away. Barely keeping my temper in check I go to the door praying for no damage. I see an angry bright red paint streak etched on my silver door.

"Damn! Now we have to pay for that, not fair!"

"Mommy, life's not fair, get used to it" my three year old tells me wisely.

Life, exhausted.

2010-08-20T16:28:00.000-06:00

I am sitting here trying in vain to come up with a post for today that is interesting, witty and entertaining. My brain is not cooperating (does it ever?). All I can think about is the mountain of laundry, the unpaid bills and how I am going to fit 60 hours of work into a 24 hour day. I know that even if I get it all done today, there'll be another list as long as my arm tomorrow.

Did my mom feel this way? Overwhelmed and under-prepared?

I dropped my girls off at a birthday party. The party is at the birthday girl's home and they are doing all sorts of wonderful crafts and have homemade canvas bags for the kids to take their crafts and treats home in.

I love the family that's throwing the party. They are wonderful, kind, loving people. So why do I feel so guilty taking my kids there? I'll tell you.

I haven't thrown a kid's party here since we first moved in 4 years ago. We always have our parties out. The idea of cleaning before, hosting the party and then cleaning up afterwards exhausts me. Add to that the planning and execution of the crafts and making all the gift bags? I want to nominate my friend for sainthood.

Where did she find the time or the inclination? I am in awe of her ability to make it look effortless. If I manage to remember candles for the cake I feel like a rock star.

Last summer I spent 2 weeks creating a homemaker's binder so I could keep on top of things. I had lists, schedules, chore charts, appointments, meal planning and a place for coupons.

I was so proud of my achievement, my beautiful shining binder of organization. I looked at it and felt hope and confidence. I knew that with this binder I would have all sorts of free time for crafts and baking and wholesome mom stuff. With this binder I would be SUPERMOM.

The binder went missing 3 days later and has yet to be found. I think it took one look at me, said "oh sh*t", and hopped on the first bus out of here.

This year we are de-cluttering. I figure if we have less crap, then I have less crap to clean. The house is nearly done, with only the kitchen and basement left to do. Our garage is currently housing all our unwanted stuff waiting for the big garage sale we didn't get around to this year.

It would be nice to be able to park in the garage when it's -30 this winter, but something tells me it's not going to happen. My husband works out of town and I am not tackling junk mountain alone, I'd never make it out alive.

What a glorious feeling it would be to get to the end of my list before the end of the day. To have a bubble bath or lay on the couch without feeling that I am slacking off in my duties.

I would love to be completely organized and on top of things while my kids are still in the house, but something tells me that's what being a grandparent is about. Until then, please excuse the mess, my lateness and the frozen veggies.

To Yoga, or not to Yoga

2010-08-19T01:06:00.000-06:00

I used to be a big girl. Okay, who am I kidding, I am still a big girl, I used to be a huge girl. After the birth of my third (and thankfully last) child, I weighed in at 267 at just over 5 feet tall. I remember standing in the bathroom naked, looking in the mirror and sucking in my tummy. Nothing moved. Something needed to be done.

I would love to say that I embarked on a workout routine that would make Jillian Michaels cry, but I didn't. I can't tell you that I discovered a wonderful diet that just melted the pounds away. What I did do was go to counselling for my depression (another day, another post) and stop eating crap ALL the time. I still eat crap, I just don't eat it morning, noon and night.

My youngest is approaching her fourth birthday and I am happy to say that I tip the scales at 185 lbs. Not skinny, but when I suck in, my junk gets into position. Even when I don't suck in, I have an hourglass shape, not a tomato.

When I look in the mirror now, if I squint my eyes and take my glasses off, I like what I see. It would be nice to simply like what I see, in broad daylight, with my glasses on and my eyes wide open.

So I decided to start an exercise program, tone up and get down to where I really want to be. I hate to exercise. There is something about dripping sweat, not being able to breathe and having muscles so sore that I wish for death that turns me off.

I figure that yoga, with it's focus on poses, breathing and stretching would be a good fit for me. I am excited to work-out while sitting or standing still, sounds easy. Sign me up!

I head on down to my local Wal-Mart and buy the three yoga DVDs that say beginner. One is actually a pre-natal yoga video. I think that since I am not pregnant it shouldn't be too hard.

Why do I bother thinking when my brain is plotting against me?

Once home, I put on my work out clothes, grab some water and pop in the pre-nanal DVD all ready for relaxing, healthy yoga.

By the end of the warm-up, sweat was starting to bead around my forehead. "Not so bad" I think, "On the aerobics DVD I am usually out of breath by now".

Minutes later I find myself in downward facing dog. For those of you who don't do yoga-speak, downward dog is palms and feet on the floor, butt in the air. "I can do this! This crap's easy" I exclaim aloud.

Don't ever do this, statements like this anger the yoga gods and they are easily offended.

The cheerful woman on my t.v. tells me to lower myself onto my tummy, keeping my hips off the floor and arching my back so my head is looking up, she called it Baby Cobra. I try to arrange my body in this position but I can't get my hips off the floor.

"Breathe deeply and slowly as you hold this position" the DVD instructor tells me.

As I am holding the pose and attempting to turn my breathing into deep controlled breaths, my arms start to shake, and the sweat is running into my eyes. I can no longer see the mean DVD lady, I listen carefully for the next pose.

"Press back up into downward dog, and then balance yourself on your left foot and hand stretching your right foot and hand to the sky, breathe in and out." The sadist instructs.

