Saturday, October 22, 2011
One Mama's tales of Minion Mayhem: Pretty Sure Someone Shoulda' Thought of That!
One Mama's tales of Minion Mayhem: Pretty Sure Someone Shoulda' Thought of That!: I am not a litigious person. I think if you put a cup of coffee in your lap in the car, you should anticipate what will happen if it s...
Pretty Sure Someone Shoulda' Thought of That!
I am not a litigious person. I think if you put a cup of coffee in your lap in the car, you should anticipate what will happen if it spills. I'm not sure what butt head inspired the warning on hair dryers that say not to use them in the shower?!! I mean, I have 4 minions, I can seriously multitask but even I would not try to wet and dry my hair simultaneously. I even shook with rage when they temporarily recalled Bumbo Seats after they were made available to the public at large, (we'd used them for years in special ed,) until they could be labeled with a warning about not putting them up on high furniture and walking away. Seriously folks, babies are slippery little suckers, so just don't prop them up on anything high and walk away-ever!
On the other hand, I think consumers should be able to have a reasonable degree of confidence that the most basic safety concerns in an item were considered before they rushed them to market. For instance, I think we should be safe to assume that baby formula is not made with poison--thank you China. I think if a motor manufacturer, (which employs over half of the people I know and love,) becomes aware that their brake system isn't working, they need to give a little heads up to their customers. If your miracle cream that causes increased eyelash growth also causes permanent unibrow and explosive diarrhea, by all means put it right in your commercial, (mostly so I can mock it and laugh hysterically.)
Today's "somebody really shoulda' thought of that" inspiration comes from Target, (and I do love me some Target,) which recently recalled a frog costume they sold. The costume has a mask that, apparently, lights up and has sound effects--which is totally cool! Unfortunately, it also suffocates children. Yep, somebody hooked up electronics, they presumably checked to be sure they wouldn't shock anyone and the lights wouldn't get too hot. Somebody designed the packaging and somebody else decided the price but, oops, nobody considered if they had actually made it possible for the child wearing it to breathe. Really people? Is it just me or is this just a little bit ridiculous?
Now, I remember the flammable, plastic costumes that were sold when I was little. I am not sure how any of us survived childhood without swallowing our Little People who were handily bite-sized at the time. I am sure that more than one of my 70's era loved ones ate, nosed or eared a Lite Brite piece because they didn't have labels that said not to. I personally got more than one brain freeze from my cruelly unlabeled Snoopy Sno Cone Machine and burnt the living #$%^$ out of my fingers on Shrinky Dinks. So, I don't want to take this too far, however, here are 10 items that I think should have to carry warnings or be recalled:
On the other hand, I think consumers should be able to have a reasonable degree of confidence that the most basic safety concerns in an item were considered before they rushed them to market. For instance, I think we should be safe to assume that baby formula is not made with poison--thank you China. I think if a motor manufacturer, (which employs over half of the people I know and love,) becomes aware that their brake system isn't working, they need to give a little heads up to their customers. If your miracle cream that causes increased eyelash growth also causes permanent unibrow and explosive diarrhea, by all means put it right in your commercial, (mostly so I can mock it and laugh hysterically.)
Today's "somebody really shoulda' thought of that" inspiration comes from Target, (and I do love me some Target,) which recently recalled a frog costume they sold. The costume has a mask that, apparently, lights up and has sound effects--which is totally cool! Unfortunately, it also suffocates children. Yep, somebody hooked up electronics, they presumably checked to be sure they wouldn't shock anyone and the lights wouldn't get too hot. Somebody designed the packaging and somebody else decided the price but, oops, nobody considered if they had actually made it possible for the child wearing it to breathe. Really people? Is it just me or is this just a little bit ridiculous?
Now, I remember the flammable, plastic costumes that were sold when I was little. I am not sure how any of us survived childhood without swallowing our Little People who were handily bite-sized at the time. I am sure that more than one of my 70's era loved ones ate, nosed or eared a Lite Brite piece because they didn't have labels that said not to. I personally got more than one brain freeze from my cruelly unlabeled Snoopy Sno Cone Machine and burnt the living #$%^$ out of my fingers on Shrinky Dinks. So, I don't want to take this too far, however, here are 10 items that I think should have to carry warnings or be recalled:
- Bikini Wax: Not just keep away from children, DO NOT USE IN SAME HOUSE AS SMALL CHILDREN: Unless you want them to learn some new words that are less attractive than unwaxed bikini lines
- Lego: Warning: Your kid cannot build what is on this box without your help and then the little punks are gonna scatter these little crapdingies all over your house
- GI Joe toys: Yes, they're back and their little missile thingies are gonna make you cry when you step on them, just like in the good ole' days
- Skittles: With all of the sugar and artificial coloring in this candy, you could just give your kids amphetamines and get the same effect.
- The Toilet: This item will double as a magician's act for your toddler-it makes things disappear, for a while
- Washable Crayons: Will make your kids look like zombies when they hold them in their mouths AND will dissolve in your washing machine, or when juice gets spilled on them, or for fun!
