Motherhood Uncensored

Why Does Healthy Have to Taste Like Ass?

I have tried, for the last time, to actually enjoy something* made by Kashi. I'm drawn in by their crisp white packaging and pretty pictures of food at its most basic form. And I really do love their message.

But let's face it. Even my dogs who lick their own assholes won't touch it.

Clearly they need to stop having these outdoorspeople slash food gatherers slash kayak enthusiasts creating their recipes because let's be honest. If you were outside chasing bears and climbing ice cliffs, you'd probably eat anything too with your chalky dry mouth.

So some weird looking cereal with cat food-like bran bits and dried currants probably tastes like a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

For my taste, the true test for any healthy food is if some Pringle-slinging couch potato schmo who's been sitting on his ass for a minimum of twelve hours watching a Lifetime movie marathon thinks it's tasty.

That's my stamp of approval.

And considering I grew up stomaching my mom's own homemade extra whole extra brown extra extra rock hard rolls, then Kashi has to pretty darn terrible.

I will say that their cereal makes excellent kitty litter and I carry the granola bars in lieu of pepper spray. Aside from being about to beat someone down with it, I can force it down their throat as their mouths are overcome with complete dryness and make my getaway.

Sorry Kashi. Your seven whole grains are apparently on a mission to make me gag. And here's a challenge. Make something actually worth eating.

*I have enjoyed a Kashi waffle slathered in maple syrup, but I don't know if that actually counts.

--

Here's what you missed this week:

My take on politics

Quinlan's first experience with gum

Separation anxiety at its finest

New this week:

Oliver is here. Mom and baby are great.

New ads here at Motherhood Uncensored. Check out small business Julian & Co (more details and giveaway to follow). Au revoir Blogher Ads. (The people spoke and I listened -- so small bizzes who I will crush on and love and you promised to click on it is)

My children have exchanged illnesses. So now Quinlan is puking and coughing or po-coughing and Drew has a wicked cold, or teething, or who knows what. With a cough. What does that mean for me? 3 hours of sleep last night. Sweet!

Pick of the Week: Another bag, of course!

New Blog: Shutter Sisters

No podcast, but today is the Blog Blast (hence my diatribe on healthy food, which I do love, by the way). Check it out and you can be entered to win one of five gift cards for FREE GROCERIES.

Now back to tending to sick children. Again.

You Know What They Say About Women With Big Feet Don't You?: Redux With Prizes!

Becky, Amy, and Mike: You have won a pair of shoes. EMAIL ME.

I ventured out to the mall with the family this past weekend. Let's face it. One woman's crappy mall and $2 Carousel is another woman's Jesus, and quite frankly, I have been in need in Jesus. Or at least Jesus in the form of a rotating horse, Mr. Bulkies, and a Chick-fil-a value meal #1.

All was well with the world -- happy toddler, sleeping baby, and fairly unannoying husband until I got this bright idea that since I had lost all this weight now, I might be able to actually wear cool shoes again. You know, ones that aren't hidden in the back of the store on the extra-sale-clearance rack because even though they are only $10 no one wants to buy them.

Hey. They're comfortable! (Isn't that what the old ladies say about their Rockports?). Ack.

Anyway, I walked into Macy's, found some delightful ballet flats and a pair of kick-ass Steve Madden boots, and to my surprise (and much skepticism), they had them in my size.

A 10. Or recovering 10.

Now let me remind you that I'm 5'11" and no matter how big you think my feet are, they are pretty relative to my height. I've gotten the "omg you have such big feet" comments almost my whole life but look here tiny people. It would be really odd to see me wearing a size 6 shoe. In fact, I think I'd fall over. And so yeah, my feet are big. But so am I. You know. We sort of go together. Like Laverne and Shirley. Strawberries and chocolate.

It's tall Kristen and her big feet!

I do admit that in the latter half of my pregnancy, I was unable to wear most of my shoes. I even bought a pair of wides. And, much to my chagrin, I fit into a pair of size 11 Diesel sneakers that just so happened to be on that extra-sale-clearance rack in the back of the store. So sue me. I'll take a pair of Diesel sneaks for $10 any day. At least that's what I told myself as I brought them up to the counter and hid the size from the sales guy.

"These are on the rack back there because of the size, right?" I thought to myself. I mean. God forbid I buy gigantic shoes that are ugly too.

Now I'm not a predjudiced, but I will say I've often thought pretty bad about the size 11. I mean, size 10 is big. But still cool. An 11? Oh man. You must be a giant. And from what I can tell, have absolutely not taste in shoes. Seriously, aren't the most awful looking shoes always an 11? I always felt bad for those people. Until I became one of those people. And then I realized, like clothes sizes, it really doesn't matter so long as they fit and look great.

Stacey and Clinton would be so proud.

So, I try on the shoes at Macy's and except for the one pair of 10's that are too big, everything else is just a little snug. I look at my foot. I look at my baby. I shake my head. And just as I was about to walk away, the chipper salesguy reappears.

"How did they work for you?" he asks, rubbing his hands together as if he thought I was about to buy four pairs of shoes.

I sigh.

"Well. I love the boots, but they're a little snug. Do you have them in an 11?" I asked, boldly going where few women have gone before.

Suddenly, the little man becomes oddly somber and leans into me speaking in a weird strained whisper.

"No, we don't have 11's in those," he says, shaking his head.

"And in fact, we don't carry 11's in ANYTHING."

His eyes bulge. He huffs. He grabs the boxes. And walks away.

Um. Okay. Thanks for that humiliation. And PS. Grown men don't huff.

Honestly, I can't say that I wasn't surprised. But was that really necessary? Because he should know better. I mean we all know what women with big feet have (or at least, this big footed woman).

One big post-partum ass to squish little wiry shoe salesmen.

--

Can you figure out what I'm giving away today?

Okay. Don't think too hard. It's SHOES. Yes! Weeeeee. Easy Spirit is offering three MU readers (with big  feet or small feet) a pair of these spiffy clogs ($79 value!). Now I admit to being a bit scared to go into an Easy Spirit store because, well, you know, but after looking through their Fall catalog and realizing I need comfortable shoes but refuse to wear ones that are fugly, I'm all about them!

These are perfect for Fall and clearly a good mix between comfy and stylish without screaming "I'm a mom of two."

So, just leave me a comment (and while you're there, enjoy the lovely sort of hilarious-sort of vurp inducing comments from random googlers with foot fetishes) and I'll pick three winners at random! Only one entry per person per post.

Funny comments get extra consideration (but no extra entry... sorry!).

Check out The Blog Exchange today! My post is here. And check out LMJ for a new design and updates, superhero alteregos included. Mmmmmmmmmm chicken.

There's Nothing Like a 4 Minute Interview with Some NPR Guy Outside a Mall After Just Enduring Your First Gymbucks Redemption Day to Make You Feel Like a Total Smacked Ass

Guy: Um, Maam, excuse me, but do you live in My County?

Me: Er, yes. Sure. I guess so. Where the hell do I live now?

Guy: Great! Well, I'm just curious if you're planning on voting this November?

Me: Oh shit. Voting? There's voting this November? Oh that's right. Commercials. Lynn Swann. Football. Right. Ha. That's funny. Focus. Right. Jeezus. I can't tell him I'm NOT going to vote...

Of course. I'm voting.

Guy: Well, I'm out here today asking folks about the issues that are important to them this election.

Me: BLANK STARE. Er. My ass. My in-laws. No. I can't say that. Poop. Big solid poops are important. Damnit Q. CRY NOW. *kicks stroller* Pumpkin pies. I could use a pumpkin pie right now. In my mouth.

Women's Issues.

Damn. That was so lame. Oooh I know...

Abortion.

Shit. Did I totally just say that? I'm such an idiot. Like on Jay Leno, when they ask them the... Oh wait... Got one.

Gay Marriage. Are they concerned with that around here?

Okay. WALK AWAY NOW YOU DORK.

Because I think it should be legal. Right. Yes. Legal.

Oh My God. Clearly I am a total freakwad. I need to say something funny.