I do as I am told and quickly discover that labor is not the worst pain in the world. In fact, I would rather be giving birth to quintuplets than holding this damn pose for another 15 seconds.

The wretched cow's voice becomes more and more nasal as she tells me to "release back into downward dog and complete the pose on the right side, holding for 30 seconds.

I look up at the screen and swear she's enjoying my pain. Grunting and swearing I push back up into downward dog and balance myself on my other side. My arms and legs are trembling and numb. My hair, dripping with sweat is hanging in a matted clump against my face. I wonder how the hell a pregnant woman can do this and why.

Little Miss Yoga tells me to stand up and go into a lunge pose (at this point I cannot remember names because sweat fried my circuits). I lunge. Holding a lunge pose is easy compared to the last part so I am thrilled.

My happiness evaporated with the harpy's next instructions. "Leaning back and remembering to breathe, take your back foot with your hands and pull your heel up to your bottom, and hold, opening your chest to the sky".

I lean back and reach for my foot, which is just out of reach. I strain and try again. I manage a slippery grab on my big toe. Risking dislocation I pull my heel to my butt and open my chest to the sky.

"Just hold the pose and breathe"

Breathe? Screw breathing, I just want to live through this. Blood is rushing in my ears, the numbness in my limbs has turned into fire and my clothes are soaked through.

All hope for survival flies out the window when that foul woman serenely tells me to do it again with the other leg. Who the hell can sound calm at a time like this.

I switch legs and make several weak attempts to grasp my foot. I struggle and manage to get my foot where it needs to be. I am holding the pose and trying to breathe, when I fall over sideways.

At this point I hit pause on the DVD player just to see how much time has elapsed. I am shocked to discover that only 20 minutes of the 60 minute workout has passed. That's 40 minutes left!

I slump to the floor in a defeated sweaty heap and assume the fetal position. I don't want to do another 40 minutes of this, I can't do another 40 minutes of this. Why do people do this to themselves? It can't be good for you.

As I lay on the floor, moaning my pity ditty, my daughter comes up and asks "mom, why are you melting on the floor?"

"Because mommy wants to be healthy and live a long time for you" I say, giving her the good mom answer.

I realize the truth of my words. I do want to be as healthy as possible to give myself the best possible chance of always being there for them. I want to see them grow up. I want to be an active part of their lives. Most of all, I want to be a role model for them. I never want them to look in the mirror and feel shame.

Then I realize that if I give up, the sadistic, DVD witch wins, and we can't have that. What's 40 minutes?

The "N" Word

2010-08-18T10:21:00.001-06:00

I read that Dr. Laura plans to end radio show at end of year this morning, while I am thrilled that her show is ending, I am disgusted as to why.

Dr. Laura has been spewing her righteous venom on the air since 1974, syndicating her own show in 1994. She is an ultra-conservative social commentator that abuses her callers unless they fall into her right-wing, holier-than thou line of thinking.

I used to share an office with a woman who loved Dr. Laura, every day I had to listen to her show. Being a single, working, mother, Dr. Laura infuriated me. I remember sitting in that office day after day wanting to lodge a pencil straight into my brain just to block out her hateful voice.

On August 10, 2010, Dr. Laura felt the need to say the n-word 11 times to a black woman caller who was seeking advice regarding her inter-racial marriage.

11 times! Is she doing an album with 'Lil Wayne?

The caller was looking for help to stop her husband's friends from making racial slurs about her in their home. Instead of offering anything useful, Dr. Laura insisted the woman was being hypersensitive, then used the n-word repeatedly to prove a "philosophical point".

Sadly, Dr. Laura and I don't share a mother, because my mom would have knocked the teeth out of her mouth for using that word only once.

Dr. Laura stated that black comedians and actors say that word all the time on HBO, which gave her the right to say it.

That's like saying "they are all doing cocaine, so I should have a snort too". Isn't that the kind of moronic thinking that she blasts people for? Are we really going to accept "they're doing it" as an excuse to propagate hatred? I wouldn't let my three year old get away with this argument.

Furthermore, she said that use of that word does not constitute racism. I wonder if her attitude would change if similar comments were made towards the Jewish community instead of the black community.

How can the n-word not constitute racism? It's origin is racist. Used in literature as early as 1619 by wealthy white men to describe African slaves. It's intended meaning is to describe someone lesser than the speaker. The n-word, just like any other slur, racial or otherwise, is cruel, hurtful and unnecessary.

Dr. Laura has decided to end her radio show to protect her First Amendment Rights stating "I want to be able to say what's on my mind and in my heart and what I think is helpful and useful without somebody getting angry..."

When you say derogatory, bigoted things, people will get angry. If these are the feelings of your "heart", then please don't let the door hit your racist ass on the way out.

To be fair, Dr. Laura did apologize after the incident, although it was tempered with justifications and excuses.

I suppose I should be happy. Dr. Laura's reign of insensitivity and righteousness will soon be over. Unfortunately, controversy sells and soon another outspoken personality will take her place. Hopefully, it will be someone who uses controversy to promote valuable ideas that bring our world together, rather than tearing it down.

Huh?

2010-08-17T12:12:00.002-06:00

Whoever said that there is no such thing as a stupid question is an idiot. People ask stupid questions all the time, including me. I've watched my husband emerge from the bathroom only to ask "where were you?".

