Love, Laughs & Lice.... Stories from my life

That's A-Parenthood

2012-02-09T10:26:00.003-05:00

Your kids are in bed, and you hear a scream you dread, that's a-parenthood!

You hear your son cry and you go lay by his side, that's a-parenthood.

Then you feel wet and you can bet that it's his vomit, that's a-parenthood.

You clean your son, don't get to you until you're done, that's a-parenthood.

When you sleep on the floor, because your son needs your bed more, that's a-parenthood.

Watching Phineas and Ferb at midnight without a fight, that's a-parenthood.

Then at dawn, stifling a yawn while you set up breathing machines, that's a-parenthood!

Spending the day tired as hell, but your son's breathing well... that's a-PARENTHOOD!!!

Why Am I So Happy?

2012-02-07T10:54:00.004-05:00

The other day, someone asked me why I was so happy. The question took me aback. First, isn't it funny that someone would think that I am "so happy?" Second, isn't it a bad sign that someone would think my being happy is so rare, it is worth asking about? Last, isn't it funny that I couldn't think of an answer? I couldn't point to something and say that I am happy because of anything. I didn't just get married or have a baby or win the lottery (the only one of the three options proven to lead to happiness every time).... I think I have just reached a point in my life where (at the risk of being trite) life is good.

Don't get me wrong. This is not an invasion of the body snatchers moment. I am still bitter, cynical, rude and sometimes mean. I can still come up with a litany of things to bitch about. After all, I need to buy Will new pants, but I have to wait til Mark gets paid again because we have no money. Jack is a snot machine and I am sick to death of everyone in this house being sick as death. I wore my favorite jeans last week and when I just pulled them out of the dryer, there was a huge hole in the ass begging the question... am I just sad that my jeans died, or humiliated that my ass was on display all last Thursday? And seriously, if I have to wash bedwetted sheets one more time this week, my head may explode, AND ITS ONLY TUESDAY!!! See.... same girl. But instead of being so bogged down in all that wah wah stuff... I am doing ok. Better than ok.

I used to wonder if I needed Prozac. Seriously, I even wrote about it here back in 2009. The little things were the size of ants... if I was starring in "Honey, I Shrunk the Kids" and ants were 100 times my size. I couldn't cope. I wondered if I had a chemical imbalance or something, but now, I think I had three very specific things. I think I had children. Seriously. I had three in a short period of time. I gave birth to Will... a year later Tabbi moved in.... and a year later I birthed Jack. That means I had three kids in two years, and one of them popped out a mouthy 8 year old. It was hard. And maybe we as women aren't supposed to admit that... but it was hard. On top of that, we've had a job loss, before that we had to learn how to exist on one income.... and I just couldn't cope. I was mad and frustrated and beyond those two.... I was tired. All. The. Time. Baby having is a rough business. I realize now that I never needed Prozac. I needed sleep.... and maybe a nanny.

My kids (and more importantly I) have settled into a lovely routine now. I love all three of them, but man is my life good now that they all go to school. Tabbi has settled into our lives in a beautiful way, and while I may still get frustrated and want to rip my hair out (or hers) on occasion, I can finally say after a 4 year struggle that we have hit our stride. Will is in full day Kindergarten and while I find myself missing him still during the day, I love the little guy he is becoming. Last night during dinner he went into detail about his science journal at school, and I was bursting with pride. And Jack.... my sweet formerly Satanic little angel is in preschool two mornings a week. He is speaking better, behaving better.... and he is just as cuddly as can be when he comes home. We have schedules and routines (insert joke from my friend Homa here, as she thinks my schedules are hilarious), and they have given me the greatest gifts.... peace. Comfort. Enjoyment of my kids and this job titled Motherhood.

Don't get me wrong.... Tonight Mark has a home owners association meeting and I promised the kids that we'd go to the YMCA carnival without him. I have a hair cut at 5 and both Tabbi and Will have to get their homework done before dinner and the carnival... plus, Jack's entire head is filled with snot. So, motherhood still isn't easy. My guess is my mom would say the same thing and her kids are 35 and 33. But, the hard just seems a little easier these days, and I guess that's why I am happy.

If You Get What You Put In...

2012-01-19T12:35:00.007-05:00

So its been a really long time since I've blogged. I was going to say that I blacked myself out in protest of SOPA and PIPA, but in reality, I think soup is good and I don't really know Pippa, but I have nothing against her. I like Kate better, though. And, I really am anti piracy. I don't get the big hats and the scraggly beards, and all that "arrrrr matey" business. What are they, Australian? No one says "mate" up over. (Get it, instead of down under). But, I have a conundrum, so I thought I would take to the interwebs.

I find that the divine Ms. T is a bit lost these days. She has quit all of the things she used to do, with our blessing, but she has yet to find something new. She quit violin because she didn't actually enjoy playing. We decided to let her, as daily practice and paid lessons are not worth the daily battle and expense for something she won't put any effort toward. Volleyball... same thing. Girl Scouts.... ditto. But now, there's nothing. We tried to find some volunteer activities, but there are few for an almost 13 year old, and her goal of participating in drama is harder to come by than I had thought. So, she is drifting aimlessly through her 12 year old universe. But, she's not the only one, so I am not too worried. I know that as she grows older, opportunities will arise and she will be able to find activities. Here's my fear... I am not sure she'll enjoy any of them.

She is participating on our new church's youth group, and I have seen the same thing I've seen from anything new she ever starts. Very little. If you get out what you put in, and you put nothing into everything.... what is she ever going to get out? There is very little participation, so she comes home with a blah opinion of it. The next week she is even less interested in going. But, if she isn't going to contribute to anything.... she won't ever get past the new kid hump. I see in the youth group the same thing I saw in orchestra, volleyball and girl scouts.... a kid who is there, but not there. Friendly to others if they meet the long criteria of how they dress, look, act, etc... but not going out on a limb if you don't make the first, second and third move. Worse than depressed... apathetic.

I moved from my lifetime home of Bettendorf, Iowa to Kansas City when I was one month shy of 14. I was terrified of making friends and being somewhere new. In Iowa, first days of school were never scary, because it was the same kids shuffled around to different classrooms. But, that day... I would be alone for the first time since I was 3. The day we moved I got a fortune cookie that said, "You're only as happy as you'll let yourself be" and while I still had more butterflies in my stomach than in the Amazonian rain forest... I went with it. I wasn't happy to have moved... but I tried. So, I guess my question is.... what happens when you won't let yourself be happy?

Other Duties As Assigned

2011-11-21T07:34:00.002-05:00

I worked in Human Resources, what feels like a lifetime ago, and I used to always laugh at the job descriptions that I wrote for literally every single job in our company. The last responsibility was always, "other duties as assigned," basically saying that your job is defined by these other 8 bullet points... but if we ask you to do something, your job is to do that, too. It's a "cover your ass" way of telling your staff that there ain't nothin' outside of your duties, so be ready to work.

I always laughed, because my "other duties" always seemed way out there and very frequent. I would be assigned anything from planning Christmas parties to helping my Director write a slide slow presentation at 10p on a Friday night to forging letters from our Commissioner to put in the annual report. My other duties sometimes seemed to outweigh and outnumber my real duties. But now that I am a stay home mom... I have found that my "other duties as assigned" category has gotten way out of hand.

Apparently one other duty is puke clean up. If one of our four legged family members loses their lunch, it is my duty to clean it up. I didn't know that. I figured whoever found it first should be the one to remedy the sitch asap. But, I learned this morning that if someone other than me stumbles upon the lovely gift (aka literally steps into it at 6:01am), they are to wake me.... begrudgingly clean up the large chunks when it becomes clear that I am not waking up for puke clean up.... and leave the ugly orange stain for me to take care of later.

My "other duties" also seem to include breakfast. Now I realize that I blogged about turning over a new leaf and providing a home cooked, healthy breakfast for Mark and Tabbi in the morning, but sometimes, that new leaf gets tired and it wants to sleep in. On Thursdays, when I drop Will off at school and don't have to get in the shower til 7:30.... my new leaf thinks that Mark and Tabbi can get their own food. And sometimes, on Mondays when I don't have the groceries for something fresh, my leaf decides that it should just sleep an extra 30 minutes because Mark and Tabbi can nuke their own food.... but, no. That leaf is wrong. I get huffy sighs and sarcasm if I don't provide the food. I thought I was being nice.... but apparently it's my job.

Other duties can also deal with bobby pins. I didn't know I was the bobby pin supervisor, but I must be, despite the fact that my hair is so short I can't use them. But, Tabbi had a fun up do on Saturday, and apparently asking our hair stylist to do something fun with her hair means that I have to then clean up the 47 pins when they come out and are spread all over the house by child and beast.

My other duties could go on forever, but I can't... because it is almost 7:50a and my real duties need to be done.

I have become a bad person

2011-11-17T13:50:00.004-05:00

I used to stand on very high moral ground. When I was in college, I was the president of our Amnesty International group for a time and a strict believer in the sanctity of life.... all lives. I fought against the death penalty and argued it still while working at the Department of Correction, walking in front of my state's death row, claiming that the murderers and rapists on the other side of that brick wall deserved to live. I stood on my soap box and looked down from on high and I preached and believed that murder, even when it is a bad person, was wrong. Then I had kids.... and I can't seem to get my soap box up on that high ground like I used to.

I read the headlines today, and I can't get there. I read about Penn State and that monster who attacked so many children... and I can't get there. I read about the staff that did nothing and think about the children harmed AFTER someone could have stopped it... and I can't get there at all. I think about those mothers who have to look at their babies (no matter what age these boys are now) and know what that man did to them... took from them... and I can't get anywhere close.

I read about a father who tied up his child and then beat him to death, today and the saddest thing is, you can read a similar story every few weeks. People whose children were neglected, beaten, abused.... and I can't defend my old position any more.

I have become a totally different person since I had kids. I don't fight for all humans to have rights anymore. Instead, I see my kids.... everywhere. I see my boys in those victims in Pennsylvania... I see my sons as the one in that closet tied up. I see them... and I know that I can't defend saving certain lives anymore.

There was a father on the news awhile back, and his son was murdered in the 70s by an evil man. The child was tortured for days and later killed, and the killer chronicled each sadistic and evil act in a journal that the father heard read aloud during the trial. Each suffering moment outlined in graphic detail. The news story reported that the killer was due to be released soon, and the father is being watched because he has declared openly that he plans to kill the man who killed his son. 30 years have passed.... and the father swears that the killer will not walk the streets long. I know in my head that this father is wrong and that killing this man will not bring his child back or give himself the peace that he is searching for.... but after having my own kids and turning into this new person, I can say this... That father's reaction is the one that I now can understand. I could put my soap box on his ground.

The Sing Songer

2011-10-17T09:49:00.004-04:00

So, I don't allow myself to be photographed, videotaped or recorded thanks to confirmed reviews of past appearances where I bear a striking resemblance to Corky from Life Goes On (evidence dates back to Good Morning America crowd appearance.... not pretty). Actually, as I get older and far more frightening, I look more like Chaz Bono. And my voice sounds like a Muppet gone wrong. So, I don't record myself. Today, however, I am kinda sad about that because today's blog post really ought to be a vlog. I am never going to do my annoyance justice in type... but the desire to not be mistaken for Chaz wins... so a-writing I will go.

Last Thursday, I took Jack to Chik Fil A for lunch. We'd had a hard week... Will was sick (which may end up being a later blog post), and I felt like Jack became the invisible kid for awhile. So, Will finally made it back to school and I decided it was time to do a little bonding with old Whatshisname. But, much to my dismay... in the Chik Fil A play place we encountered the most feared creature of all time... The Sing Songer.

Moms, I know you know her. She's the one who sits OUTSIDE the play place reading her iPad listening to her iPod sitting in her iPants doing iParenting. Which means, she will look up once in a blue moon and confirm that her child is in the play place, and then she'll go back to iAnything other than watching her kid. If said glance shows that something has run amok in the play place, she will sashay her iWay in and as her 8 year old son is straddling a toddler punching him in the face like Ralphie to Scut Farkus (although this time an unwarranted beating) and she will say in her sing songiest Disney princess voice, "Honey, you're beating someone up again." And her kid will shrug and stand up, wipe the blood smears off his face and say in an equally fake song from the Disney movie from hell, "Sorry, Mooooom."

In this case, the kid was a diaper wearing little mini boy. But man, despite his size he took a swing at every kid that walked by. Older kids came sliding down the tube slide bawling over the punch the little brat man gave them. One little boy burst into tears as the hell beast (I mean toddler) punched him square in the nose and demanded his hat. (It was a really cool Transformers hat, so I had to give the little killer that one). The older hatted boy thought for a minute, until I jumped in from the mommy bench and said, "Hey... you don't hit, and you don't give that kid your hat." The brat man just ignored me and went on his way. Moments later The Sing Songer noticing the distress wafted in and said, "Hooooney, keep handsies to your selfie." I said in Lynn/Muppet voice, "he's hitting everyone." And she said, singing to me, "Oooooh, he is in such a phase." And, out she drifted as if I had imagined her there.

Maybe TechnoMom would have a lower likelihood of mothering the next Jeffrey Dahmer if she didn't sing to her child and instead used a little bit of what I like to call "Old School Mom" voice. It's the voice that was used back when people didn't worry about psychiatrist bills and CPS knocking on their door. It's the voice that put the smack down so hard actual smacks were never needed. Maybe then her little 2 foot tall torture machine would have actually stopped hitting. It will help him to not be hated in the play place by parents and children alike, and one of these days the older, bigger kid isn't going to be scared to fight back and her little munchkin will go down singing a different tune. One of these days, the dude he hits may be Jack.... and your future mini mangler ain't got nuthin' on mine. And while I use that Old School Mom voice to get Jack in line.... if your dude hits him.... I may just sing song my "no," too.

The Post Where I Bash Men... (love you, Mark!!!)

2011-09-29T08:26:00.002-04:00

So, I was talking to my friend yesterday, and she was telling me about how her fiance (who shall remain nameless so he doesn't know she is complaining about him to her girlfriends all day long) carried in her work laptop into their apartment the prior evening so that he could use it, and then he forgot to tell her it was in their apartment, and then forgot to get it in the morning, therefore making her insanely late when she commuted all the way to her office and promptly had to turn around and go all the way back home to get it. And, hearing this story, I wondered... how is it our capable men, successful and able to function at work, can be such nincompoops at home (love you, Mark!!!!)???

I wrote about Mark's condition once here, and it occurred to me yesterday after talking to Amoh (names have been changed to protect the guilty), that is it true of most men... and I devised a theory.

I think that these men are actually quite bright. I think they are capable, and I know for a fact that when Mark steps outside this door for work purposes, he is. He can manage it, fix it, do whatever the nerd world of IT men do, and do it well. But, when he steps back into family mode.... something happens (love you, Mark!). And I think it is the fact that he married a super smart and capable woman (good taste, Mark!). I think Nayr (Amoh's fiance) is doing the same thing. Once these men hitch their home lives to capable women, they are magically transported back to the last time they were hitched to capable women... THEIR MOTHERS. Suddenly they morph back into "care for me" mode coupled with "I will happily do what you tell me to, you just have to ask several times and remind me a lot" mode. Not unlike their behavior at home with their mothers. Obedient, not take charge.

Here's an example. Last night, Mark kindly went to CVS to get my prescription refill and get cash for Tabbi who needed it for school. Mark comes home. Cash goes on the counter. We head upstairs to bed, and I get ready for bed missing only my pill I pop at bedtime (thyroid disease, not drug addiction... FYI). I ask where it is... and he looks at me and says, "uh... CVS." So, basically he went to CVS, got cash, forgot prescription. I questioned why he would think going to CVS to get just cash made sense, and he said, "I did feel like I was forgetting something." Uh... drug store.... drugs. Drug store..... drugs. Hmmm... But, like a good mom, I sent him back to the store... offering to make a list this time so he didn't forget. And he willingly went... so it's not like I am ordering him around and being mean... it just takes a couple nudges to get him going in the right direction (love you, Mark!), whereas at work, he tends to get the task done the first time.

So, here's my conclusion. If you want your man to step up and be a little more independent, you have to be a little more dependent. If you need him to be on the ball, you have to get off of it. So, the choice is up to you. Either deal with the fact that you play the role of wife and mother (to your children and him sometimes, too) or step down, loosen the reigns and watch him thrive under the responsibility. I know which one my control freak side chooses, but that might not be the answer for you. All I know is that I know now where this comes from.... and in the immortal words of G.I. Joe (who would have this same problem if he married uber-independent She-Ra) "knowing is half the battle."

I'm Sorry, Mrs. A

2011-09-27T11:04:00.003-04:00

I was just at my son's elementary school this morning, volunteering in his Kindergarten class. I got to cut and tape and wrap string around cardboard squares, and it could have been the most peaceful hour of my life... except for all those pesky kindergartners running around.

I was struck by the magnitude of what Will's teacher does every day. The number of kids and the size of their personalities.... I truly walked up to her and said, "I don't know how you do it!" She shrugged and smiled humbly, but did share that it is a bit harder this year because she has 11 more kids than she had last year, and last year she had an assistant. It took me a minute to process the mathematical logic where the district would add kids and then subtract an aide... and it hit me. "Vote no." Last spring there was a referendum to raise our property taxes a meager amount in order to maintain the school's budget. But, the public spoke... and what's worse, they voted... and the referendum failed.

After sitting in that room today, with a fantastic teacher in a 4 star school, all I could think is that all of those vote no-ers owe that teacher an apology. I hope that some day those people that couldn't spare $25 a year (I am sure you can find them eating McDonalds or spending money at the movies, but couldn't spare even that small amount for the school district) can see what their lack of generosity has caused. They sit back and say "down with taxation" and criticize the school district's money management, and I get it. The superintendent has some fat he could trim, but when the federal and state government slashes education budgets, there ain't enough fat to be trimmed to earn all that funding back. And interestingly, I wonder how these people will feel if the schools stop being 4 star award winners. What happens when my generation decides to flock elsewhere because we want our kids in the best school district, but this one can't even pay the phenomenal teachers and aides that it takes to be the best. What happens to your home values when the buyers look away and the market drops? Is it worth your $25 a year then?

I want to apologize to my son's teacher today, and to all the other teachers who heard "we don't care about you" when they heard the result of that vote in the spring. I want to say that I am sorry that their jobs are the harder for it, and our extremely high expectations haven't changed. I am sorry that they got the message loud and clear, that we expect them to do more, earn less, work harder and put in more time... and we will sit back, drink our Starbucks $8 lattes and bitch about the state of the economy and education in this country. I am sorry that for some reason people don't realize that the building blocks of education should be more important than, well, anything else. I am sorry.... not because I voted no... but because I didn't work harder to make everyone else vote yes. I am sorry... and I hope that my volunteering, and that of the other parents who actually support our schools can be a little help in what must be a very uphill battle. I'm just really sorry.

Jack's Credit Rating

2011-09-16T09:59:00.002-04:00

So, I have recently come to the realization that I do not give jack enough credit. Somewhere between an infant seizure, helmets and speech delays, I concluded that Jack was special. Not the "all parents think their children are special" special, but a "protect him from everything and keep him close to (if not fully inside) the nest" special. But, in recent days both Jack and I have been forced out of our comfort zone, and while I think I am still a little shaky, he is passing the tests with flying colors!

First, Jack has had to embark on the wonderful world of speech therapy in a school. He has aged out of the miraculous program that brings the therapist to your home once a week for a free play date, and now goes to one of the local elementary schools once a week to meet with that speech teacher. So, we've left the house AND he leaves me behind. Even with his beloved Anna, I was always right near by on the couch. Now, he walks down a long hallway into a foreign room in a foreign school with a foreign person. (Actually, probably a domestic person, but you know what I mean). And, he isn't 100% yet. I walk him down the long hallway (at his request), but he just pushes right through the door and goes on in. HE GOES IN!!!

His other test is preschool. My Jack started preschool last week, and while there were tears on day one... it was not nearly as bad as I thought they would be. I expected clinging and screaming and having to dig his face out of my butt (where it was planted during the entire "Meet the Teacher" night). But, no. He cried in the car, walked to his seat in the class and sat stoic as I walked out. Day two... just a bottom lip, single tear. Day three... minor frown. Day four... NOTHING. He pleasantly walked in and said goodbye to me. I fully expected to be pulling him out of preschool to spend another year at home with me, praying that it would work when he turned 4. And, it works. Now.

These milestones, while major in every child's life, are epic for Jack (or at least for my version of Jack). He even played at neighbors' houses twice this week, with other kids... something he has never done before. My amazing boy who has been called "scary smart" by two separate speech therapists is finally coming out of his shell. He's no longer just sitting silently, he is joining the world and he is doing so with relative ease. All my fears, all my hesitations and stress.... He has shown me that (like the relationship between Visa and me), I am not giving him enough credit. Like my bills if my credit limit were higher, Jack is being given opportunities now, and he is choosing to soar.

We All Know

2011-09-13T13:10:00.005-04:00

Dear Bullies,

I had a lot on my to do list today, all of which I was hoping to get done while Jack was at school. But, first was "have some breakfast" and I turned on the ABC Family movie "Cyberbully" when I sat down to eat, and before I knew it, two hours had passed. The credits were rolling and my anger was boiling over.

While I know bullying existed when I was a kid, I was never really a target. Aside from the "new kid" jokes when I moved in 8th grade, I was pretty much left alone. Not the homecoming queen or the victim, but a member of the nameless blob in between. But today, the bullying is even worse, because as the movie put it... you don't get to go home to safety anymore. Thanks to the Internet and social sites, the bullying is everywhere, a beast you can never outrun. It follows you, finding your every hiding spot. Infiltrating... attacking.... violating.... hurting... And, it never stops.

So, here's the thing I think the bullies of the world don't know... While you may be successful in ruining your target's life, the rest of us are on to you. We know why you are doing it, and we are not under the misconception that it is because your victim is a loser. It's because you are less. And we know. You don't strike out at person unless you need it to feel like you are more. And if you can't be enough without hurting someone, then you certainly aren't more.... you aren't even enough. You are less. And we know all it.

The things is, if you are really strong, you don't have to tell someone else that they are weak. Smart people don't prove it by making someone else feel dumb, and if you are beautiful, you don't show it by calling someone else ugly. Strength is measured not by picking on the weak, but by going toe to toe against equal strength and coming out victorious. Heavyweights don't take on a featherweight, do they? The smartest people solve problems, they don't create them. The beautiful people are the ones that shine from the inside, as well as the outside. You make yourself ugly when you use those terms. And while you may get a boost from showing that you have something someone else doesn't, the reality is that another person is stronger, smarter and prettier than you. And, the rest of us know it.

So rather than try to put someone else down, just to make yourself feel good... try another tactic. If you are strong, stand up for the weak. If you are smart, use that to defend someone else, and if you are beautiful, realize that through kindness you can be that much prettier. Because until then, the more you try to hurt people to show how good you are.... you'll really just end up being less. And everyone will know it.

Note: If you have tween or teens, watch this movie. It gives a realistic and terrifying portrayal of what our children are facing today, and the extent to which the bullying can push the victim over the edge. Watch it, and know that because this was a movie and not real life... it has positive resolution. But in the real world, the fade to black doesn't always come after a happy ending. Go to www.stopcyberbullying.org to learn more, and do it before it hits home.

The Momunists

2011-09-12T08:23:00.003-04:00

There are days, like today, where I feel like no matter how old I get or what I do with my life, I am stuck permanently back in middle school. No, it is not because Tabbi's 7th grade experiences are bringing back vivid memories, but because no matter where I go and what I do... I cannot escape "those girls." But today, instead of mean girls, pop tarts, or whatever we dubbed them at Bett Middle, they are what I call "The Momunists."

I blogged about them a long time ago here, but I have found that now that I have a kid in 7th, a kid in Kindergarten and a kid in preschool... they are everywhere! I am sure you know them, too, but just in case.... here's how you spot them. At the bus stop, they will be the ones in the yoga pants and sports bras or Under Armour shirts, just waiting for little Kiki or Maxwell the 3rd to climb onto the bus so they may plug in their iPods and jog the day away. At the school, they are the ones hugging the principal and calling her by her first name, and then greeting each lunch lady and janitor with a polite "you are less than me, but I will appear to be benevolent" nod. At sporting events, they are the ones with their daughter's name on their sport specific t-shirts, and at all outside of school events like PTO, they are the ones running the show.

Here's how they can tell you are not one of them. 1. You are always either under or over dressed. At the bus stop you are wearing capris and a t shirt, and let's get serious... the only place you are jogging is to the bathroom during The View's commercial breaks. During outside of school events, you wear your normal style, whereas they don Land's End polos and matching khaki shorts and look at your sequined "I wish I was from Jersey" sweater with disdain and whisper "I bet that's not even Eddie Bauer." 2. Your son's name is written on his backpack with Sharpie, not embroidered and express shipped from L.L.Bean. 3. Your son has a temporary tattoo of some sort of dinocrocmonsterturtle on his forearm, and has for the past 4 weeks. 4. At sporting events, you are the one wearing whatever you had been wearing all day, and sweating like a pig trying to keep Jack from tumbling down the bleachers and Will from yelling "TABBI RULES" right as the other team serves. 5. At PTO, you are the one again wearing something either too casual or too formal, and trying to get involved, but your ideas are shot down in order to have a "sock hop" which both you and the kids attending are too young to appreciate for the nostaglia and retro factor, plus you are the mother of a robust little boy who isn't interested in dancing the jitter bug or whatever they did in bobby socks days.

These creatures kept me out of PTO when Tabbi was in elementary school, and I find myself shrinking into the background again. Rarely do I walk into a world where I feel "less than" others, but there is something about these Stepford moms. While I strive to be involved in the kids' schools, I don't want to be a part of their regime. But I kind of wish that my exclusion was on my terms and not theirs. Then again, there is one benefit to being on the outside looking in. I am not being forced to wear a poodle skirt any time soon.

Love Thy Neighbor

2011-09-01T09:07:00.004-04:00

I've been toying with this post for awhile now, fearing that I will insult a large majority of my friends... but I tend to be insulting anyway, so I just decided to embrace it. But, before you read, know that I am not criticizing a religion or any of my friends who practice it... and in fact, am only targeting a small group of that population who seem to extol its virtues a lot more than they actually live them. Thus endeth my disclaimer (and possibly some friendships).

