Monday, January 25, 2010

Judging Everybody, not just Amy....

So, why is it we are a society bent on making people feel bad about the decisions that they make? Have you ever wondered that? I am pretty sure humans are the only species that look at their co-humans and think "oh my God, did you see that... she totally (insert anything and everything here)...." I never see my dog looking at other dog's collars and scoffing. When I used to have cats, I don't think they sat in wonder at the size of the other cat's ass. I think they just exist. I think they worry about themselves and how to make themselves happy. I am pretty sure my dog's internal monologue is something along the lines of... "I'm sleepy." Snore. Snore. Snore. "I'm thirsty." Lap. Lap. Lap. "I'm hungry." Chew. Chew. Chew. "I'm itchy." Lick. Lick. Lick. Repeat several times daily. But, not us. Oh, no. We know how to dress, look, raise kids, praise God, and perform every other possible task better than anyone else around us, and when someone does it differently... look out! More judges than a daytime television line up!

Here's my thoughts. I don't care what religion you are. Praise God, praise Allah, praise fifteen gods.... whatever floats your boat. I go for God myself, but I don't go through a real religion to do it. I was born Catholic (insert obvious joke here) and I am not practicing anymore. Not because I have any deep philosophical reason, but because I like to sleep in on Sundays. But, I believe that I am spiritual. I pray (and not just to win the lottery, although I never buy tickets, so I am pretty sure that one isn't coming to fruition any time soon). I teach my sons to pray and thank God for what we have and we ask him to watch over people in need. But, I don't go to church (unless dropping Will off at preschool counts, and then I do twice a week). Here's what I believe.... the basis behind all religions is to teach us to be good people. Don't kill. Check. Be good to each other (which might be from Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure and not the Bible, I am not sure). Check. What building you sit in and what title you give yourself doesn't matter to me. Be good to each other. Check.

I don't care what your marital status is. I don't care if you want to have kids. I don't care if you cheered for the Jets and not the Colts, and I don't care if you need to lose ten pounds (or ten times ten pounds). These are parts of who you are, but they are not the sum of your parts. But there are so many people who don't see that. There are people who think you are raising your kids wrong because you buy soap and don't make it, and use antibiotics when they are sick. There are people who think that because you tend to vote democrat, you are suddenly a dirty hippy. And there are people who snap these judgments and then make it their mission to make sure you know you've been judged and therefore are somehow unworthy of their presence or acceptance. Who died and made you people Judge Judy? I ask you.

Will has a Veggie Tales movie that includes a Dr. Seuss-ish story about the land of the Snoodles where a young Snoodle's actions are met with ridicule from the older Snoodles. Eventually the young Snoodle talks to God who explains that this Snoodle is meant to see beauty whereas the others only seem to enjoy making others feel badly. And you know what, those Snoodles are us. I listen to that Veggie Tales episode and really hope that my boys do too, because I want them to see others' differences for what they are.... the wonderful diversity we have in this world. Big Words for Little People by Jamie Lee Curtis has a great page defining the word "different." She says "Different is what makes this world so great. Different is never something to hate." Amen, Jamie Lee. Amen.

Monday, January 18, 2010

5 Seconds in the Life of Will...

Will is laying in my bed this morning. We're all awake, but he's just cuddling and rolling around... just playing contentedly. I go to lean toward him, he simultaneously hurls himself toward me. My left knee hits his nose. Much crying ensues.

Jack starts screaming, too, because he doesn't understand, so I lift him onto the bed where I am cradling Will and his broken nose trying to soothe the pain with my kisses. Jack flops down face first, and I assume is using his head and arms to try and pass Will's sobbing body. Will shrieks louder and I realize Jack isn't trying to get past him... he is biting the crap out of Will's leg as evidenced by the tooth marks and bloody bruised gash. Much more crying ensues.

I rip Jack off of Will's battered body and I get in his face and sternly say (aka yell) that we don't bite. Jack then grabs the conveniently located remote (aka projectile missile) and sends it at lightening speed right into Will's jaw. Much much more crying ensues.

So, the moral of this story is.... ONLY HAVE ONE KID!

And, just to add one more chapter, about 5 minutes pass and Will is resting comfortably under the covers, still slightly whimpering in pain when Jack chases my 35 pound beagle onto the bed. Bentley flies onto Will's lap out of sheer terror and promptly Will's screams begin again as he's howling "BENTLEY'S ON MY WEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Sucks to be Will... that's all I'm saying.

Friday, January 15, 2010

Top 10 Signs that I am Getting Old...