Being well aware of my ability to look like a moron on occasion. I try to be forgiving of people when it's their turn to be the moron. But, sometimes, it's just so hard.

In line at the grocery store once, this woman asked me how old my girls were. I told her 2 and 3, to which she responded, "are they twins?".

"Yes, of course they are twins. It's what all the celebrities are doing, you simply freeze-dry one of them till later, when things with the first one calm down a bit."

That's not what I said, I just smiled and nodded and was too nice to explain how twins work.

Most of the time, the person doesn't mean it. They just have a thought in their head that they forget to erase before opening their mouths. We do it all the time with emails, why not words?

"And send. Crap, don't send. UNSEND!"

Sometimes I wonder if the questioner is being purposefully malicious. Last summer we lost our cat. My husband went to the neighbors house to ask if they had seen it, they hadn't. Later when I went outside with flyers for the mailboxes, I passed the neighbor.

"Did you find your cat?" he asked.

"No, not yet. But hopefully we will" I respond.

"Yeah, your son looked pretty upset when he came asking about it" he said.

My son? My son was at Grandma's house. Did he mean my husband? He thinks my husband is my son? No he couldn't. Could he?

"Oh you mean my husband, he said he was going to check with the neighbors"

"He's your husband?!" He exclaims astonished.

Due to blind fury, I don't really know what happened next, but what I like to believe is that he burst into flames as a meteor fell out of the sky flattening him.

I have to watch how I answer people, as I have a tendency to answer with utter honesty and a touch of sarcasm. I went to a trade fair and made the mistake of entering myself in a number of draws. Over the next few weeks I received a bunch of calls letting me know that I didn't win, but wanting me to book a party or consult.

One woman was particularly persistent, she would not take no for an answer.

I told her that I wasn't interested. She said I would be after I tried the product, and then left samples on my doorstep. She was calling at least three times a week, and leaving crap on my doorstep. Screening her calls for 2 weeks didn't dissuade her either. Enough was enough.

It was about 8:30a.m when she called. I answered.

"Hello" I didn't ask like a pleasant question, more like a bark.

"Hi Jessica, I've been trying you for two weeks, why haven't you answered?"

"Because I have call display." And that's the last time I heard from her.

I tried being patient, but it took too long!

2010-08-13T18:46:00.001-06:00

I am impatient, always have been. I just feel that life is too short for wasting time. Directions, manuals and tutorials are the time wasters I despise most. If something is overly complicated, I will happily follow a manual. But, reading the manual for my cell phone, I won't do. I like to learn by doing.

Trial and error has mostly served me well. I find I learn the skill better my way, even if it sometimes takes me longer. Sometimes, it bites me in the ass.

I have come to love being thrust into new situations and learning new skills. It should come as no surprise then, that when friends of ours needed a DJ for their wedding, I said "sure". I have a DJ program on my computer, a ton of Cd's and they needed a DJ.

Being impatient isn't that damaging of a fault, but I am also a procrastinator. I waited till a few days before the wedding to start getting my music ready. What could go wrong? It's just music.

When I finally get down to it, I take a cursory glance at the DJ program. My hubby bought it for me when I started hosting thinking I might have to DJ sometimes too. I never really used it because I didn't want to have to learn it, unless I had to. I figure, I'll learn the program as I go.

My hubby and I have a ton of older Cd's, as I went through them I realized our tastes aren't really wedding friendly. I had to use a paid online music download site to fatten up my library. I bought my songs, and dove into my DJ program.

I search for the first song, the one the couple are dancing to for the first time as man and wife. This is an important song. It's not there. All my older music is there. Nothing that I just bought though.

So I download them again to a new folder I created. Titled in caps "WEDDING MUSIC", so I can be sure to find it. I go into the DJ program. find my caps file and open it. Nothing.

Where are these songs? I'm starting to get annoyed. I can play them in my media player, they are on the computer, the the DJ program can't find them. I look through all the tools and options. Nothing. I take to the Internet.

There are times when the Internet is not your friend.

I spent all of last night, until dawn, searching. Trying to find an answer.

I typed in every possible combination of words for my problem. I read what felt like thousands of articles, blog and forums. I looked through both my downloading and DJ program support, troubleshooting and help pages.

There were numerous reasons for my songs not being where they should be. The most popular, from my research, was that the online store where I bought my songs had placed user right restrictions on them. There was a program I could buy to remove the restrictions, but it seemed shady.

Out of ideas and exhausted, I sat mindlessly staring at the screen, feeling beaten. I couldn't afford to go to a store and buy all these the songs on CD. Digital music was my best option, and I couldn't make it work.

I knew if I didn't figure it out soon, I would have to start calling around to see who had these songs on disc, at least the first dance song. I had really screwed up.

Visualizing a wedding where the songs from Glee and Eminem (the most played on my stereo) were played over and over again, I knew I would be the cow that ruined this woman's beautiful wedding. All because I didn't do it two weeks ago.

In the middle of hosting my pity party, I saw a button on the screen.

"Refresh Playlist"?

What does that do? I click the button and a whooshing screen of file transfer flashes past my eyes. What the hell was that?

I tentatively type in the title for their first dance song. It pops up! I am so excited I have to stifle a victory yell! It's 4 in the morning.

Then it hits me. Had I taken a second to just look at the damn program I was using, this wouldn't have happened and I wouldn't be having a coronary. On the other hand, I would have had nothing for my blog.