There is a family that I know that is Christian. You can tell that they are Christians because they manage to include it in virtually every conversation you ever have. If you mention what a nice day it is, it is nice because God made it so. If you mention that you like their new patio set, it is because they prayed on which set to buy. If you mention that it's 2:00pm, then it is 2:00pm on the Lord's day. And that's fine. I respect their devotion and their general attitude of gratitude and happiness. Then, their little boy (who attends a private Christian school, which they also work into every conversation), will basically take a dump on mine, all while they smile and explain how very Christian they are. And that, my friends, is what I don't get.

I don't attend a church right now, and I am not a theologian (I leave that area of expertise to my brother). I am not an expert on God or religion, but I have always believed that at the heart of every religion, is to be a good person. Maybe I am naive, but I have always thought that was the goal. So, when I see these people with "SUPER CHRISTIAN" tattooed on their foreheads, I often wonder why they have to say it so often, rather than show it. I understand that these are children, and that kids will be kids, and am in no way implying that private Christian schools created this monster, but I am surprised that parents will stand there and profess to be so good, and let their child behave so bad. Aren't there key quotes like "Thou shalt love thy neighbor" and "Anyone who says he is walking in the light of Christ but dislikes his fellow man is still in darkness" that should indicate that at the end of the day (and in the beginning and middle), we should all just strive to be good people, and be gooder to the people around us?

I like to live by the mantra "I don't know nuthin' about nuthin'," and that is probably the most true when speaking about religious topics (and parenting). But, I do know that I have always made my kids live by the rule that they will be good to others. At times, that means forcing Tabbi to play with or talk to younger kids, but too bad. Including them when they are around is a must. Period. I think that is because way down deep, under all of my meanness and cynicism, I am really trying to just be a good person and raise my kids to be good, too. I am not professing to be a better Christian than anyone else, but at least I know I have that one criterion down. I may not include it in every conversation, but I will live that part every day. And, whether it be Biblical teachings or that of Bill and Ted... I wish we all could just live by this theory and "be excellent to each other."

I Scream at Ice Cream!!!

2011-08-31T07:35:00.003-04:00

So, Will has a little pudge on him. The pediatrician is not concerned at all, and said his excessive height and weight are proportional, and his BMI within the range of normal. So, the pudgy bits that Will has are normal little boy pudgy bits. Good to know. My pudgy bits and Mark's pudgy bits are not normal. So, my goal is to make the kids better than we are. I want them to eat healthier. I want them to stay fit. I am a champion of fruit, vegetables and whole grains. I am making their breakfast and snacks to ensure that they aren't processed, but rather full of protein and fiber. But, despite my best efforts at healthfulness... I learned something yesterday. I learned that Will gets ice cream cones... with his school lunch!!!

Apparently there is an "extras" table filled with everything a growing boy needs (if you mean growing outward instead of up). After inquiring about them, I learned that Will has had chocolate cupcakes, an Oreo drumstick cone, and rainbow popsicles. Also offered are chips and salty goodness. Um.... childhood obesity, what?!?!?!!?

When I was in school, I was not introduced to the world of "extras" until 8th grade. Even then, I can freely admit that my lunches were transformed from healthy to "ice cream chip burgers." And at that age, I should have known better. But, Kindergarten?!?!?!? Elementary school?!?!?!?! These are their formative years here people.... how could you expect him to eat the pile of green beans when he has an Oreo drumstick cone instead? Even he admits that by the time he eats the cone (which has to be eaten first or it will melt, duh...), he barely has time to eat the rest of his lunch. Will is a veggie, fruit, meat eater... and the school is transforming him into an ice cream junkie.

I am calling the cafeteria today, and stopping the extras, except for Fridays. I have decided to let him have a special treat to celebrate the end of the week. (See, I am not a monster). So, the fact that I can get this under control for our family is fine. But, I just question the logic of it and worry for the parents who don't realize that this is the nutritional school lunch we've signed our kids up for. Thank goodness Will wears his lunch on his sleeve, or I wouldn't have had any idea of the junk he is consuming at lunch. So, parents in our district and others.... be concerned about the quality of lunch your kid is getting. It may just make you scream!

Pants on the Ground

2011-08-25T09:08:00.006-04:00

As if Justin Bieber's music and constant presence weren't enough to make me dislike him... he has finally crossed the line. It has come to my attention that the man (and by man, I mean young boy) is trying to bring back a fashion tragedy from the 90s. Luckily, his power seems to only reach out to the 7 to 12 year old girl set, so I am not sure he can spread this about the male population... But, just in case, we need to be aware that in his desire to be the next Vanilla Ice, Justin Bieber is sagging.

Seriously?!?!?! First of all, that look was never a good one. There may have been some whacked out fashion trends for the ladies, and I may have participated in some of them, but nothing compares to the misguided notion that a butt crack on display and a 3 foot long empty swath of cloth crotch is a good idea. As sexy as it is to have to waddle like a penguin and hitch up your pants every third step, it adds the extra wardrobe coordination of matching your drawers to your clothes. I mean really.... navy undies with a black shirt? Not a good plan.

And let's take Justin just one step further.... a step I call "The Identity Crisis." Sagging skinny jeans? Are you Hip Hop or Hipster, because you can't be both. Otherwise, you'd be Hopster, which just sound like a gangsta Easter Bunny. So, unless rapping mythical creature is the goal here.... I only have one thing to say.... PULL UP YOUR FREAKING PANTS!

Breakfast of Champions

2011-08-24T08:53:00.002-04:00

I mentioned in my last post that I was getting up at 6:15am every morning to cook my family breakfast, and I mentioned that mornings happen to suck. But, what I failed to mention (and am marveling at today) is how smoothly our mornings are going thanks to this new routine. Barring day two of last week, even Tabbi is managing to make it downstairs on time. Suddenly what was a nightmare, has become almost effortless. (Pause, while I knock on wood for awhile).

Last year, mornings were a nightmare. Mark was in charge of getting Tabbi up and out the door because I wasn't willing to wake up. (Now that I see it in type, that doesn't make me look like a great mom, does it?) Will's school was only three mornings a week, and not until 9:15, and my reasoning was that Mark was up and moving getting ready for work, so why shouldn't I sleep in til 8:00? But, most days I was awakened by one or both of them screaming at the other for something or another. Tabbi went back to sleep. Mark is being too naggy. Tabbi is late. Mark is loud. Lather, rinse, repeat. Every. Single. Morning.

This year, we have settled into a little routine that seems to be working. Mark gets Tabbi up at 6:00a, when he wakes up. Tabbi knows that she needs to be downstairs at 6:30a. I am not willing to do anything between those two time points. Mark goes about his business to get ready for work, and I climb out of bed perky and upbeat (aka grouchy and moody) and trudge down the stairs to prepare whatever I've scheduled for the day. At 6:30, breakfast is ready and I walk up the stairs and say two words to Tabbi, "get downstairs." And you know what? She does it! She knows that I am making her go downstairs at 6:30 and I don't care what her "get ready" status is. If she ends up at school looking foolish in her pajama shorts and bed head, too bad. That potential embarrassment coupled with her unwavering knowledge that I will do it has become the most powerful motivator of all. That, and the fact that a fruit and yogurt parfait or scrambled egg pita pocket is waiting for her, has made this school year start off right.

Even though it means that I am up at the buttcrack of dawn (actually slightly before), and I don't want to talk to a soul, and I am exhausted by 10p..... I watch Tabbi and Mark sit down to breakfast and see that their days are starting out right. No fighting. No yelling. Just a healthy breakfast, father/daughter bonding time... and out the door to start their day. It may not be Wheaties... but it is the breakfast of champions in my book.

Life at 6:00am

2011-08-19T09:15:00.002-04:00

Anyone who has ever met me before, or shared a zip code with me before 8am, knows that I am not a morning person. At my last job, I was late so many times that my boss finally changed my hours from 8a-5p to 9a-6p. I got in around 9:30. Ish. However, I am trying to turn over a new leaf. I have decided to get up before the rooster at my house and be the one getting/keeping Tabbi moving in the morning and making a healthy breakfast for her and Mark. However, my new leaf... sucks.

Thanks to that freaking leaf, my day started today at 6:00am, and I learned a few things that had I slept in til my usual 8am time, I wouldn't have known. I will share them with you.

1. Mark talks in the morning. He wants to actually carry on some sort of a conversation. Even when you tell him to stop talking, he'll still feel the need to tell you "goodbye." Does he not realize that "goodbye" still counts as talking?

2. Recipes that say they bake for 20 minutes just might be lying. And when they are lying and they bake for 35 minutes and it isn't even done in time for Tabbi to eat it, thus making my awakedness at 6am fully pointless......... there is nothing you can do about it. I hate those recipes. I hope those recipes burn in hell... or my oven... which is basically the same thing.

3. Pretty much everything that takes place is my fault. Actually, only the negative things. It is my fault that Tabbi's black bra is showing through her orange shirt and that the bus was coming and there is no time to fix it. I never should have flown to Asia and told the sweatshop children to make the bras that color. Then, I never should have held a gun to the Kohl's buyer's head to make her carry that orange t-shirt in their stock. Then, I should have never threatened to beat Tabbi until she agreed to wear said bra and shirt together, laughing maniacally as I saw that the bra would show through. And finally, I never should have hijacked her school bus and forced it to arrive at the time that I previously forced the school planners to assign. I've been busy, all thanks to my secret plot to ruin Tabbi's wardrobe.

So, in conclusion, I have learned that making Mark deal with Tabbi in the morning, and letting them dine on processed frozen waffles might just be worth the extra sleep that I would get and quite possibly, would keep me from taking over the world with my evil dark bra plans. So, in other words... screw you, leaf.

Pour In Equal Parts and Blend

2011-08-18T08:28:00.002-04:00

I was sitting in Meet the Teacher Night last night, paying rapt attention to every word Will's new teachers was saying (aka, staring blankly around the room) and I noticed a group of three crowded around one desk. There was clearly an awkwardness to the two women, and the man in the middle seemed to want to be anywhere but there. I thought the dynamic odd until I realized what it was: Mother... Father.... Stepmother. It was a blended family, like my own, and a realization hit me.... no matter how easy it is to throw fruit into the Cuisinart and come out with a smoothie... it is never that easy to throw in kids and come out smoothly.

A friend of mine, who shall remain nameless and blameless, has been married much longer than me, however her family just hit the blender last year. Kids' ages and numbers are different than my situation, but what was a happy and functioning family is currently a work in progress.... even though the adults and kids have been a semi-blended family for 14 years. It becomes a whole different thing when the blending takes place all in one home. The love is there, like it always was, but parenting styles and behaviors come to light and sometimes are not what was expected. It's a process... and like processed foods, sometimes it just isn't good for you! Other times, like a Costco hot dog, it tastes delicious. (I must be hungry today, since apparently all I can use are food metaphors.)

Another friend (who would have thought I had so many friends???) is dating a man with children and asked me how our blended family works so well. After I was done laughing hysterically at the thought of ours working well, I finally had the answer.... and that is (as cheesy as this sounds), equality. Our house functions (if you consider 50/50 functioning) because each part is equal in my eyes. Tabbi may think I am hard on her, but the reality is that I am because I treat her like my own kid. And, as the boys get older, I think she is seeing that more and more. I have high(ish) demands for my children, and to lower them for her because I am not her mother is not going to happen. She's in the mix, whether she likes it or not.

Likewise, I demand the equality from others. I have said to people all along that when it comes to my friends and family (even my extended family far away), I would never tolerate anyone treating her as if she is not my own. There would be a serious problem if anyone ever treated the boys better than her, and the lucky part is that I am blessed to have such an awesome family that is has never ever been an issue. My family embraced her as one of us from day one, and so our family is always much more a smoothie than a parfait. We are one, even if it came from different parts.

But, the reality (aside from Food Network) is that blending was never easy, and I can't state here that it ever was. It wasn't seamless bringing Tabbi into our home full time, and no one should expect it to be. The only advice I can give (not that I am qualified to give any) is that all children deserve to be loved equally.... and if you can't do that... best to stay out of the kitchen.

The Kindergartener

2011-08-17T09:21:00.006-04:00

Once upon a time there was a boy named Will. He was born many years ago, right after Taylor Hicks won American Idol. (Doesn't everyone know where they were at that fateful moment?) He started out a disgruntled child, crying a colicky wail from 5p to 11p every night for 5 months. Then, the day before his parents decided to leave him in the woods to be raised by wolves, he became a joy. And a joy he's been ever since. And one day... (today, in fact) this joyful boy started a new adventure. One we call Kindergarten.

The last time an adventure like this started, I wrote a letter to his preschool teacher (via this blog, of course), asking that she protect my precious boy in that scary but exciting time. And then, a letter to Will about how his life was about to change. Today, we start again.... and in typical me fashion... I have more to say.

Dear Ms. A,

There's something that you ought to know about Will..... and that is that he is big. And, I don't just mean in size. Yes, he is the largest kid in your class, has the loudest voice, and will trample those four blue bean bag chairs a million times with those ginormous feet.... but when I say he is big, I mean everything he does is big. He loves big, and in 15 seconds or so, you will be welcomed into that big heart of his just like his two beloved teachers from preschool and you will stay there forever. He plays big, his excitement is big (as you undoubtedly have already witnessed this morning) and his enthusiasm is big. The downside though, is that he feels big, too. Things are going to hurt Will's feelings in a big way, and when he can't do something perfectly, he is going to feel like a failure big, too. So you have a sensitive giant on your hands, Ms. A. Handle with care. But, I am pretty sure Big Willy C is worth it.

Sincerely,

Lynn

To My Will,

You are the bravest boy I have ever known. There is no hesitation to go to a new school, board a giant new school bus for the first time, and meet new people. You have a zest for life that most people could only dream of. You are so unafraid and ready to go, and I pray that never changes. You have so much to do in your life, and today is just step one. I could write more, but I think someone else already said it best. In that book we love at bedtime, Dr. Seuss says everything I want to say. "Congratulations! Today is your day! You're off to Great Places! You're off and away!" Stay great! Move mountains! And remember not to leave me too far behind!

Love,

Mom

The Day the Reading Died

2011-07-29T11:43:00.006-04:00

My brother just posted a news article today about a high school in Missouri that is banning a couple books. The request came from a moral standpoint, but the principal has stated they are being banned because they are not "age appropriate." That is interesting, because both my brother and I were assigned one of the books in high school. Maybe our school was just more mature than this one.

I feel bad for the students of that high school, but I feel worse because I feel like this is another symptom of an ever larger problem. And that is.... the death of the book in America. Mom and Pop book stores were consumed by the big box book sellers, and now even they are a dying breed. Rest in peace, Borders, for you have already succumbed. Now, the argument may be made that the e-book is the cause, but I don't think so. I think it may contribute, because I love me my Nook and my ability to have a new book magi-ppear in an instant, but that isn't the problem. The problem is... the readers of the world are getting old and dying, and our children, our younger generations aren't being taught the love of reading.

Children these days (yes, I sound 80 years old) are not reading. They are not being read to. Their parents are blackberrying, Angry Birding (Hello, my name is Lynn and I was an addict until I beat all the levels), and DVRing Cake Boss (Hello, my name is Lynn and I've never seen this, so I am sorry if it really is worth watching). We used to have fewer options for activities than kids do now. We recorded a few things on our plastic VHS tapes, but if we missed Who's the Boss?, we missed it. We couldn't record that, plus Family Ties, Dallas, and Full House so that the second we got home we could park ourselves in front of the boob tube for the rest of the night. We had our Commodore 64 set up to play Pac Man and Avoid the Noid, but we didn't have hand held rectangles where you could instantly download an app any time of day to avoid boredom. We got bored. We had a swimming pool in the backyard, and we still got bored... and speaking for myself, when I was bored, I read.

I see kids all the time, mine included, with an iPod touch permanently glued to her palm and her library book collecting dust, untouched. We are raising a generation that believes, "gtg, ttyl" is good writing, and their imaginations are as unused as a card catalog.... and yet we ban books that speak to people for fear that they aren't age appropriate?

Tabbi read The Hunger Games series, three long books, in a couple weeks because it spoke to her. She put her phone and her iPod down and she read. She talked about it with passion and excitement in a way that she had never spoken about a book before. Now I realize that it isn't being banned, but still... if a random teenage boy could have that reaction to Slaughterhouse Five (like my high school guy friends did), isn't that reason enough to keep it around? It made them turn off the Xbox and discuss literature, and if that isn't a miracle, I don't know what is.

We are raising a generation of cyber humans. Kids who play cyber guitar, not real ones. Kids who would rather use iPod apps than their imaginations, and we as adults aren't helping. We are letting them, and we are stripping away the books that could one day make them actually want to unplug. Right now, I can say that my little boys love reading, but I can also say that we own no Xbox, Wii, or Nintendos (do those exist anymore?). And, we don't, because I fear the future if we did. I fear for the day my boys crawl onto the couch with a controller, instead of up on my lap with Cat in the Hat, and I fear that on that day I will let them play so that I can watch my DVRed Celebrity Rehab in peace. I get why this is happening, but I also get the tragedy it is causing, as well. Books are dying.... and our kids' imaginations and minds will go right along with them. Rest in peace....

The Fairy Tale

2011-07-12T11:29:00.007-04:00

I watched the replay of the USA/Brazil World Cup soccer game that was played on Sunday and I was inspired. Obviously, USA won... so that helps, but it was more than that. This was more than a game, or at least it should be. This was magical.

There are sports movies galore that try to capture the spirit of what these women did for real on Sunday. Well, I should say that there are men's sports movies that depict heroes... titans taking the field of battle. There are women's sports movies about... uh... ice skaters. Truly, I can think of maybe two movies (A League of Their Own and Million Dollar Baby) where the women were more than just sparkly... they were heroes. As I watched the game, I realized that I was witnessing an inspirational moment that movies would kill to recreate. The dirty, sweaty, scrappy women that came back after terrible calls and one player down to win against a formidable opponent. They didn't quit. They didn't cry. They fought, they dug deep, they fell and got back up and made plays so beautiful they made dancing look clumsy.

The game is over, and the moment passed... but tomorrow Team USA advances to play France in the world's most respected sport. Watch it. Make your young girls see this for what it is... this is the stuff real fairy tales are made of. No sitting around waiting for a prince... these women made their fairytale ending by themselves... and attention should be paid.

Out of the Guns of Babes

2011-07-08T13:56:00.005-04:00

A tragedy happened in my area last week. An 11 year old boy shot and killed his 6 year old brother while they were home alone. Debates are raging as to whether or not this 11 year old should be tried as an adult, and whether he should have been released from custody to attend his brother's funeral yesterday. It is interesting to read the interwebs and look at the discussions people are having, because one thing is eerily absent.... the same thing that was absent the day this young boy died... the parents.

Hold on... let me climb up onto my soap box. Ahhh... that's better.

I consider the questions I posed last paragraph to be easy ones. 1. Absolutely do not charge this child as an adult. While the crime he committed was very mature... he is not. And, I am sickened by the thought of what this child would endure in a male adult prison facility. I've been in them. It's not pretty. 2. The child should have been allowed to attend the funeral, unless it brought great discomfort to the immediate family. This was not a premeditated act of evil (ahem Casey Anthony), it was a child with a loaded weapon acting on impulse. Punish - yes. Punish in accordance with the goal being the best possible future - absolutely. But here's the thing I still fail to comprehend... if our prosecutor is considering charging the child as an adult for Murder 1... what are the parents going to get?

Man, the view is great from up here....

When you are an adult, you can choose to have a gun for safety, sport, serial killing... whatever. Actually, I don't endorse the third one... but wait... I don't endorse any of them! But in any case, it is your choice. When you have a child in your home, though, that choice ought be to rethought and rethought one hundred times over, picturing every possible scenario that leads to a gun being put in an 11 year old boy's hands. Where was the gun safe (oxymoron)? Did the 11 year old know how to open it, therefore defeating the purpose of having one or did the family just think they could stick it in their underwear drawer and hope for the best? Was it locked? Was it loaded? Was this boy ever taught that death is forever and guns aren't toys? Did the parents ever give it one second of thought before they left a deadly weapon within reach of children? Did they ever consider that between target practice and duck hunting, that maybe they should make sure the gun disappeared when not in use? Would they let the kids throw lit matches at gasoline? Did they juggle steak knives? Were they allowed to hold each other underwater until they stopped kicking? Probably not... but by God they'd let that gun be available at any time.

There are a million things in this world that could take our children from us, and the bulk of them are completely out of our control. Tornadoes, drunk drivers, cancer.... they are all out of our hands. But, guns.... you are potentially putting those in the hands of your children every time you bring them into your homes. And I am left wondering, not about trying the boy as an adult or letting him attend the funeral... I am wondering for the parents who lost one boy forever and another is on his way... was it worth it? Was the idea of safety or sport worth the lives of both of your sons? And for all of the opinionated masses sitting at home with guns either un- or under- secured... is it worth the lives of your children? I bet not.

What a Difference 730 Days Make....

2011-07-06T09:51:00.002-04:00

Two years ago, my family and I spent the 4th of July weekend in Kansas City with my brother. You may remember reading the post, or hearing my retelling 400 times, but the visit was not without incident. At Deanna Rose Farmstead (a lovely place to visit, to which I will never return), Will fell off the dock into the fishing pond, and scarred me for life. However, I am proud to say that my return this weekend showed me just how much we've both grown.

This 4th of July, we went back to Kansas City and did all the things there is to do in that fantastic town. Science was done in Science City, dinosaurs were built and watched at T-Rex, and despite my frequent panic attacks, my family attended RiverFest.

Now, I realize that a normal person only fears the great unwashed when attending a fest like this one, but I am far from normal (insert joke here). Instead, I am afraid. I am terrified of Will going anywhere near scary water. My definition of scary water is... any dark, murky water with any sort of current that could sweep my son away to a watery death. So, pools... no problem. There isn't a swimming pool around (except maybe the one in Massachusetts where the lady drowned and the water was so cloudy her body bloated on the bottom for three days before anyone found her) that I can't get my boys out of. I am a strong swimmer and am confident that I can rescue them out of a clear pool, but what about a river? An ocean? A lake where they sink to the depths that we can't dive down to? That thought has kept me up nights when things like cruises, or RiverFests are mentioned in my presence. And this fest was no different.

The drive out to the river made me physically sick. I had barely slept the night before for all the images of my boys falling into the swift current and being swept away. I was nauseous, my heart pounding, my mind racing with panic. But, we went. I repeated 100 times to my family that the boys couldn't go near the river and forced the boys to hold someones hand when they walked through the fest even though the riverbank was 40 feet away. But, I went. I can't say I enjoyed the fest, as I was completely consumed with the single thought of "KEEP THEM AWAY" replaying on a constant loop in my brain... but, I went.

As I sit here, back at home today, and reflect on the weekend... I realize that Will and I have both come a long way since that trip to the bottom of the fishing pond at Deanna Rose Farmstead. He can now paddle along in a deep end (with adult supervision) and has turned into quite the water baby. No fear of water developed for him. And I can now walk along a river walk with my boys and even though I am not yet calm, I can be there. I went. A fear that came into being in Kansas City two years ago, was met in Kansas City again this year, and while I am sure it will stay with me forever... it may have gotten just a little bit smaller this weekend. And that, for me, is a bigger feat than even Will's giant, dynamite cannonball jump.

Meet The Kiddos

2011-06-20T14:43:00.007-04:00

There are moms out there who see their children through rose colored glasses. Their child can be at the playground kicking another child and the mom will see nothing but spirited play as opposed to bad behavior. I don't do that. I see my kids for what they are. Nothing better, nothing worse. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for other people, even those whose titles would imply unconditional love. But, since their glasses are apparently poo colored, I thought I would take a moment to introduce them to my kids.

First, let me introduce you to Tabbi. She's the oldest, and while she didn't spring forth from my loins (and at times pushes me to declare no association with her whatsoever), she lives in my home and is treated like my daughter. She is a tween going on 18 and her teenage angst leaves little to be desired. She's moody, sullen at times, and difficult. She wants to be a teenager, dress like one and act like one... and when you say no, she isn't always cooperative. But, here's the secret that even I don't realize sometimes... She is also a really good kid. The scope of her misbehavior is so small in comparison to what it could be, that sometimes I sit back and say "did we really just have that fight about skinny jeans and tight tops?" She is a straight A student, has been for two years now, and she tests off the charts on standardized testing. She is bright, creative, and while she would like the world to think that her little brothers make her crazy... when she thinks no one is looking, she holds Will's hand as they walk to the pond outside my parents' house. And when you least expect it, she offers to help you clean the house (and doesn't even ask to be paid). She is fighting her way through the pubescent nightmare that is a 12 year old girl, and while sometimes it seems otherwise... she is coming out the other side a beautiful young woman, inside and out.

Will is the next in line, and though he is the middle child in our small Brady Bunch, he is not to be missed. He is loud and he is active. He wants nothing more than to be the center of attention (unless it is a school music program... then he wants no part of it), and he has never met a stranger in his life. He wants to be BFFs with the world, and play trucks and run around from sun up to sun down. He is lively, active, maybe even a little wild at times... goofy and nutty and sometimes you just wish he would sit down and couch potato it, just for a few minutes. To sum it up, he's exhausting. But, when you walk through the door (be it me, Uncle Mike, Grandma or a friend of mine he hasn't seen in awhile), you will be met with such excitement that even the worst days can be completely turned around. He is the boy who goes out of his way to befriend a child who is left out of play, even when he sees that the other kids aren't giving him or her the time of day. He will run around in circles, and then pause to crawl in your lap and snuggle so deep into you it's like he never wants to stand up... and then its off to the races again. He's smart, he loves books, and the only thing in the world that he wants (besides trucks) is for you to return the love that he will give to you unconditionally.