So. How uninformed am I? *laughs* I did just move here. Like last week... from Mississippi. *gives knowing look.*

Guy: Welcome! So, what about the war? National Security?

Me: Duh. Hello! The war. Well, what do I say about it. Who are we fighting now anyway? Any country that starts with an "I," please stand up?

Well, yes. The war is important. I mean. I think we need to leave and focus our attention to more pressing issues here in our country...

...Issues that I cannot seem to fucking name right now.

My husband is in the military...

Guy: Is he deployed now?

Me: Oh no. He's getting out next month. Headed to the guard. He's a pilot.

Um. What the fuck am I saying? I must distract. Shake my boobies? Rip off my bra? Do my one and only weird bar talent (repeating the books of the Bible in order at an extremely fast rate)?

So what are you doing? *points to recorder* Are you a blogger?

SCORE. I sound sooo cool now!

Guy: *turns off machine* Oh no. I work for NPR.

Me: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA. HEHEHEHEHEHE. opdfdfofdofdfhdkhfkdfjpdoiopisfdthhhhhhh. Great. Now I'm a total smacked ass talking with a guy who isn't just doing this for a fucking undergrad poli-sci class.

Guy: So do you work?

Me: Yes. I'm a blogger *laughs* Um. And I write. Like about parenting. And stuff.

Yeah. Sounding like a really great writer now.

Guy: *turns on machine* So education is important, right?

Me: Oh yes. Very important. Education. Maybe if I run now, I won't have to tell him my name.

Er. Like I said. I just moved here.

Guy: Great. Thanks. And welcome again. And what's your name?

Me: Er... Use another name. Someone else. Your mother-in-law. Something...

Kristen Chase.

Damnit. It just flew out.

And I write Mom-101.blogspot.com. BYE!

hehehehehe (just kidding Liz).

A Family That Blogs Together Stays Together

They are just how I imagined.

She is sweet with a graceful stance, trendy without trying, and inexplicably beautiful. He is kind, silly, and approachable. And together, they made this amazing little creature, with the sweetest face and curious spirit.

I'm not sure how a family is supposed to be. My own was pretty crappy and I'm doing my darndest to make good on the one I have created.

But when you see them together, following their little one's wobbly romps around the pool and taking duty turns without question, it's inspiring.

Their story is enviable. His desire to be at home now is met with her willingness to return to work. And it touches me. In fact, they always have. His writing combined with her thoughtful posts and the beautiful pictures of their daughter have made me weepy on more than one occasion. And if I ever wanted to be anyone or anything else than myself, I want to be them.

I guess they represent how I thought my life would be or at least how I had always hoped it would. And while I know they are not perfect, they represent something perfect in my mind.

On their blog and in real life.

I love my life - my husband, my daughter, and myself. But when I see little Juniper sleeping soundly on her mommy's back, it reminds me that all is well with the world. And that the beauty of the family - the one that loves and lives and learns together is still alive and kicking.

And it makes me want to do better for my own family.

Right now.

I'm a Feminista

I’ll buy my daughter a dolly, but she’ll get a set of matchbox cars and a fire engine too.

I like men, but that doesn’t mean I want to sleep with all of them.

I might carry a purse, but I’m not afraid to hit you with it.

I have class. I’ll flip you off with my nicely manicured finger.

I like to wear skirts, but I look hotter in pants.

I have style. I’ll give you hell in my Manolos and Seven jeans.

Just because I listen to your shit, doesn’t mean I’m going to take it.

I wear a bra, but that doesn’t mean I’m not willing to burn it.

I have grace. I’ll kick your ass with a pointed toe.

I might be married, but I’m nobody’s bitch.

I shave my pits and legs. And I’ll shave my head too if it means equality for women.

I’m a feminista. What about you?

*Search feminism at  Cafepress for shirts.

**We're starting fun give-a-ways at CMP. You should check it out.

I May Look like a 97-Year-Old Woman with Bitter Beer Face, but Damnit, My Teeth are WHITE!

In celebration of my newly weaned daughter and self, I decided to whiten my teeth. Yes, I'm CRAAZZZZYYY, hadn't you figured that out by now? I know I'm not the only anal-retentive bfing mama who religiously checked the packages of all products to see whether they were usable by nursing mothers - and if you were like me, you knew that whitening teeth was off limits.

Suffice it to say, I had reached the point of desperation. It's one thing when your teeth are naturally off-white - just don't wear full on geisha make-up outside of your homestead and honestly, no one really notices your "egg-shell" white toofers. BUT, when you realize your teeth are looking more like the color of your URINE as opposed the LOVELY white of the porcelain pot you piss in, you realize that it might just be time to slap on the ole whitening gel.

It wasn't but two days after weaning that I bought me some Crest White Strips Premium. When I had done the celebratory tooth whitening before (finalized divorces deserve parties too you know), I had seen miraculous results - and it wasn't just me. People I hadn't seen in awhile would marvel - WOW, your teeth are soooo white! While it scared me to think about how UN-white they were for them to actually notice the change, I was very flattered and glad that my $24.99 had not gone to waste.

So, this time, I decided to purchase the Premium version - thus providing significantly whitened teeth in only 7 days. And let me tell you, it's worth it. Fourteen days of those damn strips on your teeth - 2x a day for 30 minutes each - has to be a form of Chinese torture. Seriously.

I haven't quite figured out what the hell they put ON those strips - but they warn you in VERY small print that if you get it on your fingers, it may turn them white as well. Doesn't that seem just a bit WRONG? Oh, and be on the look out for tooth sensitivity they tell you (i.e. shooting pain in your tooth).

Even more ridiculous is the notion that you can do other things while you are wearing the damn strips. WHAT other things exactly??? - because the only thing I can do is sit on my ass and watch tv. Like I just got my nails done about 3 days ago and I'm still walking around touching everything with ONE finger.  "Don't bother me right now - I'm whitening my teeth" - or actually, it sounds more like this:

adkfjdlkfjddkfhhhhhhhhhhfhhhhhhhhhhh afdkfjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjdkkkkkkkkkkkeee *spit drool slurp*

Um. You can't talk to any living being with those things in unless you are practicing your impression of Daffy Duck - Sluffferring Slucccatassshhh... pfdddllllffff. Let's face it - you can't do  a damn thing with those things in your mouth. And not only that, but you have to concentrate extremely hard on NOT touching them with your tongue or swallowing whatever crazy-ass shit is on there. That in itself is quite a feat.

And if you can make it through the 30 minutes of pure hell, then you get to wipe the goop off your teeth and figure out how the hell to get the nasty taste out of your mouth. Have you ever tried WIPING off your teeth? I mean what exactly do you use? A towel? A tissue? A babywipe? And make sure you have plenty o' chapstick on hand, because while you may have just whitened your teeth, you also thoroughly dehydrated any semblance of a set of lips you might have had.

But, with all that said, I guess it's worth it. And even though I may look like this:

Damnit - my teeth are pearly white - and that's all that matters.

The Ghost of Jewelry Past

I have been accused on more than one occasion of lacking sentimentality. And while the accusers happened to include an ex-husband and a current mother-in-law, I still take it to heart. What they don’t happen to know is that I’m what you call a closet-sentimentalist. You may not see a shadow-box with the receipt and chopsticks wrapper from our first-date dinner hanging on my wall, but I do hold onto items that are precious to my heart – romantic cards, concert tickets, and even my pregnancy tests (the ones from my daughter...).

I also, for some reason that I have yet to figure out, hold onto old jewelry. You would think that a girl who on a rather regular basis purges her closets and drawers of any items not worn in the past year would do the same with her jewelry box. Maybe it’s because I don’t have much jewelry and if I did empty out that damn box (which is not really a box but more-so the entire top surface of my dresser and the remains of a severely damaged jewelry container nearly lost during a late-pregnancy meltdown), I would have nothing left in there. But, most likely, it’s because the each piece holds little memories, of myself and others, and I couldn’t bare seeing some person walking around on the street with something that at one point in time was very dear to my heart.

