Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Popularity Judge

You guys have got to read this post from Tracy over at Momaical  . It's a beautiful letter written to a young lady dealing with mean girl drama at school.  Mean Girls Suck

Anyone been there? One of my kiddos is going through that right now, not too too bad, but still somebody running their mouth. She's such a sweetheart that would do anything for anybody and it kills me to know that somebody is bad mouthing her, making up things that aren't true to turn other kids against her. Why? Are you that unhappy about with yourself that this is the only way you can feel better? By making others miserable? Ugh. This girl used to be friends with my daughter in elementary school. Now she spends her time talking smack about other kids and deciding who is going to be one of the 'popular' kids.  Who made her the popularity judge?  My daughter has a good head on her shoulders, and mostly just rolls her eyes at this nonsense and says Whatever. But I know it hurts. I try to reassure her that she is a wonderful person, and smart and beautiful, and a great friend. I know this other girl has issues of her own that she is clearly dealing with by spreading the hurt.  But it makes me angry. Pissed. I want to punch a 13 year old girl.  Would I do it? No. Would that solve anything? No.  But is that my natural mama bear instinct when somebody is messing with one of my cubs? Hell yes.

I tell her that it gets better, that once you're out of school you don't have to deal with that drama anymore. Then I think of all the crap that goes on between moms now a days, the judgmental, my way is better than your way and you are WRONG and BAD, kind of crap.  ~Sigh.  Why do we do that to each other??  Are we no better than middle school girls? 

Tracy's letter is beautifully written, and I think I'd like to print it out and keep it for my daughters.  And maybe myself, too.

Sunday, January 20, 2013

TGIF Blog Hop!

This is my first ever blog hop! I am a totally newbie blogger, so if you see something I did wrong please let me know! (Gently :))

Thursday, January 17, 2013

This is my kids, every one of em.

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

Please God, let my kid watch tv

The American Academy of Pediatrics recommends that children under the age of 2 years watch no tv. None. Zero.

I say screw the Academy of Pediatrics.  Let them come over and entertain my 17 month old all. damn. day.  so that I can cook at least one meal or clean up the dog vomit or attempt to keep my bathroom from being condemned by the board of health.

Don't get me wrong, I love to play with my little guy.  I love to sit and cuddle with him, read to him, let him poke me repeatedly in my eyeball while he says "eye eye eye".  I get down on the floor with him and play with blocks and cars and balls. But there are 6 other kids living here that the law says I have to attend to also. They wanna eat like every single day.  They have oodles of homework that I have to help them with (even if their 5th grade math is already beyond what I can do).  And, (and I am extremely grateful for this one) they want to talk to me.  Tell me how mean their teacher was today, or ask me why I think their girlfriend hasn't texted them in TWO WHOLE HOURS.  They wanna tell me funny stories and lame jokes and things that worry and upset them.  This is much easier accomplished if there is not a 2 foot tall person perched on my hip saying "eye eye eye" the whole time.

My little guy wouldn't pay a bit of attention to the tv until just recently.  Sometimes I just needed TEN minutes, in a row, for him to be occupied.  He was sick of his toys and I hoped the bright colors and fun sounds of a preschool show might capture his attention for just a little bit.  Please God, let him watch tv.  But for the longest time he couldn't care less .  Then he started to like theme songs.  I downloaded the opening song from Doc McStuffins onto my phone and that little ditty quieted him many a time.  Now it's Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.  He will actually watch snippets of the show after the song is done.  He says "Ma Mow" (Mickey Mouse) and gets excited when he hears the music starting.  I've been able to speed load the dishwasher or wash last night's spaghetti off the stovetop without having to stop a million times because he's climbing onto the table or trying to eat the dog food.  That's all I need.  Just a little bit of time. 

I'm sure many people will judge me for this, but to them all I have to say is:  Hot Dog Hot Dog Hot Diggity Dog!

Friday, January 11, 2013

Dialogue with a Toddler

Stop it!
Get down!
Cut it out!
What the??
You've got to be kidding me!

This is what you will hear if you happen to stop by my house during the day when I'm home with the 17 month old.  I feel like a broken record, one that doesn't speak in complete sentences, just bursts. 

This boy is into everything.  He climbs on the kitchen table and gets into whatever his siblings have left on there.  He puts his binky in the trash. Then takes it out and puts it in his mouth.  He pushes the buttons on the cable box while looking at me and saying "No".  He knocks over his Little Tykes basketball hoop and stands on the back board.  He rips his books.  His board books.  He sticks his finger in the dog's nose.
Then he does something so sweet and cute, like climbing up in my lap and snuggling into my shoulder until he falls asleep, or wiggling his bare toes in the new bathmat with such a look of pure joy on his face, that out comes the:

You're such a cutie!
What a sweet boy!
Silly guy!
Little snugglebug!
I love love love you!
Hey, put the bathmat down! It doesn't go IN the tub! Cut it out! NO NO NO!!