- Kidz Bop CD's: Warning: Don't buy these without headphones and it is entirely likely the kids will sing these questionable lyrics at church
- Barney/Wiggles/Dora/Yo Gabba Gabba: Warning: May make adults suicidal
- Cheerios: Warning: Once wet and dried again, these are a permanent part of your furniture/flooring
- Any Musical or Talking Toy: Warning: If you buy this for the children of anyone you love, they will hate you.
So please reply, FB or Tweet, what do you think should come with a new warning label or be recalled?
Monday, October 10, 2011
Listen to Your Mama!!!
I found myself repeating phrases over and over this weekend, occasionally through gritted teeth. These phrases almost ooze out of my pores onto the minions because I say them so often to their semi-listening ears and rolled eyes. I was about to yell, "I would stop saying this stuff if you all would just do it already!!!" (Yes, I was definitely about to say it in a three exclamation point kind of way.) Then, it dawned on me, the things I was saying over and over to the minions are the very same things that could change the world if only grown ups would do them too. So here goes, a list of the 10 phrases that my children and the rest of the world ignore, that could make life better for everyone:
- I'm going to need you to use kind words and gentle hands.
- You're going to be bored with your stuff in about 10 minutes, you'll be much happier if you just learn to share.
- People are a lot more likely to do what you want if you ask them politely.
- God (and your parents,) provides everything you need, no promises about everything you want.
- I don't care what anyone else is doing, you are going to take responsibility for yourself and your stuff!
- You'll never get people to see your side by yelling, bullying or hitting.
- Every living thing has a purpose and deserves respect. (said when I put spiders outside and when they want to pull leaves/limbs off trees.)
- What makes you think you should get more stuff when you aren't taking care of what you have?
- No one says you have to like your family, (one could substitute neighbor here,) but you are required to love them.
- God made him/her, are you sure you want to treat him/her that way?
I certainly don't claim that any of these are my own ideas, some not even my own words, but they are certainly the stand-by's at our house. Funny how much deeper they are when applied globally. So there you go, folks, listen to your mama and you might just change the world:)
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Right Here In My Skin
Well, for the first time in three months, the Girl's Night Out group finally met again last night. Right on schedule for our "monthly" meeting;) Fact is, when you have a group dedicated to dragging way-too-busy mamas out of the house without children, it's darn hard to get there. Most of the group couldn't make it and we missed them, those of us who went had a great time. As usual, the process of getting myself ready to go out was filled with craziness that I was eager to share on the blog but somewhere along the line, this post reshaped itself into something sort of different, so here it is--the funny, the sort of gross, and the truth.
As I was preparing to go out with the girls, I decided that I would like to disguise the ever increasing gray streaks in my hair. Heaven knows, I don't make it to the salon often so I buy the box stuff. Now, I have colored my hair all colors, with all types of dyes, fruit drinks, plant products, you name it, over the years so this was nothing new. I was trying a new product which is always a risk and after putting it on my head, I sent a text to a friend that said, "In 23 minutes, my hair is either going to be awesome or tragic, there's not much room for middle ground here."
I was wrong, 25 minutes later I texted her, "I would call this color anticlimactic with a side of weird sauce." It's true. The dye took to my hair oddly. It didn't have much impact on the darker parts of it one way or the other. The gray, now becoming color resistant, is sort of pink and highlighted oddly by the darker parts. The parts of my hair that were sun lightened and/or previously highlighted, (who really knows after all I have done to it,) looked as if I colored them with a red Crayola (TM) marker. Then, when I get under different kinds of light, it explodes into multiple shades of red, pink, fucshia, some colors that I'm fairly sure only have names in physics labs that specialize in light... In truth, there are probably times in my life that I would have loved this color but I am too old for it now. There are also times in my life that I would have sobbed and hated my foolishness and hidden under the covers because of this color. I don't feel like that at all. I don't even hate it, I think it's kind of funny, and I also know it will fade quickly. It will be fine.
Next, I had to move on to the hair removal process. I have Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS.) It is a fetching little disorder. It basically means that I don't ovulate much, my hormones don't work well, I store fat remarkably efficiently and hold onto it like July tick on a hound dog. The most lovely thing though, is that it makes hair grow in weird places. In fact, without intervention, I would not be a true bearded lady but I could make a kick ass Jack Sparrow (Darn it! Last night's waxing totally cost me first prize at the Eckman's Halloween party.) Never the less, I started plucking and waxing, making up jokes to put on the blog about it to distract myself from the searing pain. In fact, the original title of this post was "Remember When Primping for a Night Out Didn't Require a Weed Whacker?" still a good one!
Then, it was make up time, which I love. My husband hates make up and can't believe that women think that they "need it." Obviously, I don't think that because I don't wear it nearly as often as I should. However, I really like putting it on. The drama geek in me would probably go out in full costume make up from Cleopatra to zombie just because I love to do it, if I didn't have so many kids and so little time. Still, I painted on my magic; camouflaging second chins, highlighting cheekbones and carving hollows into my round cheeks, making my dark eyes the highlight beneath newly mowed brows, painting lips with a new shade purchased that day so it wouldn't clash with my weird hair. I smiled at the reflection in the mirror, it wasn't perfect but I was rocking what I had.