And lastly, there's Jack. Jack is a tough one, because most of the time I describe him as evil. He is the child that will see you perching on the edge of your seat, and he'll walk up and push you off. He is stubborn and delights in rough housing, the harder the better, and laughs when someone gets hurt. He will walk up to you and scream "hit hit hit" while punching your leg as hard as he can. And then, he will crawl up into your lap and hug you with the same gusto and squeal loud and clear that he loves you. He is almost 3, and all snakes and snails and puppy dog tails, but at the same time he'll get your attention, smile big and say, "YOU!" like you are the light of his entire life. He is a scruffy, scrappy giant of a boy with so much more to say than his speech delay will let him. He's a scary one, because you never know if it is going to be a body slam or a hug when his arms encircle you, but either way you know that it is with the utmost love and affection... even when it's the body slam.

So, these are my three children that some people think are vile. Tabbi can be quiet and moody, most likely pouting while the boys are shouting. The younger ones run in restaurants and you practically have to pry the iPod out of Tabbi's clenched fist. But, they're mine. And, I love them. And, their family (those who matter most) loves them. And, guess what? We do that unconditionally. Like our titles say we should.

Losing Faith

2011-05-11T11:14:00.000-04:00

Despite what most people assume when they meet me, I am a person of great faith and hidden optimism. There are rarely situations where I sit back and assume the worst. Be it the person that I didn't support winning an election or a vote going a way that I didn't prefer, I usually just assume that everything will work itself out. I am believer that our politicians do (for the most part) have this country's best interest at heart, and while I support my opinions with gusto... even if I lose, I assume that everything will be alright in the end. But, after a week of political movement in my home state of Indiana, I am faced with the feeling that maybe all my faith and optimism were misguided. Maybe it's not really ever going to be OK.

I don't know if politics are changing or if I am just paying attention for the first time, but I am left confused and for the first time, really nervous about where we are going. First, our town offered a referendum raising property taxes an almost negligible amount in order to fund the community school corporation after the government slashed their budget. Alternatives to the tax money is firing teachers therefore increasing class size, cutting programs decreasing exposure to our children and God knows what else. I supported the tax hike. I support our schools. I support my kids. I support my property values, which increase with the quality of the school district. And I was in the minority. A tiny minority.

Now, I am not naive. I get that the schools could manage money better, and I demand that they do so. But, money management cannot make up the difference alone. And now I sit back and I fear what is to come. I question whether or not Will is going to have art, music and PE and if Tabbi will keep her straight As if she isn't in a class with a teacher and a teacher aide that give her a lot of attention. Will she be swallowed up in a 45 kid classroom with one teacher? What's next for our education system and why oh why is that not one of the most critical concerns of our citizens, local or federal government? Our kids are free falling compared to other countries and yet we've slashed the money and turned our backs hoping that our overworked, underpaid teachers can somehow maintain their standards. How can they? 65% or more of this town just basically told them that it sucks to be them, and good luck with nothing... and yet we say, "but you still better make my kid a genius." Head's up, people... you don't get it both ways.

Then yesterday, my state's governor made national news by slashing funding yet again. This time to Planned Parenthood, an organization whose purpose is to provide health screenings, prenatal care, and birth control options to the disenfranchised. The federal government decided not to make good on their threats, so our local guy decided to step in and take care of the evil beast that is free medical screenings and education. I realize that they also do the A word, but this isn't about that. I can admit that I am not pro-A word, but I can also admit that it isn't my place to decide whether or not you are. But, I can also open my eyes and ears and see that the money Governor Mitch "Hates Women" Daniels just cut doesn't go toward those anyway. So, like them or not, they aren't a part of this conversation.

He cut the money that goes to the 16 year old girl who thinks that she may have an STD and is too afraid to tell her parents or go to her family doctor. But, thanks to Mitch, she can just suffer and spread it. It goes to the 22 year old young woman with a drug problem, whose mother is already raising one grandchild because she knows enough to see that she can't. So the woman's one responsible act is when she goes every month to Planned Parenthood for birth control shots. Thanks to Mitch, she can just get pregnant over and over again. It goes to the 36 year old woman having horrible cramps and no health insurance, and her free pap smear just showed that it's cancer. Thanks to Mitch, it can go undetected and she can die. And, it goes to the teenage couple with the raging hormones, who know all about abstinence but are contemplating having sex, and they need to know their options when it comes to the realities of life... that right or wrong, they probably are not going to wait until they are married and therefore need to be effectively educated on disease and pregnancy prevention. But, thanks to Mitch, they are left without any education, and open to unwanted pregnancy and even worse, HIV or AIDS.

I sit here and no longer feel assured that everything is going to be OK. Our country has real problems, and my state and town are no different. It is going to take real solutions to fix it, not sticking our head in the sand and hoping that schools just somehow find a way to get funded, and underprivileged women miraculously avoid getting diseases. I feel like our heads have been in the sand long enough, and maybe.... just maybe... it's time to face some problems head on and actually find an answer. Maybe it's time to inspire a little faith in our government again. Maybe it really is time for a change...

Keeping Up With the Joneses

2011-05-10T16:32:00.005-04:00

I have an admission to make... I don't keep up with the Joneses. I don't keep up with the Smiths or the Farouks either. In fact, I pretty much keep up with no one, and you know what? I think that's OK.

Here's one of my many dirty little secrets. I don't have a smart phone. I have a phone that is red, makes and receives calls and even sends and receives texts. It doesn't do a whole lot more than that. Well, I guess it takes pictures.... but it doesn't send them anywhere, and it sure doesn't take quality shots that make me look like Heidi Klum, so what's the point? And, I have no apps at all. I can't buy movie tickets at the press of a button or GPS my way out of downtown if I get lost. I can only make a phone call. And you know what? That suits me just fine.

Here's another secret... I don't have an iPod either. Not an iPod Touch, Nano or even skittle (or whatever those little ones are called). The closest thing to an iPad that I have is a pad of paper. It's mine, therefore it's my iPad. I don't laptop, I don't gadget and I don't want to. I am typing on my desktop with my actual paper calendar with actual ink on it behind me. And you know what? I manage to survive in my slightly better than Amish lifestyle.

Despite my lack of techy prowess (or desire), I am confronted on a near daily basis about people's fancy stuff. They got the new iPhone Whatchamacallit that actually vacuums floors while doing your taxes. Not only that, they upgraded to a million inch flat screen 3D TV that shows movies while they are being filmed. No more waiting for it to hit the theaters. The picture's so good, you can see the pimples on Julia's face! Huzzah!!! And thanks to the advanced 3D technology, you can reach right out and pop it! They just bought the new quatro hydra minivan that runs on hamster farts and is the hottest thing in automobiles and don't get me started on the house buying, yard keeping nonsense. I grow dandelions. Hundreds of them. Beat that!

It has become ingrained in our culture that not only should we throw all our pennies at any material thing we want, but we must do so in such a way that it is flaunted at all of our neighbors and friends. It is not enough to own the iPhone with the dishwasher app, but we must present it at the next PTO meeting so that all the mothers with dish pan hands may drool over it. Luckily, there's an app to wipe off the drool smears or we might start to question this practice.

So, be aware all you Joneses and Smiths and Farouks out there, and all you owners of techy stuff and bigger and better things than I have..... I am a Lynn. No one has to worry about keeping up with me, and believe me... I've got better things to do than worry about keeping up with you. After all... there's no app in the world that will keep up with these children I've got, and until there is... I'm not buying.

A Former Hippy

2011-05-02T16:04:00.003-04:00

My name is Lynn, and I used to be a hippy. There. I said it. True story and I earned the street cred to back it up. I was heavily involved with Amnesty International in college, even serving as the Co-President of the Kansas State University chapter for a year. I earned many a callus from writing anti-death penalty appeals to virtually every lawmaker in the country. But, I learned something last night as President Obama announced that Osama bin Laden was killed.... I'm not that hippy girl anymore.

I am not proud of my change of attitude, but I am willing to admit it is true. Other people, my wise and better hearted brother for one, immediately pointed out that if you believe in the sanctity of life, then no death should be celebrated. I wholeheartedly agree, but yet in my heart... I celebrate. Mark Twain once said, "I've never wished a man dead, but I have read many obituaries with great pleasure." And, I will admit it.... that's how I feel. Not proud, but honest....

I read about man on the east coast whose son was brutally murdered in the 70s. The killer is set to be released from prison soon, and the father went on a national morning show and announced that he will kill that murderer if he sees him on the street. Not a threat.... a promise. And, I have to say... though I am not proud of it, I sided with that dad. I could have those same feelings if someone came near my babies. I am not right... but I would feel justified.

In any case, while I am not glad for the death of this human being, I think his death can promote some healing for this country. Ten years ago, this country suffered a great tragedy and I pray that this man's death will allow for some of that pain to subside. And if it does.... this evil man deserved it. He had it coming. And I'm not sad.

TRONK!!!! (Or Why It Is Better To Sleep In Separate Rooms)

2011-04-27T09:45:00.002-04:00

So, I have a really hard time falling asleep. It's been an issue since my freshman year of college, and has never improved. I think part of the current problem is the laundry list of TV shows cluttering up my DVR that calls to me after the kids go to bed.... and the other problem is that well.... I just can't sleep. So, last night was a landmark occasion because I actually started to drift off almost immediately.

I turned off 90210 (yes, I admit to watching that horrible train wreck of a tween show. I can pretend that it's so I can stay in touch with Tabbi's generation, but really... I just plain love it). Immediately, I was in that comfy place where your whole body just relaxes and my eyelids got heavy and I was just about asleep when suddenly this horrible noise startled me to full alert.

TRONK!!!!

What the hell? I sat up in bed, and looked around trying to figure out what the hell that noise was. Mark didn't wake up, so I started to wonder if I was dreaming. I settled back in and drifted off again after awhile only to be met with the sound again.

TRONK!!!!

Holy crap! What is that freaking sound? I sit up in bed, waiting. Waiting for that horrible noise to happen again. Waiting.... waiting... waiting.... TRONK!!!! Tronk! Tronk! Rapidly more tronks come until I look over at my peacefully slumbering husband and realize that he is tronking in his sleep. He is literally sound asleep saying "TRONK!" over and over.

Being the loving wife that I am, I let him continue sleeping (for about 1 millisecond) and then I smacked his arm and said, "Why are you saying clonk?" He replies sleepily but matter of factly, "I wasn't saying clonk, I was saying tronk because that is the sound that the heavy things make when I put them on the ground." Duh.

After my hysterical laughter subsided, I immediately began house hunting for a 5 bedroom home. TRONK!

Assley Furniture

2011-04-20T17:20:00.002-04:00

I rarely use my power (translation.... blog) to solve my battles and in truth, only one other company has felt the wrath of the Cyber Lynn. But today... today, I think I have the right to go a little cyber pissed on none other than Ashley Furniture. Before I go on, I will admit that I have never worked in retail sales, and I certainly recognize that it can be a difficult job. However, I also expect the term "customer service" to actually result in servicing the customer, and when that doesn't happen.... the world ought to know.

I ordered a bedroom set from Ashley Furniture on January 30th. I went into the store looking to replace some shady nightstands and fell in love with.... Naomi. She had rich mahogany(esque) wood finish, a leather upholstered inset on the headboard and knobs so silver you could practically see yourself in them. At that point, there was no stopping at nightstands (with velvet lined drawers). Instead I bought the whole set. I counted the days til it arrived, and on February 24th (Tabbi's birthday, but I got the present) it was installed.

I loved Naomi even more in my house than I did in the store.... until six days later when she let me down at 3am. Literally. Down. As in the side rail of the bed collapsed. Six. Days. Later. Fast forward through a bunch of crap and finally, FINALLY, the new side rail arrived and the Ashley installation crew came out. I only had to wait a month and 3 days (yeah... how's that for quick service), for Naomi to be back in action. She was a little scarred from the fall and the month and three days living in a pile (thanks for that, Ashley repair guy), but I still loved her. I sat down with care, rolled over with hesitation. Then after a night or two, I became confident that she really was everything I wanted her to be.

Until April 19th. WHEN SHE FREAKING BROKE AGAIN!!! This time Naomi crumbled under the weight of my two year old. He stepped onto the side rail (the NEW ONE) to climb into the bed, and instead it gave way. Again the bed was on the floor, only this time, it was a miracle that Jack didn't fall underneath it. This time, instead of the head of the bed collapsing, it was where the foot board meets the side rail, leaving me to ponder.... is this furniture just crap... or are the installers not the sharpest tools in the shed???

Unfortunately, Ashley Furniture doesn't seem to care about finding out the answer. Through my numerous calls to the call center and one trip to the local store, they care much more about the almighty dollar than the fact that my son (MY TWO YEAR OLD SON) could have been injured. "Just order another Naomi bed," the call center genius said, as if she just couldn't quite grasp that no parent in their right mind would take another chance at injuring their kid. I explained that while Russian roulette with a bed seemed like a lovely idea, I think I'd pass. I explained that I would like a new bed, but unfortunately there was only one in that entire store that matched the dresser, mirror and two nightstands that came in the Naomi set. And it was $300 more. But, the poor, disenfranchised, giant national chain store apparently can't afford to give me the extra $300 for the bed, because clearly Mr. and Mrs. Ashley would have to go without their caviar and champagne for dinner tonight if they did that. Instead, their crackerjack customer disservice team thinks that I should either replace my deathtrap with a new deathrap (because that worked so well last time), or go in and find another set of equal or lesser value. Really, Ashley? If this bed can't last a month, do you really think I want cheaper version? And if I did like a set of equal or lesser value...wouldn't I have bought that the first time?

In any case, I've been doing a lot of research on this company and apparently poor customer service is what they are known for. What an honorable reputation. It's just too bad that I had waited to do the research until it was too late. I just hope for my friends and readers out there, that this may help them in their hunt for furniture in the future. Just say no to Ashley Furniture, where you get more pain than pleasure.

My Curse

2011-03-31T01:29:00.006-04:00

Blogging is meant to be cathartic. When something is bothering me, be it trivial like my saggy boobs or political or a current event... I sit down at my computer and tap out my thoughts and suddenly things don't seem so... serious, emotional, scary. Whatever is keeping me up at night then just fades away... even when the problems aren't solved. Just speaking to the masses about my issues makes me feel better. But sometimes, like tonight, as I sit here at 1:31am and type away... blogging can be a curse.

It's a curse because I know that I could pound out my frustration on this keyboard. I could work out the angst like a 1950s housewife tenderizing meat. I could "out" the people that caused it and I could shell out a thousand word essay on why I think what I think and what they can do about it and then head upstairs to peacefully go to sleep. I could do that, because I have a blog. But, I can't. I can't because some things are too close to blog about.

I can't really talk about everything on blogs, because blogs can't be taken back. I can't address people in my real life and say hey, you're an idiot and here's why. Instead, I lay in my bed and compose a post that I can't post and my mental version never has the same desired result. I want to calmly explain to the cause of my mental strife via a computer screen and then show them the way to right the wrongs. But, I can't. I can't and that is why my blog tonight is a curse. Because, I know I could use it eliminate my frustrations and sleep like a baby in about 3 minutes when I spell check and click post. But, I can't. So right now this thing that I so often am thankful for... tonight it is a curse.

Navy Men

2011-03-30T13:54:00.005-04:00

Some people are just better than others. I really believe this. My grandpa was one of them. He died almost 6 years ago, and in the 26 years that I knew him and the stories I have heard about him since, it has solidified my opinion that he fell into that category. He did so much for other people, he lived joyfully and meaningfully. He was better.

As my cousin trains to be a Navy rescue swimmer, putting his life on the line to save others, I have come to the realization that not only does he look like my Grandpa.... but he might be one of those "better" people, too.

Wanted: Sister Wives

2011-03-24T10:12:00.009-04:00

I talked to my friend Laura the Famous the other day and she is suffering from the age old dilemma of the "working mom." When she is at work, providing the administrative side of her family's chiropractic office, she is overwhelmed by the multitude of things that she needs to do at home. At home, the office work haunts her. So, being the fantastic friend that I am, I suggested the most obvious solution... a Sister Wife. Duh. All Laura needs is someone at home doing the home stuff. Men don't seem to have this guilty pull toward housework and duh... that is because they have wives. So, the answer to a woman's dilemma is the same. Get a wife.

Then it occurred to me. Why don't I take my own genius advice? Polygamy is the way to go, because I too could benefit from a wife or two. In fact, I have even gone so far as to pick out the old balls and chains. (I haven't discussed it with Mark yet, so if my future wives are reading this.... it isn't an official offer yet.)

First, I would like to add Antonia from Top Chef Allstars to my marriage. I don't know her, but she is a single mom so she would probably like some help with the daily grind, too. And, no more cooking meals for me! I am pretty sure my husband and my children will welcome her, and her delicious dinners with open arms.

Then, I think I would need some help with all the kids. I have three, Antonia has one.... clearly we are going to need some maternal help around here. So, I am thinking Mother Goose would be an excellent addition. Antonia can cook, Mother Goose can raise the kids.... life is getting better by the second.

Last, I realize that adding three people (and a goose) to our already maxed out household is going to put a strain on Mark's paycheck, not to mention the fact that we will need a much larger house. So, I would need to add Oprah Winfrey as my last sister wife. That way, she can pay for the stuff we need, and really... who would oppose to her keeping Stedman (and by Stedman, I really mean her secret lover Gail) on the side? At least with the marriage and kids, she would finally have some street cred when she does her "how to make a marriage stronger" and "how to raise children the right way" episodes of her show.

I know plural marriages are looked down upon in our society, but women just need to expand their horizons and think this through. Imagine sleeping alone three out of four nights! Imagine full control of the remote and no football (or Project Runway, in my case) cluttering up the DVR! Imagine not having to fake headaches all the time because you are sharing that duty with three other people! Imagine having a cook and childcare in house for FREE! In the immortal words of Charlie Sheen, I call this idea "WINNING!"

My Jack

2011-03-22T09:25:00.004-04:00

I am reading the new Jodi Picoult book called Sing You Home, and the main character suffers from major infertility issues. Right at the beginning, she loses a baby at 27 weeks. Or, as the character says, she doesn't lose it, she knows right where it is. It just isn't alive anymore. I read the book, and for some odd reason, it made me cry. It seems silly to say that it is an odd reason because lots of people will probably tear up, as the description Ms. Picoult uses is an emotional free fall, but I don't cry. Ever. But, this made me cry because I cried for Jack.

I've never lost a baby, but my pregnancy with Jack was rough. I almost lost him twice, and I hovered on the brink of losing him for most of my pregnancy. It didn't occur to me at the time, but now as I read this mother's story, that I never really dealt with anything that was happening. Because I didn't cry then, I cried the day I read those pages. Not for the character, but for my baby boy that could have been, and odds were that he was going to be, exactly like the baby boy in the story.

At 12 weeks, I went to my OB for an appointment where I would hear my baby's heartbeat. I laid on the table not thinking about anything except my exposed nether regions when the doctor put the mic on my belly. There were the usual swish swoosh sounds that come from her moving it across my abdomen, but not the thump thump thump of a baby's heart. I watched Dr. A's face as her brow furrowed, only to suddenly hear the strongest thump thump thumps I'd ever heard. I smiled. She looked at me and said, "you hear your own heart right now." It took me a minute to realize she wasn't speaking metaphorically. She moved the mic more and the only heart beating was mine. Pounding louder and faster with every swipe that resulted in silence. As her face grew more serious, I felt like my heartbeat was slowed down to a near stop. There was a blur of words after that, possibilities that maybe my placenta was in the way, or if the baby wasn't.... whatever the word she used didn't register, maybe viable is the way she put it... they do a D&C at the hospital and.... more words that didn't register. I went home that night, told my family and friends, and didn't shed a tear.

The next day I went in for an ultrasound to "confirm the heartbeat." Apparently that is a better way to put it than to say it's to see if the baby is alive or dead. My mom came and when the tech put the picture up on the monitor, I looked at my mom. I didn't look at the screen. The tip of my mom's nose turns red when she starts to cry and I saw her blink a tear back. Only then did I look at the screen and see the blob that was my baby. Still. No flutter from where his heartbeat should be. I don't remember if my mom spoke or if it was me, but words of... there is no movement... came from someone in that room. The tech smiled and said, "That's a still photograph." She pressed a button and Jack suddenly fluttered to life. He was fine.

At 27 weeks, the same time as the character of this story, I suffered unexplainable bleeding. I had just gotten dressed, stood up after putting on my socks, and suddenly I felt a gush where gushes shouldn't be. I was diagnosed with placenta previa/rupture. Initially there was talk of delivering the baby, but at 27 weeks the likelihood of his survival was slim. So, talk turned to what it would take to keep him (by then we knew it was a him) inside as long as possible. At one point in the triage suite of the Women's Hospital the OB took my hand and said, "Are you ok?" I teared up at the moment, and then blinked them back and just said that I was fine. After 24 hours I was sent home with a prescription for bed rest and the knowledge that if my placenta tore the rest of the way, my baby would be dead before we reached a hospital. Good luck.

During both of these incidents (the latter lasting until I delivered Jack at exactly 39 weeks during a scheduled and beautifully uneventful c-section), I didn't cry. I regurgitated what my doctor told me to my husband, my parents, my friends... each time building a stronger attitude of "God's will" mixed with "it is what it is." I didn't cry. It's not that I couldn't be emotional, because I have a support system that rivals any in the world.... but instead I was the strong one for people that needed strength, the positive one for people who were negative, and the unemotional for those that were emotional. I sugar coated the odds for Mark, who tends to panic. I smiled for friends that looked on with concern. And I steadied myself for the worst, without really letting myself even think about it. I put all my efforts into presenting a strong front, so that then I wouldn't have to feel anything at all. And in the end, I didn't have to. In my happy ending, my Jack was fine. So, I read Sing You Home, and read of a woman whose baby boy didn't come home in her arms, and I cried. For the first time I felt what I really wasn't strong enough to let myself feel in those moments... and I cried.

My Thoughts on God's Plan

2011-03-16T10:51:00.006-04:00

There is a Facebook status circulating these days that basically blames New Yorkers, Haitians and now the Japanese people for the disasters that devastated their homes. Apparently the terrorist attack on September 11th, the Haitian earthquake and now this earthquake and tsunami that has killed thousands in Japan are all to punish these people for their sins. Even supposedly intelligent society commentators like Glenn Beck (and yes, I emphasize the word supposedly when I call him intelligent) are getting in on the "God did this because he hates you" bandwagon. Granted, Glenn was smart enough to say that he wasn't saying this, but "he's not not saying it either". But, that cover his ass crap doesn't really mean anything. So, little Glenny and the Facebookers feeling the need to kick a country while they are down, let me just say, your theory is as crapped out as Glenn's grammar.

I am not a religious person. I pray every night with the kids, and I am baptized Catholic... but I didn't even go to church this Christmas so I can't even call myself the "C&E" Catholic that I used to be. My son attends a Christian preschool, and I often plan on attending that same location's church services but my selfish need to sleep in on Sundays always wins out. I've never been to a seminary and I am not expert on the Bible. In fact, I often have to call my brother when Will tells me Bible stories because I need an interpreter to understand why Will thinks we are going to put people in our fiery, fiery furnace. But, I believe in God. I believe in a higher power (yes, Lori, I do, too). And I believe that he doesn't strike thousands dead just to teach us a lesson.

I believe that people like Glenn Beck fuel the fire of hatred to promote themselves and their TV or radio shows. I believe that like the Westboro Baptist Church's rants on homosexuality, Beck's message (a.k.a. load of bull) is hate speech taking advantage of our country's emphasis on free speech. I believe that if anyone is sinning and will feel God's wrath, it is him and others like him that take advantage of the gift of a voice and an audience for the purpose of making others feel small. I believe that God is indeed listening, and I believe that Glenn Beck and his ilk just make God sad.

I believe that the people on Facebook who spread this message are scared. I believe that the idea that a natural disaster can strike anywhere and wipe out a population is a nightmare beyond belief and it is comforting to think that these people somehow had it coming. It is easier to think that it happened to them because of their religion, because then it isn't going to happen to you. But it could. Disasters happen around the globe and to demean the devastation by acting like the people had it coming is disgusting. And, where does it stop? Does that mean the babies killed in the Oklahoma City bombing had it coming, too? What about the elderly people or the 9 year old girl murdered by a mad man in Arizona? Were they sinners, too? How about the nursing home destroyed in a Midwest tornado? Did those elderly people sin and therefore God smited (smote?) them?

Could it be that while this may be God's plan, it is not a punishment for sins? And, is it possible that maybe we just can't understand why the bad things happen to these people, and instead of coming up with justifications, we are just supposed to put our faith in the fact that God's plan is too complex for us to understand. And maybe we should spend a little effort trying to rebuild and comfort those in pain rather than inflicting a second round of terror by saying, "oh yeah, about your dead family... you deserved it." Just maybe instead of promoting God by saying he's punishing those affected, just maybe we could honor him by loving our fellow man... kinda like the way the Bible tells us to. Just a thought.

Japan Relief

2011-03-13T12:12:00.006-04:00

I just saw on the Yahoo page that there is a link to donate money to help Japan recover from the horrific earthquake and tsunami that has killed roughly 10,000 people. Do you know how much they have earned? Roughly $564,562 as of my writing this. Now, at first glance, I thought wow... that is a lot. Then I started thinking. How many of us click on the Yahoo page every day? My guess is millions. And that is all we could come up with?

I was thinking about the money I spent this weekend, so far. I helped throw a shower for my friend and spent about $20 on fresh flowers to add to our already maxed out decor. I know Mark and the boys had McDonalds for lunch while I was at the shower, then we ate out for dinner, too, so that had to be about $50 on food. He gassed up my car for $66. He gassed up his car, probably for around $40. We are going shopping today for new kitchen chairs. I have no clue how much they are going to cost, but I am sure we'll end up picking up lunch, and maybe some other decor for our house, too. So, we're talking a decent amount at the home store we're going to run to. I didn't set out to do these things, they were/are whims. I feel like doing this today. I am blessed to be able to do these things and not give them much thought. But, I saw the Yahoo tally and thought..... maybe I should spend some money elsewhere, too.

I'm not going to lie and pretend like I am Bill Gates or Oprah Winfrey. My amount for charity won't go too far. It won't rebuild Japan, that's for sure. But, it will help. And I want to help. I'll take a cue from my 4 year old who asked if we could go to Lowe's and buy wood, paint, cement and bricks and send it to Japan to rebuild their homes. If my 4 year old knows that we should spend some money to help others.... so should I. And really, after seeing the photos.... how could we not?