With that said, I rarely wear jewelry. I have about four pieces that are in regular rotation and maybe four others that come out on special occasions (like going to a store that does not sell food or eating a restaurant that does not have a drive-thru window). And even more rarely do I dig down in that box of mine to take a look at what I’ve collected. I know the memories are there – and I’m perfectly fine leaving them tucked away.

Well, it seems as though my curious 20-month old happened upon said box yesterday and her little sticky fingers found their way onto all of my jewelry. Nothing I have is very valuable – and to be honest with you, I was happy that she found something to occupy her time that didn’t involve a small somewhat androgynous clown kid and a green frog. But nothing will send you right back to 1989 than your little toddler sporting a few plastic neon bangles and a sterling silver I LOVE YOU filigree necklace.

Just when I thought I had reasonable control over my bowels, she then hands me two very large, shoulder skimming hoop earrings – of which I proudly sported under my newly coiffed bob and Jeanette Garofolo bangs in 1997. And, as if she felt my tortured mind raging outward, she handed me my lovely red leather cuff (with snaps and studs, of course) and a very golden ring with a diamond the size of a beetle turd – a sad excuse for a birthday gift in 1994.

Seeking refuge from the flood of rather average memories of boyfriends past, I handed her my husband’s box of jewelry past. I have to say that seeing his large golden chain and square D pendant (filigree and all) circa 1991 ala Run DMC made me feel way better. But, the playboy bunny stud earring nearly sent me over the edge.

So what is it about jewelry that holds so many memories and speaks so loudly about our past? Perhaps it’s the fact that most jewelry, particularly the costume jewelry, is representative of certain fads from certain times. Or maybe it’s that we received the jewelry as a special gift – and thus associate it with that memory. Well, whatever the reason, I know that the ghost of my jewelry past had a lot to say. Too bad I couldn’t hear anything through the damn jangling of 14 skinny gold-plated bangles and 8 silver puzzle rings.

Austrian Girl Talk

Two young girls sit cozily in an Austrian bier garten sipping from frosty mugs. Anticipation, excitement, and the stench of sauerkraut and sausage fill the air.

Fraulein Eins: Oh Helga, I can't vait for zee Olympics, ya!!

Fraulein Zwei: Ya, Brunhilde, I got mein costumen yestertag. Es ist so sassypants.

Fraulein Eins: Ach-ya, I can't vait to see deesum bloomers und sweater coats. Did they make zem like du vanted? So sexy, ya?

Fraulein Zwei: Soso sexy. Meinen bloomers are so soft und lacy. *giggles and twirls braids* Diesem jumping boys vill not be able zu turn me away.

Fraulein Eins: Oh they are sooo sexysexy. Those long skizis and tight onezuits drive me schnitzelkafuchen. *shivers*

Fraulein Zwei: Vat is so gut about that Seth boy, ya? He ist so big und muscles.

Fraulein Eins: Ya. Who vants man bigger than einen maidens?

Fraulien Zwei: I vant a tall skinny boy who can fly on zee skizis. I think it so sexies ven they do big "v" on landing to stop zee skizis. Drive me spaetzelfufen. *giggles*

Fraulein Eins: Ven I can see the little bumpies in der suitzes, ooohhh... can't say it.

Fraulein Zwei: *nods in agreement* I liebe them. *sighs and pauses* More kraut?

O-O-O-lympics

I hope I'm not the only one who is severely disappointed with the Olympics coverage and US performance. Night after night, I watch constantly interrupted events, piss-poor commentary, and FALLS. Lots of FALLS. Is there an American out there that can stay standing on the ice or snow and NOT FALL DOWN?

What is with the damn commercials? The only ones I like are the coke cheerleaders, and they really only get a mild chuckle out of me. I'm sick of seeing ONE skater come across the ice and then 14 awful commercials. Last night, Dick Button announced that we would see FOUR whole skaters without a commercial break. WHOA. I nearly FELL out of my seat (I am an American, afterall).

And, has anyone looked at Bob Costas lately? Someone should really tell him to get OFF the speed and DARKTAN foundation. Blinking is always a good thing - and while I know I'm a sight for sore eyes, seriously, STOP STARING AT ME. When did Katie Couric get some type of facelift-botox-collagen treatment? I'm lost in Playhouse Disney World every morning, so her presence has not graced my television in awhile.

Other than the mildly enjoyable banter of Dick Button and Scott Hamilton, I would prefer to watch the skating (or more like falling with a little bit of skating) sans the crazy female lady whatever her name may be. Can she be ANY MORE negative? "Oh well, his career is ruined now" or "That mistake cost him his life as a professional skater" or "That was the ugliest jump I have ever seen a human being do."

Okay, I'm exaggerating a little, but still, have you listened to her? I mean, it's obvious he won't be doing well since his ass is shining the ice - we can kind of figure that out, but do you need to make us ALL feel like shit? And, I think we have finally figured out the new scoring system - it's really not that hard. Oh, and PS, IT SUCKS.

And finally, can ANYONE from the US win something? Doesn't have to be gold people... But, like maybe make it in the top 5?! They look like they have NEVER been on skis or skates before. This is the ice. You skate and jump on it. You land ON YOUR FEET. Any questions? And I'm not trying to be mean to just the US - because really, it doesn't seem like anyone is doing well (I'm an equal opportunity bitterness-spreader). The Russian skating dude won the gold last night because pretty much HE DIDN'T FALL DOWN. He jumped and waved his arms. No beautiful choreography. No masterful interpretation. He just stayed on his feet.

Hey, I know I won't be winning any medals - unless they are for BITCHING, CRYING, or BAKED-LAYS-BAG DIVING (but that's more of a summer event I guess).

PS. Have you seen this MAN? He's a gold medal winner. He did not fall down. And, me likey. Me really really likey.

Blog Posts I Love: Happy Valentine's Day

I hate rapidly posting when I have a few good previous posts that perhaps people won't see, so please scroll down (or click) just a little bit to read about my husband's Valentine's gift AND my post on transgenderism. With that said, in honor of Valentine's Day, I'm offering you some (not all... there are SO many that I haven't mentioned) of the posts I love on some of my new and old blog favorites. Enjoy and share the love. I want to know your FAVORITE posts (of your own and of others). Let's spread the blogging love today. Leave them in the comments. Have no shame. It's Valentine's Day for god sakes!

My rant about starting afresh.

Cynical Dad's Deep Question: Porn or Toddlerspeak?

Izzy's Great Review of Brokeback Mountain

GGC's and Bridgermama's posts (about Station Wagons and Skin, respectively) on finding their place as women and mothers.

MotherGooseMouse's discussion of status as mother and blogger.

Kyra's beautiful piece about one woman's needs (click on THERE IS NEED under recent posts).

Socrates' poetic account of change and her view of self.

and Dawn's really fabulous paper on White Bias.

What Would You Do?

Attend 10-year college reunion to visit with friends, non-friends, and ex-friends for a little "rubinyourfaceI'mstillhotandI'msuccessful" action after enjoying a full day of spa, shopping, and fun in NYC

OR

Be an invited and honored guest speaker at a full-day symposium on music therapy assessment (one of my favorite topics, really) in Arizona (fully paid, of course).

It's on the same damn day folks. Any thoughts?

OH, and my contest winners - a tie, of course, because I can't make a damn decision these days. First, let me say that I love Elephant Scrotum, entered by the blogrolled AND well, previous renter MAMA, but I had to go with these:

Horny Moms Hump Furniture

So kindly entered by Chantal, a first time visitor and commenter (we like those here at MU). She is starting a cult that involves praying to the Blog Gods. And based on my previous requests being answered prompting, I'm thinking about converting.

and

so alive about vagina love rockets

Entered by Kyra, a blogrolled fellow mommy who's celebrating her son's 5th birthday. Her thoughtful writing and banter make her a welcome addition to my daily reading list. And, well, I sort of believe that we should ALL feel the same way about Vagina Love.

So, click on the links to visit these fabulous BLOGS that got such crazy ass hits. And, thank you to all who entered.