"Ugh," I thought, "now I have to figure out what to wear." Do I wear the spanx which force my folds into submission? Do I wear no shapewear and wonder what lump and bunches were waving at my dinner companions? I chose a middle of the road,"help-a-mama cami". It gives me a little confidence but isn't uncomfortable and allows for the imbibing of mass quantities of melted cheese and chocolate on these special occasions. I threw on jeans, all of mine are a little too big right now, I've lost a few pounds. I picked out a blouse of which I am tired but it is fairly presentable and I am seriously lacking in non-t-shirts these days. Finally, I threw on one of my favorite sweaters, mostly because I love it and because, it is finally cool enough to wear sweaters (and I think the advent of sweater weather should be a national holiday.) Did I love anything about the way this outfit looked? Nope! Did I hate it? Nope?
"How could that be?" I wondered. I have spent the bulk of my life detesting how I looked. I've permed, fried, painted, dyed and starved myself a billion different times over my lifetime. There was actually a time when I was a thin, beautiful young woman and I totally missed it because I focused on my every imperfection. I honestly used to hate the size of my rib cage--seriously, I was a doofus. Still, here I stood in front of my full length mirror, with an ill fitted outfit that I didn't like, with Martian hair, with recently plucked chin hairs, with new wrinkles and an extra chin, and right at this moment, I was totally okay with it.
You see, I've never had a problem seeing the beauty in people. I have known and adored human beings with profound physical disabilities and deformities and I can tell you about a girl with a broken body who has the most beautiful smile I have ever seen. I know a man with facial deformities who's eyes are the most breath taking, spectacular shade of aqua. I remember a young man with fetal alcohol syndrome who was probably the most ill behaved human being I've ever met but his laugh still resonates within my soul as the epitome of the sound of joy. I have known and loved hundreds of people that the world would have overlooked or even turned from and I can tell you about their spiritual beauty but also their physical beauty. You see, until now, I've afforded them a luxury that I haven't afforded myself. I allow the quality of the souls of others to open my eyes to the physical beauty that God sculpted in them.
So, I am about to do the least southern thing that I have ever done. I am going to pay myself a complement in the eyes of whoever chooses to see this blog. I may not be the world's greatest beauty, but I am kind of a cute, if slightly round, mama. I have straight teeth, thick hair, nice eyes, a cute nose, small feet, a great rack (sorry if any of my preacher friends are reading this, and to my mother-in-law and my husband who are probably blushing,) and I am tall. I also have a decent way with words, a slightly vicious but funny sense of humor, and a generous spirit that genuinely loves to help people. I, like my pinkish hair, am okay.
Does that girl who can see all of her flaws still live here? Yeah, she does, but her voice isn't quite as loud as it used to be. I need to eat less and exercise more. On a dime, I can tell you 100 things I would love to improve about myself. However, I am standing here in this skin of mine, skin that doesn't hang quite as tight as it used to, and I am okay with it. In my heart of hearts, I hope someone whose inner teenage self-loather still screams louder than she should will read this and feel better about him/herself. I promise you, if I meet you, I will see your beauty and I pray that someday, you will see it too.
As I was preparing to go out with the girls, I decided that I would like to disguise the ever increasing gray streaks in my hair. Heaven knows, I don't make it to the salon often so I buy the box stuff. Now, I have colored my hair all colors, with all types of dyes, fruit drinks, plant products, you name it, over the years so this was nothing new. I was trying a new product which is always a risk and after putting it on my head, I sent a text to a friend that said, "In 23 minutes, my hair is either going to be awesome or tragic, there's not much room for middle ground here."
I was wrong, 25 minutes later I texted her, "I would call this color anticlimactic with a side of weird sauce." It's true. The dye took to my hair oddly. It didn't have much impact on the darker parts of it one way or the other. The gray, now becoming color resistant, is sort of pink and highlighted oddly by the darker parts. The parts of my hair that were sun lightened and/or previously highlighted, (who really knows after all I have done to it,) looked as if I colored them with a red Crayola (TM) marker. Then, when I get under different kinds of light, it explodes into multiple shades of red, pink, fucshia, some colors that I'm fairly sure only have names in physics labs that specialize in light... In truth, there are probably times in my life that I would have loved this color but I am too old for it now. There are also times in my life that I would have sobbed and hated my foolishness and hidden under the covers because of this color. I don't feel like that at all. I don't even hate it, I think it's kind of funny, and I also know it will fade quickly. It will be fine.
Next, I had to move on to the hair removal process. I have Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS.) It is a fetching little disorder. It basically means that I don't ovulate much, my hormones don't work well, I store fat remarkably efficiently and hold onto it like July tick on a hound dog. The most lovely thing though, is that it makes hair grow in weird places. In fact, without intervention, I would not be a true bearded lady but I could make a kick ass Jack Sparrow (Darn it! Last night's waxing totally cost me first prize at the Eckman's Halloween party.) Never the less, I started plucking and waxing, making up jokes to put on the blog about it to distract myself from the searing pain. In fact, the original title of this post was "Remember When Primping for a Night Out Didn't Require a Weed Whacker?" still a good one!