Japan is miles away from where I live. But, this woman is every woman. She is any woman whose entire life was just washed away in seconds. It is our job, not as Americans, but as people who share this planet to pass up our McDonalds lunch today and send those people the 15 bucks we would have spent. It's our job as the blessed people sitting in our homes with our families and our possessions to help those that have nothing. To help please click here for a list of credible charities where you can make a difference.

You Got Off Lucky, Little Girl

2011-03-07T08:29:00.002-05:00

Dear Tween at Hobby Lobby,

I am not sure you will remember me, but I am pretty sure I will remember you for a long time to come. My son and I were behind you in line to check out. I was the one holding a couple feathers, some sparkly bits and the hand of the world's cutest 2 year old blond boy with big blue eyes and a huge heart. You weren't holding anything, as I am sure the physical exertion of holding the stick-on wall decor for your bedroom would be just too much for a princess like you to withstand, but what you did carry was the attitude of superiority that can only be matched by other tweens and possibly narcissistic homicidal maniacs.

Jack and I were having a pleasant day running errands. We were about to meet Grandma and Grandpa for lunch at On the Border and you were about to crawl back down the River Styx to Hades where you belong (or so I can only assume). You had a simple option at the moment of our brief encounter. You could have kept your trap shut (which I would advise in the future, but we'll get to that in a minute), and we all could go on with our lives and never think about each other again. But, you chose not to. You chose to open that pit of stupidity (some would call a mouth) and now I am still tracking on your existence in MY WORLD. Instead of disappearing as quickly as you came into my life, you said the magic words that are making you linger still today. You said, "Mom, that kid talks like a retard." And, you meant my kid.

For that statement, I say shame on you. For that statement, I say even more emphatically... shame on your mother. Shame on her for smiling and nodding and not jumping down your ignorant throat. So, since your mom is too busy holding your "I Want My Room To Look Like A Brothel" decorations, I will go ahead and do it.

1. That word is despicable and so are you and your mother for using it. I am not a huge champion of political correctness, and I've been known to refer to women as chicks now and then, but I am a huge proponent of the principal of common courtesy. It's a concept that this mother daughter duo is clearly missing. The word you used has such a negative and hurtful connotation for the disabled people that you were referring to that you should feel about half an inch tall for using it. But, you managed to stand straight and tall because no one bothers to tell you that using that word doesn't reflect on Jack nearly as badly as it does on you. I would hope that you have enough sense to not use the N word for African Americans or the F word for homosexuals. Use that same censor for this word, as it has no business in today's vocabulary. Now, I realize that you clearly have a teeny tiny little virtually nonexistent brain, and therefore other words might be just too hard for you to think of.... but that's when Mommy Hooker ought to jump in and teach you some options that will add a hint of respect for the rest of the human race, and hopefully make you look a little less stupid next time. Well, the Snooki look hair style counteracts that attempt at intelligence, but we can try.

2. Consider this a warning for you and yours.... in the future, don't utter a word about me and mine. My Jack may speak with an unexplainable German accent, but disabled he is not. He is above average in his cognitive functions, which is clearly more than I can say for you. And moreover, my boy is 2. I can explain his speech issues because he is a toddler. Sadly, though your behavior may say otherwise, your mom can't use that excuse.

I realize now that I should have said all of this to your face, because then it wouldn't be circling in my brain still two days later. But, I didn't. I gave you an out since you are young. I locked eyes with you and your mother both to make sure you both knew that I heard what you said, and I am quite sure that the scowl on my face could have turned you both to stone. Medusa has nothing on my stare. I saw the color drain from your faces right before the pink tinge of embarrassment flushed up your cheeks. And I waited. I squinted my eyes in an unspoken dare for you to say another syllable... and in your one moment of intelligence, you chose not to. Smart move. But, still. I chose not to start anything and in doing so, I let you leave that store without a lesson being learned that you clearly need to know. What you said is not ok. The way you act is not ok. And, if we are going to guess who is going to come out successful in the future between my boy and you, I think smart money is not going to be on you.

Sincerely,

Lynn

Attitude of Gratitude: My Kids

2011-03-04T13:52:00.003-05:00

Will and Jack are both sick today. They seem to be a little better than yesterday, but not great. There is coughing and hacking and snot. RIVERS OF SNOT. There is much more snot than sleep, and that is never good.

The playroom is trashed. I am sitting at my computer desk surveying the destruction much like a president who flies over a natural disaster wondering how to start the rebuilding process. But, unlike the leader of the free world, I have no relief team to come in and save the day.

I waged an epic battle with our prescription drug insurance provider today regarding Will's nose spray for his massive allergy problems. I lost the battle, and I am sure I will lose the war. The price is circa 200 bucks, and we have discovered that his allergies are year round. No breaks for the broke.

Jack is by far the most stubborn kid in the history of the world. He threw an unending tantrum last night about us leaving my parents' bedroom. He would rather scream and cry until he can't take a breath than give in and follow us out of the room.

These are my kids. They are stubborn, snot encrusted, and Will's jeans never fit because he somehow manages to outgrow them on the car ride home from the shops. But, today I read a children's book called "Tell Me About the Night I Was Born" by Jamie Lee Curtis, and I realized that I am so very lucky. The book had a line about how they saw the baby in the window of the hospital nursery and how could something so small make me smile so big? And really, that is the best explanation of these kids and my life. These guys can drive me to the brink of insanity and then circle it awhile until the traffic clears (and they never stop for directions on the way, either)... but when they make me smile, my whole heart smiles. And in those cloudless and sunshiny moments, I can't even remember a bad one.

Miracle at Preschool

2011-02-28T20:02:00.004-05:00

In December of last year, I wrote about Will's serious case of stage fright. He was petrified of "performing" in his school's music programs. And today, was his last preschool program.

We thought that this program would be pretty similar to all the others. He would walk in. You would see the fear take hold. He would climb on stage. You would see him fight the tears. He would trample several smaller children in his attempt to seek freedom. You would pay several thousand dollars in medical bills. You know, the usual preschool music experience. But, today.... ahhhh today.... it was different.

Today Will stayed on stage. Today Will stood firm. He was brave. He was committed. He was pissed.

In case you don't know... he is the one in the front row, far left in the orange t shirt cursing my name and punching the air. Here's a close up.... the pixelwhatsos get weird, but the face is unmistakeable.

Will didn't sing a syllable and he didn't do a single gesture (of the choreographed variety), but he stood there. He may not be Elvis, Fred Astaire or that floppy haired Bieber guy, but oh my Lord Almighty, he stood there. Amen to that!

Great Expectations

2011-02-25T09:50:00.005-05:00

Yesterday was Tabbi's birthday, and I am confronted yet again with the challenge of teaching an old dog a new trick.... and that new trick is the act of gratitude. I don't know how you instill something at 12 years old that should have been ingrained in her since birth, and I find myself with less patience about it than ever before.

In this case, it is the difference in her expectations between her mother and us. Her mother celebrated her birthday with her on Saturday, and the gifts given were considerably less than what occurred here. I am not condemning that fact, either. They do what they can afford, and that is enough. I am not an overboard birthday person, and I don't see going into the poor house just to keep up with the Joneses. I say screw the Joneses and the recipient ought to be grateful that people love them enough to do anything. But, in our case.... it is never enough. Our thought isn't what counts at all.

I cooked Tabbi a birthday dinner of whatever she requested. She asked for steak. Steak she received. Then, she made the comment of, "whatever, we're just eating steak or something at home." Uh... didn't I go out and buy nice steaks at your request? And I bought her a giant cookie for dessert. She isn't a cake person, so I thought the cookie was great. Still birthday-ish with candles and writing, but not cake. She proceeds to tell me that she asked her mom for a giant cookie and her mom said no. I didn't even know that, so I am thinking jackpot! I hit the ball outta the park with this one!!! Then, she said that I should have known that she would want ice cream instead, and why couldn't I just get her what she wants? Hmm... my homer just went into foul territory. Uh... because I was trying to do something special. The list could go on and on.

I know that part of the problem is her age, and I have to add that to a heaping serving of "her mom can do no wrong"... but the reality is, I don't want her to think her mother's birthday was wrong. But, I want ours to be right, too. So far the only thing she seems generally pleased about were her gifts, but it is the effort I want her to be grateful for. I want her to be grateful for the party tonight, not bickering because she wants me to take her and her friends to Outback Steakhouse instead of Applebees. I don't want the fact that I am cooking a french toast dish for breakfast instead of buying Dunkin Donuts to be something she gets to be irked about. I want her to be glad that we're doing anything at all. Because at her mom's, that is all it takes. Mention the event and Tabbi is pleased... but here.... our expectations are just unreachable, and I gotta tell ya, I am not going to kill myself trying.

Not Feelin' It

2011-02-24T09:40:00.003-05:00

I just called Mark and asked if he could come home from work early. He said that he probably could, and I said, "Great... Like now?" The sad part is, I meant it. I don't know what it is about this stay home mom gig, but there are days where the task is just too daunting to face. Today is that day. I usually don't know why I hit a parenting wall, but today I have some guesses.

1. I went out with the girls last night. I was home by 10:45, so it wasn't a late night or anything. But, I strategically made my exit when Will dumped his glass of grape juice all over himself and his dinner. I find this morning that the spill is still waiting for me on the floor. This could be why I am not feeling it.

2. I thought I put my favorite jeans in the dryer last night. I didn't. In fact, my favorite, second favorite and even 4th favorite once removed jeans are in the washer. Wet. And so I am wearing my brown cords that show my butt crack and are too short. This could also be why I am not feeling it.

3. Cat. Vomit. On. The. Carpet. This could also be why.

4. Cat. Vomit. On. The. Carpet. That. Jack. Just. Walked. Through. This could also be why.

5. In the few minutes that I spent playing Zuma Blitz (oh, how I love that game) in an attempt to un-funk myself, Jack managed to completely dump the following: tool bag, big bin of match box cars, Mr. Potato Head bin and a load in his pants. Our speech therapist comes in T minus 25 minutes. The fact that I have to clean the playroom before I have even had a Diet Coke could be why I am not feeling it today.

6. The cleaning people came last week, and you can't tell. That could be why.

7. In the time it took me to write this blog (which has been 7 minutes), Jack has repeated "I want a cheese slice" 62 times, getting exponentially louder with each time. That could also be why.

8. My last pair of clean socks are too big and keep slipping down my heel and the toes are twisting so that the seam is under my feet. That could be why, too.

9. I would go barefoot, but I have no pedicure to speak of, and trying to clip toenails with a broken hand makes for one jagged little mess of feet. That could also be why.

Usually I have these moods and I don't have such tangible reasons as to why. Today, I know exactly what I need to right in order to turn my frown upside down. But, just because I know what I need to do doesn't make doing it seem any better. And seriously... what part of "come home now" did Mark not understand???

The ABCs of Me

2011-02-23T13:04:00.006-05:00

I think I have done myself and those who know me a disservice. For some reason, I am currently viewed as a totally different person than the one I really am. So, I am going to take a moment to let some people get to know me.

You see, I received a ridiculously passive aggressive email the other day, and was sort of shocked by it. In my past life, (when I worked and I dunno... wore shoes on a daily basis) very few people tried to pick a fight with me. Not that I am some tough guy, because Jersey Shore drunken pugilist I am not, but I stand up for myself. I don't back down. And, I am quick with the words. I don't just cower in a corner if someone comes out swinging (verbally... physically swing and I would put a Jamaican sprinter to shame). If someone comes out passive aggressive, I tend to skip the passive and go straight to aggressive. I am not touting these as admirable attributes, because they're not. But, this is me. Nice to meet you.

This is the last of a string of passive aggressive communications that I have received from this person. I blame myself, really, because I try so hard to just be nice(ish). I am polite. I have great manners (when I choose to) and I guess this person isn't close enough to me to know the temper underneath the pleases, thank yous and polite waves. Maybe I should show my annoyance with people sooner, so they aren't fooled into this false perception of me. Maybe when I received the first edition of snark, I should have just "Lynned" her back. But, I didn't. I stayed polite. I stayed professional (if you will) and in some regard, just faked my way through all future correspondence. Until this one.

I am not going to get into the topic of this email exchange or who it was with, but let's just say I was no longer the wimp that this person mistook me for. I responded, and responded with vigor, and a hint of vitriol. I am not proud of the email that I wrote (actually, it was pretty good), but I am not proud of the impression that I must leave people with either. While I wasn't thrilled that my nickname at my former place of business was "Luci" for "Lucifer" since I was so mean, I like to think that my dark side is used in proportional responses only. And I think I would rather be seen as someone strong and self reliant than a weakling that can be goaded, guilted or harassed into subservience. I may not be Satan incarnate anymore, now that I find my time spent dealing with my kids as opposed to challenging bad employees.... but that didn't morph me into a door mat either. I am something in between. I am a cupcake baker, no-shit taker. That is me. It's nice to meet you.

An Attitude of Gratitude

2011-02-15T10:17:00.005-05:00

In the December 2010 issue of Good Housekeeping magazine (yes, I bring new meaning to the words "day late and dollar short"), there is a compilation of quotes from famous people on things they are grateful for. Some of them are funny, like microwaves so kids can be fed in 3 minutes or less and root touch-up home hair dye kits... but one was pretty profound.

Maya Angelou (of course, leave it to her to be all meaningful and crap) said that there was a time in her life when she was just plain ol' depressed (although she may have stated it more eloquently than I just did). A vocal coach of hers noticed her lack of oomph and said to write down things she is grateful for. She couldn't think of anything. His advice, "write down that you can hear me say 'write down' and think of the millions who cannot hear the cries of their babies.... Write down that you can see this yellow pad and think of the millions on this planet who cannot see the smiles of their growing children...." Angelou finishes the blurb by saying to this day, she remains in "an attitude of gratitude." And I've decided that I want that.

I don't know if you've noticed, but I tend to be a little sarcastic. I am cynical. I am snarky. I dare say sometimes I am downright mean. (Insert comment about how I pick on Sarah Palin here.) While I am comfortable with my abrasive personality (sometimes), I wonder what it would be like to just be content. Instead of fretting (yes, I said fret) about going through Jack's poo to find the nickel he ate on Saturday night, I can consider myself blessed that he didn't choke on it. Instead of lamenting the pile of laundry that seems to be growing in the wrong direction (much like my waistline), I will be glad for the fact that we can afford the clothes we wear to keep us warm (and stop from scarring small children if we walked around naked) and that we can afford a washer and dryer in our home to clean it, and that my lack of success in the laundry department comes directly from the full lives that keep me and the kids busy all day (even if it is just playing trains in the playroom). I am going to make an effort once a week to use this blog for good, instead of evil, and share in Maya Angelous's attitude of gratitude. I can be a good person, too. (Even if it's only once a week).

Pee Pee In The Potty: A Diary (The Sequel)

2011-02-08T09:00:00.014-05:00

Back when it was Will's turn to abandon the world's most portable potties, I wrote a blog post about how the first day went. I had no idea what I was doing and logged in my wins and losses throughout the day. Today, I find myself having deja vu as I am about to start the wee wee war again... and this time, with a kid 100 times more stubborn than the one before. I am armed with candy and sticker charts, and I go into battle steadfast in my desire to rid my home of diapers after 4 and a half years of wiping squished poo off of tiny butt cheeks. Insert profound war or sports movie speech here, and wish me luck.

9:03: It begins. Taking Jack to the potty for the first time... and his response, "No.... no no no no no no no no no......" Off to a great start. We go in, after much threatening he sits, we read a book, he sits.... no pee pee appears. But, he sat. He's wearing underwear. He seemed pleased with his sticker on the chart and knows he gets candy from his prize box if he goes potty... so we're heading in the right direction. I hope.

10:02: We enter the bathroom with a pair of Thomas the Tank Engines full of a load he never wanted to carry! Apparently setting the timer for 40 minutes didn't matter, because he number 1ed and 2ed before we went in. Still... he sat on the potty. Baby steps, right?

10:47: Jack runs into the room "Mommy, potty" and points to the wet spot on his grunders. So, good news is that he is telling me now that he's wet. Bad news, he had emptied his entire bladder on the chair prior to telling me.

10:55: As I type the last entry, Jack wets his new grunders. WE WERE JUST IN THE POTTY!!! Contemplating admitting defeat and it isn't even noon.

11:08: PEE IN THE GRUNDERS. POTTY EMPTY. Losing mind...

11: 09 - Now: Jack is managing to coat every inch of this house in pee. Oh wait... not in every inch... the potty is empty!!!

11:48: Jack stayed dry for 30 seconds. Yay for him.

12:12: Jack is still dry. Hasn't peed anywhere, including the potty. Putting him in a Pull Up so I can go and shower. Hoping he'll still be dry. Certain he'll be wet as wet can be.

You may notice that nothing changed after 12:12. That is because after I was finally able to shower AT NOON, we proceeded to the doctor's office (with Jack in a Pull Up so I didn't have to explain to other parents why he was hosing down the joint) and find out that his severe ear infection came back with a vengeance. So, after careful consideration (including my mom's permission), Jack's potty training is on hold until next week. He spent the better part of the afternoon crying about his sore ear, so I decided to cave a wee bit (pun intended). So, stay tuned... potty training will commence when Jack and I have both fully recovered.

The Good Day

2011-01-24T12:39:00.004-05:00

Some things are just good. How is that for an opener to a Lynn Blog Post you never thought you'd hear? I am sitting at my desk right now as Jack plays with a flashlight and Will plays with his monster trucks, and for the moment they aren't even fighting. (Note that halfway through my typing of the second paragraph, they started fighting... so it didn't last long). My jeans are wet from the knee down thanks to the slushfest outside my door, my floors are covered in muck (see slushfest previously mentioned), the downstairs bathroom smells like pee no matter how many times I clean the toilet, and my dog won't stop eating cat poop out of the litter box. But, I am typing this with a little smile, because today is just going to be a good day.

In case you are wondering, no... we didn't win the lottery, or cure cancer or discover a way to end world hunger. Oh no... this is bigger. We transitioned little Jack into a big boy bed over the weekend and you know what? It worked. It. Was. Easy. (Pause while I knock on every wooden surface in my house). We put the bed together Saturday (and by we, I mean Mark did while my mom and I took the boys shopping for bedding, a mattress and the like. For the record, my job was way harder). Jack napped in it Saturday afternoon. He slept in it Saturday night. He napped in it Sunday afternoon and he slept through the night last night and actually slept later this morning than he has in a long long time. Clearly, he just needed a full size mattress, platform bed, two cushy pillows and a warm and cozy comforter to embrace his inner sleeper. Amen for that, God. Thanks!!!

Raising kids is a funny thing, because you hit these milestones and then go careening toward a new one at a "break necking pace" (Thanks, Dr. Seuss) and yet you're never quite sure if you should embrace the change or fear it. Jack didn't sleep through the night until he was almost two. Then you hit this age (a mere 5 months later) and see his crib is starting to look a bit shabby, but the fear of "rocking the boat" almost makes you want to go buy a new baby cage, not a bed. You are excited at his growth and at the same time petrified that moving forward will actually seem like moving backward because you run the risk of ruining the "easy" that you've finally reached. He sleeps through the night, he goes to bed like a dream, but now he is moving into this huge vast space and maybe he will cry and run out of the room. Maybe he will wake up 50 times a night. Maybe we will be on the next Supernanny spending 2 hours a night trying to get our formerly easy bedtime guy into bed. Maybe it isn't worth the risk and maybe having a 14 year old still sleeping in his crib isn't such a bad idea. But this time, this one time.... we moved forward and we kept the easy.

So today, not even slushy floors or poop eating dogs are going to ruin my day. Today is just good. Now.... onto potty training....

300 Posts... Second Verse, Same as the First

2011-01-15T19:26:00.005-05:00

Ok, so I am writing my 300th blog post right now, and while yay for me for sticking to it that long, I am realizing that as I look back through the 299 prior to this... I haven't really gotten anywhere. I liken my life to treading water or being stuck in the snow (metaphors are apparently seasonal in my world) because there seems to be a lot of effort taking place, but I am not really getting anywhere.

Maybe it is the horrendous cold that my entire family (Tabbi excluded... apparently she has a super human immune system) is suffering from, or maybe it is the chick-lit that I just read focusing on marriage/stay home mom issues.... but I am feeling a little down. And by a little down, I mean worms are higher than I am.

I am pondering things in my life right now and I guess questioning what I am doing. Am I really supposed to be fulfilled by this life that I have chosen? Don't get me wrong all you anonymous commenters who love to spring up and tell me that I am a horrible mother and should either off myself or sell my children on Ebay, I actually do love my children. Really, I love them more than life itself. I found myself praying to God that he give me Jack's cold on top of mine just to save him the pain and discomfort that he felt for days. But, loving them an indescribable amount is not tantamount to feeling self satisfied at the end of the day. I was telling my friend Laura the Famous the other day that I measured my success as a human being on Monday by the fact that I made a pretty good meatloaf for dinner. That being said, Tuesday I was a failure because I made Mark bring in Chinese. And really? That is what I bring to my world? DINNER PLANS!?!?!?!

Betty Friedan published The Feminine Mystique in 1963, and it was devoted to the same questions that I am pondering now. "Each suburban wife struggled with it alone. As she made the beds, shopped for groceries, matched slipcover material, ate peanut butter sandwiches with her children, chauffeured Cub Scouts and Brownies, lay beside her husband at night -- she was afraid to ask even of herself the silent question -- 'Is this all?'" The problem, dear Betty, is that you didn't include an instruction manual on figuring it out and then fixing the problem. Write that, my dear girl (who is deceased and therefore probably not going to answer my call), and you'll have a best seller.

And so I sit here in 2011 after a Saturday dinner of Steak and Shake, because I am too under the weather to cook, and the boys are fighting over who gets to fix the hook the cleaning toys hang on in the playroom, and the dog is whining at me to be fed, and the drum set no one is playing with is drumming away at top volume, and Mark is sitting on the floor completely tuning out Koda the dinosaur as it roars at no one in particular.... and I am wondering right along with the housewives of 1963... is this all? I love my husband (most of the time), I love the kids (all of the time), but I am finding that I don't love myself very much at all these days. And maybe that is the biggest short coming I have as a wife and a mother right now... even worse than dinner from Steak and Shake.

I'd Light a Candle...

2011-01-09T20:34:00.004-05:00

If I were as Catholic as I probably should be, I would walk into a church today and I would light a candle. I would light a candle for the people involved in the senseless massacre in Arizona yesterday and I would pray that some time soon, the world could just make sense.

I would light a candle for the Congresswoman that was shot in the head, an attempted assassination from a man that took his politics way too far. I would light her candle and I would pray that God watches over her recovery. But, then I would move on. Sadly, you enter in the world of politics with some awareness of the danger you are opening yourself up to. You know that there will be opposition from extremes (no matter what side you are on) and you know that security and caution will be regular parts of your world. Be they Presidents, Senators, or Congress.... you make a choice to enter into that world fully knowing that sadly, you will receive death threats, and some day someone might follow through. It is a tragic commentary on our world, but it is a fact.

I would move on and I would light a candle and pray for the 9 year old little girl that died yesterday. A girl so young that she didn't even have time to choose a side in the political drama that caused her to die. A child who disappeared from this planet because some man was so driven by his politics that not only did he need to take out his opposition, he didn't even care who else went out, too. Is that what our country has become? We have transformed our country's leadership debate from an intellectual conversation into a physical fight, and we don't even look to see who or what is caught in the middle. The people who walk into the cross hairs when you might be targeting someone else.... I would light a candle for the little girl whose name I should never have known. But thanks to an act of evil, I do. I'd light a candle for Christina Taylor Green, whose life was cut short by a mad man with a gun.

I would also light a candle for the souls of the people that I blame for this occurrence. I would light a candle for the diseased man who pulled the trigger and pray that some day he understands the pain that he has inflicted. I would pray that he realize that his only success in this horror was pain. The government in all of its flaws and opposing views will continue, but the families of his innocent victims will be effected forever. Then, I would light a second candle for the people of power and influence that fed into this man's decision. I would pray that THEY understand the pain that THEY caused by pushing debate into destruction, and by changing voices into violence. I pray that they some day realize that there are better ways to effect change than to incite rage. I would pray for those people. I know who they are, and they do, too. I would pray that God has mercy on their souls, because no one who now knows the name of little Christina Green should.

Here's What I Have to Deal With...

2011-01-06T08:29:00.005-05:00

Alternate Title: A Warning to My Single Friends.....

The following is an accurate recreation of dialog that took place in my bedroom last night. (No, don't get grossed out. The bedroom part does not come in to play). Instead of puking, please enjoy a conversation with Mark regarding new shoes he bought during his lunch hour.

Mark removes black, slip on, leather dress shoes from their box. Shoes evoke image of old man in wife beater, plaid shorts, black socks and these shoes.

Me: Wow. Old man shoes?

Mark: What do you mean? I thought they looked good.

Me: Ok. They are your shoes. But, didn't you have a pair EXACTLY like it in brown when you first started at your job, but you hate them and never wear them?

Mark: No. These are my brown shoes (fetching brown leather dress "sneakers" if those actually exist).

Me: I know that. But, you had a pair exactly like this that you HATED.

Mark: No, these are the only brown shoes I have.

Me: Ok, but I know you hated the old man brown shoes and I know you had them.

Mark: Oh yeah... but I got rid of them because they were ugly.

Crickets..... yeah.... that was kinda my point.

Me (moving past the black, old man shoes that match exactly the brown, old man shoes that he never wore and admittedly got rid of because they were ugly): I thought you said you needed brown shoes, anyway?

Mark: No, I said black.

Me: No, I swear you said brown.

Mark: Nope, black.

Me (because I hate being wrong, and am never wrong... really, it is rare): No, you said brown.

Mark: Ok, I am not going to argue with you (which is not true because he clearly is arguing with me, so why say that????), but I said black.

Me: Fine. Except you said brown, and based on what you just said 30 seconds ago, you got rid of your brown shoes.... so don't you need brown?

Mark: Oh, well I bought these, too (showing me the new brown shoes on his feet).

Nothing much was intelligible after that, as I spent the next hour slamming my head into the wall, as it is easier than discussing shoes with my husband.