The Dinner Dance

2010-08-11T00:45:00.002-06:00

I blame the cooking gene, and my lack thereof. My Grandma doesn't have it, my mom doesn't have it, and I don't have it. Everyday I am faced with the same dilemma. What am I going to make for dinner? Will we live through it? It's not just the cooking that gets me, it's everything!

Once, when my hubby was still my finance, I decided to surprise him with a steak dinner. I popped the potatoes in the oven to cook, and started preparing everything else.

Suddenly, I hear gunshots, I race out through the living room doing the commando crawl on the floor and hide in the bathroom. I have to call 911. Where's the phone? I left it in the kitchen.

I crawl on my hands and knees out of the bathroom to grab the phone. As I enter the kitchen, I notice that the window in my stove is all white. All white? Why would it be all white?

What I thought were gunshots were potatoes exploding in my oven. The exploding potato is a terrifying and messy lesson to learn.

That's the problem with learning to cook. If you do it wrong, you go hungry, or worse, burn your kitchen down. It's enough to make someone just order in.

I want my kids to be healthy though, I want them to know how to cook and not feel overwhelmed like I do when they are adults.

I want to be able to cook a side of ribs without a flaming ball shooting out of my BBQ. Did you know that cooking them on high doesn't cook them faster?

If you're thinking my family starves. They don't, often. I have been slowly expanding my recipe book. Recipes are never the problem, there are millions of recipes. The problem is, I don't understand cooking at its most basic. Recipes are exacting and require little creativity, and I don't want to have to rely on someone else's tastes.

I want to create my own recipes because I understand how the food goes together. Where's the book on that? If you know of one, please let me know.

It's just so defeating to spend all that time in the kitchen, just to end up with a big mess and everyone eating pizza.

Our first Christmas together, my husband and I hosted both our families at our home. I didn't want any help in the kitchen. I wanted to prove to my in-laws and my family that I could cook. I should have had it catered.

After hours of sweating in the kitchen, dinner was finally served. I had everything and it was beautiful! Garlic mashed potatoes, baby carrots in butter sauce, cranberries, stuffing... My grandmother, who has this thing for "real in the bird stuffing" asks;

"did you use the gizzard for the stuffing?"

"what's a gizzard Gram?"

"The neck, liver, organs. They put it in a plastic bag inside the Turkey."

"Why would anyone put something inside the turkey Gram? who would think to look there?"

And, Christmas Pizza was had by all!

Help... html code is harder than it looks...

2010-08-10T14:49:00.003-06:00

In an attempt to earn a little cash, I have set up an Amazon Store on my blog. I am trying to put it on it's own page, so people only see it when they want to, but am having trouble making it fit on the page with my sidebars. If anyone knows how to fix this, please message me. If not, check it out and have a good giggle at my programmer skillz.

EDIT: I do have programmer skillz, I really, really do. I got my store up and working and we're back to regularly scheduled blogging.

If I had only known...

2010-08-10T02:15:00.004-06:00

Like any mom, I wouldn't trade any of my kids for the world. Growing up, I was never really around kids, until I had some. Here is my list of things I wish I knew before I had kids.

Toddlers are like tiny drunk people. They drool, you can't understand or reason with them, they fall down a lot, and they puke suddenly, without warning, or reason.
A twelve year old boy's concept of clean includes fungus.
Toddlers think paint and poop are the same thing, and they want to decorate! Fun!
You can never get rid of the baby pooch.
Your children will always have more stuff than you do, and wreck the stuff you have.
Newborns are boring.
Kids want to give everything a bath. Including new iPods.
Little girls have the ability to pierce a brain with their screams.
On any given day, you're likely to wake up to something gross being thrust in your face.
Accidentally using a three year olds napkin may be viewed as a hostile action.
5 year old's are made of knees and elbows.
Even if you're staring right at them, a preschooler can't see you until you say "what".
Laundry reproduces faster than rabbits.
The harder it is to clean, the more kids will want to play with it.
Baby boys express love with pee in the face.
It's easier to coordinate a space mission, than to get all the kids smiling at the camera for a photo.
It's totally bloody worth it!

Please feel free to share the things you wish you had known before having kids.

Different Look

2010-08-09T19:58:00.002-06:00

After reading DIY Tips for a More Professional Blog Design, I decided to make some needed changes. I am much happier with the way the blog looks now. Hope you like it!

Lions, and Tigers, and Bears, OH MY!

2010-08-09T19:13:00.002-06:00

I have always thought of myself as brave. I look right at the needle when I get blood drawn. I walk into a new place with my head held high, making eye contact. I sing in public for money. I was an unwed 20 year old new mom, who put herself through college, with my son's father long gone. I'm not afraid of anything, right? wrong.

I am scared most of the time, and I hate it. A strange thing happened when I became a mom. I realized my own mortality. Worse than that, I realized my children's. I could suddenly see, in perfect clarity, the worst possible outcome for every scenario. I was afraid they or I would get hurt, or worse. And, it crippled my life, for the most part, until I turned 27.

Over the past several years, I have been trying something new. If it scares me, I do it. No excuses. I have been working my way through scary to downright terrifying.

I have always loved to sing, and had tried karaoke. I always left wanting more, wanting to be the hostess, though the thought made my stomach try to dive out my throat.