Then, it was make up time, which I love. My husband hates make up and can't believe that women think that they "need it." Obviously, I don't think that because I don't wear it nearly as often as I should. However, I really like putting it on. The drama geek in me would probably go out in full costume make up from Cleopatra to zombie just because I love to do it, if I didn't have so many kids and so little time. Still, I painted on my magic; camouflaging second chins, highlighting cheekbones and carving hollows into my round cheeks, making my dark eyes the highlight beneath newly mowed brows, painting lips with a new shade purchased that day so it wouldn't clash with my weird hair. I smiled at the reflection in the mirror, it wasn't perfect but I was rocking what I had.
"Ugh," I thought, "now I have to figure out what to wear." Do I wear the spanx which force my folds into submission? Do I wear no shapewear and wonder what lump and bunches were waving at my dinner companions? I chose a middle of the road,"help-a-mama cami". It gives me a little confidence but isn't uncomfortable and allows for the imbibing of mass quantities of melted cheese and chocolate on these special occasions. I threw on jeans, all of mine are a little too big right now, I've lost a few pounds. I picked out a blouse of which I am tired but it is fairly presentable and I am seriously lacking in non-t-shirts these days. Finally, I threw on one of my favorite sweaters, mostly because I love it and because, it is finally cool enough to wear sweaters (and I think the advent of sweater weather should be a national holiday.) Did I love anything about the way this outfit looked? Nope! Did I hate it? Nope?
"How could that be?" I wondered. I have spent the bulk of my life detesting how I looked. I've permed, fried, painted, dyed and starved myself a billion different times over my lifetime. There was actually a time when I was a thin, beautiful young woman and I totally missed it because I focused on my every imperfection. I honestly used to hate the size of my rib cage--seriously, I was a doofus. Still, here I stood in front of my full length mirror, with an ill fitted outfit that I didn't like, with Martian hair, with recently plucked chin hairs, with new wrinkles and an extra chin, and right at this moment, I was totally okay with it.
You see, I've never had a problem seeing the beauty in people. I have known and adored human beings with profound physical disabilities and deformities and I can tell you about a girl with a broken body who has the most beautiful smile I have ever seen. I know a man with facial deformities who's eyes are the most breath taking, spectacular shade of aqua. I remember a young man with fetal alcohol syndrome who was probably the most ill behaved human being I've ever met but his laugh still resonates within my soul as the epitome of the sound of joy. I have known and loved hundreds of people that the world would have overlooked or even turned from and I can tell you about their spiritual beauty but also their physical beauty. You see, until now, I've afforded them a luxury that I haven't afforded myself. I allow the quality of the souls of others to open my eyes to the physical beauty that God sculpted in them.
So, I am about to do the least southern thing that I have ever done. I am going to pay myself a complement in the eyes of whoever chooses to see this blog. I may not be the world's greatest beauty, but I am kind of a cute, if slightly round, mama. I have straight teeth, thick hair, nice eyes, a cute nose, small feet, a great rack (sorry if any of my preacher friends are reading this, and to my mother-in-law and my husband who are probably blushing,) and I am tall. I also have a decent way with words, a slightly vicious but funny sense of humor, and a generous spirit that genuinely loves to help people. I, like my pinkish hair, am okay.
Does that girl who can see all of her flaws still live here? Yeah, she does, but her voice isn't quite as loud as it used to be. I need to eat less and exercise more. On a dime, I can tell you 100 things I would love to improve about myself. However, I am standing here in this skin of mine, skin that doesn't hang quite as tight as it used to, and I am okay with it. In my heart of hearts, I hope someone whose inner teenage self-loather still screams louder than she should will read this and feel better about him/herself. I promise you, if I meet you, I will see your beauty and I pray that someday, you will see it too.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
One of THOSE Days
When the alarm went off this morning, I didn't argue with it quite as long as usual. I knew there were about 1,000 things to do because the kids and I have been sick. No point in putting it off, (despite the fact that I am a world class putter offer.) Up I rose, made the kids eggs and grapes for breakfast and woke them up. I took the dog out and had to stand in the damp grass because he didn't want to leave the porch. UGH Wonderlump, UGH to you and my wet slippers.
Still, this is just how morning is for us. I got back in and Laura-Elizabeth was playing up her sniffling and cough while Conner just sat there making no attempt to get ready. Ah yes, morning! I gave them individualized speeches and an implied threat and sent them off to get ready while I changed the littles, wrote LE's sick note and signed agendas. I tucked LE's note into her trapper keeper and signed C's homework page. Then, as I went to initial his agenda in his folder, I saw the red face. At our school, a green face with hair means that your kid had a great day. A yellow face means they had a good day after a warning of some sort. An orange face without a smile means that the child had to be corrected past a warning. A red face means that after a warning and correction, the child continued to misbehave. There is actually a purple face that means something like, we are considering caning your child and putting him in the stockade (just kidding.) There is a purple face and I think it means your child went to the Principal's office. I should mention here that I love C's teacher and she goes way out of her way for him, therefore, I am certain that he really earned this red face. I also know that she wrote me a note to explain whatever happened except that my son has done away with it. I asked him to give it to me and, of course, he has no idea where it was. He proceeded to illustrate this by dumping everything out of his backpack, the backpack of a hoarder-who has had a sick mother, who has not forced him to pick and choose between the paper scraps and bazillion works of academia and art in his bag for 2 days. LOVELY!!! Irritated, I write the teacher a note to let her know that I had not seen hers and that I would deal with my son and stuck it in the folder in his backpack. "Let's go!" I yelled trying my best to maintain my cool; no point in letting yesterday's issues mess up today.