And finally, if you are too lazy to scroll down on your own and read all my new posts, there are pics of me and socrates AND you need to vote for my blog. Yes, I am desperate. Now back to, oh that's right, MY CHILD. *gulp*

Praise to the Blog Gods

While my requests of Mr. Radio Shack man were not answered, solace came from an unlikely source... A Mr. Buff Electric Worker knocked on my door this morning to inform me that my power would be out from 9-12 today. Granted, we only have about 3 gas heaters, the rest of which are electric space heaters (yes, kids, I live in the GEHETTO aka itssupposedlynevercoldinthesouthsotheydon'tputcentralheatintheseoldrentalhomes), so there was the possibility of freezing my ass off, while having absolutely NOTHING to do, since well, if I can't blog, I'm pretty much left with household chores and why the hell would I want to do that?

I had to run to my car to get my gym radio in order to create white noise in my daughter's room so she could sleep - that and I covered her in about 3 blankets since, well, I'm obsessive about her being WARM and she has no heat in her room. (Of course now with the power back she is probably sweating her tiny white ass off). I had to eat tuna fish because I thought making a grilled cheese over our gas heat flame just wasn't safe, although it did cross my mind and that, in itself, is scary. AND, I actually read a fucking BOOK for all of 10 minutes. DESPERATION SET IN, OKAY?

BUT, all that was worth it to not have to hear "Oh Kermie" and "PIGS IN SPACE" for the span of three, wonderful, fabulous quiet hours. The Muppets were "sleepytime" as I say about ALL things that are unaccessible, off limits, or well, not for toddlers or bad daddies who stay out too late and don't help Mother with the daughter (*ahem*).

So, thank you blog gods, for hearing my pleas. Now, zap these extra 10lbs I'm carrying and we're good to go.

And, just a reminder... There are 2 more days left of the contest. I don't care if you are a regular reader or new to my blog, ENTER THE DAMN CONTEST. I need a good laugh, as do most of my blogging mommy pals, so find your funniest/grossest/scariest google search phrase and post it. NOW!

Isn't It Great... Isn't It Grand...

So, do you like my new look? Do ya, do ya? A little more fitting of the vibe here at Motherhood Uncensored, I think.

I certainly cannot take ANY credit, as the only thing I came up with is the idea, and well, the name (duh?).  My pal KELLYNELLYNELLO at NelloDesigns took care of me and I think it looks fabulous. She fought hard with typepad and won. Yeah.

And, don't forget about the contest. If you have no idea what I mean click or scroll damnit.

Ode to Mother-in-Law

I did NOT enter a long distance phone number into your AOL. It found it automatically. That is what it does. That is what you pay $11.95 a month for.

I will not pay for your phone bill. Do not ask again.

I will not (nor will my husband) call the phone company demanding that the bill be erased.

AND, if you have something to say to me, do not say it through my husband. I will gladly tell you all this and more, personally.

Blog Etiquette

So what's the deal kiddos? I feel as though I am now a fully acclamated blogger, and yet, I still have many questions. Is there an Emily Post guide to blogging? Of course, if there was, I'm sure I wouldn't buy it, but I do have a few questions. Okay, they are insecurities? Humor me. I never went to high school so it's like I'm reliving all that now via the internet. Way less painful I imagine.

If someone visits and comments, is it good blogging manners to visit back AND comment? I would assume yes, but what if they just visited and DIDN'T comment? Or what if you visit back and you don't want to comment? Should you do it so they'll come back to visit you? Cripes - it's like crazy high school cliques... Do you ever feel that way? I generally comment when I feel like it - especially if someone took the time to come visit and comment. BUT THEN, are they just trying to get me to come visit AND comment? AAAAHHHHH.

Next - so about this renting thing? Do you bid on blogs you know and visit? Or you know through another blog? What if they refuse you? I know BE says not to be offended, but if you know them, shouldn't they choose you? OR is that just a waste of time because chances are you have the same visitors anyway and you should pick someone you don't know...

More on renting - what is up with people charging like 300 credits for a spot? Like seriously, unless you can guarantee me 100 click throughs, what the hell? I guess some people have balls. Oh, and how about putting yourself in the HUMOR category? LOL. More balls - bigger and hairier I think.

Moving on. What if someone comments on your post and then you comment back on your own blog? Should you email them or comment about YOUR blog (their comment) on their blog on an unrelated post? I want to answer questions, but it seems wrong to talk about MY BLOG and POST on their BLOG and POST - but I don't want them to think I'm ignoring them - nor do I want them to think I'm TOTALLY into myself. 

And, how do you choose who is on your blogroll? I mean, when do you decide to take people on and off? If you are on someone's blogroll, do you automatically put them on yours out of common courtesy?

Phew. There. I'm done. Honestly, I'm not really this concerned with all that (can't you tell???). BUT, if people visit and comment, I go and visit back. If people email me (which I find very kind and endearing), I email back and/or visit and comment. AND, I blogroll blogs I really like, although if they blogroll me, I feel it's good blogwomanship to blogroll them. Oh, and I totally visit really popular sites and leave comments. I'm such a blog whore.

All Things Organic

Since my college years, I've been a member of the semi-crunchy club. We try to eat as organic as possible (quite difficult here in the very DIRTY south). I was a vegetarian and an-almostvegan, respectively, for about 8 years, and I am pretty hip to the toxins, chemicals, etc. that we ingest on a daily basis that pretty much freak me out.

It's hard to live totally toxin free, considering, I do have to breathe and I don't feel like making a gas mask a permanent part of my wardrobe. BUT, just recently, I have decided to eliminate a few things that really freak me out.

For example, I don't microwave anything in plastic anymore. I just don't think that can be a good thing. Oh, and I don't cook with teflon. Stick away baby, I'm not afraid of a little scrubbing. And, I use all spring water - especially since even with a water filter, our water still smells like a big ass POOL. ICKO.

We have also joined a wonderful co-op that will actually visit our neck of the woods on a monthly basis, bringing a plethora of organic items (including MEAT - which is VERY hard to find) right to my very door step. Granted, you pay out the nose, but seriously, I'm tired of making the bi-monthly pilgrimage to TARGET (of all places). Mother needs a break.

AND, I have joined the ranks of other crunchies and eliminated deoderant. WOOHOO. I'm a little scared (and in fact, have ALWAYS BEEN THIS WAY) about rubbing toxins under my armpits stopping my sweat glands from doing their job. Don't be afraid. I am well aware of my own stench - especially post work out. So, I found the most kick ass thing. THE THAI CRYSTAL. (da-da-da-dum...). You think I'm kidding you? Absolutely not. It's a big rock that you wet and rub liberally under your pits and

it kills all the bacteria. NO SMELL. NO SCENT. NO MARKS. AND.... it totally works. I SWARE. I've been wearing it for 3 days (including workout and chasing 18 month old) and NO SMELL. AND GIRLS, I know - because, well, mother can only use one kind of deoderant. I'm a stinky girl.

The crazy thing about all of this is that MY OWN MOTHER did all this shit back in the day. She made her own rolls, mayo, and yogurt. She fed us tofu and whole wheat grainy bread. My mom was crunchy when crunchy was used to describe cereal. Seriously, she even used the damn crystal! Of course, I hated it all. I LOATHED it. In fact, I used to sneak hot dogs and plastic wrapped cheese slices at my friend's house. I used to hide candy and cokes in my closet. And yes, I used to make fun of her crystal rock deoderant all the time.

It's hit home for me now as a mother and I realize why she did all that crazy stuff, because well, now I'm doing it. I know now she wanted the best for me. She wanted me to be healthy. She wanted me to live a long life. So, as I munch on my barbeque tofu sandwich with soy mayo and horseradish and swipe my fancy crystal in my armpits, I think of my mom, and I thank her.

For This Post, I Will Surely Go to Hell, but I Don't Really Care

It's very true that you not only marry your husband, you marry his family. And what a lovely family they are [note intense sarcasm]. In fact, they are so lovely, that they all should be on heavy medication at all times, and really, they should NEVER be let out of their house, or in our case (since, thankfully we live far away), never allowed to touch a phone or computer.