1. My friend emailed me a coupon for $50 microderm abrasion.

2. I went to a new doctor and left saying "is she old enough to have gone to med school?"

3. A much younger friend said she wants to go see Lady Gaga and it was $600. Her sister (my age) said "That's a new set of tires." All the old people at the table agreed.

4. I don't watch Jersey Shore, and I don't want to.

5. My highlights turned out bright pink, and I actually made my stylist turn them red(ish).

6. I am sad that Leno is getting his old gig back because I can't stay up til 11:30 to watch him!

7. I haven't worn anything but sneakers and Uggs since I took off my summer flip flops.

8. My highlight of the week was finishing the laundry.

9. Music, TV and my family are just too damn loud.

10. I was home by 10:30 on Girls' Night Out.

Thursday, January 14, 2010

Dear Pat,

I am not going to reiterate the stupidity that came out of your mouth yesterday. I am not going to let my blog filled with wit and humor (or bullshit and mental breakdowns) become a platform for your hatred and moronic opinions. My readers don't deserve your idiocy and you don't deserve anymore venues from which to spread your venom. However, I am going to take a moment of my day, one teeny tiny moment, to let you know how completely stupid you are. Then I plan to ignore your existence for the rest of my life.

Pat, a group of people who share this world with us are in trouble. A group of human beings with souls and feelings are suffering. An entire city of this world is gone, and with it, 50 thousand people or more have perished. 50 thousand mothers and sons and daughter and fathers and uncles and aunts and friends are dead. 50 thousand people are no longer walking this earth. 50 thousand people that you don't know, Pat, are gone. Forever. 50 thousand people who could be healers, comforts, Christians, Jews, Muslims, friends, geniuses, caretakers and lovers are dead. And, there are probably more that aren't even accounted for. 50 thousand people, Pat, whose lives were cut short. And what do you do, Pat, in light of this tragedy? You sit in judgement. Not of one. Not of two. But of 50 thousand people that you have never seen, met, talked to or know a damn thing about. And you judge them and blame them. Mother Nature dealt them a cruel hand and you blame them for what.... existing? You spit ridiculous notions of deals with the devil as if this earthquake that killed innocent children is somehow a justifiable punishment. And why? Because in 1804 Haiti became independent from France and were no longer forced into slavery. Those bastards! How dare they fight for freedom! Obviously God must be smiting them 206 years later. That ought to teach them a thing or two about wanting to be free! Gotta wonder, Pat. We fought for freedom from tyranny in 1776 and won... when is our smiting? And, we fought to end slavery in 1862... is God coming for us next?

Pat, the reality is that I don't really care what you think. In fact, I don't really care about you at all. You don't enter into my brain on a regular basis at all. The truth is, I know you just about as well as you know the 50 thousand Haitians that you think deserved to die. But, people listen to you, Pat. With that ought to come some sort of moral responsibility to not feed them a load of shit in the midst of this global crisis. An entire city is decimated and you ought to be spouting ways to help and give and support these victims. You ought to be donating your money and your time to the Red Cross and other organizations because you know what, Pat... that is what makes a Christian. Offer prayers of support, offer outlets to grieve, offer something other than hatred and vitriol and then... maybe then... you will deserve the title of Christian and the following that you've gathered.

With forgiveness for your stupidity,

PS: In case Pat Robertson isn't the only one reading... if you want to help the people of Haiti (a people who've endured more pain and suffering than any community ever should) please text the word Haiti to 90999 and a $10 donation will be made to the American Red Cross. The money will be added to your cell phone bill, and let's just say... if we can afford cell phones and computers, can't we afford to help someone else? I can. And I did.

PPS: or PSS: I don't know which: In case anyone in Haiti or anyone related to people there happen upon my little post, please know that you have my utmost love and support and prayers. Please, God, be there for these people who desperately need it most. (And, if you wanna smite Pat for talking out of school, I won't judge.) Amen.

Monday, January 11, 2010

Sanity Check

OK, so I think I might be depressed. I am not really sure how you know you are depressed, so I am relying on a TV commercial for a depression medication and it said that I am. So, I think I must be. It said that if I were depressed, I would want to lay in bed all day. CHECK. If I were depressed, I would either never eat or eat all the time. CHECK on the latter option. If I were depressed, I would avoid social situations. CHECK again. Uh oh.

I really do want to lay in bed all day. I tried to on Friday, and I would have succeeded too, if it weren't for those pesky kids. I stayed in bed a good chunk of Saturday morning, and I totally stayed in bed til like 11a on Sunday. And today, I was up with Jack at 6:44a, but I went back to bed at 8:00a and stayed until Mark made it really clear that he WAS going to work and therefore I HAD to actually get back out of bed and raise our kids. Stupid Mark and his stupid work ethic. And now that Jack is napping and Will is playing trains, I am thinking about sneaking back up to the feathery goodness that is my bed. So, am I depressed? Or, am I just recovering from a virus and tired from our all nighter thanks to Jack's stomach pyrotechnics. The commercial didn't answer me when I asked about extenuating circumstances.