That's when he said it, my sweet, first grade ball of love and cuteness (he of the red face) said, "But Mom, you didn't put socks in my organizer."
"Conner, are there no socks in your drawer?"
"Um, I'll check..." Really? He just sat there waiting for me to ask him about the fact he had no socks and shoes on rather than letting me know that I had skipped Wednesday's cubby with socks or--heaven forbid--reaching into his own drawer and pulling a pair out! I'm pretty sure my face matched the one on his agenda at that point. Never the less, with C properly shod, we all marched out to the van, prayed on our way and I dropped the bigs off with a smile.
Next on the agenda, hit the store with the littles to get ingredients for veggie soup and cornbread for dinner. We made it a quick trip, I only purchased one item not on my list!!! I was proud, red face fading into the background. So I drove home. In the driveway, I handed Mylie a light bag to carry and loaded the other 3 onto my right arm so I could carry Isaac in the right, (he can't walk without a walker and we have steps leading into the house.) So I throw Isaac up on my hip and he pulls one of his least pleasant tricks, the one where he goes completely limp rather than assisting me in carrying him in any way. At this point, I decide the best thing is to dash inside so I can plop him on the couch as I cannot think of a good way to reshuffle anything to make this work better that won't involve Mylie panicking because Mommy has run back outside to grab damp groceries from the driveway. It would have been okay but I have lost a few pounds and the pants I was wearing started sliding down my leg along with my son. I am pleading with Mylie to go in the door so that I can get inside before my pants actually hit my ankles and she is picking me a bouquet from my potted plant on the porch which never gets a chance to bloom because it is always, always plucked of its plumage by this princess. A billion cars are flying past, my hind end is exposed to the elements but hidden by a long shirt, thank goodness, and I finally step in the door, toss down my groceries, put my son on the floor and pull up my pants. I thank Mylie for the bouquet and put up the groceries.
Then, it dawns on me this is one of those days. It's one of those days where I try to remain positive and life makes it hard; where I can breathe through only one nostril, where I will wonder all day what my son did to get a red face, where my slippers will get soggy and my little son will play wet noodle, where I will very nearly provide adult entertainment for the poor unsuspecting hoards of people driving up my street on their way to work and school. This is one of THOSE days where I have to make a choice. I can decide, here and now, whether to let this make me grumpy and irritated or if I will decide to laugh, because it's kind of hysterical. I can decide to let my morning make the friends who read my blog smile. I can decide and I have. So, red faces and near moonings aside, I hope you smile friends. I hope, like me, you decide to look this day in the face and keep on going. That is what I am going to do!!!
Still, this is just how morning is for us. I got back in and Laura-Elizabeth was playing up her sniffling and cough while Conner just sat there making no attempt to get ready. Ah yes, morning! I gave them individualized speeches and an implied threat and sent them off to get ready while I changed the littles, wrote LE's sick note and signed agendas. I tucked LE's note into her trapper keeper and signed C's homework page. Then, as I went to initial his agenda in his folder, I saw the red face. At our school, a green face with hair means that your kid had a great day. A yellow face means they had a good day after a warning of some sort. An orange face without a smile means that the child had to be corrected past a warning. A red face means that after a warning and correction, the child continued to misbehave. There is actually a purple face that means something like, we are considering caning your child and putting him in the stockade (just kidding.) There is a purple face and I think it means your child went to the Principal's office. I should mention here that I love C's teacher and she goes way out of her way for him, therefore, I am certain that he really earned this red face. I also know that she wrote me a note to explain whatever happened except that my son has done away with it. I asked him to give it to me and, of course, he has no idea where it was. He proceeded to illustrate this by dumping everything out of his backpack, the backpack of a hoarder-who has had a sick mother, who has not forced him to pick and choose between the paper scraps and bazillion works of academia and art in his bag for 2 days. LOVELY!!! Irritated, I write the teacher a note to let her know that I had not seen hers and that I would deal with my son and stuck it in the folder in his backpack. "Let's go!" I yelled trying my best to maintain my cool; no point in letting yesterday's issues mess up today.
That's when he said it, my sweet, first grade ball of love and cuteness (he of the red face) said, "But Mom, you didn't put socks in my organizer."
"Conner, are there no socks in your drawer?"
"Um, I'll check..." Really? He just sat there waiting for me to ask him about the fact he had no socks and shoes on rather than letting me know that I had skipped Wednesday's cubby with socks or--heaven forbid--reaching into his own drawer and pulling a pair out! I'm pretty sure my face matched the one on his agenda at that point. Never the less, with C properly shod, we all marched out to the van, prayed on our way and I dropped the bigs off with a smile.