A Bride's Story

2010-12-17T21:40:00.019-05:00

Once upon a time, there were four women setting out on an adventure. They were in search of the engaged lady's holy grail, otherwise known as... The Wedding Dress. And, the story goes....

First the foursome entered Demetrios, a store that had done a different friend of ours a great service, as it provided her "the one." That dress that you put on and know that it is the absolute most perfect dress for her special day. Homa, the bride, didn't feel quite the same. When I entered the store, she had that same look on her face that a deer has right before a semi turns it into ground venison. Veronica, the lovely sales rep who served our other friend so well, had a look of confusion. I stepped in, we looked, and suddenly Homa started seeing things she was interested in. All things positive ended right there. Once the dresses were hung in the fitting room with care, all hell broke loose.

You see, Demetrios, while a lovely establishment in theory, is actually evil. In the same way that Cruella Deville seemed nice when all she wanted to do was buy a puppy, and then she turned out to be a dog skinner/coat maker, Demetrios is a self esteem skinner. Their sample sizes are itty bitty, and if you yourself are not itty bitty, they send you out to face a firing squad of reflective surfaces with all your parts and pieces hanging out. Oh wait, they actually clip someone's used hanky to your back as if that somehow hides the fact that your dress is unzippable. And, my friends and readers, those were the good ones. The bad ones were the dresses whose sample sizes are too small for Kate Moss in her coke days. Those, Homa wouldn't even leave the dressing room in, as they did not cross her midsection. So, after disappearing into the abyss for some time, Homa emerged looking defeated, broken and pathetic and she said, "That's it. I'm done. And I'm not going anywhere else either." Insert hang dog expression, slumped shoulders, and pity here. Luckily, though, she trudged onward, and actually, upward.

Our next store, Poesy Patch Bridal Superstore went much better. There were sample dresses there, that (get this concept) actually fit people of the non-toothpick variety. And, Homa tried on this.

And she looked like this:

Which is great, because that was the highlight of the day. She hasn't purchased the dress yet, but she looked gorgeous, and if she chooses this one, she will be a knock out.

But, after that, we went on to lunch. At lunch, a discovery was made. During the entire shopping trip, both stores, Homa's beautiful mother had a distasteful expression on her face. After awhile, I started to wonder if that was just her natural expression. My dad's resting face is a tad surly, so I started to wonder if perhaps Homa's Mama was the same way. It was a face that looked rather like she ate something sour and was pissed about it. Something like this:

We started discussing the fabulous plans for Homa's bridal shower, when Homa's Mama made that same surly face. She did have lemon in her soda, so I thought perhaps she sucked some of the fruit through her straw, but then Homa's sister issued the threat that clarified everything. She said, "if you make that face every time we discuss my wedding, I will kill you." Homa's Mama replied in her thick accent, "it will depend on the man you marry." A ha. Homa Mama doesn't just look perturbed as her natural expression. She is perturbed. Then, I realized, I was making that face back at her. While I appreciated her generosity in paying for my chicken tenders (which I did eat, and yes, I am over the age of 5, but I was trying not to order anything messy wearing my winter white sweater vest, and yes I order food based on my clothing), I didn't appreciate her stinginess when it came to supporting her daughter. The reality is that very few parents get the privilege of marrying off their children to the identical spouse that they would pick themselves. (I know mine sure didn't. Just kidding, Mark. I threw that in just for you.) But, I think all parents should have the goal of making their children happy. And if the man that your daughter picks is at heart, a good man, then I think you do your part and get past it. A little support from something other than Homa's Spanx would have been nice.

That, my dears, leads us to the third place. A store that I would like to refer to as a fiery pit of hell, David's Bridal. Now, there is nothing wrong with this store. It has been the vendor to many of my friends' dresses and the bridesmaid dresses at my own wedding. But, I knew that Homa's clan wasn't thrilled about going to such a cheap chain store. It was like taking people who wanted a Morton's filet to Applebee's for their sumptuous sirloin. But, I knew they would have things that wouldn't reduce my dear friend to jello, and so we entered. Zain, Homa's sister, had the expression on her face that contestants on Fear Factor used to have right before they had to eat Bison testicles. I am pretty sure that is why Tameka, our sales rep, hated us with the fire of 1,000 suns. That, or it is because Zain said really loudly, "If you buy something from here, I am not going to your wedding." Those or it was because Homa walked up to the first four dresses Tameka picked out and said, "I am not trying those on." Any of those options could be why Tameka finally just pointed toward the wedding dresses and said, "Go look yourself" (which sounded really a lot like "go f--- yourself").

After looking (and not f-ing) ourselves, we found a few for Homa to try on. That's when the last debacle occurred. Homa tried on a dress that I encouraged. It was fun. It was flirty. Here, I'll show it to you, oh wait... they are a bunch of Nazis and won't let me copy the picture. Punks. Anyway, it was... out of the box, to say the least. Zain hated it. I loved it. And let's just be honest, Zain had already issued the threat that she would boycott the wedding if Homa wore anything from that store. And let's be honest again. This is Zain:

And this is me:

Pretty sure no one is going to assume that we have the same aesthetic. So, Zain liked the one pictured above, and I like the funky flirty one that David's "Scrooge Face" Bridal won't let me publish, and poor, poor Homa was in between. Luckily, on that tense note, we called it a day.

So, four women who started the day bright eyed and bushy tailed, ended it battered, beaten and worst of all.... right where we started, without a dress. Oh, and did I mention her wedding is 6 months away?!?!? Yeah. The end.

Grrrrr.... Part Two

2010-12-14T13:39:00.002-05:00

So, I was just unloading the dishwasher when Jack ran by with his pointer that I never should have bought him and basically whipped me in the kidney. While I sit here and read it, it makes me chuckle, but in the moment I froze, truly somewhere between a scream and crying. Luckily for Jack, I did neither, but it occurred to me... Why put a post (meant to be funny) about things that make me go grrrrr.... when there are some very real things that I should talk about. Maybe if I talked about it, I would find that other people feel the same way. Or, I will find out that I am a horrible mother, but I get comments like that on a regular basis, so what else is new?!?!?

1. I cannot stand that Jack is a hitter. And actually, he is rough all the way around. He is a sweet little boy, but his idea of cuddling is plowing his head into yours at record speeds and then wiggling it around. His idea of play is standing on your lap and slapping your cheeks. For the record, I do time outs and correct him, but he is still such a rough kid... and at times (like when I am slapped with a pointer finger), I just don't want to deal with it anymore.

2. Things with Tabbi have not been going well. I am back to dreaming about fighting with her and dreading her coming home at 3:15p because you just know your day is going to tank. Truly, it is just too hard. She is at the age where friends of mine rave about how much easier parenting is, and I sit back and just say.... it's not fair. I want it to be easy. I want it to be fun. I want to take her shopping and enjoy our time together, not act like a prison warden. I want the joy.

3. I cannot get that bleeping bleep bleep of a cat out of my Christmas tree!!!!

So, I've typed it out and I still don't feel much better. Sometimes I think the motto of a stay at home mom should be "Treading Water" because my arms and legs are moving constantly, and I am not getting anywhere. I met a 4 year old last week who can read better than Mark can. (I was going to say me, but that isn't true so I am throwing Mark under the bus for the sake of comedic value. Shut up.) So, am I failing Will, too? Jack is a beast, Tabbi is a brat and Will is basic at best. Is that what I have accomplished in the last 4 and a half years? Sex and the City 2 has a great line when Miranda and Charlotte are comparing notes about motherhood and Charlotte breaks down and says that she didn't know it was going to be this hard. I don't even have it hard, and I feel that way. Miranda replies, "Motherhood kicks your ass." And, I think today I am feeling a lot like I took a size 12 boot to the butt.

Things that Make You Go Grrrr

2010-12-14T09:58:00.003-05:00

Remember that song from the 90s "Things that Make You Go Hmm?", well I am having a "things that make you go Grrrrr" kind of day. The thing is, I am not really angry or annoyed at anyone in particular, but I have my panties in a bunch about life in general, I think. So, because everything I know in life comes from Desperate Housewives, I am going to write down my annoyances in the hopes that they go away....

1. Mark. (Just kidding).

1. (for real)... Yogurt. Ok, all five people in my house eat yogurt, so I go to the Yoplait Fat Free area and grab one of every flavor. I skip banana, because Mark doesn't like it. (So, I guess this one is Mark related). Last night he tells me that we now have 6 Pineapple Upside Down Cakes and no one likes them, so quit buying them. Seriously? Remember when I had better things to think about then vetoing yogurt flavors? I mean, really? This is what I have to ponder on a given day!?!?!? Maybe it is time to go back to work.

2. Neighbor Guy, Dude, Strange Man who is in his 40s, but his Mom and Dad still come once a year to do his yard work (Hi, Pot! My name is Kettle. I'm black.) You are one man. You live alone. Just you. Why in God's name do you have four cars? Really, dude. Jay Leno you are not, and that beat up Honda, beat-er up-er more truck, Explorer and Mazda does not a car collection make.

3. Disney Channel... It is 10:06am. My preschool aged children are at home. Older kids are at school. Explain to me why Wizards of Waverly Place (which appeals to, well, someone) is on four times in a row this morning? What do I have to do to get some Oso or Chuggington on in here so that I may eek out half an hour of PEACE AND QUIET!??!?!?!?!

4. Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree.... you are the pain in my bootie! Cat in tree. Dog brushing up against tree. Cat in tree. Jack in tree. Cat in tree. Angel falling off tree for the third time. Cat in tree. Will trying to fix tree. And, did I mention cat in tree? I am about to convert to Judaism just to get the damn tree out!

5. The neighbors who don't shovel the snow off their sidewalks, driveways or front stoops.... really? Would it be that hard to stop watching last week's The Apprentice and go take care of Mother Nature so it doesn't get all tracked into my house. And yes, by "neighbor", I mean me!!! And by me, I mean MARK!!!!

6. Laundry. I love clean clothes. I don't even mind doing the laundry, but if I have to put one more load of the boys' laundry away, I am going to build a big bonfire (with our Christmas tree as kindling) and heat the 'hood for the rest of winter. I hate hate hate hate putting laundry away.

Ok, so I think that gets the majority of it off my chest. And hey, I do feel a little better. Or I did, until I turned my head to the left and saw that HUGE PILE OF JACK CLOTHES ON THE LANDING WAITING TO GO UPSTAIRS! AAARRRGGGGG!!!!

Stage Fright

2010-12-07T09:19:00.002-05:00

Ok, so Will had his Christmas program at preschool on Sunday, and like the two programs from last year... he failed to attend. Actually, he did attend, he failed to participate. Actually.... he did participate for 3.5 seconds, then he panicked, then he crumpled, then he left. Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.

It never ceases to amaze me (and apparently everyone else that has met him) that Will can't perform on stage. As his classmate's mother told me yesterday, "he so loves to be the center of attention any other time." (Hmmm, wonder where he gets that?) Anyway, I quipped back, "Well, he just prefers to perform in smaller, more intimate venues." We both chuckled that "silly little kids" laugh and moved on, but it does leave me wondering... why can he perform any other time, just not on stage? And do I push it, or let it go?

He was nervous going in, but I kept using peer pressure to get him to hang in there. (Wait til that bites me in the ass in high school when he blames that preschool conversation for why he's using crack.) When I left him with his teacher, he seemed nervous but ready. When they paraded into the church for the performance, we were sitting toward the back and off to the side. (We learned that lesson during program number one last year when he saw us front and center and never even made it to the stage.) His head flew back and forth like he was a crash test dummy as he searched the crowd for us and we sat lower and lower in our seats like we were melting. Then, he spotted us.

He swiped at a tear or two while he stared at me, and I gave him the thumbs up and clapped and whispered "you're ok. Stay there." He tried. He really did. He swiped the tears, not making a sound. He set his mouth in a flat line and he stared at me. Cue the music. He swiped tears faster, his chin dimpled and quivered, and finally, his face crumpled into mush. To his credit, he didn't make a sound, and his teachers rescued him before he disrupted the song (or followed through with my fear that Willzilla would trample the two rows of non-giant children in front of him to escape like that horse in the parade in Iowa). He then walked calmly along the outside of the church until he got to our row and settled into my lap.

During his controlled collapse on stage, my mind was reeling. I watched the tears come faster as he fought to keep control and my every impulse was to push the crowd aside and get him down. This was a preschool music program, for God's sake, not a summit to create world peace. If it was that terrifying, I should save him. Then my rational side said no. Let him learn that this is ok. He's with his friends, it should be fun. And that argument won until Will and his two teachers (last year's and this year's working together to save my boy and the program itself) settled my internal debate. But it lingers....

There is another program in the spring and a graduation at the end of the year. Will he do it? Do I force him? Letting him out of it only reinforces his fear, but then again... he's four. Does it matter if he is too afraid to sing silly songs in front of a crowd of parents that only care about their children? When do you push and when do you let it go? And, seriously how is he ever going to thank me in his Oscar speech if he can't get up on the stage?!?!?!

Exhausted, Lemme Tell You Why

2010-12-02T08:46:00.002-05:00

Ok, so I have difficulties falling asleep. I would heart some drugs for the problem, except my insurance sucks big time and I am perennially terrified that if I conk myself out, a kid will need me and I won't be able to help them. So, I just keep staying awake. All. The. Time. (Plus, there is a little issue of the really good book I am reading on my brand new Nook, so that may be part of the problem, too. But I digress....)

So, last night I stay up til 1am (way past my bedtime) reading. Then it takes me awhile longer to fall asleep. So, the last time on the clock that I see is 1:45am. Then it is peaceful slumber. Ahhh.....

ARRRGGGGG.... Why is Mark shaking me? What time is it? Ugh... It's 2:09a.

Mark: Hey... Look at my foot. (As he points his leg up so that he is a human right angle).

Me: Wha? What? Huh?

Mark: (Giggles like a school girl). Look. There's nothing on it. (Chuckles like a 10th grade stoner).

Me: What? WHAT? What are you talking about?

Mark: (Doing his best Dazed and Confused impression) Look! There's a band on it. But, there's nothing on it. (Laughs again).

Lynn: (Smothers Mark with a pillow. OK, not really). What? What are you saying?

Mark: (Suddenly, sounding more like himself than Pauly Shore). What? What are you talking about? I didn't wake you up? What? I was asleep.

Lynn: I am calling a divorce lawyer tomorrow. (Pondering if pain and suffering can be included in divorce settlements as Mark drifted back to sleep immediately and I was still up at 3:15a).

I've Created a Monster

2010-11-29T13:36:00.004-05:00

This year, Will's school participated in the Operation Christmas Child program where you fill a shoebox with toys, art supplies and hygiene items, specifying the age and gender of your intended recipient, and they get sent all over the world to needy kids.

It was a great experience for him. He loved picking out the monster truck, crayons and balloon animals with great care and lovingly packed them into his shoebox earmarked for another equally car crazy 4 year old boy. We had some moments when he decided that maybe he would like to have all the stuff in the box an play with it himself, but after explaining that the little children who aren't as fortunate as us would really appreciate his generosity, he changed his mind and decided to send it. He carried it into his school and proudly set it atop the pile and wished it good luck on it's journey around the world.

But, in this act of generosity and love... I have created a monster.

Since that date, he has packed several boxes of his own toys to go to "kids who don't have toys or sompthin'." And today, he took my last homemade chocolate cluster from my neighbor and forbade me to eat it, as he is "sending it to children who don't have candy." How do you argue with that?!?!? I said in my nice, seriously, don't take my chocolate away voice, "Will, Mommy was kinda planning to eat that last piece" and he replied, "But, Mommy... Do you want to tell the poor kids that they don't get candy because you wanted this last piece." Touche, kid. Touche.

Let's Put the $ Back in $chool

2010-11-18T19:40:00.003-05:00

I just got a phone call from a professional survey company in Minnesota. Ok, I don't really know that it came from Minnesota, but my survey question asker lady said "Doncha know" a couple times, so I am going to assume. Anyhoo, the survey was all about our school district and whether or not I would be willing to fork up some dough to preserve it. You see, in this mighty country of ours, when we have cities and states with financial problems, we cut really unimportant things... LIKE EDUCATION. Our district's budget is 3 million dollars lower this year than last, while the student population is much larger. So, our administration is conducting this survey to determine if the taxpayers are willing to pitch in some moola, or if the teachers need to start submitting resumes to Starbucks and Speedway Gas Stations.

I gotta tell you... I just don't get it. I do not understand why this would even be a question. America's education system is in the crapper. If you don't believe me, check out the acclaimed documentary "Waiting for Superman." They outline exactly why our system is poop, and I have to tell you.... it ain't pretty. (Yes, "gotta" and "ain't" speak volumes for our educational system.) If our governments don't have brains enough to realize that education is one of those "must do" items, then I pray to God the average family can see that.

The survey lady asked how much my house was worth, and then based on that amount, asked if I would be willing to pay an additional $12, $16 or $20 per month to subsidize the schools. I said, yes, yes and yes. I spent more than the first amount at McDonald's today, and rich we are not. I spent more than the latter two at Meijer on Monday buying crap we probably didn't need. And we're not talking about spending that amount per week here, we're talking a month. Now I realize that some people don't have extra money and that is fine. Those of us fortunate enough to grab Mickey Ds for lunch today ought to do our share. Granted, I have three kids going through this school system, so I have a vested interest in class sizes smaller than 60 kids and music programs more extensive than recorders, but really.... we all should. I don't care if you aren't having children or if yours are 60 years old. The kids in this district will be your neighbors, your coworkers, your caretakers. Do you want them to know how to read and be successful? Or do you want them to mug you for money instead?

$12, $16, or $20 per month for our future.... How much can you afford?

Pepper's Lesson

2010-11-12T08:33:00.007-05:00

So, Pepper is DYING to be an outdoor cat. She screams through the screens whenever we open the windows and she tries to bolt out the back door every chance she gets. When she was younger, I tried to let her be a feline who swings both ways, but she took off and Mark and I had to spend the midnight hour searching and calling for her to return, so she promptly got sequestered back into mi casa. That's what you get if you break curfew. Take note, Tabbitha. But, yesterday we may have curbed her craving for freedom... forever.

MMMMEEEOOOOWWWW!!!

During one of Jack's 4,000 trips in and out of the house, Pepper made the mad dash out the sliding glass door, and actually made it... tail intact. Luckily, Will and I were sitting on the patio and so I knew she wasn't going to get far. We watched her skulk about, preening and prancing in her new found freedom. She surveyed her territory and decided to sun herself in a particularly bright spot near the patio table. That is when Will decided to teach her a lesson (or at least, that is how I am going to assume his thought process went). Otherwise, it is just mean and I don't want PETA after my 4 year old. So, let's just assume he saw this as a "teachable moment."

HISSSSSSSSSS!!!

He grabbed the cat, and I decided since he had her in his clutches, he should just throw her back in the house. He did as he was told, but picked the "play house" instead. Pepper looked a smidgen put out, as every cat does when someone makes them do something that they didn't choose for themselves (apparently, I was a cat in my past life)... but eventually just laid down. Jack decides to join the club and lumbers up the rock wall to check out the cat in the play house. I make the crucial error of saying, "Be careful, guys. There's not much room up there and you don't want to push Pepper off the side." Apparently what I said and what Will heard were fraternal twins, not identical, and he heard "Hey Will, push Pepper down the slide."

I have never seen a cat's eyes literally bug out of its head before. Needless to say, Pepper ran straight to the back door and into the house. I think she learned an important lesson about safety. The outside world is a dangerous place. Oh wait... I guess Will is inside, too. Good luck, Pepcid.

My Husband's Disabled...

2010-11-10T08:38:00.003-05:00

I haven't mentioned this in past blogs, but I think today is my day to admit it. I don't want to feel ashamed and I don't want your pity. I just want to be able to admit that Mark has special needs and not be embarrassed. Deep breath.... ok.... Mark has partial blindness and partial deafness. Whew... there... I said it.

Apparently the blindness is sporadic. It doesn't seem to affect his driving or anything that needs to be done at work. It seems to kick in when he walks into this house and there are messes around. Suddenly, when he encounters such issues, he goes blind. He cannot see the crumbs on the counter from his breakfast preparation, and he cannot even see our dishwasher. He is forced to leave his dishes in the sink or on the counter. Sadly, the issue is so devastating that while he can see the coffee pot well enough to make coffee, once his mug is poured, he cannot see it to empty it or clean it. It really is amazing how he powers through the hard times.

The other side to his disability is the selective deafness that he experiences. Luckily for my family, this doesn't seem to affect his work, unless I call him at work and ask him to stop by a store and buy bread on the way home. Then he becomes instantly deaf and is unable to complete the request. Luckily, that only happens when I call, and not when his boss speaks. Thank God!!! When he comes home, I may ask him to do laundry, but how could he? He can't hear me ask and he can't see the pile of laundry overflowing the laundry room. And, how could I expect him to know that Tabbi has Girl Scouts or volleyball on a particular night? He can't hear me when I tell him. But, he suffers without complaint. He's a trooper.

I feel like a burden has been lifted by coming out with Mark's disease. I no longer need to be ashamed of the coffee grounds spilled all over the stove top. I need to embrace them and realize that this cannot be helped. He is a fully functioning partially blind and selectively deaf person, and I should be grateful for the sight and hearing that he does have. Thank you, Mark, for being so strong despite all that you suffer from. I will strive to pick up the pieces. OH WAIT!!! I ALREADY DO!!!

Nature versus Nurture

2010-11-09T08:35:00.002-05:00

I was at a friend's house on Saturday night and got to visit with a group of women that I used to work with, and now don't see very often. Somehow we got onto the conversation of how our children are so different from one another... meaning that my two boys with the same parents, being raised the same way are so very different. It almost makes the argument that nature shapes our little people more than we do.

I described Will as fearless when it comes to physical feats. He could climb our big wooden play set before he was a year old. He flew up the rock wall while he still toddled on our living room floor. Jack just made it up this year, and he turned two this summer. Will rides his big girl scooter (yes, he has a girl's scooter. Shut up.) with no fear, flying down our street at lightening speed. (At least, it looks like lightening speed to me when I have the 9 and the 1 already dialed into my phone, sure that he is going to break his neck at any moment.) The other signature Will characteristic is that every single person in his presence is his best friend in the whole wide world. He wants to talk to, play with and love everyone. And he lets you know. Immediately. Last, Will is sensitive. If someone at the playground (usually slightly older girls) shun him... it cuts him deep, yo. Strangers or not, he gets deeply wounded by people's actions and it lingers.

Jack is two, and while they say that personalities change significantly until a child reaches 4ish, you can tell that Jack is not a little mini-Will. As I said, when it comes to the physical stuff, Jack is not as adventurous. He is leery of dangerous things. Now, eventually he gets over it in most cases.... but where Jack has to size up the situation, Will flies by the seat of his pants without a second thought (and sometimes without the pants). Jack is also shy. That could be his speech delay, but I don't know. I think that he sizes people up, too. You really have to rate as pretty interesting for Jack to bother giving you the time of day. It's not an easy task. And, sensitive? I think not. I believe Jack will have rhinoceros skin. He strikes me as a dude who will go his own way and do his own thing without giving critics a second thought. He will be him (hopefully he'll get over his hoarding), and I am not sure that he will care who likes it.

I had never really thought of the boys in these parallels before Saturday night. But, really... it is kind of amazing. I grew these little creatures from scratch, and yet their little personalities are growing on their own, and in very different ways. Maybe everyone else knew about this, but I just find it amazing. I grew little creatures... and they are growing into little people. Amazing.

Let's Get Loud

2010-11-05T11:44:00.002-04:00

So, this is the sequel to last night's post about Tabbi saying that she hated us. It isn't fair to portray her as the bad guy, when I have to admit my faults, as well. Ok, I don't have to, but I always do. I screw up and I shout it from the rooftops (aka blog it from my desktop), because I am an equal opportunity caller outer. And last night, I lost it. While I may have forbidden Tabbi to open her mouth again, I opened mine. A lot. And a calling out must be done.

Tabbi would attest to the fact that I don't raise my voice. Actually she says that I am way scarier than most parents, because the more mad I get, the calmer I get. I don't yell hardly ever. I speak. Firmly. However, last night post my post, I got mad. Really mad. And I yelled.

The conversation started with me trying to talk out what was going on, but rational talk and 11 year olds is an oxymoron. So, she yelled. She yelled that she hated her life, she's hated it for the last 4 years and why can't she just go to her mother's. Her mom is the only one that loves her and her dad hates her and while I am pretty sure that more words came out of her mouth after that, all I heard was a dull roar. And then I realized that the roar was probably coming from me.

I am not going in to detail about what was said, because it is all personal business of this family. What I will say is that I had zero tolerance for her assertion that her father doesn't love her, and I made that clear. CRYSTAL clear. I demonstrated voluminously how much her father loved her and that things may not be perfect, but she doesn't show love so well herself. The more I said, the louder I grew, telling her that maybe she would have a better relationship with Mark if when he walked in the door at night and asked how her day was... maybe she should answer. Maybe an eye roll and one syllable response to every question asked isn't necessarily the most loving response either. However, I said this all at possibly the highest decibel level this house has ever heard. And if you know this house, that is saying something.

The good news is that by the end of our "conversation" (which has left me with a scratchy throat today like I just cheered all night at a double header), Tabbi and I came to an understanding. Then, of her own volition, she came downstairs and hugged her dad and they both apologized and told each other that they love each other. At the end, we went from the Osbournes (minus the drugs and cursing) to the Cleavers (minus only the pearls). The lesson learned: Blended families like ours are not easy things, and tweens can push you to within an inch of your sanity... but in the end, we all survived. And people thought it would only be the cockroaches left after a nuclear war....

Silent Night

2010-11-04T19:42:00.003-04:00

Ok, so Tabbi didn't drop the "I hate you" phrase on us tonight, but instead she went for "when I am 13, do I get to pick where I live?" So, it was similar to the typical "I hate you," but with a slight variation because she thinks she has an escape route that most kids don't have. And, this will probably come as a shock to many... but I was stunned. I truly didn't think that she would ever want to move back in with her mother. But, I recovered nicely and banned her from speaking for the rest of the night. Seriously. Banned. No speaking for her. I didn't yell, I didn't lobby for our house over her mom's... I just said, "Ok, you don't get to speak for the rest of the night." And by God, it has been pretty quiet here ever since.