One night, at karaoke, drunk. I told the hostess that I wanted a job hosting karaoke, never thinking she would take me seriously, I was drunk. The next Friday, I show up and am thrust into training, she tells me "tomorrow night is a hockey fundraiser and I need you at work by 9. I also need someone to work karaoke here part-time".

What...?

Huh...?

Me...?

but, I was drunk...!

I was terrified (notice the italics to denote extra terrified). What if I screwed up? I did. All my fears about hosting have come true, and somehow I still host. I have sang terribly, had feedback so bad I was scared I damaged ears, had a full bar start booing me when I set up, boob pop out mid-song. I have learned to laugh at these moments now, because there's not a damn thing you can do to stop them, and fearing them, is just stupid.

I recently decided to take my new found bravery and try it on something really scary... bears. I have not camped my entire adult life because of bears. I read once that bear attack survivors most remember the sound of the bear gnawing on their skull! On-Their-Skull! Can you imagine what that would sound like? Feel like? I still get squeamish just thinking about it.

I find myself camping, in bear country, with two guys who are like brothers to me. They spent the entire two hour drive out debating the best ways to harass me about my fear of bears. See, like brothers.

When we reach the site, we find old bear scat, and we're on a river. Bears love fish, fish are in rivers. I start to object, and get laughed at.

It was May, and still below zero at night, so I was camping in the back of my friend's S.U.V., using my tent to change clothes and clean up. Also, I was too afraid to sleep in a tent in bear country.

The guys tell me I need to find a place to do my business, in the woods, far from the campsite and the river next to it. In the woods, where the bears are. I immediately started panicking about night peeing and decided that all beer consumption happened before sundown.

My plan worked great until I drank too much, and decided I was no longer afraid of bears. Do you know how dark it is outside the fire area? I had my flashlight, but every time I peed I just felt like a big advertisement screaming "here's the weak and defenseless human, who only has a light and bell for protection".

The last night I got to see fear first hand. After I had gone to bed, my friend John burst into the Explorer drunkenly exclaiming "there's a BEAR out there!" I spent the next hour witnessing his absolute fear of bears. When he had to pee, I had to keep watch and honk the horn every 10 seconds to scare away the bear. He tried to send me out to check on our other friend who was sleeping in his tent. He woke up throughout the night still raving about the bear he heard, and asking me to check if it was outside.

After that, I was far more afraid of frightened drunk people than bears... the worst a bear would do is gnaw on your skull.

It's exhilarating to do something scary. It changes you. The fear is replaced by excitement and confidence, and in the end you find yourself wondering what was so scary in the first place. I am still afraid, but less so, and deep down I know, I got this.

Next up... gulp... skydiving?...

There are no words...

2010-08-08T23:17:00.002-06:00

My friend lost her mom today. My heart is broken for her and the pain she must be feeling, I wish I could carry some of the pain for her.

Your mom is someone you can always go to, someone who always knows just where to kiss. I can only imagine how she feels, and the thought brings me to tears. To lose your rock, your port in the storm... it would be devastating.

Tonight my prayers are with my friend, but my heart is with my mom.

So tell your moms you love them, or just tell someone because you want them to know.

Love you mom.

Not smarter than the pee cup....

2010-08-08T13:24:00.005-06:00

In order to keep ourselves healthy, we all have to do things we hate. Peeing in a cup, is my thing. The pee test is pure evil, can't they tell from the 18 vials of blood they just took what's wrong with me? Is it necessary to make me humiliate myself too?

I have my cup, have found the bathroom, I lock myself in and my ordeal begins. There's a sign over the toilet explaining exactly how you're to pee in the cup. The first step is to cleanse yourself, so I take the wet-wipe, drop trou, and settle in... Where do I put the cup?

I just read specific instructions stating the importance of a bacteria free environment, I don't want to put my cup on the floor, there's a wet spot and I'm not sure if it's pee or water. The back of the toilet tank has just a steep enough slope to it that the cup slides off, and the toilet paper dispenser is just as useless. Fine, the floor it is.

Using one hand to hold myself open, I wipe in a front to back motion just like the sign says. YAY! but, where do I put the wipe?

Still holding myself open, I look for the garbage can, there it is, on the other side of the room, right next to a table with flowers on it that would work perfectly for putting the cup on. Pretending I am Kobe Bryant I go for three points and the wet-wipe lands three feet away.

It's time for the main event, I grab the cup and try to figure out how to open it one handed, because I am still holding myself open and it's getting uncomfortable. My first attempt is to hold the cup with my ring and pinky fingers and use my thumb and index to open the lid. This would work if I didn't have tiny little child hands.

Sweat is starting to bead on my forehead and other hand is cramping. I grit my teeth and try Plan B.

I start to put the cup between my knees but realize that the outcome of holding my vagina open and closing my knees at the same time will be a broken hand, and I will have to re-sanitize.

I position the cup between the wall and my knee (EUREKA!) and take the lid off. What do I do with the lid? SHIT! Still using my knee to hold the cup, I balance the lid precariously on the top of the toilet paper.

Finally, I can pee in the cup! Still holding myself open, and following the instructions on the sign I start to pee for 2 seconds before I place the cup to catch the stream.

Maybe I was holding myself open wrong, but the pee shot up and out of the toilet like it was coming from a fire hose and onto my legs and jeans, I panic, ramming the cup at my vagina desperately tying to stop the pee, I bang my hand on the bowl and drop the fucking thing in the toilet.

The Tech was kind enough to try not to laugh out loud when I emerged sweaty, wet and crying, needing another cup....