Next on the agenda, hit the store with the littles to get ingredients for veggie soup and cornbread for dinner. We made it a quick trip, I only purchased one item not on my list!!! I was proud, red face fading into the background. So I drove home. In the driveway, I handed Mylie a light bag to carry and loaded the other 3 onto my right arm so I could carry Isaac in the right, (he can't walk without a walker and we have steps leading into the house.) So I throw Isaac up on my hip and he pulls one of his least pleasant tricks, the one where he goes completely limp rather than assisting me in carrying him in any way. At this point, I decide the best thing is to dash inside so I can plop him on the couch as I cannot think of a good way to reshuffle anything to make this work better that won't involve Mylie panicking because Mommy has run back outside to grab damp groceries from the driveway. It would have been okay but I have lost a few pounds and the pants I was wearing started sliding down my leg along with my son. I am pleading with Mylie to go in the door so that I can get inside before my pants actually hit my ankles and she is picking me a bouquet from my potted plant on the porch which never gets a chance to bloom because it is always, always plucked of its plumage by this princess. A billion cars are flying past, my hind end is exposed to the elements but hidden by a long shirt, thank goodness, and I finally step in the door, toss down my groceries, put my son on the floor and pull up my pants. I thank Mylie for the bouquet and put up the groceries.
Then, it dawns on me this is one of those days. It's one of those days where I try to remain positive and life makes it hard; where I can breathe through only one nostril, where I will wonder all day what my son did to get a red face, where my slippers will get soggy and my little son will play wet noodle, where I will very nearly provide adult entertainment for the poor unsuspecting hoards of people driving up my street on their way to work and school. This is one of THOSE days where I have to make a choice. I can decide, here and now, whether to let this make me grumpy and irritated or if I will decide to laugh, because it's kind of hysterical. I can decide to let my morning make the friends who read my blog smile. I can decide and I have. So, red faces and near moonings aside, I hope you smile friends. I hope, like me, you decide to look this day in the face and keep on going. That is what I am going to do!!!
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
A PSA About What NOT to Say to a Mom
Today's blog is my own special brand of Public Service Announcement-warning sarcasm ahead. I realized while pondering a new topic that I am uniquely equipped to write a post about things not to say to a mother. I say that I am uniquely qualified because I am the mother of 4 kids, the mother of children with special needs, an adoptive mother, an ex-foster mother, the mother of children of multiple races and have both had a miscarriage and struggled with infertility. As such, I have been privy to more idiotic statements about a wider variety of things that are no one else's business than the average mama. Thus, today, I offer this list of things never to say to mamas in each of these categories followed by how I actually reply in bold and how I would love to reply in italics. Enjoy!!!
DISCLAIMER: This blog does not refer, for the most part, to close friends and family who support us mommies and are living this stuff with us. It is about new acquaintances and the ever present Wal-mart/pharmacy woman who inevitably feels compelled to say something really, really stupid.
To Mothers Struggling with Infertility:
DISCLAIMER: This blog does not refer, for the most part, to close friends and family who support us mommies and are living this stuff with us. It is about new acquaintances and the ever present Wal-mart/pharmacy woman who inevitably feels compelled to say something really, really stupid.
To Mothers Struggling with Infertility:
- Just quit trying, that's when it always happens: I said, "Well, we have actual medical issues for our struggles." I wanted to say, "Look, deary, we did a whole lot of not trying before we bothered with this sweet hell that is TRYING to get pregnant!!!" See how this will work?
- Well maybe it's just not meant to be: I said nothing. I thought: Maybe YOU'RE not meant to be and I'm the chick that's about to make it so!
To Mothers Who Have Miscarried:
- Obviously something was wrong with the baby: I'm not sure what they are trying to make us feel when people say this. I said, "I've spent my entire career taking care of children with something "wrong" with them, I am willing to raise an imperfect baby." I wanted to say, "Obviously something is "wrong" with you because you think that way. Should I kill you?"
- Maybe you just aren't supposed to have a baby/maybe it's time to let go: I only miscarried once and didn't get this one but friends have. "Maybe you should mind you're own business and shut the heck up!"
- There will be other babies: "I hope so." "That's all well and good but I'm going to mourn this one, thanks."
To Mothers with Lots of Children:
- Don't you think that's about enough?: "We believe children are gifts and are feel like God will make his plans clear to us." "I sure wish your parents decided that right before having you."
- You do know how to stop having kids, right?: "I actually only gave birth to one of these, so my husband and I are still well under our population replacement rate, thanks" "You do know how to STFU, right?"
- Better you than me!: "Aw, they're a challenge but we are deeply blessed." "Yes, yes it IS better me than you!"
To Foster Parents:
- I could NEVER be a foster parent, I love kids too much, I could never give them up: "We feel like this is our ministry and know that God will never lead us where His grace can't keep us." "Well, clearly, we signed up because we hate children. Foster parenting isn't really about my warm and fuzzy feelings, moron!!!"
- My sister/cousin/neighbor really wants a baby, maybe you could give them this one: "Well, it doesn't really work that way. If the court decides that this child needs a forever home, he/she will stay with us." "It's illegal for me to give them my baby but there's definitely a process for you to give them one of YOUR children."
- You get paid a lot of money for that, right?: "I had to quit work to adequately provide for the special needs of my children and I make less per day for the three of them than I did for two hours of work as a developmental interventionist." "Yeah, can't you tell by my bitchin' 2003 minivan, 1300 square foot home, and Wal-mart fashion sense that I am rollin' in the benjamins?" (Because snarky is even more fun with awkward sounding hip hop slang!)