It doesn't matter what tween drama lead to this statement. I am not writing about her behavior or anything that is happening here. I am only interested in those three little words that any kid can throw out that just stops your world. "I HATE YOU."

Interestingly, one of Tabbi's friends texted that she hated her mom not too long ago. I read the text. I sort of know the mother. So, I briefly wondered about telling her. But, I didn't. I felt that like tonight, those words were said in direct retaliation against a punishment the girl had earned. It didn't need to be brought to the mom's attention and a simple issue then explodes into World War III. And, now that I am the wide receiver of the sentiment... I feel even more vindicated in not saying anything.

I know that Tabbi's words were chosen out of anger and revenge, but that doesn't ease the sting. It's like a good right hook and it landed exactly where she wanted it to. So, I was pleased that I didn't give her the satisfaction of knowing how that statement felt, but still. Ouch. A little sliver of a relationship that was at one point good just got squished.... and I don't know when or how it is going to heal.

High School Remix

2010-11-01T13:33:00.005-04:00

Today I found myself in high school. Again. Ok, not really. Been there, done that about (ahem) 10 years ago. But, sometimes I kinda feel like I am back. Apparently while our acne and perms may go away, that insecurity does not.

I feel the cliquishness while I drop Will off at school. My brood and I go in alone and drop Will off with a few smiles and polite nods to a couple of the other mothers. But, for the most part, I am alone. But, there is a group of women who parade in together, highlights flapping in the wind and you just know... they are those girls. The ones that everyone wants to either be friends with or date, depending on your sexual persuasions. They waltz in wearing whatever the "in" sportswear is of that moment and even though it may be a Columbia jacket and Pumas, they still make you feel frumptastic. When I got dressed this morning, I was fine in my brown cords and orange sweater. Then I see them and my reflection turns from the warm and casual look I intended, into a Halloween costume of a construction cone on two tree trunks. My hair suddenly feels uber cropped into man locks and my dweeb factor sky rockets. They are smiling, texting and sashaying to their 4Runners, an army of put together momunists. I am grunting, lugging and hauling toddler to my minivan. They are those girls.... and I am still not.

The funny part is that I wasn't this girl in high school. I had my fantastic group of friends, and the girls in the popmosphere just didn't matter to me. I have no idea what they did in their spare time and who they dated. None of that registered on my "things to care about" list. While I may have admired their attire from time to time (though as I try to recall, I am not sure that is even true), I was an overalls and ARMY t shirt (from a thrift store) kinda gal. I liked my flannels and my jeans, and none of the above came from The Gap or Abercrombie or any of the like. I wore what I wanted (I still miss my bright yellow Doc Marten mary janes), and I didn't really care. I didn't change my opinion of me based on the looks on their faces, so why now?

I find myself in a world where my self confidence (or don't care-edness) has gone away. I remember back to being 22 and walking into my first real job one day with blond hair with pink tips and the second in command said "Your hair is two different colors." I looked at his more salt than pepper mop and said, "So is yours." I cracked back and didn't care who liked my look and who didn't. But now... I care. Maybe it is because I have morphed into a person I don't really know yet. I traded who I was for a person that I want to be... the stay home mom. But, maybe she and I haven't really melded yet. Or, is it that with each year that passes, the pounds pack on and I feel unsure in my own skin? It's not what they are wearing or driving, but that they are a mere sliver of myself and I would still feel ashamed of myself even in the same outfits and vehicles? Is it that I have finally grown up enough to recognize that impressions we give to others actually do matter? My "self confidence" was really just immaturity with a better name?

Whatever it is, I don't know. I know I want to feel the way I used to in a dog collar and jet black hair. While I realize I looked more Marilyn Manson than Mama Bear and do not wish to head back to punkland, I wish I could still stand as tall and feel as good. Until then, I guess it is back to high school for me. Maybe this time I can get better grades!!!

Advice for the Soon-To-Weds

2010-10-27T08:45:00.002-04:00

I have two friends that are planning their weddings right now. As a marriage veteran (5 L-O-N-G years under my belt), I feel like I have some wisdom to impart on them.

1. My mama told me that the key to a happy marriage is a king size bed. Amen, Mama. Nothing says "happily ever after" like the ability to roll over and sleep as if you are completely ALONE. That being said, separate covers and ear plugs turn mere happy to insanely blissful.

2. Never go to bed angry. Stay up and discuss the issue and move forward. Then, stay up a little longer to plan all the ways you are going to subtly throw this fight in his face for the next 12 months to further demonstrate why you are right and he is wrong.

3. Split the chores. Even if you are a stay home mom (like someone I know), your life will be infinitely better if you split the household duties. Once they are split, reserve the right to change them frequently using the term "but, you're better at it." Then settle in to watch Hoarders as he does whatever chore you are just not in the mood for.

4. Make him feel special. See number three for backhanded compliment that really just gets you out of the yucky stuff.

5. Know that some things just aren't on the table for discussion. Super Bowl Sunday, for example, is non-negotiable. It is not a day to spring "hey, let's scrapbook together" on him. (In my case, it's more of a Project Runway is an inalienable right thing, but whatever floats your man's boat). Just remember, the wedding day was your day... Super Bowl Sunday is theirs.

6. Go into the marriage knowing that your last day of bliss and happiness is probably your wedding day. After that, it's work. It's bills, then kids... then you're too tired to acknowledge each other with anything more than a "I am watching The Bad Girls Club, so if you don't want to, go away." That being said, if you can find someone willing to hang with you while you watch The Bad Girls Club, keep him. That, my friends, is the key to happiness.

Good luck! Godspeed! And remember, if it doesn't work happiness can be only a divorce lawyer away.

Rose Colored Glasses?

2010-10-25T09:51:00.003-04:00

It is a funny thing to see your kids through other people's eyes. I have three, and most of the time I think I am pretty good at cataloging where they stand in most instances. Tabbi is scary smart, and I can see that. But, she has the makings of an evil genius more so than Bill Gates the Second. She has potential in many things from music to sports, but her drive or motivation (or lack thereof) will end up keeping her pretty average. Will is a lover. He is sweet and playful, but overly sensitive and stubborn. He is LOUD beyond belief and his mommy-centrism keeps him from really exploring and enjoying new activities. Jack is Jack. He is funny and goofy and stubborn and sometimes down right mean. That little man will put his nose right on yours and smile like he is going to give you an Eskimo kiss and then WHACK! Here's a right hook to your cheek from out of nowhere. He thinks he rules the roost and he doesn't take no for an answer. See? I can admit the faults in my kids.... but then I get faced with someone else's opinion of the kids and suddenly... I have to wonder. Could I have rose colored glasses on and not even know it?

My friend Homa calls Will "lively." It's not really a slam, but it isn't a compliment either. I consider him active until someone points out that his activity isn't necessarily the most endearing quality. I sit here and say that I would rather have him be moving and shaking rather than zombied out in front of the boob tube, but then people will call him "active" or "lively" with a more annoyed tone and I am left to ponder... is he obnoxious? Are we heading down the ADHD super highway, and I have blinders on? How do you know if what you see as a positive because you love your dude so much is really a negative?

Other things have been called to my attention, too. Will has some pretty unsavory table manners right now, and I work really hard during meals to get him to behave. But, I chalk up his short comings to the fact that he is four and really... if the shrimp is too spicy, I would spit it into my napkin, too. But, then even my mom will say things like "I wish he would get past that already." Not an insult, but a wake up call that maybe I am not doing enough to get him back on the manners track. Jack will only let the person HE wants do things like buckle his car seat or turn on his Mickey Mouse show on TV. He wants who he wants, when he wants them. I realize that this is annoying, but sometimes I would rather pick my battles and avoid the tantrums and just do it his way. Not always, but sometimes. But, am I just reinforcing his moods? The assumption that he will grow out of that stuff dissuades me from getting all upset about it. But then I see the upset in others and wonder if my complacence is the problem after all.

It is hard to see the negatives in your own children. When some people are so clearly annoyed with what you kid is doing, and you see it as just a kid being a kid... who is wrong? I used to be a card carrying member of the "Kids Don't Belong in Public Unless They Sit Down and Shut Up" club, but now that I have the non-sitters and non-shutter uppers, I can see that I was wrong to be so judgemental and harsh. Or, when I let my little boy walk around our table as long as he stays out of the way... maybe I am wrong to be so lax and permissive? Maybe it is time that I get new glasses, and maybe this time I need to make sure they are clear... not rose colored. Then again, maybe my kids are OK, and the rest of the world could just sit back, take a deep breath and enjoy them for what they are... children.

Seriously, This Was My Morning

2010-10-14T11:56:00.004-04:00

So, let me tell you about my day. It all started when I was making the boys pancakes for breakfast. I am standing there and decide to check Tabbi's cell phone. I consider it my "lying/cheating 6th sense" that I have developed thanks to her. It is a super power that will come in very handy when the boys reach her age and realize that there is nothing that she hasn't tried. The thing is, Tabbi is grounded from her phone until Sunday. But, I get that niggling feeling that I need to check it. I see that she was texting this morning before school. GROWL!!! Then, I realize that the number she is texting isn't programmed into her phone, meaning it isn't someone she knows. DOUBLE GROWL!!! Then I realize that this conversation warrants action.

The conversation goes as follows:

Stranger: I can see u little girl

Tabbi: Who r u?

Stranger: I can see u

Tabbi: Who is this????

Stranger: IDK. I got your number from a friend.

I decide that this is stupid. I am over the kids (Tabbi included) thinking that cell phones are toys and texting is a game. If you don't have something to say, then shut up. No more nonsense texts. So, I call the number. I tell the caller's voicemail that I saw the texts on my daughter's phone and it needs to stop. "I am a police officer and this falls under harassment so do not call or text again or the cops will be at your door." Yeah... I lied. But, I felt it would make the kid stop. Last spring we were getting heavy breathing pranks one night until I said "Do you realize I am a police officer?" and suddenly no more panting. But today... I realize after I hang up that the voicemail wasn't a kid. That was a man's voice. At least 18, definitely not 11. So, I move on from the "this is annoying" mindset into, "what the hell is this?"

My friend Amoh (name changed to preserve her anonymity) does a reverse number search online (yes, we think she is going to leave her job and start her own detective agency) and the cell is linked to a tow truck company in a southern Indianapolis suburb. My "what the hell" feeling grows. So, after consulting my mom, Amoh and my friend Arual Eht Suomaf, I decide to call the police. If this is truly an adult male, and he is acting like he got the number from a friend, but already knows she is a little girl... I decide we are embarking on Law & Order: SVU territory and I jump to action.

I call the police. Then I remember that I impersonated a police officer and start to worry. Are they going to get Mr. Pervyton or are they going to arrest me? I begin to panic over the thought of me pretending to be a cop. Then, after I have set up a babysitter for the kids and someone to pay my bail... I make the call. They take my information and basically confirm that this is a big freaking deal. The dispatch officer says, "You have no idea how many perverts there are on our streets." Really? My street in particular or is this just a general statement? So, dispatch sends Officer Big Strong Man to my house. I did admit to dispatch that I pretended to be a cop on the voicemail and subsequently begged him not to arrest me. Luckily, he laughed and promised he wouldn't. Whew!

Officer BSM takes the matter seriously, but not as seriously as dispatch guy did. He agreed that the voice was in the 18 to 25 category, but was quick to assume it was an older brother of some kid messing around. And, maybe it was. Maybe I was stupid for calling the police and bringing Officer BSM to my house. But, what if I wasn't? What if Mitchell the Tow Truck Guy is a pervert and is watching my kid? Then, I want Officer BSM to call and leave the message that he left so that Mitchell or his little brother wet their pants and in the process come to grips with the following: 1. Don't screw with me. While I may not be a cop, I have no qualms calling them. So, pick another little kid to phone stalk. And if I hear from you again, you are toast. Or, 2. If you are a kid in her class messing around, cell phones are not freaking toys. Read a book. Get a hobby. Leave people alone unless you have something REAL to tell them. 3. Lose Tabbi's number because stalker or kid... either way... you don't want to mess with me and mine again.

Mr. Sensitive

2010-10-12T08:58:00.003-04:00

Ok, so Will is a weenie. I mean that in the most affectionate way, but he is a little sissy pants. And not when it comes to getting hurt. I have watched my little man fall forward, backward, upside down and round round and he bounces back up like he's made of rubber. But, his feelings... they don't bounce quite as well.

Last night I was putting him to bed and he wanted to read the book "Oh, The Places You'll Go" by Dr. Seuss. If you don't know this one, it is the consummate graduation message. It's about going off on your own and sometimes you'll succeed, sometimes you won't, sometimes you'll be alone, sometimes you'll be waiting for something new... but you are special so get out there and do great things. The end message is "Kid, you'll move mountains!" Will immediately starts in with the questions. Why would you move a mountain? Mountains are too heavy to move. Why would you want to? Etc. It is hard to explain metaphor to a 4 year old, so I just say that it means that he is really special. He turns to me straight faced and said "No, I'm not." Insert mommy heartbreak here.

He explained to me that he isn't special because sometimes he doesn't do the right thing. Sometimes in school he gets in trouble for not listening and sometimes he is mean to his friends... like the other day when he sprayed Martin in the face with his squirt gun. He isn't special because he isn't good sometimes. Insert mommy heartbreak the size of the San Andreas Fault here.

I explained to Will that even people who are special sometimes make bad choices. I reminded him that he is a great kid at school and has never had to move his animal (a way to track their behavior in class) which is a great way for him to see that he is being well behaved. I reminded him that sometimes Martin makes him mad, too, but that he always forgives Martin and Martin will always forgive him. And even if he makes a mistake, like squirting lotion all over mommy's carpet (yes, that was yesterday's activity during quiet time), I still love him and I always will. He will always be special because he makes his family and friends super happy, no matter what.

Will was soothed with that conversation and quickly moved on to watching 4 minutes of his favorite video with Dad before bed. But, it lingered with me. I love that Will is so cognisant of other people's feelings, but sometimes it feels like he is carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. I want him to strike a balance between the loving and caring side of him and this tension that he carries that he has somehow wronged someone. Not to brag (as I brush off my shoulders), but Will is LOVED by all the kids in class and all the adults, because he is such a lover himself. But if someone comes close to a frown in his presence, he takes that like a shot to the heart. He feels things so deeply, which I dig about him... but I just want to spare him the pain that comes with. That is the mountain I want to move.... now I just need to figure out how.

Time To Make A Stand

2010-10-07T08:21:00.006-04:00

I am not very eloquent this morning. (Insert comment similar to "when are you?" here). My dudes have been sick and I am exhausted, so the brain is firing on hamster wheel power not horse power (much like the Geo Metro of my past). But, something is happening in our universe right now and it is worth talking about, even if it is in fragments, parentheticals and a wee bit of gibberish. That situation is the rise of teen/young adult gay suicide that seems to have statistics climbing on a daily basis.

Your kid is one of these kids. I don't know which side they are on, but I know from having an 11 year old, that children fall into one of two categories. They are either the bullies or they are the bullied. It may not be because they are gay... but there is something. And, until we attempt to thwart this army of mean girls and boys that we are sending into our schools every day, no one is safe. And people are dying. Celebrities like Ellen DeGeneres, Tim Gunn and Dave Navarro are coming out to tell gay kids that they are not alone, and that is fantastic. But, the message can't come from the talking heads on TV. The message needs to come from home, that's our ground zero. It's time for us parents to put down the Blackberries and step away from the clutter of our lives and talk to our kids. It may just keep them alive.

There is a book that Jack likes that is called I Love You Through and Through. It talks about loving top sides, bottom sides, insides and outsides. The end is "I love you through and through... yesterday, today and tomorrow, too." I don't know if anyone else has read it, but there is no asterisk saying "unless you turn out to be gay." The message of the book is fantastic, because it is all about unconditional love that a parent feels for their kids. "I love you running and walking, silent and talking." There's no place where it says, "I love you if you marry a woman and live a traditional heterosexual life." Maybe we should distribute this book to new parents, because it explains what parental love is supposed to be... and clearly, some people are missing the boat on it. Four teens have taken their lives in the last month because they were bullied about their sexuality. I don't know what the home lives were like for these kids, but I have a feeling that if the parents were supportive, the bullying could have stopped or at least counteracted enough to save the child's life.

It is not Ellen's, Tim's or Dave's job to save our children. It is ours. And maybe it is time to send the message that gay or straight, they are still our kids. Let's go ahead and spread tolerance and acceptance to our kids, instead of judgement or hate. Let's turn the army of evil that we've raised so far into kids who are actually kind to others. It can't be corrected on tv or through celebrities. It starts here, and it starts with the message that we love you. I have two boys and I dream of a day when they will be sports stars, cure cancer and become President of the United States, but if in the process it turns out that they are gay... then I will love them. I will. Unconditional love is just that, unconditional.

I have never been gay and I don't yet have any experience with a gay child. But, I can only assume that parents would rather have a gay child than a dead one. If your son or daughter is struggling with their sexuality, then let them know that whatever they determine, you will love them. And if your child is one of the bullies, let them know that they are killing someone. With every "fag" and "homo," they are taking away a bit of someone's life. Four lives have been taken away this month alone. None of those kids had the intention of pushing someone to suicide, but it isn't intention that kills someone. It's the words. It's the actions. Don't let your child live with that guilt. Don't let them be a murderer. Some things are just wrong... so why all the sudden it is so widespread? We let our kids become this... now it is time to fix our mistakes. Mean Girls, Bad Girls, and bullying Jersey Shore boys are not funny. It's not kids being kids. It's wrong. Unconditionally wrong.

So, it is time for us to stop being buddies and start raising children that we can be proud of. Step up and maybe if we stop the bullying, the life that you save may be your child's. It's time for us to make a stand. We love our kids. ALL of them. And if no one else will say it, then I will. No matter whose child you are, no matter what... I love you through and through... yesterday, today and tomorrow, too.

Reason for Divorce: Romantic Comedies

2010-09-27T12:37:00.007-04:00

If video killed the radio star, then what has the romantic comedy genre done to relationships? Per a study from some country that mass produces hot romantic comedy actors, women who watched a large number of romantic comedies were less satisfied with their relationships. Go figure.

I do think that the romantic comedy, or modern day fairy tales, are to blame for our ridiculously high expectations. Take Pretty Woman, for example. I don't know of any actual prostitutes that get picked up by rich dudes and turned into Mrs. Donald Trump. That movie makes prostitution look glam and fruitful. You are even encouraged to have good dental hygiene for God's sake. But, flossing doesn't mean some rich dude is going to whisk you away in his odd grey limo and support you in paradise. Just ask Divine Brown. I haven't seen her on Hugh Grant's arm at any premiers, have you?

Ok, so we now know that you can't trust the career success in a romantic comedy, but what about the fact that they portray men and classy, loving and downright romantic. Give me a break! Ok, so I love Mark and blah blah blah, but come on. Romantic comedies are men standing outside holding up jam boxes blaring great songs. Real men are snoring and farting in their sleep. Romantic comedies are couples holding hands and strolling through the park. Real men are checking their Blackberry for the Colt's score and wondering how many walks it takes to get some action. Romantic comedies are happily ever after, romantic proposals and gorgeous weddings and then the credits roll. Real life... after the romantic proposals and wedding... you actually have to have marriage. Kids. Dirt. Bathrooms that smell of poo after the dude leaves and coffee grounds on the counter tops. It's laundry day when their socks are all inside out and when you turn them the right way, you feel his foot sweat. It's work. It's not romance. It's not comedy. It's life. And the movie makers are too smart to show you that part, or you go from Bed of Roses to War of the Roses in 60 seconds or less.

So, just say no to the romantic comedy. Our expectations are raised by men like Richard Gere, Will Smith and Mel Gibson (pre-psychotic rants and racism, of course) and our real life men just can't live up. I suggest instead that we watch hours and hours of Lifetime movies. I can say for sure that my man can stack up pretty well against the alcoholics, wife beaters and racists on that channel. Suddenly a little sleep fart won't smell quite as bad... ok, yeah it will... but at least I will fall back asleep with the knowledge that it could be worse. He could be running a dog fighting ring in our backyard.

Dancing with the.... what the hell???

2010-09-22T09:39:00.004-04:00

Dear Producers of Dancing with the Stars,

What the hell is this stupid ass cast of people on your show this season?

Sincerely,

Lynn

OK, no one gets off that easy First, let me say this.... My name is Lynn and I like Dancing with the Stars. There, I said it. Admission is the first step. I know the show is terribly dorky, but I like it. Admittedly, I have an addiction to all reality competition shows that ever appears in front of my eyeballs. And, I like the pretty sparkly costumes (although costume is too big a word when certain professionals take the floor in their bedazzled Kleenexes taped to certain "not seen on TV" body parts) and I like the dancing. No blood, no sex (at least not too overt), no mystery... it is what it is and sometimes I like that. And, just to up my ballroom cred a little, I have even attended the finale show. Granted, the tickets, hotel and airfare were free (I wouldn't pay money to be there), but still, at a time when my Will was a wee little baby and I rarely left him to even go out to dinner, I left him for three days to attend the Mario Hosting Guy versus Emmitt Smith finale show. So, like I said... I am a fan.

But, not today. Today I deleted the recorded season opener (unwatched) and I deleted the results show (unwatched) and I deleted the setting to record future shows. Today I deleted my show that I typically made a priority to watch. And why, you may be wondering? Because I don't watch idiots on TV. If I did, I'd be DVRing Jersey Shore not Dancing with the Stars. Granted, AC Slater is no MENSA candidate, but still... The Situation? He doesn't even have a name... he has a noun. This is a man famous for... well... being drunk, overly tanned and obnoxious? I realize George Hamilton was once on the show, but his younger, dumber version just isn't needed. There is more to life than abs... After all, didn't we learn that from Jake Pavelka's demise???

And Bristol Palin? Really? I almost can't dignify her presence with comment. But, no one is that lucky, so comment I shall. Just a little clue to the yayhoos that picked her to be on the show.... she is not a star!!! She is the child of a wack job (ahem... I mean politician) who is only known because she got knocked up in high school and then on again off agained her baby daddy. FYI, I used to work with like 5 middle aged women whose teen daughters followed that same path. Let's put them on next season and have a dance off! If Bristol hadn't entered teen pregnancy statistic land, we wouldn't know her name. Case in point... what are the names of the other Palin offspring? Beside Bristol, I can't name a one, although I think Twig or Twithead might be in there somewhere.

That leads me to The Hoff (really, now we're taking other reality show "has beens"???), Florence Henderson (who they had to bring in an aged partner to dance with so didn't go all pervy Mrs. Robinson on us), and Audrina Pap Seeker from The Hills whose name I know only because she had a nudey picture scandal a couple years ago. Maybe if this stint on DWTS doesn't kick start her "career" maybe she can release a sex tape or have 10 plastic surgeries in one day like that other Hills moron (I mean star).

So, in closing... count me out. I won't watch the train wreck (I mean Tango) being done on the ballroom this season and I politely request that maybe before contracts are done for the next round of dancers, you might want to gauge their annoying and/or idiot factor before signing on the dotted line. Until then, I guess it's House and Hoarders for me on Mondays.

If you see my mind, let me know...

2010-09-20T13:47:00.003-04:00

Wanted: My mind. My marbles. My sanity. The sandwich that will complete my picnic. Something!

I usually have it mostly together. I want to say that I have it all together, but that is not true. I may let something little slip like putting out a check for Tabbi's lunch money or leaving out Will's trucks the way he requested, but on the whole I have the big stuff handled. I know when the bills are due, I know when the paychecks are coming, I know volleyball is Tuesday and Thursday and I can throw in tracking on Laura's mom's birthday party, too. I can juggle it all... until today. Today I dropped the ball. Balls... actually.

I got dressed up today for the Parent/Teacher coffee at Will's school. You drop your kid in his class with a substitute teacher, and then his teacher and the parents sit in a different room getting to know one another. It's a cute little gathering to meet the other parents and chat. I shoved Will into his class and was ready to hit the snack table in the coffee room when his teacher handed me a yellow paper. It was an invitation. To the coffee. Next Monday. Oops.

Fast forward to picking Will up from school today. He and Jack want to hit the playground, but I say no. Today we need to book it home, eat the fast "special" lunchable at a decent pace and zip over to the doctor for Jack's 2 year old check up. I shove them in the car, unhappy about missing playground time. They are thrilled about the lunchable, but a snail could lap them in the eating process so I begged, I threatened, I pleaded and finally they were done. We use the restroom, wipe faces and back into the car. We hit the waiting room in record time and I sign Jack in. The receptionist asks for his name and plugs him into the computer. I wait. She looks. I wait more. She looks more. I am still waiting. She is still looking. Then she sees it. Jack's appointment... 1:30... on the 30th. So, I am roughly 5 minutes, and 10 days early. Great.

I used to track on things. I used to be able to manage my little family of five and all of our commitments. Now... I think I may need to be managed by something, and I certainly need to be committed. So my next task for the day is either finding a new CEO of our family or finding my freaking mind... and I am not sure either one is very likely.

Kids Text the Darndest Things...

2010-09-14T09:40:00.003-04:00

Ladies and gentlemen, we have entered a new realm. An era where we as parents don't have to just worry about what our kids say and do when they are at school or friends' houses.... oh no. Now they have access to other wee ones 24/7. They have cell phones and Facebook and all sorts of techie mediums they can use to spread their kidiocy throughout the universe whenever they want and we, the parents, cannot keep up. We are losing the battle for our kids to the machines. Insert Terminator reference here.

Here is the situation we encountered this weekend. Tabbi spent the night at a friend's house and apparently she, her friend and another guest decided to spend their free time harassing some boy via text messages. Now, I am not going to lie... I distinctly remember a sleepover in someone's basement where many a prank call was dialed to many a boy from our school. I also distinctly remember being the speaker for most calls because I am a killer liar (sorry, Mom) and can do so without laughing. But, the difference between then and now is that you could really only prank the same dude two times before his 'rents got involved and we were toast. In this case, the boy Tabbi targeted received 67 texts in a 2 hour period of time. Gone are the days of just saying "Is your refrigerator running" and here are the days of 12 texts of "asjdkjadjkkj" in a row.