The Childless.... lucky buggers...

2010-08-07T22:34:00.004-06:00

I love people who are never around kids, they make me laugh. they ask the funniest questions, and you can screw with them in the most glorious ways.

I was once asked, "can't you explain that mommy wants them to clean their room, and then they just do it?" about my 2 and 3 year old daughters and their heinously messy room. Yes, I could explain, and it would be as effective as explaining the meaning of the Matrix movies to them.

The kidfree* really are trying to be helpful when they say "how much harder can two kids be, than one?" *kidfree: people who haven't had any exposure to kids

How could I explain to someone that just didn't have a basis for understanding that one child under 3 is exhausting, time and soul consuming. Two or more are like the fifth ring of hell.

You are worked beyond exhaustion and your hard work is destroyed in seconds by the screaming, unapologetic, tornado of your progeny. You are forced to repeat the same phrases so often that you sometimes wonder if your life has become a bad sequel to Groundhog Day; Groundhog Day 4; The Barefoot Lego Wars.

Even our mom friends with only one kid can't truly understand, but that's a topic for another day. The kidfree person mostly wants to be helpful, but there are those that dance right over helpful into pain in the ass.

Ever had a kidfree friend or relative take your kid for the day and bring them back looking like they were put to work in a septic tank? or fed your kid so much candy when you weren't looking, that you couldn't help but smile when Jr. puked on their shoes?

We've all been faced with some kidfree person looking to undermine us because they find it funny and have no clue about parenting. But, now the laughs are on them. Try any of the following strategies the next time a kidfree saboteur screws with your parenting, not for the feint of heart.

For the first tactic, your kid will have to still be in diapers. Ever notice the crap explosion whenever your child needs to go up a diaper size. Use this to your advantage, save smaller diapers for just such an occasion where a crap-bomb will come in handy. Especially useful for those friends or family who always want you to come to their pristine "don't touch anything homes" with your 5 young boys. One "incident" and your friend will be happy to meet you somewhere more kid friendly.

This tactic also requires a baby, but less planning. Do you hate it when someone takes your baby immediately after feeding and starts bouncing and jostling them? Don't warn them, simple as that, just let them learn like you did. Same goes for overzealous ticklers, nothing says stop like getting peed on. Finish it off by playing dumb, "oh dear, she's never done that before. I wonder what would make her pee like that".

When your kidfree friends offer to take the kids for you, let them. Experience is the best teacher, and there are no experiences quite like;

Trying to understand what a three year old wants when they say. "I want the other red one" and you can only see one red one.
Figuring out what and where the "Reen Neggs and Jam" book is.
Getting schooled in Pokeman for not knowing that Charizard and Charmander aren't really the same thing.
Having a 11 year old girl suddenly go nuclear for mentioning her crushes name out loud, in the mall, where someone could hear, and text him, thus, ruining her life, forever.

Use your daughter's knack for asking the worst possible questions to your advantage. Mention to your child that "Auntie Julie doesn't have any babies or ponies" prompting a three hour discussion about the merits of babies versus ponies, and if Auntie Julie's boyfriend left because she didn't get him a pony. Thus, stopping in her tracks Auntie Julie's comments regarding the grossness of veggies.

Don't argue with your husband's best friend when he says "it's just darts, how much damage can they do". It's just his drywall, how hard can patching holes be?

It can be challenging to deal with someone actively disrespecting your parenting. Keeping a great if not sick sense of humour is your best weapon. Especially when the parental espionage comes from the inside. When a spouse sabotages you, you might have to get a little messy.

Even in the greatest of marriages, a husband will occasionally undermine his wife with the kids. One of my kids was a puker, but would always say they were fine until it was too late. We were at an amusement park, hubby and child wanted to go on this turning, spinning, nightmare of a ride. I objected and my hubby argued to take our kid on. So I folded. We left the park ten minutes later, what I didn't count on was having to drive their puke covered asses home...

Fine Dining?

2010-08-07T16:57:00.003-06:00

I don't have a problem with children in restaurants, it's their parents that make me crazy...

Parents need to start teaching their kids that restaurants are places where you sit and wait, and that if they run around... they are likely to get hurt, or hurt someone else... ever get burned by hot coffee??? want that spilled on your kid? NO? then, get them the hell out of the way! Not only is it a safety issue, it's thoroughly disrespectful to the restaurant staff, who have better things to do than dodge your two foot tall torpedo.

Be respectful to your server, even if she's bad, ask for a different server if she's terrible, but be nice... your kids watch what you do, and then copy you. Nothing is worse than having to deal with a pint sized miserable bitch. Be the kind of person you expect them to be! I could never be a server because of the amount of abuse they are dealt... I hate seeing some parent bark their order at a server and then admonish their kid for not saying please... wake the hell up or stay home.

If you know your kid is impatient, entertain them!!! You might think Connie whining "I'm hungry Daddy" over and over again is musical, but it makes me want to jam my fork in my eye, and yours... Quit ignoring her, she's not going away... At least order her some crackers... damn. On the other side of this coin are parents who let their kids bring every toy in the world... it's great to be prepared... but be prepared to have the 185 decibel rocket car or whatever other loud annoying toy you brought flushed down the toilet...

Finally, as for breastfeeding in the restaurant... DO IT PROUDLY... You don't need to squirt people in the eye... but don't put up with their bullshit. I will fight to the ground for a woman's right to breastfeed wherever the hell she wants!