To Adoptive Parents:
- Now, which one's your real child?: "Laura-Elizabeth is our BIOLOGICAL daughter." "Honey, they're all real, not a single one of them runs on batteries."
- (Of my sibling set) Now they're really siblings, right? They must have a special relationship: "Honestly, there is no difference between their relationship with each other and their relationship with the others. They love each other dearly and fight like cats and dogs. Truth is, any one of them would probably sell out the others for the baby." "They are 4 and 6 year olds with brain injury. The four year old came here straight from the hospital, their biology means far less than their history."
- I can't imagine why anyone wouldn't want him/her! (Especially horrifying when said in front of the child): "All of my kids' birth parents wanted them, they were just not able to care for them. Giving them up was selfless." "By the way, how many special needs kids are you in line to snatch up?"
- Anything using the term "real mom": "In our house, we know that your real mom is the one who takes care of you every day. I will answer any questions the children have about their BIRTH PARENTS when they ask." I really just want to punch them in the face.
To Mothers of Kids of Multiple Races:
- How many fathers do your kids have?: "*big smile* 5 (if you're doing the math, this is exactly one more dad than the number of kids)" "Seriously, did you just ask me that?"
- Awkward stares at my kids, my husband and I followed by, "He's cute," while pointing at Isaac: "Yeah, he's the only one with brown eyes like his mommy." I always want to finish that statement by singing "One of these things is not like the other" from Sesame Street.
- Oh, you must babysit!: "Nope, they're all mine!" "Oh, you must be stupid!"
- ANYTHING remotely racist: Quite frankly, I say exactly what I think at the time because this person is not deserving of anything better.
To Mothers of Kids with Special Needs:
- What's wrong with his legs (substitute any obvious issue): "He has arthrogryposis and the braces/casts help to keep his joints straight." "What's wrong with your face?"
- Why does she have seizures?: "Epilepsy is part of her brain injury." "She thinks it's tons of fun and some of her medicine tastes like bubblegum!"
- If my kid was acting like that, I'd spank them: "Sorry, he/she has sensory integration dysfunction." "By all means, come over here and I'll smack you around some."
- My son/daughter didn't like wearing shoes either but I just made them.: "My child has a sensory disorder." "Really, did you do that right after cutting out every tag, holding her down to get medicine down her, torturing her by brushing her hair and forcing her to wear the clothes she also didn't want to wear, because that's what I did this morning."
- Really, he/she has a disability? But he/she looks so normal: "Disabilities with recognizable features make up a fairly small percentage of all disabilities." "Darn it, I can't believe I let him/her out without her handicapped sign again!"
- But eventually he/she will be, like, normal, right?: "Well, his/her diagnosis is a life long one and there is just no good way to know what the future holds right now. We're hoping for the best." "Babe, take a look at your little mouth breathers, I'll show you my normal when you show me yours!"
I know it was long but I hope you laughed along with my little PSA. Beware the Wal-mart momsters! I think it's a great idea to close with some awesome things to say to the harried mommies you know:
- I love you
- You are doing a great job
- Girls with vomit on their clothes/boogers in their hair turn me on
- Here's a Starbucks gift certificate
- Hey, I'd love to babysit for you some time:)
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Girls ROCK!!!
As a mother of girls, I have always tried to be mindful of raising strong, confident women. I pray that my girls will not engage in self loathing and make some of the poor choices I made out of insecurity. To that end, I read lots of articles, books, etc. that focus on how to raise strong, healthy women in a world that sexualizes toddlers and would have them believe that their best asset is sex appeal. However, I see this growing trend that is very hard for me to swallow. It seems that much of the advice I am reading and many of the accounts of mothers who think that they are winning this battle seem to be pushing a gender free agenda. I want my girls to believe that they can do anything but I still want them to be girls--is this so odd?
I have two dramatically different daughters. Laura-Elizabeth is very much like me. She's girly but definitely more rock and roll than rainbows and lollipops. She likes pink but she likes it best in cheetah print. She loves animals more than dolls. She adores art but is also head over heels for science. She's a drama queen with a big heart; a diva with an independent streak but also a generosity of spirit. She is awesome.
Mylie, on the other hand, is the pink and purplest princess on the planet. She loves a dress and her princess dolls, (I still don't really do barbie around here unless its a fairy or mermaid or something-much to her chagrin.) Is it what I would have picked myself, no, but she's not weak or oppressed. The child will put on a show at the drop of a dime. She slays dragons wearing wings and high heels all the time. This is the child who responded to her brother's refusal to play with her with the phrase, "Fine, I am fun all by myself. You'll be sorry because I am a princess and I am delightful!" See? She's a princess that packs a punch and she's every bit as awesome in her own way as her edgier sister.
You see, I want to celebrate my girls, and my boys for that matter, for all that they are-including their genders. I want Isaac to grow up as a strong, confident man of color; I would never do that by down playing his racial heritage. I want him to know about both African and Hispanic cultures. I want him to know the strength of the people from which he came. I also want him to know the strength of the people who love him and are raising him. I adore all of these parts of him. Why on earth would I want less for my girls? I want them to know their strength within their femininity not to deny it.