To make things worse, I later found out that the other two girls involved have told their parents that Tabbi knows this boy two years her senior, from another school district and she has been texting pictures of herself. Upon hearing this news, my head exploded. The end.

Ok, my head is still intact, and amazingly so is Tabbi. Turns out that the part of the story that made me the most upset isn't true. They came across this boy because he initially texted Tabbi on accident. It was a wrong number. He had no idea who she was and most importantly she never sent him photos. She wanted to seem older and cooler to her friends so she made a "they'll think I'm cool" story into a "Lynn Nightmare!!!"

All of this has been resolved and Tabbi has learned a really hard lesson on what type of behavior is ok on a cell phone. She has lost her phone/Facebook for a week and knows very clearly that if this happens again she loses both for good. But, punishments do not really fix the problem. Tabbi is 11 years old and fighting all the same demons that I fought 20 years ago when I was her age. She wants to fit in, she wants to feel good about herself and she wants to be accepted. But... she has all these tools to make the lack of these things scream so much louder than before. At least in my day, you went home and unless you received a phone call, the lamb stopped screaming til the next day at school. I remember a note from friends that temporarily ended my world in 7th grade.... but the issue was only between us. I see similar messages come across Facebook pages daily and instead of a private fight, it goes viral. This world is a new frontier for kids and parents, and I for one am scared. Scared for her, scared for us as parents... and most of all... scared that the Amish community I am planning to join to avoid all of this won't have us.

Happy Groundhog Day!!!

2010-09-01T10:48:00.005-04:00

So, Mark has his new job and he is all "hey, my new server works" and "hey, my boss took me out to lunch again because I'm kinda awesome" and while I am thrilled for our family's financial status (which hovers around "adequate but not ritzy" right now), I have to admit that I am a little bit jealous. He's all meeting new people and doing new things, and I am all Bill Murray in Groundhog Day. Every single day I wake up is virtually identical to the one before. Ok, yesterday we went swimming and today we're going school shopping for Will, but still... substitute children fighting over pool toy for children fighting over check out toy and it is the same freaking day. And you know what... tomorrow is right on schedule.

Let me paint a picture for you... I wake up when Jack does. We watch one and a half Blue's Clues in my bed and then he wants to come downstairs. He asks for apple juice and when I give it to him, he gets pissed that it isn't chocolate milk. He didn't ask for chocolate milk. Every day I ask him if he really wants chocolate milk and every day he screams "APPLE JUICE, YOU IDIOT!!!" Ok, I added the last part. One day, in my infinite wisdom, I handed him chocolate milk instead of apple juice and thought I was one step away from the MENSA presidency.... and he chucked it at my head. I gave in and got him apple juice. He chucked it at my head and screamed for chocolate milk. I give up.

Will rolls out of bed an hour or so after Jack. Then the fighting begins. They fight over who sits where on the couch, who gets the blanket, who gets the toy that the other one doesn't even really want to play with but will fight to the death over it, what to watch on tv (when neither one will really sit down and watch anything), what to watch on Netflix online (when neither one will really sit down for more than 30 seconds anyway), who gets to sit in which chair at the computer, whose foot touched the other, whose hand slapped the other in the face once the one foot touched the other... You see my point. They fight. They start at Will's wake up and they stop at Jack's bedtime, only pausing for nap time/quiet time in between.

During nap time/quiet time, Will fights with me. He doesn't nap anymore so he gets to lay in my bed and watch tv. He is not to leave my room until whatever show is over. I threaten... I cajole... I implore. He leaves. He comes down to tell me that it is a commercial. He comes down to tell me that he has to go potty. He comes down to tell me that Olivia is super funny today. I send him up. I talk sternly. I swat him on the butt and put him back. And he comes down. Every day.

Later, Tabbi comes home and is vehemently opposed to anything I say. I remind her that she has girl scouts and she flips her lid over having a meeting. I remind her that I gave her the opportunity to quit over the summer and we had many a long talk about it, and she reminds me that she is never ever ever going to just willingly do anything in her entire life. She does her homework, and then we have to fight over her practicing the violin... this instrument that she proclaims a deep and profound love for... until she has to touch it. Then, when that is done and I ask her to watch the boys while I make dinner, she reminds me that her version of babysitting is being within 30 feet of the children, but not really knowing that for sure because her eyes are too glued to her phone to see them.

Lather.... rinse.... repeat. Every day.

I am jealous that Mark is doing something new. I am jealous that he likes it and that he gets to do new things and that he actually has something that measures his success. I can't migrate over to a new server as proof that I can accomplish something. I can't do anything but laundry, dinner and dishes, and there is no gratification in that, because I just start over again tomorrow. The alarm goes off (which is not Sonny & Cher, but rather Jack's screams of "MAMA!!!!") and my day starts again. No change, no..... oh wait, I gotta go. The boys are fighting.

Dear Hailey...

2010-08-27T08:24:00.004-04:00

Hailey is 11 and she doesn't understand why her grandmother is so sick. She doesn't understand why she may die when the rest of us are just not ready to lose her. Her grandmother is in her 50s and no one is ready to say goodbye. But, her grandmother is sick and while we pray that it is still far away, one day her grandmother will die. Hailey's mom said, "if we don't understand it as adults, how the hell am I supposed to make her understand it." Well, the answer is that you can't. Death sucks and no matter how many people tell you that it's God's plan and that at least she won't hurt anymore... it still sucks. So, here is my answer to Hailey. I don't know why people leave us before we are ready, but it feels like this:

When someone you love dies, you feel like your heart is ripped out of you. There is a gaping hole left behind and it feels empty and numb but excruciatingly painful at the same time. You will wrap yourself in memories that will bring some comfort, but that hole will be there forever. And people will tell you that the pain will go away with time, but it doesn't. Instead, you find comfort in places you never would have noticed before.

One day you will be out somewhere and you will see a flower in the perfect shade of yellow that your grandmother would have loved. You'll see that flower and you'll think of her and at first it will hurt, but then you'll get a feeling like maybe that flower doesn't just remind you of her. Maybe she sent it to you, and suddenly you realize that maybe she isn't as far away as you thought.

Then another day you'll sit outside and the sky will be clear and blue, and there won't be a cloud anywhere. The weather will be so warm that your whole body relaxes and a gentle breeze will rustle through the trees. At that moment, you will think of her and you won't even really know why. And again you will realize it's because in that perfect and peaceful moment, she is there.

Some day you will have a really bad day. School will be hard or you'll fight with a friend and you'll just feel miserable. And maybe on this day when you are feeling so low you will wish that she was there to talk to or hug. But in that moment, you'll hear a song that she used to love or a stranger will say something to you that sounds exactly like something she used to say and you'll hear her in their words. She'll speak to you in ways you wouldn't expect to hear and you'll know that she is with you.

When you are much older, you will have your own babies. And it will hurt that she isn't there to meet them. You will wish that your babies would have known this woman who meant so much to you. But when your baby first looks at you, you will see your grandmother in the twinkle of your newborn's eye. You will see her in your baby's first crooked smile and you will see that she is a part of your baby, even though they didn't meet.

And later, much later you will have your own struggles. You will have to battle something you don't think you can face. You will want to give up and quit, and you will look yourself in the mirror thinking that life shouldn't have to be this hard. And when you look into your eyes staring back..... you will see her. You will see her face, strength, heart and love in yours and you will know that she never really left you at all, because she is inside of you. The very best parts of you came from her and you'll have that forever.

None of that will make losing her any easier. It isn't meant to. Losing someone you love is hard and no explanation of life and death is going to make you feel any better when it happens. All you can do is see that having her in your life has turned you into an extraordinary person and you'll feel her still when you least expect it. The hole that is left when she is gone will remain there forever, but day by day you'll take a little more comfort in the little things that are working to fill it.

Rice Krispie Treats Don't Fix Everything

2010-08-25T09:48:00.005-04:00

There is a commercial on TV right now where a worried mother is taking her son to his first day of school. She wants to walk him in and coddle him, but he declines. Then he gets to his locker and realizes that he has forgotten his combination and worriedly sticks his hands in his pocket to reveal that his mother slipped a Rice Krispie Treat in there complete with his locker combination. Insert "awwww" and single tear here. But, the thing is... you can't predict what is going to happen to your kids at school and you sure can't fit the entire solution on a Rice Krispie Treat wrapper.

SuperMom of TV and most commercials just doesn't exist. Real Mom would have sent her son in, and ran out to Starbucks for some R&R while he wondered how in the world to get into his locker. Real Mom would have listened to the son moan when he got home and would say, "I asked you if you wanted me to walk you in and you said no. Sorry you were embarrassed when the green-toothed janitor had to open your locker, but what would you like me to do about it?" But, Real Mom doesn't sell Rice Krispie Treats. And, Rice Krispie Treats can't sell what's real. (Just, look at the ingredients!!!)

Tabbi's first day of school didn't result in locker issues. Instead, she was faced with 6th grade girls in all their glory. She walked into a classroom run by a popular "Mean Girl" and none of her friends were in the class with her. So, she was confronted not with the green-toothed janitor, but with the well coiffed, make upped priss who didn't want to let Tabbi into her inner sanctum. Does Tabbi suck up to be accepted by her? Does she ignore her and risk permanent ostracizing by Miss Mean and all of her minions? Does Rice Krispie make a king size bar so that I can fit my advice on it and stick it in her pocket?

The reality is that Tabbi had to find her own way through that dilemma and most of the other dilemmas to follow. My ESP is on the fritz and I don't know what conundrums are coming up on a day to day (or hour to hour) basis, and I can't hide an answer in her pocket even if I did. And, I am not really sure I want to. I liked hearing about how she handled herself and I liked her decisions even more. I see her becoming a stronger kid because of it (not to mention having better dental health because we don't solve our problems with puffed rice and high fructose corn syrup). So, marketers out there take note... I think I'll buy the product where the mom-mercial doesn't involve flowing capes and saving the day, but instead creating little independent individuals that work it out alone. Put that on your Rice Krispie Treats and I'll go buy a box.

Amen, Mr. President

2010-08-14T11:29:00.005-04:00

At long last, President Obama has finally come out in support of building the mosque/community center near ground zero in New York. The President said, "As a citizen, and as a president, I believe that Muslims have the same right to practice their religion as everyone else in this country." And I say to that... Amen, Mr. President!

The entire religion of Islam did not attack our country, nor does this building have anything to do with the faction that did. It should not be seen as a slap in the faces of the victims of 9-11, but instead a huge outpouring of American pride. Freedom is what we are founded on, and terror cannot make us take that away. We can stand up and show the world that while we will never forget what happened that day, we will never be so insecure and afraid that we will fear an entire group for what a portion did. We will stand up for all the victims of September 11th, including the Muslim ones, and we will say that this beacon of hope, spirituality and community will be welcomed, not feared. We will be Americans. And no one can take that away.

Mute Button

2010-08-12T11:59:00.002-04:00

My house is loud. Crazy loud. I have three kids and a husband who sounds like he has a megaphone permanently glued to his lips. So I spend most of my evenings yelling "MUTE" or "VOLUME DOWN" as if they had voice triggered remote controls attached to their butts. And they don't. For the record, it never works. My voice just adds to the din until I finally just give up and pray for bedtime to come quickly. But, today, instead of wishing for a mute button... I wish I could have a talk button and aim it right at Jack.

My world is a blur, so I don't know if I have written about this or not, but Jack isn't talking yet. Well, that isn't true. He is great with repeating words right now and will scream them at you whenever he thinks it will get him what he wants. "ILCHK" (which means milk in Jackanese) and "NANDY" (candy) are yelled at me constantly. But, by this age he should be putting whole sentences together. Instead, we throw a ticker tape parade when he says "Jack ouchie." Two words and suddenly he's a MENSA candidate.

The good news is that there is nothing wrong with Jack cognitively. He is actually advanced, says our Speech Therapist who comes once a week. He just has an expressive delay. This delay never even bothered me until we had his 6 month meeting this week and suddenly there was talk of meeting with the special education department of our school district when he turns three and the special preschool that they offer. Granted, he just turned two so we have a long time, but still. God forgive me, but I don't want my baby in a special ed program.

I mean no disrespect to that profession or those classes, and I am grateful they exist. A good friend has twins who benefit immensely from the special education programs inside and outside of schools and I am so so glad that they do. But I, like every other parent, just want life to come easily to my child. I don't want him labeled, I don't want him to struggle and I want him to just be fine. I know that makes me sound selfish, but it's true. What seemed like just a minor hurdle in his communication is now looming over me like a permanent disability and I guess I never thought of it that way. Granted, he may still catch up and I am not gonna lie... I pray that he does before he turns three. But, until then I feel like I have a pit in my stomach and what I used to be excited for (both kids in school), I am now terrified of.

So, if you happen upon a magic speech inducing remote somewhere... let me know. And seriously, I'd take that mute button too!!!

Eat Pray Puke

2010-08-09T10:15:00.004-04:00

Ok, so I just heard Julia Roberts confess in an interview that the book Eat Pray Love moved her so much that it changed her life. Duh, Jules.... it gave you a job. And, what person pimping their new movie based on a book would say "actually I think the book was boring, predictable and a bit lame." No one but Shia Lebeouf would be so stupid as to bite the hand that feeds them (caviar), so Julia blinked her doe-eyed blink and professed her undying love for this book. But, since I don't get no money from the eating praying loving group, I am just going to say... I don't get it.

I have known a lot people who have claimed that this book is a life changer, but I disagree. I get about as much inspiration from this book (which I admittedly haven't read and will not go see the movie based on it) as I do from Oprah Winfrey's weight loss success. Give me a personal chef and personal trainer and I'll show you a size 8 Lynn, too. And, from what I have heard and the excerpts I have read, this book is the same way.

First of all... if I am going to be inspired by some person, it isn't going to be a person who is so financially yippee-ki-yay that they can afford to abscond to lovely countries around the world to "find themselves." Show me a stay home mom that can't get out for three hours without juggling guilt that they've left their kids versus the strong desire to run away forever... and I will find that person inspiring. Show me the wife that struggles with the lifestyle she wants, but lives within the means she has... and if she somehow manages to eek out a wardrobe that isn't from WalMart, then I will be moved. If I want to watch a rich person travel, I will just check in on Paris Hilton and her spiritual journey. I am quite sure she has stumbled upon a Buddha or two and found the monks to be really "hot."

And while I am bitching about a book I can't read for fear of changing the title to Eat Pray Puke, why is the person so gorgeous she has a man in every port? I mean really? Can us mere mortals really relate to Julia Roberts's struggle with men? Put a size 18 in that part and maybe I can sympathize with her love life plight. Don't put some skinny bitch on screen and expect us to feel bad that young Italian hotties are throwing themselves at her. Ahhh poor thing... she is forced to settle for true love with Javier Bardem. Damn the suffering!!! If you had Kirstie Alley starring and a love interest of John Goodman, then give me a call. Maybe that will seem a little more noteworthy. Julia Roberts and her love affair with Javier relates about as much to my world as Jersey Shore and I am not lining up for a Snooky inspired bump it any time soon.

So, next time I want to watch a portrayal of one woman finding joy and true love, I may as well turn on Pretty Woman. That Julia epic about a clean and healthly non-crackhead hooker winding up with the attractive version of Donald Trump is about as realistic as ditching your life to eat pray and love yourself across the world. For inspiration, I will just turn to The Bad Girls Club instead. At least they don't pretend to be deep, yo.

Lost a Baby, Gained a Bathroom....

2010-08-05T09:15:00.004-04:00

My little boy is growing up.... you know how I know? Not because I can follow a calendar which said his second birthday was yesterday, but because of the little changes taking place in my house. I didn't notice it while it was happening, but today as I got ready in my bathroom, it hit me.

Get this.... my trashcan is actually on the floor! I know that may sound like a given, but for the last almost 4 years that pupper has lived on top of the hideous square cabinet over my toilet. You know the kind... those huge boxes that hold all your important stuff, like medicines that expired with VHS tapes.... that cabinet. But, luckily it was there to hold my trashcan so that my little ones weren't emptying it across the bathroom floor. But, I realized today as I threw my Q-Tip away that it was on the floor. Sometime in the past few weeks, someone put it on the floor and it stayed there! That means no little hands got in it! Knock on wood (or wood-looking plastic desktop.)

Another thing I realized this morning is that our toilet paper is reachable. I would say it is on the roll where it is supposed to be, but that isn't true because sometime during the last few years when the toilet paper had to be hidden from my children, we lost the little center holder oner bit. So, it will never be on the roll again. But, it can now sit on the sink. No more days of going to the bathroom only to realize post wee that the toilet paper was on top of that same nefarious cabinet as the trash can. Or worse, hidden under Mark's sink. One then had to look for alternatives like drip drying (which usually allowed me to read another chapter of my book) or grab Kleenex, or worse... waddle over to the TP in a crunched, half seated position. But alas, those days are no more. My son hasn't unrolled fresh toilet paper in a long enough time that we can actually set the roll somewhere near the potty and feel confident that it will remain in tact.

I realize some parents out there are probably shaking their head (and not just from the image of me crab scuttling across the bathroom looking for toilet paper) but because they don't hide their trashcans or toilet paper rolls. They taught their kid "no." Well lah-dee-dah for you. I tried to teach my kids no, and it somehow got lost in translation. My version of "no" was heard as "not right now, but as soon as I get in the shower and get shampoo on my hair so that I can't possibly jump out right away and it will buy you time to spread the contents of my trash and the entire roll of toilet paper all over the second floor of our house." So, we hid things... and now I have this great reminder of the fact that my baby boy is growing up, and in some respect so are we. If only I could find my toilet paper holder oner thingy.

The Breastapo

2010-08-02T09:53:00.005-04:00

Guess what everybody.... it's World Breastfeeding Week! Woo hoo!!! Drink it if you've got it!!! Ok, are we done yet? I am sorry for the sarcasm (no I'm not), but after having two children I am about done with the "breast is best" pressure. How about something along the lines of World "It's ok if you can't breastfeed and we appreciate your effort, but the reality is that you aren't the world's worst parent if you choose formula" Week!

For the record, I am not anti-breastfeeding and actually tried to do it with both my boys. But, because I have deforma-nipples (Hello, TMI), it didn't work. So, with Will I pumped for 5 and half months and bottle fed him breast milk, but for Jack... even that didn't work. You cannot be attached to a milking machine and run after Will at the same time. So, after tears, blood, blisters and agony... I gave up after about a month and let Similac take care of my son's nourishment. And you know what? It's ok. But, if you asked any of the Breastapo members (aka Lactation Consultants) that infiltrated my hospital room the second Jack met the world, I am the worst mother in history. I can still hear them chanting "If it ain't the tit, then you're unfit!" Ok, that may be a slight exaggeration. SLIGHT!

From the first baby book you read, it is clear that breast milk is the best for your baby. But, what they don't tell you is that it may not be the best for you. And here's a hint... what is best for mommy is 100% best for baby. I have had friends who suffered through breastfeeding at it's worst, but they never wavered in their need to do it, and why? So that they could be on edge, depressed, freaked out and feed their kids virtually constantly because they aren't producing enough milk to sustain the baby for any period of time. All that in the name of "bonding." Anyone who knows me and my boys know that there is no greater bond than ours. Our relationship isn't lacking because there was a plastic beverage holder in my hand as opposed to my own milk jugs. And, despite what my friend Lori says, my little dudes are healthy. They have ear infections, sure, but that's it. Even Jack, the one I clearly don't love at all because he only got pumped boob juice for a month, is healthy as a horse. He's had a cold here or there but that's it. No H1N1, no flu, no strep throat. Nuthin.

So, while I applaud all the mommies who can just roll up their shirts and let their babes tie one on, I feel the need to defend those that go with the shaken, not stirred approach. We love our babies. Our babies are healthy. And, we deserve a World Week, too. Then again, we got to have margaritas and infants at the same time. Maybe that is celebration enough!

Just call me Bad Ass...

2010-07-30T15:23:00.004-04:00

I don't know if you have noticed this or not, but I have a serious mean streak. I also have a temper and a lightening-fast tongue and the mean plus the temper times the tongue equals BAD ASS. And this time, my alter ego was unleashed on the teenage swimming teachers. Ok, that makes me sound mean, but read this before you judge. That explains how they threw my little boy off the spring board. And, what you don't know is that they did it again yesterday... even after the discussion we had the first time where his teacher and I came to the understanding that they were NOT TO DO IT AGAIN. So, the following is the recreation of my discussion today. And by discussion, I mean verbal bitch slapping.

I tell Will's teacher Nagem (names have been changed so I don't get sued even though I should sue their teenage asses) and the "Supervisor" of the swimming lessons (and by Supervisor I mean the head teenager in charge "HTIC" because the adult that organizes lessons but is never there doesn't have the balls to return my phone calls) that I need to talk to them.

Me to the HTIC: Hi. You don't know me. I am Will's mom and he is the little boy you threw in the deep end yesterday and I am beyond furious about it.

HTIC: I am sorry you....

Me, interrupting: Stop talking. I want the name of your supervisor now.

HTIC: I am the supervisor.

Me: No, the actual adult person who runs the program. I want his name and his number now.

HTIC: Ok, but he will back me up 100%.

Me: Then I will explain to him how you are all wrong. Now start writing. You have no business throwing my 4 year old child off the diving board.

Tabbi's Teacher Who is an Adult But For Some Reason Still Answers to A Teenager While Teaching Summer Swimming Lessons and is Basically Pathetic "TTWABFSRSAATWTSSLBP": I have been teaching swimming for 30 years and that is the only way to get kids to get over their fear is to throw them in enough times.

Me: No! All you did yesterday was confirm that going off that board is terrifying. Imagine if someone three times your size ripped you away from safety and forced you to do something you are terrified of. Then imagine how you would feel if you were only 4 years old! Not to mention the fact that he went in screaming and came up with a mouthful of water! All you managed to do is teach him that all of his fears come true if he goes off that board. Good work!

TTWABFSRSAATWTSSLBP: Well, I have done it that way for 30 years and....

Me, interrupting as I often do: Well I don't care if you've done it for 30 years and the Aquatic Director, the President and your mom all approve, I said no. I spoke to Negam last Wednesday after the first incident and made it clear that it was not to happen again. When I say no the answer is no. I don't care how you try to justify it.

More argument ensues where I explain to HTIC that her other justifications are crap and basically point to gross negligence on the part of Nagem, but it ended like this...

Me: Here's the bottom line. I brought Will to lessons today because I am not going to have him end on such a negative note. I am not going to have that be his final memory of swimming lessons. He is going to get in today and have a great time and if anyone even thinks about putting him on that board I will end this program. Believe me when I say this... I will end it. And let me make this very clear... you do not want to have a third conversation on this topic with me.

HTIC, mumbles looking down at the floor: Well, I am sorry.....

But I walked out before I heard the rest. Luckily, Will had a great day in swimming lessons today and we ended on a fabulous note. Then, we swam at my neighbor's house where he proceeded to repeatedly jump in off the board without any force at all. Swimming instructors my ass!

Oh, to be a seahorse...

2010-07-29T09:34:00.003-04:00

Did you know that male seahorses are the ones that birth their babies? I can only assume that if the dude is the one carrying the eggs around in his little pouch, then the dude is the one that they are attached to above all others. I've read Spock's stuff (Vulcans are so wise) and he says that human babies are so bonded to the mama because we did the heavy lifting for so long. So, I can only assume that baby seahorses become little daddy's seacolts. And I could go for a little daddy loving right about now. Wait... that came out weird.

Truth be told, my 4 year old is a total mama's boy. I'm sorry Will's Future Wife, but he is. He wants ME on the field with him during T Ball. He wants ME to take him up for bath time. He wants ME to do every freaking thing that he needs done, unless it is go outside in the 97 degree heat with a heat index of 105 because he knows that ain't gonna happen so he turns to Mark. And Jack.... Jack my little former Daddy's boy, has crossed over. When he was younger, he wanted Mark to do everything. He ran to Mark for everything. Now, oh no. It's me. He has joined the ranks of Mommy Worshippers and happily gulped the Kool Aid down.

It's not that I don't enjoy the unwavering love that I get from these two, but sometimes I really wish I could get a little less. Shouldn't Daddy get to make Jack's sippy of chocolate milk? No, Jack screams "MAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMA" like a never ending tornado siren, fluctuating in volume only because he is running around in circles shrieking until I give in and mix the stupid powder into the milk myself. And Will, I really need you to understand that Mommy can't hobble out onto the T Ball field right now because her foot is broken and she will look like an idiot and Mommy would much rather sit back and hide her face in shame as you bawl at shortstop over the fact that I am sitting on my butt and not catering to your every whim. And don't get me started on why Mommy is not going to be like the other swimming lesson Mom and jump in fully clothed just to get you to see you can jump in with a noodle and not be afraid. Be scared, because I am not ruining my favorite jeans for that.

So, today I've decided that I should have been a seahorse, so that Mark could be their bestie and I could be their shrugging "Sorry, he wants you to do it" parent. Plus, seriously, look at that 'do. Dye the top blue and I totally looked like that in college.

Thoughts On A T Ball Game...

2010-07-24T22:26:00.002-04:00

The following are thoughts occurring in a mother's mind during her son's first T Ball game. Names have been changed to protect the guilty.