ACK!!!! They Got Me!!!

2010-08-07T14:22:00.004-06:00

Ever get the feeling that this new "bad mom" trend is just the old helicopter uber-vigilant parents slumming it? Luring the real bad moms out to tag and identify them. I read articles and blogs with these "confessions" from real moms doing terrible things to their kids, like not buying organic, or washing the floor on only Tuesday instead of Tuesday and Thursday. I am craving some reality. I need to know that I am not the worst mom in the blogosphere.

My motto is, if you can't beat em, annihilate them. Here are my bad momma confessions.

I never buy organic! I am lucky if my en suite gets cleaned once a month! I cannot remember the exactly the last time my kids had a proper bath! Are you vomiting in your mouth yet? yeah? cool. I really don't think I'm alone, but I don't really give a shit if I am...

Welcome to the slums! What's my tag number?

Don't Drink the Kool-Aid - Not Everything Makes You A Bad Mom!

2010-08-07T13:54:00.005-06:00

Ever get the feeling that if someone really looked into it, you would be found unfit in some way, shape or form? I do... daily... It's a terrible feeling... like you're constantly failing your kids.... it starts at pregnancy...

"What pregnancy vitamins did you take before you got pregnant?"

"None, I thought I'd wait until I was actually pregnant before downing vitamins"

"Oh No! What have you done, you're supposed to start taking folic acid at least six months before you get pregnant. If not, your baby could be at risk for all sorts of problems"

And so it begins, the noose of guilt and worry that all moms carry around their necks, if one noose doesn't get you another noose will, because at some point you will be convinced that not doing something perfectly or at all, will damage them terribly, and your right, neglect and abuse will cause damage, though rarely permanent... as a parent it's impossible to do everything "they" say you have to to ensure Bobby's intelligence, health, or safety, and we feel absolutely sick about it... because we are being told that we are dooming them to a terrible life where they never have enough... or we're putting them at risk, or not cooking the perfect foods or diet, not enough free time, not enough music time, not enough sports, is she overweight? is he playing too many video games, guilt for playing any video games, the house is too messy, lawn not cut, deck painted, and it snowballs on, and on.... and we allow these "helpful" mommy nooses to slip tighter and tighter so we work harder and faster to be better, but we're so frigging tired we can't stand... then it's off to the Doctor for a perscription for this or that to make you feel or not feel... when what you really need is a good fucking nap and some free fucking time! Am I the only one pissed off by this?... Next time you see a prescription commercial count how many side effects... millions are putting this crap into their bodies... causing thousands of times more side effects than the one symptom you're trying to cure... WHY???... it's downright idiotic... use that thing that's rattling around in your melon! start prioritizing your life... do the work, get your shit together and decide what's really important, what needs to go and what needs work... and get rid of the shit and the committments that make you miserable, and that don't fulfill you in some way, and if nothing fulfills you, get the hell off your ass and do something about it... don't wait... NOW... period... no buts! Your doing yourself and your kids a favour...

"What are you bringing for the Kindergarten Mom's Tea?"

"Nothing, I won't be coming?"

Why is that so hard to say... why don't we feel confident enough to admit these Mommy events bore the hell out of us... (and I know some of you love these functions, yay... I don't). Why do we think admitting that we just aren't interested in spending 2 hours having tea in a room with 26 other moms discussing our kids means we don't love them enough. Just admit you'd rather have that 2 hours to be home watching something good, reading a great book or bouncing on the husband...

"You won't be coming?, but we discuss the year end bake sale at this tea"

"Plan it without me, I pvr-ed McDreamy, and then my hubby's getting nookie for killing a wasps nest... sorry, family first!"

What the hell are we feeling so bad about... I stupidly feel like a failure so often in a week that it eats at my self esteem... When this happens I take a good long hard look at my life and my kids lives.... do I fail?... sure... do I learn from my failures? usually... am I a better parent today than a decade ago? hell yeah! That's what matters... keep growing, learning, but put the guilt down... it doesn't happen overnight... Guilt is a big ugly bully that will eventually fold like a kitten if you challenge it, unless you truly have something to feel guilty about... didn't do the dishes? screw the guilt, didn't do the dishes for 3 months, you might have a problem... get some perspective, and then look in the damn mirror and change what you need to... You have your own compass of right and wrong... figure out where life works, without the guilt... I spent years feeling guilty about my hatred of cleaning, if I had enough money to sit on my ass all day and have someone cook and clean for my family I would be the happiest chickie in the world... I wouldn't care if we didn't have enough cash left over for Disneyland or Mexico, or even the mortgage... I wouldn't EVER have to cook or clean again!!!!!!!... When I say it aloud I hear choirs of Angels singing... and not one drop of guilt... Since I can't afford a cook or a mail, I have to try to find fun ways to do it less often... like cooking a lot of meals at once, or doing a mass clean once a week... I don't believe that gourmet meals or a germ free home translates into love...

The Mommy noose never changes, first it's SIDS and staircases, next choking and drowning, then sports, bikes or skateboards, and before you know it it's drunk drivers and drugs... those threats and dangers are always going to be there, there's not a damn thing you can do about it. What good is this uber-guilt doing for your kids, your health? It's not doing any good, in fact, this kind of behavour can't be anything but damaging... If you are feeling guilty, worried or afraid all the time, then your kids are too... Educate yourself, use your common sense... Drinking hose instead of bottled water will not kill your kids... knowledge is power and you are your kids greatest influence for a short while, take advantage of it while you can, in a positive way that encourages growth... too soon, you loose them to their peers... Take responsibility for your shit, so it doesn't become your kids shit... because it will!!! and step away from the kool-aid!