Femininity is beautiful-yep, I said it, beautiful. Many child advocacy groups would love to make us believe that speaking of beauty is near profanity but I don't buy it. First of all, let's face it, women want to feel beautiful. I don't think it's all cultural, it's in us, because this desire has spanned history, culture, and location forever. God made us this way and if you don't believe me compare the skeletons of men and women. Female skeletons are dainty and smooth, rounded, lovely. Male skeletons are bigger, squarer, with sharp edges and bony protrusions, burly if you will. I will be kind and refrain from a discussion of the smells and body hair that also support this theory. I tell my kids, all of them, that they are strong and smart and kind every day. I also tell them that they are attractive and I don't apologize for it.
Being a woman can be hard. I tell the girls that too. You have to be strong. You have to stand up for yourself. You have to be ready to do things for yourself. You have to remind yourself of the things that make you special. But, being a woman is also really, really great. We can focus on multiple things at one time. We have girlfriends who talk about feelings and cry with us rather than chest bumping us and grunting condolences without making eye contact. We can weave relationships and anticipate the needs of our children (yes, men do this too but there's nothing quite like a mama.) We get to buy really cute shoes and know what to do when the toilet paper roll gets empty!!!
Please don't mistake this as an anti-male blog. I love men! Men are great and wonderfully made in their own right. Don't forget, I'm raising two of them as well. It's just that I want my girls to feel empowered without feeling like it's not okay to paint their finger and toenails. For heavens sake, I have felt a tiny human life growing inside me. That's one of the special gifts that only we girls will ever know. So, do I seethe with murderous rage when I see advertisements for "Toddlers in Tiaras" and watch cute round girls from Disney Channel waste away into gaunt monstrosities as they try to break into adult media--ABSOLUTELY!!! But am I going to banish pink, hair bows, dance classes and dresses? Heck no!!! My girls are gorgeous, funny, confident ladies and I'm going to help them rock it:)
I have two dramatically different daughters. Laura-Elizabeth is very much like me. She's girly but definitely more rock and roll than rainbows and lollipops. She likes pink but she likes it best in cheetah print. She loves animals more than dolls. She adores art but is also head over heels for science. She's a drama queen with a big heart; a diva with an independent streak but also a generosity of spirit. She is awesome.
Mylie, on the other hand, is the pink and purplest princess on the planet. She loves a dress and her princess dolls, (I still don't really do barbie around here unless its a fairy or mermaid or something-much to her chagrin.) Is it what I would have picked myself, no, but she's not weak or oppressed. The child will put on a show at the drop of a dime. She slays dragons wearing wings and high heels all the time. This is the child who responded to her brother's refusal to play with her with the phrase, "Fine, I am fun all by myself. You'll be sorry because I am a princess and I am delightful!" See? She's a princess that packs a punch and she's every bit as awesome in her own way as her edgier sister.
You see, I want to celebrate my girls, and my boys for that matter, for all that they are-including their genders. I want Isaac to grow up as a strong, confident man of color; I would never do that by down playing his racial heritage. I want him to know about both African and Hispanic cultures. I want him to know the strength of the people from which he came. I also want him to know the strength of the people who love him and are raising him. I adore all of these parts of him. Why on earth would I want less for my girls? I want them to know their strength within their femininity not to deny it.
Femininity is beautiful-yep, I said it, beautiful. Many child advocacy groups would love to make us believe that speaking of beauty is near profanity but I don't buy it. First of all, let's face it, women want to feel beautiful. I don't think it's all cultural, it's in us, because this desire has spanned history, culture, and location forever. God made us this way and if you don't believe me compare the skeletons of men and women. Female skeletons are dainty and smooth, rounded, lovely. Male skeletons are bigger, squarer, with sharp edges and bony protrusions, burly if you will. I will be kind and refrain from a discussion of the smells and body hair that also support this theory. I tell my kids, all of them, that they are strong and smart and kind every day. I also tell them that they are attractive and I don't apologize for it.
Being a woman can be hard. I tell the girls that too. You have to be strong. You have to stand up for yourself. You have to be ready to do things for yourself. You have to remind yourself of the things that make you special. But, being a woman is also really, really great. We can focus on multiple things at one time. We have girlfriends who talk about feelings and cry with us rather than chest bumping us and grunting condolences without making eye contact. We can weave relationships and anticipate the needs of our children (yes, men do this too but there's nothing quite like a mama.) We get to buy really cute shoes and know what to do when the toilet paper roll gets empty!!!
Please don't mistake this as an anti-male blog. I love men! Men are great and wonderfully made in their own right. Don't forget, I'm raising two of them as well. It's just that I want my girls to feel empowered without feeling like it's not okay to paint their finger and toenails. For heavens sake, I have felt a tiny human life growing inside me. That's one of the special gifts that only we girls will ever know. So, do I seethe with murderous rage when I see advertisements for "Toddlers in Tiaras" and watch cute round girls from Disney Channel waste away into gaunt monstrosities as they try to break into adult media--ABSOLUTELY!!! But am I going to banish pink, hair bows, dance classes and dresses? Heck no!!! My girls are gorgeous, funny, confident ladies and I'm going to help them rock it:)
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