I won't bore you with the details of their craziness, like the time my MIL complained about my choice of bridesmaids dresses and flower colors to my best friend (and BEST LADY aka matron of honor <-- I hate that term) for about 2 hours at MY baby shower (yes, kids, I had a baby before I got married...). Dude, WRONG person to complain to because well, she's MY FRIEND... Or the time my FIL charged us for groceries while we were staying at their house on our "vacation" because I could only eat three foods, one of which was grapes, and they were expensive and he was tired of buying so many of them. Or the time my MIL asked me if my daughter was wearing slippers in her Christmas pictures. Yes, I'm a complete idiot and dressed her in a red velvet outfit and slippers. Or, the fact that NONE of his family have said A WORD to me about the m/c - and yes, I know sometimes saying nothing can be better than saying anything, but a simple "how are you feeling?" would have been nice.

It is clear after my 2 years of interaction with these folks that they are, indeed, crazy. I have nothing against crazy, really, as I, myself, have jumped into that pool, and still do every now and then. BUT, they are the crazy that will take no help, think nothing is wrong, and well, continue to dive deeper into the crazy pond.

My FIL drinks beers every night in the garage and gets blasted almost every weekend - obviously to deal with the uber-negative wife. He is an obsessive cleaner - to the point where my husband put down a FULL  HOT cup of coffee, turned around, and it was already in the sink being washed. My MIL says it's the beers that makes him bitter, but he can go ahead and drink 12 rum and cokes (light on the coke) and that's fine because he's happy. Just so long as he is not drinking beers it's fine. How do you like them apples?

She, has OCPD (Obsessive Compulsive PERSONALITY disorder <-- the one that medication does not help...) and well, has nothing NICE to say about anyone, anytime, anyplace (except my daughter), and has the social skills of a wild elephant. She takes ONE whole day to put up a Christmas tree because she uses GREEN string to string up the tree so that when you put the "trinkets" (as she calls them) on it, then the branches won't be floppy. God forbid we have floppy branches.

You would have thought HER daughter was getting married during the planning of our wedding - as she would have gladly picked the dress for me (along with EVERYTHING ELSE) and HELL, probably walked down the aisle herself to marry her son. And, to top it off, they make US feel guilty because we don't go to church. I'm not so sure I get the "let's be mean and nasty and drunk all week and then go to church so we can start the week again fresh" mentality. It just never made sense to me. I do have to say they love the Q more than anything, and this I appreciate greatly. Now back to bitching.

As my relationship with the huz grows deeper (and more twisted at times), I realize the apple does not fall from the tree. Thankfully, he is just an APPLE and they are the TREE. I'm not exactly sure what that means exactly, BUT, I feel as though it's better. AND, I need some type of hope here, since I did decide to have a kid and marry him.

Well, just yesterday the huz received an email from my FIL, ALL IN CAPS, stating that somehow they had a $300 phone bill because we logged onto the internet and it was a long distance number. The strongly suggested undertone was that we needed to pay for it.

Now, let me just say, that they still have AOL. That should be enough right there, but I will go on. So, as you all probably know (although I haven't used AOL in ages...), that if AOL can't find a number, it searches, and well, it might find one in one town over (which in this case, for some reason, was long distance). It's not like we typed in a CALI number... BUT, since WE used the internet, it's our fault (stated in ALL CAPS, I remind you).

Thankfully, the huz is way better at dealing with them, because I would just write something like "Why don't you take back all the 5 bizillion Christmas gifts you gave our daughter that she will never use because they won't fit in a box so you can ship them to us and that should cover the damn $200 bill and PS, lay off the bottle while you are at work you crazy freak." Of course, I never get a chance to write THOSE emails. I have to just walk around, wondering where the hell these people came from, and let my husband write a sensible email back, trying to explain to them exactly how dial-up internet works.

My friend T and I laugh (and then I kind of cry, just a little) at how fucking bad my karma must be because my parents (particularly my father) enjoyed swimming in the crazy pond. My mom rarely swims there anymore and with my father dead, it seemed as though I was moving FAR from any type of close crazy contact (personally that is). BUT, it seems as though I seriously must have harmed children in another life, or done some other AWFUL thing to have now inherited a female version of my father in personality and a male version of my father in illness (alcoholism). Blimey, it's like my dad has mutated into a live, breathing couple.

Lucky me.

Sorry Officer, It's My Husband's Fault

Yep. I had a run-in with the fuzz aka the POH-lice (emPHAsis on POH - I am in the South, kids) today. I was enjoying a reasonbly innocent drive back in the huz's Lexus (aka the forbidden car) from my workout/grocery shopping excursion, sucking down beef jerky (*gulp* Sorry T...) and a big water. I was stopped at a light and noticed a copper holding traffic in his right lane to move over behind me. Nothing like stating the obvious, right? At that instant, I look down into my passenger seat and see a license plate, with shiny new '06 tags on them. Bastards from hell I say to myself, as I pull over politely seeing as copper put on his flashers.

Out comes a very handsome young copper towards me, curiously looking in my window. Feeling confident (in my gym clothes sans makeup and any indication that I am, in fact, a female), I quickly grab the license plate and hold it out the window. "Sorry, officer," I say, smiling coyly (is that a word?). He laughs - thank god. "Looks as though my husband did not put on the new license plate yet... and um, I can't seem to find the insurance card anywhere. I'll be sure to give him a good liplashing when I get home." The not so good kind for him, that is. He smiled - asked for my license and just told me, in an ever so nice tone, to get him to put the tags on. Oh, officer, I will. Don't you worry about that.

I guess the shiny '04 stickers (nice, honey) on my expensive vehicle in a town where people pay their bills with money orders stood out like a sore thumb. Yes, you read that correctly - '04.  And, I'm still driving around with '05 stickers on my truck because, well, that's just how my husband works. I can't find my renewal paperwork, so when he went to get the tags for his two cars, he just didn't get any for mine (instead of figuring out what he needed to do in order to get them). Thanks for the thought, dear.

My husband has, what I have coined to be, selective OCD. He will swiffer our kitchen floor about 15 times a night, clean out his coffee machine with a q-tip, and well, lint-brush HIS entire pre-wash wardrobe. BUT, he will throw his clothes on the floor NEXT to the laundry basket, pile loads of papers and crap in his glovebox (none of which are from this millenium), and leave countless lunches in his car for me to find, weeks later, with more fungi than a pro-locker room.

I, on the other hand, generally take care of the big stuff (aka BILLS, LAUNDRY, FOOD PREPARATION, and SUSTAINING THE LIFE OF MY CHILD) and then not worry SO much about the dog hair on my coat or the dirt on my kitchen floor. But that, however, makes me a slob.

I have comes to terms with the selective OCD, however, it annoys the piss out of me when it totally inconveniences my life - say the traffic stop on an otherwise lovely afternoon. There's nothing like embarrassingly searching through 15,000 USELESS pieces of paper and pictures (??) trying to find an insurance card whilst friendly and still understanding young copper watches anxiously. WTF?

Of course when I got home, I received the "Well, the license plate was right on the passenger seat" response. Yeah, great. How the HELL is Officer Joe supposed to see that? I'm sorry, am I to hold it up while I drive? Needless to say, he has yet to go outside to put the damn tags on. BUT, he has, since I have gotten home, washed off the dog's feet in the bathtub AND vacuumed our entire house with the attachment hose (I shit you not).

Here's what I gained from all this. If I am ever driven to some criminal behavior, I'm just going to blame it on my husband. It worked this time and it's bound to work again. Now off to rob a bank.

Don't You Wish You Had Kept Up Your Skills?

Looks like two dudes from Michigan have just won the World Series of Beer Pong competition in Las Vegas. Okay, stop laughing for ONE minute and listen. They seriously have ONE - a WSBP... Who fucking knew it? Even better, the article provides a description of the ART of BEER PONG (in case you have no idea what I'm talking about, and are, from MARS...). Check this out: 

"Beer pong is played this way: While standing, players attempt to toss a Ping Pong ball into cups that are partially filled with beer at the other end of the table. If the players succeed, their opponents are forced to drink the beer in the cup."