Thursday, January 10, 2013

What curves??

Last night I was reading a People magazine.  Not something I frequently do, but my 17 year old was having an MRI of her leg post-sports injury and I had the pleasure of sitting in there for an hour while they took countless scans which made an insane amount of noise.
Anywho.. there was a People magazine there and I thumbed through it out of boredom.  Something that caught my eye and immediately ticked me off was a picture of Kate Upton's Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition cover, with a caption referring to her as being a "curvy" model.  AKA a bigger girl.  Not your typical skin and bones model.  This was the pic:

Um, what the flock?  Where are the curves?  She has a completely flat (almost concave) stomach, thighs the same size as her calves, and hips that wouldn't hold a squirming one year old for a second.  Except for the boob spillage, I see no curves.  I think she is very attractive, yes.  It's a decent pic, except for the fact that the label on my hanes underwear has more fabric than her bathing suit.  But to try and label this woman as a bigger, curvier models is insane.  When I read the caption before seeing the photo I thought to myself: "Yes! Someone 'real' looking for once!" (Read: maybe I'll stop feeling so bad about myself. ) Only to see the actual photo and immediately feel like sticking my finger down my throat to rid myself of that chocolate chip muffin.
Come on people, we need to stop doing this. Stop idolizing who is the skinniest, praising who is the tiniest, and judging anyone slightly bigger than skeletal.  It's not what I want my daughters growing up striving to be, or my sons expecting from all women.
It's not something I want to continue obsessing over for myself.  Cuz I do.  I hadn't lost all my baby weight yet when I randomly added some more weight to it.  It bothers the snot out of me.  I hate looking in the mirror, I hate getting dressed every day cuz my clothes don't fit right.  But I refuse to go buy bigger pants because I will have a nervous breakdown in the process, looking at the size tag.  As if all I am is wrapped up in the number on a pair of jeans. 
So screw you People magazine, and your ridiculous labels.  You're wrong, not me.

Monday, January 7, 2013

Curse those intelligent kids!

I was upstairs putting away laundry (or wandering aimlessly looking for left-over Christmas chocolate, either one) and picked up a blanket hanging over the side of my daughter's dresser.  I know it's my daughter's because it has her name on it.  In red nail polish.  Scrawled across the side in 7 year old penmanship.  She is 17 now so clearly it's not a new signature, and I have seen it before, but it reminded me of the good old days when markers, crayons, anything with ink, were dangerous.  Permanent markers never stepped foot into this house.  The kids thought everything was their canvas.  I got to thinking (and finally chuckling after years) about my oldest son, now 19, who used to write his own name on the wall and then say it wasn't him.  Um, yes love, it was you. You signed it.  He also used a rock once to scrawl his name into the side of my minivan.  Which he also denied.  Then stupid me explains to him that clearly I know he did it because he wrote his own name. "This is your name right?"  "Yes."  "So I know you did it.  Why would someone else write your name? They have their own names, even if I don't always remember them."  Well that was not a good idea to plant in his head, because from that moment on he continued to write on walls, but learned to spell his sister's name and signed all his artwork with that.  It worked a few times too; poor girl got time out for scribbling on the wall while he smirked in victory. 
Damn intelligent kids. 

Friday, January 4, 2013

Here We Go

(So, a blog.  Here goes nothing....) 

I find myself in need of a place to share my philosophical musings, my intellectual dilemmas, my cures for the world's woes.   OR  I need somewhere to flip my shit when life is pissing me off and kids are driving me nuts and I look like a crazy lady venting to my cat.  Especially because I don't have a cat.  I have a dog, but I can see the judgment in her eyes when I try to confide in her. 

I have seven children (not a typo) and two step children.  I am on marriage number 2, and while I should've known what I was getting into this time, sometimes I'm still shocked.  We have a crazy busy life, lots of sports, school activities, and wine drinking.  That last one is mostly me.  But drinking wine isn't all I do; I also drink coffee and go on FaceBook and Twitter and read lots of blogs. Oops, that was a typo; I meant I also cook and clean and pay bills and drive the kids everywhere.  Actually, I do all of those things, hence my need for a venting space, a place to blurt it all out and free my mind of the stuff that swirls around in there and clogs up my thoughts.  You know, a cerebral blocked drain. This blog can be like Drano.

I am an extreme a bit of a perfectionist, and a wicked sort of control freak, so it's going to be hard for me not to continuously re-read my posts to the point where I think everything sucks and just delete it all.  But I've learned from reading other blogs and pages that I am actually not the only one who is insane stressed out and sometimes reading other people's verbal diarrhea can be helpful. We're all in this together right?  Hello??

Ah, well.  Anyway.  I'm a little sarcastic, a little random, kind of emotional, and a bit all over the place.  I may post stories, rants, praises, jokes, questions, who knows.... But let's just jump in!