I eat. A lot. Evidence? See blog number two, the diet blog, that was abandoned after a two week stint of healthy eating. They say nothing tastes as good as thin feels? I say, have you ever had my mom's lamb chops? It tastes pretty darn good. But, I tend to eat the same amount whether or not I am happy, sad, tired, angry or mad. Like the postman, I am nothing if not dependable. So, are my food issues depression? Or, are they hunger coupled with poor portion control? I kinda wish it was depression.... then there would be light at the end of my fat tunnel.

And, I do avoid social situations. Although, only with people I don't want to be social with. So, what does that tell me? I don't enjoy making new friends, so if a social occasion requires that I talk to people I don't already know and like, then I am not interested. There, I said it. I have a core group of good friends that I really like spending time with. Anyone else... not so much. I don't do small talk. I don't fake nice for long before I just give up and show my real personality which tends to send people running for the hills. And, I don't want to be around people where I have to feel impressive. I am not a performing monkey... I don't want to be funny on command and I don't want to explain why I may or may not be wearing my florescent red streaked hair in pigtails today. I am. Why? Because I wanted to and guess what, my friends already know I am weird, so I don't care if this solidifies it for them.

Beside the commercial's diagnosis, I have wondered off and on if I have something wrong with my noggin (and yes, more than just the pigtails). Life with a certain 10 year old is weighing heavily on me right now, and I often wonder if it would be easier if I were medicated. But, is it depression that is making it rough, or is it the obstinate 10 year old who can't get it together? If there was a medication for her, believe me, she'd be on it already. I don't sit around my house crying, but there are times, like last night when I climbed the stairs for bed that I truly thought my life was pathetic. Every day is exactly the same and I accomplish nothing. (I know... insert "you're doing the hardest, bestest job on earth" crap here). I love my kids, and I mean LOVE. I love, love, love them and I cannot imagine my life without them. I am still in the phase that when I am gone for awhile, like for an evening to see dinner and a movie, I actively miss them. I was so used to Will sleeping with us for part of the night that I actively miss him there sometimes (although when he joined us last night for half the night, I actively wished he would go back to his own stinking bed, and/or quit putting his foot, butt or head on my face). So, I wonder... is this normal to sit here and wonder if this is really as good as it gets... or is the commercial right and I need some help?

And really... if the TV is talking to me, isn't that the answer right there????

Thursday, January 7, 2010

The pee isn't on my leg after all...

So, let me tell you the kind of person I've become. I am now the kind of person that has dried urine on the floor of the bathroom AND I am the kind of person who doesn't clean it up. Oh yes... My name is Lynn and I keep pee stains for fun.

Before I was pregnant, I think around the time that Mark and I were engaged, I went to lunch with some friends and saw two moms that I swore I would never be. They were toting their babies into the mexican restaurant in their sweats and dirty t shirts, and they plopped their kids in their high chairs while they ordered themselves the largest margaritas on the menu. I laughed at those slovenly women and mocked their sweats and stains thinking that I would never be that kind of mother. Well, scoot over gals, because I belong in your club today.... except I don't even have the margarita.

I went into the downstairs bathroom this morning to use the potty when I saw a dried stain at the base of the commode that could only be one thing. Wee. Will's wee wee that didn't hit the potty. Well, I suppose it could be Mark's but in order to protect my marriage and not go running for the nearest divorce attorney, I will just assume it's Will's. I was repulsed, but peed anyway vowing to get the cleaner and do the floor as soon as I zipped my pants. Well, I zipped. Then I realized it was almost time to leave and it's super snowy so I really had to skedaddle and I moved on to the preschool commute instead of pee patrol. Hours later I return to the same bathroom to do the same activity and again... there's the pee puddle. Dried puddle. Puddle remains, perhaps. I say to myself "Self, I can't believe you forgot to clean that, you nasty gross person" and again I vow to 409 my floor the second I walk out my bathroom door. But, then Will is screaming for lunch and I suggest tuna and I forgot about the bio hazard living peacefully on the bathroom floor. Again. Two hours later, I go into the bathroom to help Will with his pants and again there is that yellowy crusty reminder that I am disgusting. I am now that mom that is so frazzled by her children and her life that I cannot focus on cleaning the stain that I keep seeing. I have finally hit that stage of being gross that not only do I have urine on my floor, but I am so gross that it was there for the better part of the day and I just left it there.

Yes, my name is Lynn and I am that mom.