This person obviously never played beer pong, because no one can really ever give instructions on how it's done. That's because you are usually too drunk to really know. It's like your body goes into auto-pilot. You just play. There's NO explaining IN BEER PONG!

And, as you might have guessed. Beer Pong is not just a college drinking game anymore, kids.

"Beer pong has made the transition from house-party game to being a featured event in bars that host tournaments."

Now the alcoholics of the world have an excuse. It's not a disease man, it's a SPORT.

I'm Just A Little Scared

I'm all about convenience and well, trashing the environment. Okay, that's not totally true, but let's face it. If you use any type of paper product (namely, diapers for us) you are slowly polluting the environment, and well, that's a lot to hold on your shoulders. Shit, I did use cloth diapers for awhile, but that combined with the thanksgiving diet was a little much for one frazzled new mom to handle.

Generally speaking, I'm reasonably crunchy. I mean, I do shave my armpits and legs, and I SOMETIMES wear unnatural fibers, but overall, I love being HEALTHY and WELL, and I'd like our world to stay that way as well. I used to be a vegan, I'm not a huge fan of meat and leather - oh, and I think farmers rock...  And, I hate using wrapping paper. In fact, I perfer to just put a nice ribbon around things and call it a day.

The trouble is, when you have a kid, it becomes very difficult. It doesn't help that our town (aka EBF) does not recycle. And, well, you just don't have as much time as you did to wash and dry everything. Coupled with the fact that they now have EVERYTHING disposable for kids - bibs, mats, washcloths, floor mats. Hell, I think they may be working on a totally disposable outfit. You wear it once and then you just throw it away. Anyway, as a mom, you just get SUCKED in by the disposable products - they literally grab you by the neck and drag you in. Okay, maybe it's not that dramatic, but I will not give up my tampons, toilet paper, and paper towels - oh, and swiffers. Life would come to a stand still in our house without swiffers.

BUT, there are some things that I will not do...And the new CROCK POT LINERS are one. Criminy, those folks are trying to make it so NO ONE ever has to wash ONE dish, aren't they? I mean, a CROCK POT LINER? Granted, I didn't even know half these things existed, nor would I ever buy them - but seriously, do we need liners for our CROCK POT? Is it THAT hard to clean it out? And even better, do we really want to cook our food, for long periods of time, in THIN PLASTIC? Are you using your crock pot THAT much that you can't just wash it out (okay, scrub a little) when you are done?

So to cancel out the fact that I am filling the landfills with about 28 diapers per week, I have decided that this year, I will NOT use Crock Pot Liners. Let's start a movement. Save the Earth. Don't Line Your Crockpot Today.

A Bid To Be Popular

Yes, folks. The mother of motherhood uncensored HAS figured out how to post HTML code on her blog and therefore is now trying to join the ranks of those that have come before her (aka THE COOL KIDS) and is renting humble space to those who are interested. Now I just need to earn enough credits so I can accept offers. I still haven't figured out how to do that other than to surf... And even then, I'm not sure where the damn credits are going. *SIGH*

Meanwhile, my daughter is now 14 and I'm a mother of a teenager (yes, that's how long it took me to figure this shit out).

*GIGGLE* Now I can post all those cute blinkies, tickers, and pics OH MY.

The New Lady of the House

She arrives unannounced, no warning, no invitation.

He rushes home to greet her, and unwraps her gingerly with the utmost care.

He shows her off - in her gown of crimson accented with pearls.

Her neck is tan and color is deep.

She calls to him and they dance.

He plays her - her song is soft and sweet.

She wants more - he gives in, unable to break from her spell.

Nothing exists around them and their beautiful music.

BITCH.

Priceless

I was at the playground today and this little white southern 4 year old (with a very cute red bow) named AUDREY started jamming out while plunging down the slide, singing:

"I like to move it move it... I like to move it move it..."

I smiled all the way home and I can't get it out of my head.

This is NOT a Way to Live...

This is the new sleep situation at my house. Generally, it sucks.

7:00pm I nurse daughter; she falls asleep.

9:00pm Dh and I go to bed because he is on early weeks and well, I'm ALWAYS on early weeks (except I'm the only who knows this, apparently).

11:00pm Daughter wakes up screaming bloody hell - mainly wahs and MAMA. She hyperventilate cries; it is not pretty.

11:30pm After listening to the screams for 30 minutes, I determine that she is not going to fall asleep on her own (go blow me CIO folks - it doesn't work for everyone and seriously, if your kid has to hyperventilate cry, something is not right); I would probably let her go longer (she's not ill, or teething, and well, it's getting kind of old - the going into her room part), but I'm reminded by the DH that HE needs sleep because HE has to go to work.

11:31pm I walk the 2 feet to my daughter's room, and tell, said daughter, to lay down and stop crying, as MAMA is here (I am literally in the NEXT room, but that is not close enough)

11:32pm I sit my ass down on a cushy rocking chair (my new bed these days), prop my feet up on the matching ottoman (thank god for that bad johnny), cover myself with a blanket, and lay my head down on the arm. Comfy. Not.

1:30am I wake up after a satisfying dream involving a party at Brad Pitt's house which involved some making out *sweetttt* (it makes the crick in my neck not so bad) and quietly return to my OWN bed where my side is NOW frigid.

5:30am Not awoken by my dh leaving for work at 4:45am, I hear the loud, clear screams of my daughter. I HOPE that it's just her rolling over. She obviously doesn't know that it is NOT time to wake up yet.

5:45am Still trying to ignore her screams, I yell to her "It is NOT time to wake up. Go to sleep." I, however, am obviously still half /delusional asleep as I am trying to reason with an 18 month old.

6:00am I cannot take the screaming anymore and pick up my daughter, who happily grabs me with her big cute face, and points to my room where we spend the next hour with her watching her shows and me trying to get another 30 minutes of sleep.

Thus starts my day, everyday, for the last 4 days. But, as I've learned before, this too shall pass. Let's just hope that passing starts TONIGHT.

Enough With the Life Lessons, Please

As I laid in my bed last night, WIDE awake at 11pm because the bitchlurker had taken over my being, I decided that I was tired with the inundation of my ONE life lesson. I'm tired of taking the ass whippings and hand slappings. I GET IT. FINALLY.

Since my divorce in 2003, I have been struggling with the idea that I'm a good person and regardless of what I do, who I am, what I wear, and well, what I look like, I am SOMEBODY. It's sounds really simple - like I shouldn't have had to spend thousands of hard earned dollars on therapy figuring that out, but alas, our brains and hearts take a long time to connect - until NOW.

I have always equated good deeds, great looks, and high achievements with LOVE (thanks to my good-enough parent - read my blog entry with that title for more info) and so, when things (or my boobs) go downhill, I feel less than human - like I'm not worthy. When the divorce came along, that was the kicker - because what's worse in God's (and your HIGHLY religious mother's eyes) eyes than DIVORCE.

I had to literally tell myself that I was a good person, I deserved good things in life, and I deserved happiness and love. It's hard to take that from your head to your heart, though. Especially after the many years of damaged living I experienced.

So now, as I take on motherhood and other challenges, I have found that it's a really tireless job that NO ONE (unless you are mother of the year or you win the $100,000 chicken challenge - way too much food network sorry) pays attention to - I mean, no one says thank you to me for changing shitty diapers, or playing with my daughter, or putting her back to sleep every night for the last 18 months at 3am...There are NO awards - and let's face it, it takes a lot for husbands to give you the support you need (some flowers, a kiss, a little oral... ) and by the time your kids are old enough to say thanks - they just want you to shove off and stick your head up your ass.

Then, you have my few (but large) life achievements in terms of my books, my career, my music, etc. that I have always felt have gone unnoticed. And, then, with the lone comment here or there on my humble (but I feel well-written and interesting) blog, I have figured it out. I really have - I promise.