Unless the Ink says "Touch Me" keep your bloody hands to your self!

2010-08-07T13:52:00.004-06:00

I love tattoos, I have several. Ever since I got my last tattoo, which is on my arm and quite visible, strangers think that they can just walk right up and touch me.

What is this weird tattoo touching compulsion that people have? it's frigging weird.

Why does my having a tattoo makes you think that the standard laws of "don't bloody touch me dude" cease to apply. Would you walk up to a soccer mom and lightly stroke your finger down her un-tattooed bicep and say "nice"?

I also can't stand having perfect strangers ask me what my tattoos mean, what if they mean something embarrassing? Why would I want to share that with you? I don't know you.

The initials on my ankle could be for Jean Auel, my favourite author. Or, it could be from the night I got drunk and watched Jack-Ass. Either way, not something I want to explain to you in the ATM line.

Do you want to touch it?

Whatever happened to chatting about the weather or sports, or better yet... smiling politely and keeping your mouth shut... I vote for way more of that!

Now What?

2010-08-07T13:47:00.004-06:00

So here I am, blogging. Now what? Maybe I should share some things about me, with you, whomever you are.

I have three kids, a husband, a home, pets, a part time job. Yadda, yadda, am basically the same as every 0ther harried, stay-at-home parent out there with bags under the eyes, too little time, and sticky spots on the floor.

What makes me different? probably nothing but the fact that I cannot stand what parenting has become. This blog won't always be about parenting, (or failing miserably at it) lots of things piss me off, and instead of having a heart attack, I have decided to blog. Please enjoy or troll as you see fit...

I used to go out for coffee with other moms in child friendly places and couldn't stand the conversations around me. It was like the coffee house with the playground was the next chosen site for the "my child is better, stronger, faster than your child" olympics... endless hours of hearing how little Suzy was toilet trained at 10 months or Johnny was walking at 7 months... who gives a damn, by the time most kids hit kindergarten they know how to walk and aren't crapping their pants! It doesn't make someone a better mother than the one who's kid toilet trained at 4, it just makes you more anal... I don't think I am the greatest mom out there, far from it, I just think there are better things to discuss than your child's bowel movements and how you deserve a gold medal for getting his butt on the toilet. Why should your kid's natural processes be something that you need to take pride in? is this really what your life has become? really?

Why is it that the second we have children we are expected as parents to completely give up our own interests and lives and live completely through and for our kids? I feel like a pariah because I have a weekly singing gig at a bar and often get stupid questions and judgments like "who's watching your kids" or "don't you have to work too late for your kids?" Who the hell do you think is watching my kids, just because I work at a bar doesn't mean that I leave them home alone to fend for themselves naked and starving next to my heroin stash, or bring them with me and make them wait in the car! I do what every other working parent does, I pay a great sitter a lot of money to watch my kids, and secretly enjoy my time as me. Why should parents be villified for not quitting their dream or even their job to devote their lives to little Johnny, even if it's just once a week. Want to be a good parent? Make time for yourself, always consider your own needs. I'm not saying ditch the kids and head for Fiji, but find a way to balance...

I can't stand seeing a parent giving up everything in an attempt to be so available to their children ensuring that nothing could ever go wrong for Little Dick and Jane, sacrifice after sacrifice... is it really in a kids best interest? To give up our entire identities because we love someone, even unconditionally... wow that's healthy! Then we wonder why Julie is skipping high school to be with her boyfriend or Tom dropped out of his degree program because his future in-laws thought nursing was woman's work, or worse, these kids become self indulgent spoiled little assholes who most people want to take over their knees and spank, and we all know someone like that... the scary thing is, your kids emulate what they see in you, and you have no control over what they choose to emulate... how can you expect them to make better choices than the ones you make yourself, the decisions they see you make, day after day.

With parenting also comes "the fear", every stranger out there wants to kidnapp perfect little Matthew or every stair, glass or sandbox hold some evil power just waiting to send Chris to the hospital or worse, the morgue... Safety is a multi-million dollar business because so many parents are more willing to toss cash at a problem than use their brains... Kids are going to fall down, get hurt, wipeout, and attempt to eat things that a cockroach would pass over, that's what being a kid is about, discovering this messy wonderful world we live in... Our job is to educate and guide them and pray to whatever power you believe in that they stay safe, healthy and happy, and of course, jump in when necessary... It seems that parents are just throwing cash around like some mindless ATM, using plastic and gizmos to parent for them, why not sit your kids down and tell them the truth... when I caught my pre-teen riding his bike without a helmet, I showed him pics on the net of what could happen to him... he wears a hemet without my asking now... no more nagging, no more helmet worry... When my then 2 year old daughter left the house without our knowledge and I found her on our driveway "going to ballet class" I told her the hard truth about what could happen if she went outside without us... she didn't do it again, she understands that it's dangerous, and choses not to... Quit wasting your hard earned money on some faceless company buying crap that does your job for you. Protect your kids by talking with them, telling them the truth, even if it sucks, and answering their questions honestly.... You had the kids, now do the work... this world is entirely too full of assholes...