Blog comments, published books, college programs, modeling shots, good mothering and wifing, witty banter, and all other qualities/achievements of mine don't make me SOMEBODY. I have to believe I'm SOMEBODY ALL ON MY OWN. Regardless of what happens in my life - if I get the big breaks, little ones, or none at all - what matters is that I know I'm someone (I'll try not to put on the airs) - I'm HOT, I'm SEXY, I'm SMART, and GOSH DARNIT, I'm worth the time, effort, and read. And if people (including my husband and child) don't get it, THAT'S OKAY. I'll keep on living and doing and loving because that's how I want to live my life. Not because that's what I think I need to do to be noticed.

So, please, to the powers that be. I get it - I have figured it out. Lesson learned. End of story.

The Crazy Bitch Lurks at Night, Beware...

It seems that I have a problem that I might want to see someone about. It's called "Nightbitchlurker" and it's gotten really bad lately. I don't even need an ounce of alcohol for it to flare up.

Once I lay my body down to sleep, I tend to bark, criticize, complain, and yes, BITCH at my husband when he gets into bed. I think it's a combination of my brain and body finally being able to relax and the fact that I'm so incredibly tired. Either way, I let it out. If he doesn't come to bed right away (a huge pet peeve since we rarely have "quiet time" together), all hell breaks loose. It just annoys me that he's been on the computer all night (surfing for NEW guitars) and then says he's going to bed and then I get in bed and then he stays on for another hour... Then he says he's tired in the morning and sleeps in while I'm up at odarkthirty (akabuttcrackofdawn) with her. Anyway, if he doesn't say goodnight, or doesn't get up with the baby, or does and then brings her to me, or well if he pretty much breathes, I let him have it.

I remember everything that I say (thank goodness - I'd hate to have the whole blackout thing going on) - and for the most part (I have to admit, sometimes he really deserves it) I feel bad. And I realize how silly it is - although, it's kind of funny, some things I say are really true and need to be said. I guess my body decides that it's safe to do it then - it's like a shot of truth serum. It's generally when I let my farts rip as well - but that's a whole other disease... LOL

So beware my friends. Beware of the tired, drained, sometimes lonely, and sometimes depressed mommy when she lays down to sleep. You never know what can happen - OR in my case, what will be said.

I Figured It Out, All On My Own

Blogrolling, that is. Granted, I only have one dear BLOGGING friend, but I suppose ONE is better than NONE :) SO, if you too have a worthwhile read that you think deserves a spot on my humble weblog list, please let me know. Chances are, I won't be that picky.

It's Been 10 Years, Kids

10 years since I graduated from COLLEGE. I know I don't look that old *smirk* - but alas, I am. And my BIG 10 year college reunion is this Spring. Now, I didn't got to high school, so reunions, in some way, are somewhat intriguing to me. On the other hand, I have ABSOLUTELY NO DESIRE to go. I figure, that the people I really want to see, I should still be talking to in some capacity, so why bother engaging in the craziness?

From what I understand, reunions go like this. People gather, most commonly ones who were really popular who have tons of friends/aquaintances, or those who have something to prove, DRINK, and engage in massive amounts of reminiscing aka "you had to be there" stories. Which, if you weren't there (as many of you well know), the stories SUCK and are NOT funny.

Now, if I was totally fugly then and had something to prove - like I was a famous model or doctor or author (well, I'm almost there - LOL), then MAYBE I would go. Even if I was looking HALF-fabulous and could guarantee that all exes and biotches would be there, I might consider.

BUT, alas, I feel as though it is not meant to be. Am I afraid of the dramatic run-ins or "hey how are you, I'm famous now, what they hell are you doing with your life?" inquiries. No - mainly because my college life was SO boring and uneventful that honestly, there would be no reason for either. Shit, I wasn't even 21 in college - so I never even got to go out ONCE. And *sniff* no one would lend me their ID. Bastards. Plus, I only finally decided to live it up at the bitter end of my senior year - and then, I was too engrossed in my boyfriend to actually do anything really FUN with my friends.

Funny thing is, I am TOTALLY FABULOUS and SOMEWHAT FAMOUS. At least in my own mind. And, as I've come to realize, that's really all that matters.

Tres Cool

Speaking of my technologically advanced friend, check out what I got for Christmas. How rad is that?

Tell Me I'm Not the Only One...

Okay, so I have a little secret. It's not a big deal, really, but I guess it's kind of lame. I mean, I know I'm not the ONLY one who does this, but then again, maybe I just tell myself that to feel better.

Here goes: I read my ex-boyfriend's blog every now and then. (Note the lack of link. Sorry but I can't promote it - he's already a half-famous web writer, blog superstar, - well, in CHINA that is). Didn't anyone tell him NO ONE CARES ABOUT CHINA??? (no offense to those actually in China - but I hate when people who can't make it here go overseas to try - think David Hasslehoff or Kylie Minogue).

Phew... there it is. Okay, it's like 1x a month if that. I peruse the articles, flip through the pictures. Shit, I dated him in college for 3 years and well, all the drama aside that led to a bitter ending (my actual doing, his overriding deeds and assholishness leading to it), I'm still a bit curious.

Not curious as to whether things would pick up again. BUT, just curious - like, what's going on, etc. You figure you share in 3 full years of someone's life and then you just cut that out. And, since I was the "breakerupper," it's not that hard for me to do. I know if I send an email, or a "hello" (which I dare not do because shit, he was a TOTAL ASSHOLE - yes, I was a crazy lunatic, but it was a hard time in my life), he would spit upon it. So, I just observe from a distance.

And, now, 8 years later (2 husbands and kid for me LOL), he's engaged. To an Asian. What's funny to me is that his brother is married to a half asian gal. AND, this ex I speak of - he LIVES in CHINA. YUP. TOTALLY... Seriously, no joke. He LOVES the Asians and all Asiana... (FYI, I'm half asian). Not that he's yearning for me, folks - I'm not an idiot (although, I am quite desirable on a good day).

So, you ask, why the hell do I care? Like I don't have 5000 other things to think about (including the prospect of my daughter showing signs of *gulp* the chicken pox.... AHHHHHHHHH)

Well, True dat. I shouldn't care and I don't... But, it is KINDA fun. Like seeing an old sexy sassy picture of myself in a half-shirt holding a screwdriver (I LOVE you HILS *schmack*). You kind of dont' want to look, but when you do, it brings back memories - good, bangs, and ugly... And, honestly, based on my blog traffic, I don't have to worry about him EVER finding out... :)

The Good Enough Parent

It seems as though MANY people (or at least me and my husband) have at least ONE good enough parent, hence leading to the large number of guys and gals, such as myself, with wavering self-esteem, a high-level of self-consciousness, and a fear of failure.

By Good Enough parent, I mean the one for which NOTHING you did was good enough. It didn't matter if you got 5th place in the middle school spelling bee, graduated early from college with magna cum laude honors, and was a generally good kid. You still weren't good enough. Something was STILL wrong. Should have been 1st place, summa cum laude, and a GREAT kid (enter a comparison person - you know "janiejoeblow is a doctor now... blalblabla." Oh, fuck her, seriously?

These parents make me want to vomit and cry - both at the same time. The damage they cause is deep. The pain they cause is deeper. It's a fact of life - kids want love and approval from their parents. Sadly, many parents don't have the capacity to give it (most of them are still trying to gain approval from THEIR parents) and then we are left with the result.

The sad thing is that EVEN though the parent may be DEAD (like in my case), you still carry the complex. Granted, it's gotten a lot better these days, but even so, is it because I've done a lot of "great things" or is it just because I like myself more and don't give a shit? I mean, I've accomplished a lot and I still sometimes feel like less than human, you know? I'm a great person, a caring person, a good mom, a smart lady, and I STILL sometimes feel like I'm not good enough. For whom, really? Just because I don't like to clean, OR I don't cook well (although it's getting better), OR I have stinky feet. Seriously, who the fuck cares? I'm all about compromise, learning, and growing (and foot cream) BUT, does that make me LESS than human and not worthy of approval and respect. NO WAY... But why do I feel that way?

My hubby has a living good enough parent (so now I have one by proxy - it's bad karma I tell you...) - and what shocks me is that he still shares things with her that I would probably not even tell my good enough parent. Why choose the misery and pain when you can avoid it? I think for him, it's hard to be the caretaker husband type (which sleepy, frustrated mommas like me NEED now and then) when you yourself are still searching for the care/approval that you never got. It's hard to be the back patter when you need some pats yourself. It's a huge cycle that needs to be broken.

The result is this: We try to seek out approval from where we can get it - hence the overachiever, perfectionist mindset - the obsession with looking HOT on an hourly basis (I've given that up since the daughter popped out). We avoid situations in which we might even remotely fail - which may disallow us the pleasure of our true life calling (or some may say, if it didn't happen, it's not your life calling... fine... whatever). We settle for less than what we are worth. We are afraid to trust and love. We are dreamers and half-doers. We are critical of others only because we (in some small way) wish WE could be like them. We care - and that's half the problem.

The lesson is this: Don't be the good enough parent with YOUR kids. Let their scribbles be fabulous, their C in Algebra be OKAY, their choice of profession be GREAT. No comparisons to anyone but themselves. Put aside YOUR expectations and dreams and allow them to have their own. Love them for who they are and not who they COULD be or SHOULD be. Don't talk about how great they are BEHIND their back and never tell them to their face. Show them the world as an open book FULL of beginnings and opportunities and choices.

And, remember, YOU don't need to have done anything amazingly wonderful to be GOOD ENOUGH. You don't need to make tons of money, have model looks or moonlight as Mr. Clean. You are good enough just as you are. We all want to improve ourselves - but that doesn't change the inherent goodness we possess.

You are good. You are great. You are good enough.

I'm Getting Old

After visiting with my totally technologically advanced friend over the holidays, I realized that I'm getting old. Why, you ask? Well, let's just say I'm at that point where I think EVERYONE gets to at some point in their life where they don't feel as though they need to advance any further in their technological knowledge and rely on their children (or spousal units and friends, in my case) to enlighten them in the only BASIC information about the "new fangled" equipment.

Take, for example, my cell phone. The cheap piece of shit probably has tons of capabilities - and all I can do with it is make calls, answer calls, and check NFL scores. No fancy rings for when special people call - or ring backs (whatever the hell those are). No picture wallpaper (although I can take a crappy picture with it), no keypad lock. Oh, wait, I can use the alarm clock on it.

Next, let's look at the Palm Pilot (or Pocket Pal as I like to call it) and the IPOD. Had one (PP), didn't like it - I prefer writing things down in a book. IPOD? Please!

Digital camera? I can take pics and download them (VERY LARGE ONES) onto my computer. That's about it. The damn thing takes video and probably does all kinds of crazy shit. I see people doing digital scrapbooking and palying around with photoshop and I just sigh.

And finally, let's just talk about popular music - which, I have to say, has severely gone DOWNHILL - but still, I at least used to know what was popular. I was cool with the kids. Now I just listen to my favorites - over and over and over - refusing to embrace anything new.

And you know what ALL THIS sounds like - YUP, Like an OLD LADY. I'm the old lady who needs help turning on her computer, or dialing her cell phone. It's scary to be perfectly content at a minimal level of technological knowledge. I guess for the sake of my daughter and well, my existence in this society, I should branch out.

P.S. I cannot believe women are fighting over FlavorFlav. I'm waiting for our lost luggage to arrive from Birmingham and this is what I'm left to watch. Must find SITC NOW. Thank god it's on all the time now.

The Curse Jar and Other Resolutions

This is probably the first year in many that I have decided to actually write out some resolutions. I feel like perhaps, with all the crazy things (okay SHITTY things) happening that maybe I need to make a few changes in myself. I named off a few while whooping it up with my hubby over good drinks at a dead bar in Medford, NJ (who goes there for New Year's Eve - Apparently NO ONE but us...). I'm trying hard to remember them - and I figure, if I BLOG them, THEN I have to keep at least a few of them.

1) No cursing in front of Q - hence the CURSE JAR. I have instituted this to curtail the horrible language we have grown accustomed to using. Let me note that we do not curse at Q or at each other - but rather, to emphasize points and provide overall enhancement of our communication. Put it plainly, we owe a quarter each time we curse. I'll have to place one in the car for my dear "roadraged" husband. I figure, we'll save the money and use it for something GOOD at the end of the year.

2) Lose 15lbs. I know EVERYONE says this, but I really have to. I'm carrying "Iwas12weekspregnantbutnotanymore" weight - along with the holiday gorging. It is hard for me, though, because 1) I have to pay a sitter to get to the gym - I cannot be motivated to go at the end of the day when my husband comes home and 2) I am home most days and have full access to FOOD. I need something to keep my busy!

3) Yell less. See #1 - I don't yell at Q - and really, I don't feel as though it's yelling. I think of it more as emphasizing my points with a louder voice. Seriously, I hate it and I need to STOP IT.

4) Listen more. See #3. Perhaps my yelling would be curtailed IF I listened more.

I guess that's it for now. I have a bunch of little things - like save money, do more educational things with my child (1 a day is my goal), have more sex, get pregnant (POST weight loss, though) etc. but these are the big ones. AND boy am I going to need some help!

I Know You Missed Me...

She says, with a sarcastic tone... It's a sad day when one runs to the blog to see if ANYONE left a comment. Oh well, this is for ME, right?

Well, if you were actually wondering where the hell I have been, I was enjoying civilization and normalcy (AKA HOME - NJ/PA) for the last 11 days. I do have to say that the 70 degree weather here in EBF was actually a pleasant surprise. I would have blessed you all with some blogs, but, I just couldn't bare using DIALUP.

The annual trek home was made complicated and stressful this year by the mystery illness my daughter happened to develop/catch (who the hell knows) on the day we arrived. Being as she has NEVER been sick other than an errant cold here and there, we were all disturbed. So much so, that we made the "I'm a first time parent and I don't know what the hell is wrong with my child" trip to the ER on 12/23. Gotta love standing amidst very sick people for oh 8 hours while your child wears a "u-bag" (urine bag) to catch a urine sample because YOU the crazy mother think she might have a UTI.

After getting chastised for not vaxing my child, as well as being told the 2 ubags and 7 hour wait left us with a "nothing visibly wrong but we can cath her and/or take some blood to see" - we were beat. I spent the next 5 days at the beck and call (okay, she was ATTACHED to my hip and boob). And, I was quarantined with my inlaws. I won't say anymore.

So much for visiting friends, going out with the hubby (built in babysitters), and shopping etc., I sat in the house and ate myself into oblivion. Add LOSE 15lbs to the RESOLUTION list.

Other than that, the small bouts of craziness with family and family, the visit was good. Expensive (count $600 in plane tix, $150 in dog sitters, and $100 in parking) BUT good. I got some great X-mas gifts, got a FABULOUS hair cut, a New Years Eve night out (at a dead bar) with my hubby, and well, got a shot of the GOOD LIFE.

Now back to work, and knitting, and no bread, alcohol, soda, and desserts, and the gym.

Shameless Promotion

Okay, so I have to give a shout out to my friend Jeanette. Jeanette took all those fabulous pics on our Christmas "magnets" (well, and she made the magnets too), and if any of you have seen my Quinlan purse, then THIS is the photographer. If you are in the ATL, or know of anyone looking for someone to do fabulous shots of a family member, YOU, or your PET, then please look my friend up - she rocks.

Check out her work of my daughter:

10 Random Things That are NEVER okay...

I just saw a guy with HAIRY ass ears on TV and I thought, that is just NEVER okay... Then I was on my favorite baby message board and NO ONE except ONE person thought kid leashes were bad. Give me a break...

So, humor me - as I know that somewhere, someone finds one or all of these things perfectly FINE, but I, however tend to differ. I have no one to TAG - except poor HILS, so I'm just going to encourage my loyal readers to add to the list - as I know I w