I am so excited! My little man looks so cute in his hat and his mitt and his little T shirt!
Geez, is it hot.
Look at him with his team. He is such a big boy now!
Holy crap.... it is really hot.
Ok, they are lining up! Take me out to the ballgame! Take me out to the crowd....
Good God Almighty, it is freaking crazy hot.
Oh look... our team, the Porcini Mushrooms are up first. Go team!
Ok, seriously, am I outside or did I take a wrong turn and enter an oven?
Ooo, my son Niblet is at bat! Come on, Niblet! Ugh.... strike one. Thank God in the 4/5 year olds they don't matter because Niblet is missing everything. Wait, that pitch sucked. Niblet could be great if there was another pitcher. Oh.... time for the T. Oh well, why call it T Ball if they aren't going to use the T? It just makes more sense this way. Good job, Niblet. You are upholding the integrity of the game!
It's a hit! Niblet hit! Wait... run to 1st, Niblet. No! Drop the bat! No... don't run to the pitcher's mound. Run to 1st. Niblet! Drop the bat. HEY! NIBLET! STOP SWINGING THE BAT AT THE OTHER TEAM!!!!
Phew! Niblet didn't hurt anyone.
Damn. It is too damn hot.
Ok, the Porcini Mushrooms are fielding now. Come on, Niblet! Ohh! He is going for the ball. Oh, he got it but fell. Get up, Niblet.
Ok, Niblet. It's ok. You scraped your arm, but really... it's a sports injury! Be happy! It's your first one. Now you are a man! Ok, it's hard to be a man if you're crying that hard. Seriously... Niblet.... calm down. You aren't even bleeding. Ok... you can cry through one batter and then you have to go out there and field. Ok.... after this batter you have to go back. Niblet, seriously, this is the last batter you get to sit out through. Haven't you heard, there's no crying in baseball. Really... buddy, calm down. GET OUT TO THE FREAKING FIELD!!!!!
Hmmm.... I wonder if other people are as annoyed at my son as I am? Hmmm. Coach Thingamagig is for sure.
Hmmm.... I wonder if anyone else feels like their skin is being flayed off their body from this stinking sun?
Hey, Niblet! Stay on the field! Oh, thank God. It's time for the Porcini Mushrooms to bat again.
Huh, Niblet is walking the bases instead of running.
Huh, I no longer give a rat's ass about this game because I have officially become well done.
Huh.... we have to do this again next week.
Shit.

Swimming Lessons... The Detailed Version

2010-07-20T21:53:00.002-04:00

So, here's a little story about a protective mother and her baby.

Once upon a time, in land far away (or near, depending on where Indiana is in relation to you) there was a mother. Let's name her Lynn. Lynn took her baby boy, who was really four and kinda big for his mother to still call him a baby, to swimming lessons.

Will, the boy, did a great job. He swam. He jumped in. He went under. He was practically Nemo, but without the whole getting lost and gimpy fin parts. Lynn beamed proudly from the stands (which could also be interpreted as "read her book while occasionally glancing up to make sure Will was alive). Then, she saw that Will was sucking his thumb. That was a gesture that only occurred when Will was tired, sick or scared. Lynn's head perked up like a meerkat doing whatever meerkats do when their heads perk, and she watched closely.

Will and his class marched on the side of the pool down the deep end. "A HA," Lynn thought in her infinite wisdom. "Will is afraid." You see, during Will's last session of swimming lessons, he was quite petrified of the deep end and the 4-foot high spring boards that stretched over the black abyss. Soon, Lynn's theory was confirmed as Will's terrified shrieks and frightened wails drifted up to the bleachers. Lynn did was Lynn does when confronted with a dilemma. She called her mom.

Lynn explained the scenario to Sharon, going play by play as Will panicked and then was soothed by the swimming instructors. Initially, Lynn assumed that she should watch and wait and see how these pool pros (aka teenage swim teamers) handled the meltdown. Then Lynn watched in horror as Will's teacher carried his screaming, flailing body back to the deep end, and up the rungs of the high dive ladder. "What the [crap] are they doing now?" Lynn thought although the word crap was inserted where other more colorful words may have initially appeared. Sharon confirmed her fears by saying "GO GET HIM" when his screams were loud enough for her to hear... not over the phone... but all the way downtown in Sharon's office.

Lynn stood up, her Super Mom cape blowing in the breeze. "I WILL GET MY SON" she declared as she walked down her aisle and down the steps and GGAHHHHHHHHHHHHH... down she fell like a ton of well oiled bricks on a steeply sloped slip and slide. Luckily, the entire pool area was watching her as she walked, so not a soul in the aquarium missed her acrobatic feats. Then, as she pulled her now wet, poorly chosen skirted ass off the cement floor, she saw that the teacher dropped her baby into the deep end. As he came up he sputtered and shouted the highest pitch screech ever uttered by a two legged creature outside a Sci Fi movie, and the sound was echoed by the now fractured bone and sprained tendon in Lynn's ankle.

So, let that be known to those parents whose children also attend swimming lessons. Just let them go. You'll be of no help to them flat on your ass in a puddle of pool drippings. And when you do get pissed... wait til tomorrow then kick some teenage ass before the class starts... and walk carefully to do it.

Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day...

2010-07-19T08:38:00.004-04:00

You know it is going to be a bad day when...

When you wake up convinced that you are dying because you cannot get a lungful of air and you see your life flash before your eyes and you quickly pray for your children's future as you slowly close your eyes.... and then you realize it's the stupid cat sleeping on your face.

When you step into the shower and your hair gets tangled on your shower curtain and you can't get it off without ripping it or suffering the indignity of calling for help as you stand naked in your bathroom. And thanks to the ripping, you now need a hair cut.

When you put your deodorant on generously under your right pit because you know it is going to be a hot one, and then realize there is none left to do your left. So, you have to use your hand to wipe some off the right and spread it to the left.

When you step out of your bathroom and see that your almost two year old managed to destroy your room more thoroughly than a category 5 hurricane with a tornado chaser.

When you realize that all of this really happened and it's only 9:32am.

When you sit back at swimming lessons later and see that your son and stepdaughter are doing awesome and think that this day has actually turned itself around... only to come home with McDonalds and dump the bag in the garage on the dirty nasty floor.

When you come back in the house from cleaning all the trashed McDonalds off the garage floor only to realize that your four year old spilled the entire contents of the keg of lemonade on the kitchen floor.

When you realize that all this has really happened, and it is only 1:26pm.

When your husband comes home and only then do you remember that once you discovered the spilled lemonade, you forgot to completely finish the french fry mess. So, then you ask him about whether or not he saw it (secretly hoping that he will say yes, and that he cleaned it up, too.) Then he will say yes, and when you get a nagging feeling that you need to confirm that he cleaned it the right way... you will discover that his version was sweeping the fries into the grass. Your grass. Your front yard. And it's raining. So, now instead of fries in the garage, you have a pile of fries in the front yard. Soggy, wet fries. Yes, you have now realized that your house is the one your neighbors are blogging about.

When you realize you still have an hour and a half until bedtime.

I Got My Life Back

2010-07-12T19:23:00.004-04:00

Ahhhhh...

That is me breathing a hefty sigh of relief. Why? Because Mark got a job, and actually started it today. Translation: I got my life back.

Ahhhhhhh......

Looking back, my life in a deadbeat family wasn't as bad as I initially thought it would be. Circa day two, I thought I was going to pull my hair out but really I think we made it through pretty well. There were moments on both our parts where the stress took over and the relationship got rocky, but I give us credit that we were able to get ourselves back on course rather effortlessly. It gives me hope for later years when we're rocking on the porch in our retirement community. Maybe I won't end up smothering him in his sleep after all!

The best part of getting my life back isn't even the fact that I am back on my schedule, solitary owner of the remote during nap time or that we actually had a conversation tonight where no one had to say "I know. I was there, remember." The best part is that I liked myself again today.

I am not a person who stresses out much. Give me a crisis, and I can think it through (except that one time when my hand towel caught fire in the oven and I screamed like a weenie and Mark had to save the day... but I blame that on postpartum hormones). Give me a hard day at work (back when I worked), and I could just power through. But, give me an extended period of time when income didn't show up, but bills still did and I'll show you an unfriendly Lynn. I was worried and stressed and afraid and I was the worst thing imaginable.... OUT OF CONTROL. Talk about torture. Forget water boarding; find a control freak and then take away all control and life is just about over. I was morose.... unhappy.... depressed. Talking to friends didn't pull me out of my funk... even the kids couldn't take me away. I had "Oh my god! Oh my god!" running through my brain on repeat since April 26th and it didn't go away until today. Until I woke up at 7:13 this morning and realized that Mark was at work.

Ahhhhh......

Why do bad things happen to good people?

2010-06-24T19:54:00.002-04:00

I am sure you have noticed this phenomenon in your own worlds, but I have been faced with a most unfortunate example today. Someone I care about has had a really rough year... and today, her aunt and uncle died in a motorcycle accident. As if she hasn't had enough pain in one year, it has tripled in one afternoon and it left me wondering.... why is it always someone good who suffers so much?

I had a little conversation with God about it, but as always, those conversations end up being very one sided. I asked... and the answer didn't come. So, I Googled it. Yahoo answers posted this as their best answer "My mom always said that the devil doesn't mess with the bad people, because he already has them." The Experience Project said "sh*t happens to everyone... good or bad." And Wikipedia said "to gain wisdom, to teach us a lesson, so we get closer to [God]."

So, after trolling the interwebs and finding nothing, I was forced to come to my own conclusions... and it came in two parts.

1. Bad things happen to bad people too, but the difference is that I don't care. It don't mean no never mind to me if Joran Van Der Sloot's father died, because he is a bad bad man and I don't sympathize. Bernie Madeoff has some medical issues, and I won't lose any sleep for that thief. But, when my cousin has a horrid year and it just became more difficult, I care. I sit up and I take notice, and I take the time to ask God and Google for answers.

2. God and Google don't have answers. The world works the way the world works, be it a divine plan from God or Karma or randomness. It is what it is and I can't fathom or fix it. But, it is what you do with your days that makes the difference. I think Rocky Balboa said it best... "The world ain't all sunshine and rainbows. It is a very mean and nasty place and it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it. You, me or nobody is going to hit as hard as life. But, it ain't how hard you hit; it's about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward."

So, to my cousin and the rest of the people out there who are suffering through hard times... I don't know why things work this way. But, I do know that the key is how we take them and move forward in our lives... and good people like my cousin can do it.

When I Grow Up...

2010-06-21T19:09:00.004-04:00

I've been pondering about my employment status for awhile now. Back in 2006 BC (before children) I was in the HR business. I was hiring, firing, disciplining, etc... and it is really the only profession I am qualified for. Plus, (TOOT TOOT, says my horn) I am good at it. But, as I sit here with an unemployed husband and I am facing the possibility of going back to work sooner than I originally planned... I know I just don't want to be in that field anymore. I spend my home life disciplining people, I don't want to do that at work, too! Plus, I just don't think I can take people seriously anymore as they tell me that they are great multitaskers and organizational wizards. My new interview questions would revolve around whether or not they've ever held a thirty pound 1 year old while suffering from a torn rotator cuff as you decorate a birthday cake on the day your other son had adenoid and ear tube surgery. If the answer is "yes, I can multitask" I am going to punch them in the face. So, that leaves me with a very important question (one that I share with Tabbi and the other tween children in my life)... what do I want to be when I grow up?

Instantly, I thought rock star. Great hours because I am a total night owl and maximum income potential. But, when I realized that, movie star and professional athlete all required skill... I ruled them out. So, realistically... what am I going to do with myself? My friends have suggested that I become a writer, but I appreciate them more for their support than their literary criticism skills. I was Googling stuff and found one theory that basically said that you should pursue a career in the area of the shows that you watch on tv. Based on that logic, Mark should be an alien. So, forget that. I came up with a couple ideas all by myself: nurse or teacher. Pause for reaction.

I am a little hesitant to go the teaching route. I have a degree in English Literature (yes, I realize that degree is worthless, don't feel compelled to point that out), so I could teach with just a few teaching courses and the certification. But, I don't really enjoy children (except my own, so don't speed dial CPS quite yet). I could not deal with a room full of bratty 5th graders OMGing their way into my daily migraine. Older kids are even worse. One eye roll over my lecture on the symbolism in Catcher in the Rye and someone may get bitchslapped. But... the hours are good, summers off and I really enjoyed my high school's chocolate chip cookies. Surely most schools have those, because like Dorothy, I am not in Kansas anymore.

In truth, I think I am leaning toward nursing. I think I would really enjoy it and the odd shifts would work well with my kids. Plus, I love medical dramas (hello George Clooney and Omar Epps) so that theory may be more accurate than I thought. I realize I need to go to school and get some training (although I feel very confident in my skills after the hours logged with ER, House and Grey's Anatomy and I desperately want to yell "CLEAR" some day so that must count for something). But, I think I may have found my calling... although the call must have been dropped a few times over the years.

I remember a few of the nurses in my past life and I've decided I want to be them some day. I want to be the one whose name I don't know but she grabbed my hand and held it, even after I brushed Mark's hand away as a sign of false confidence when we learned that I had placenta previa and might lose Jack. I wanted to be strong for Mark and my family, but that nurse knew I was terrified and that stranger was strong for me, even when I didn't know I needed it. And the nurse who walked into ICU with me, my Mom and my Aunt Barbara after my other aunt had a heart attack post liver transplant. Patti was in a medically induced coma and the nurse walked by and whispered, "talk to her." I never did speak a single syllable for fear that if I opened my mouth only sobs would come out and the nurse smiled and said, "It's ok. She can feel that you're here." I even remember the nurse who held a bedpan under me when in labor with Will and I asked her if that was the grossest part of her job. She smiled and in the most casual and reassuring way she said, "Oh girl, you're in labor. You haven't begun to see gross yet." It made me laugh through the next contraction that otherwise may have made me scream.

I want to be that person for someone. I want to hold a hand, assure or crack a joke that someone will remember later. I want to put someone at ease in a time where nothing is easy. I think that I can pass along some of what these nurses in my past have given me. And, who am I kidding... I will rock those scrubs.

Nobody's Favorite

2010-06-14T14:21:00.003-04:00

I am nobody's favorite. I never have been. In elementary school I wasn't a teacher's pet ever, and as I grew older that never changed. Even my cliques came and went. I never stayed in the same group for long. Then in high school I settled into a group, but even then... I wasn't a favorite. I tried to be my friend Martin's favorite, but Valerie was just better. (Not that I am bitter or anything....) Geez, even my college boyfriend told me that he didn't want to hang out with me EVERY DAY.... just when his friends weren't free. Hmmm, red flag much? I have carried a lot of labels through the years, typically using either the designation of involving either the word funny or sarcastic. And strangely, I am fine with that. I don't need to be the head of the Momunists, I don't need my phone ringing off the hook (cuz I only answer it if I am in the mood anyway) and my Facebook friend total stays around 100 (and I only actually talk to about 10 of them). But here is the conundrum... I am starting to see where my kids aren't favorites and that is a tough pill to swallow.

Will was a total favorite in his preschool class and I was so pleased. His teacher thought he was the cutest, sweetest and really.... who am I to disagree with that?!?! But, in other areas, he isn't. For example, in his swimming lessons right now.... he's way not the favorite. I am pretty sure the screaming, crying and bloody claw marks around his teacher's neck is the cause, but still. Can't she just love him best through the pain? Unfortunately, Tabbi isn't usually a favorite either. She talks to a lot of friends at school, and her Facebook cred is shooting way higher than mine, but I see other areas where she is not appreciated like she should be. She is left out of some group activities at times and not invited to participate in things that she would love and excel at... but she just isn't a favorite enough to get there.

So, I wonder... how do the favorites get to be favorites? I see a favorite schoolmate of Tabbi's on rare occasions and it appears her mother is a favorite too. So, did I condemn her to this "unfavorite" life because I didn't do enough to Momunist up? Should I teach my kidlets the art of the suck up so that they get the invites that I never did? (Ok, I'll need to hire a tutor because ass kissing hasn't been my forte). Or, do I try to teach them what my parents must have taught me at some point.... that being me is enough... favorite or not.

Major League Mea Culpa

2010-06-03T18:44:00.004-04:00

I know a couple that doesn't feel like competitive athletics are good for their kids. They want their kids to focus on academics and the arts, feeling like only negative things can be learned through competition. Thanks to a sport I don't even follow, I think they were proven wrong today.

Last night a Detroit Tigers pitcher, Armando Galarraga, came within one call of being named the 21st person ever to pitch a perfect game. Unfortunately, the umpire made a poor call and it took the game and the historical designation away from him. Galarraga covered first after a hit into right field and he clearly tagged the bag before the runner crossed it. But, the umpire saw it differently, counted the runner as safe and the perfect game disappeared. What a heart breaker for Galarraga... but what a lesson for the rest of us in what came next.

Today the umpire, a man named Jim Joyce, apologized. There was no excuse, no explanation. Mr. Joyce threw himself under the bus and just said he flat out got it wrong. He took the perfect game away from "the kid" as he called him, and you could hear the genuine remorse in his words. And, in this age of athletes throwing temper tantrums and hissy fits on the field or court, do you know what Galarraga said? He said ironically, "nobody's perfect. Everyone makes mistakes."

Giant companies give excuses for why our gulf is filled with oil, politicians use 100 reasons why each decision they make isn't actually their fault, and adulterers get to blame their misdeeds on anything from child abuse to sex addictions. On the flip side you have athletes threatening to kill line judges and swearing at the crowd, coaches throwing chairs and attacks from scorned wives with golf clubs. But, in this instance... in this rare display of honor and sportsmanship it was just an apology... and a graceful acceptance.

Find a way to teach your kids that with a text book and a paint brush... I dare you.

This can't be right...

2010-06-02T09:05:00.005-04:00

Jack plays with our play kitchen by pulling it away from the wall and then knocking it down. He screams to have it put back, and then lather, rinse, repeat as needed. Isn't this the definition of insanity?

Glenn Beck, of his show of the same superfluous consonant name, announced days ago that family members and specifically children, should not be involved in media attacks on politicians. Then he promptly recorded a conversation between "Malia" played by himself and "President Obama" played by another idiot (ahem, I mean radio dude on the show) depicting Malia as stupid and babyish. Apparently Glennnnn likes to draw lines and then catapult himself right over it.

Will was in his room for over an hour after his bedtime last night until he needed to come down announcing it was "Cuddle time!" and explaining that he came down because "well, I just like you soooo much." How can you argue with that?

Yahoo! News had a lead story yesterday featuring where Kate Goslin spent her Memorial Day vacay. If that is news, then one can only assume we have world peace, a rejuvenated economy, universal health care and a pristine environment. Yay us!

Jack doesn't speak much, but when he passes gas he feels the need to yell "TOOT" to the entire world and then laugh hysterically. And, I think my older brother does the same thing.

They just announced that the hope for stopping the oil leak resides with James Cameron. Not sure if he is getting a robot from the future to plug it up or if he will just make an animated, clean ocean for us to look at instead....

I finally get up the guts to be a totally annoying neighbor and ask if I can bring my boys over to her pool for a swim, and it's raining and storming all day. Where is Alanis Morissette when you need her? I have another verse for "Ironic."

After scientists came out saying they have created artificial life, a giant sink hole opens up in the Earth. Coincidence? I think not.

38 days and counting...

2010-05-27T19:28:00.003-04:00

Let's picture something...

What if there was a nurse at your local hospital that made medical mistakes every day for 38 days. What if she was on the cusp of killing people, but instead just maimed them repeatedly. What if she did things that crippled their ability to work or even did something so major that their homes somehow became uninhabitable. Maybe she made them allergic to their houses, so that they could never go back. And maybe the entire hospital knows about this nurse who is slowly killing her floor, and possibly will spread her mistakes through the entire hospital, but no one does anything. Maybe no one says a word to the nurse or fires the nurse because she has friends on the hospital's board. She has some bank and she makes sizable donations to the hospital so no one wants to make her mad and ask her to leave. But, everyone knows that this nurse is destroying the hospital room by room. Do you want this nurse to be fired? Do you think someone should do something?

I do. I say get this nurse out. And today, the person playing the part of the nurse in my story is BP. And the hospital is being played by our country. Look at their logo! How lovely and "green" they seem, right? But, maybe if they want to be labeled as the oil company that cares about the environment, then maybe they would actually try not to kill it.

In no other industry are we allowed to screw up so irrevocably and still keep our jobs. This isn't just some minor accounting error at the gas station's office. This is an oil leak. Oil is in our oceans and coating our wildlife and lapping up onto our shores. You can't just wipe it up and we can't just ignore it and assume that BP has it under control. Someone needs to step in and get this taken care of. It is not just in water, it is on animals. It is not just on animals, but it is coming on land. It is not just hurting beasts, it is coming for people. And it will. It will effect the economy in those coastal towns that survive on tourism. It will make people sick. It will destroy our land. Does anyone want to head to New Orleans and eat some black oil slicked crawfish etouffee? These blackened crab legs aren't quite as appetizing as the regular version, are they? We drill and we drill, but did we ever stop to think what the companies are going to do if something goes wrong? I didn't. I had no idea that there wasn't a Plan B, C, D, E and F for something like this. Afterall, it doesn't even appear that they had a Plan A! Shouldn't there be, before we let corporations play with lethal substances in our waters???

I may be nutty, but before I hire someone to do a job I make sure they can do it. And if they can't, I surely don't wait 38 days to let them flop around figuring it out. It is time for someone to step in and tell BP that they screwed up and they need to get the hell out of our ocean until they have a plan of action for how to fix it. And any other oil company without an ability to clean up a mess if they make it better get the hell out, too. This is our world we're talking about. We can't just get another one.

Happy Birthday, Will!!!

2010-05-24T12:00:00.002-04:00

Four years ago yesterday, my water broke around 5:30pm. I was at work and while that sounds humiliating, it wasn't the opening of flood gates like it appears on tv. It was a trickle at best. In fact, I was walking back to my office from the bathroom and a little squirt happened. I thought I wet my pants. I had heard that happens to pregnant women, so I just assumed it was the next item in a long list of embarrassing side effects that procreating women have to endure. So, I went back to the bathroom. When I was confident that my bladder was totally empty, I returned to my desk and sat down. SQUIRT. I decided to leave a half hour early, completely unaware that I would never be coming back.

I called my OB from the car, now starting to worry. The random squirts became a constant trickle and I was a little concerned something was wrong. Water breaking never occurred to me. She said "cough." I coughed. Instead of a squirt it was a gush. Through my pants and onto my driver's seat. And no, they weren't leather and easily washable. Sorry, Mike..... Did I tell you that before you bought the car? She correctly deduced that my water had broken. I immediately gunned it for the nearest ER and she said to calm down. Go home. Get ready. I hadn't had a contraction yet, so things were just getting started. Who knew she was going to be so right!?!?

That evening, Mark was in an airplane flying around the state of Indiana with a friend who had his pilot's license. We had joked a million times that my water would break when he was in the air. Lo and behold... it did. When I called him it took quite awhile before he believed me and rushed home. Later, my parents, Mark and I went to dinner at our favorite Mexican restaurant. My OB said to. She said eat, shower, relax... because it will be a long time before I get to do that again. And, four years later... she is still right.

I learned a lot about Will through that night and the next day's labor. One.... he was loud. That night my mom, Mark and I all slept in the labor and delivery room thinking that any minute the contractions would start and we'd be on our way. The baby monitor was deafeningly loud. If I knew then what I know now... all I needed to do was ask the nurse to turn it down. But, now I think it was just preparation for the noise this little being would bring in to my life.

I also learned that Will does everything in his own time. They induced contractions in the wee hours of the morning and by 9:00pm, I still wasn't dilated. I had contractions, and let me just say WOWZA... those things hurt... but he still wasn't making his way out. Then, I learned that with Will, you always need to expect the unexpected... because suddenly it was emergency C section time. And then, 29 and a half hours from start to finish... there was my beautiful boy. The one that the doctors and ultrasound techs said would weigh in close to 10 pounds... at a measly 6 pounds 6 ounces of scrunchy looking, old man baby.

On that day I also learned that my life had just entirely changed. I learned that it was possible to love another being so completely that you would easily give your own life to keep him from pain. I knew the second I held him, that I would never let him go. I knew in an instant that I wouldn't be returning to work like I had previously planned. I knew that careers and success were nothing in comparison to my need to be his mother. I knew that he was the best thing I would ever do, and I was going to do it the best I could. I knew that my little Will Alexander Clinton was my life's miracle... and four years later... I still know.

I love you, Big Man! Happy 4th Birthday!!!

Every Cliche Error Has A Silver Lining

2010-05-19T14:11:00.006-04:00

I am going to admit it... I love a good cliche. I will toss them about, when warranted, because let's just face it. They're true. It really IS darkest before the dawn. So, why not throw that out there when someone is having a bad day? I am a firm believer that if someone already said it best, just repeat it... thus the birth and existence of a good cliche. But, truth be told... the only thing I like better than a good cliche... is when someone screws it up!

Wes on MTV's Fresh Meat Challenge 2 said: "What I have to do is keep my face to the grindstone." Now, that cliche sounds a little ridiculous even if you're keeping your nose to the grindstone. I mean, why would you want to grind your nose off anymore than you would your general face. Well, Wes, because they mean the nose or sharp point of the knife they are sharpening... that is where that phrase comes from. So really, you are planning to sharpen your face to win the challenge. Good luck!!!

Jake Pavelaskansdasdjn from The Bachelor and Dancing with the Stars was explaining his early rehearsal hours and said "The early worm catches the bird." Really? What kind of worm is that? Maybe those out of control, saber-toothed worms in Tremors. Maybe that is the kind of worm he is.

Kenny, or Mr. Beautiful as he calls himself also from MTV's Fresh Meat Challenge 2 was referring to how he has to stay on his toes to keep ahead of the competition and he said "A rolling stone flattens the moss." While I think that might be true, I think normally we refer to it not gathering any. Plus, I am pretty sure he thinks he is talking about The Rolling Stones. Just goes to show that the MTV cast of Mensa members better pray they never have to get real jobs.

Carmen Gonzalez, chef from Top Chef Masters was giving a monologue about leaving her main protein behind on one of the challenges and her lesson learned was "Don't count all of your eggs in one basket." I happen to think it is ok to count them, I just think you shouldn't put them there. Just a thought.

And lastly, Regis Philbin.... the king of the off the cuff comment that doesn't make sense. When discussing his need for a clot-ectomy in his leg he said the profound words "A bird in the bush is worth is two in my hand." Really, because birds poop a lot. I would think more in the bush is better than any in my hands. But, to each his own I guess.

All The Single Pre-Tweens...

2010-05-17T19:14:00.002-04:00

Ok, so I am sure we've all seen the tiny dancers busting a move to Beyonce's "All the Single Ladies" song in their prostitute gear, so I am not going to repost it here. Instead, I am just going to ask the question that has been on my mind since I saw "The Insider" and "The View" arguing about whether or not it is appropriate... WHAT THE HELL IS THERE TO ARGUE ABOUT??? In what world would that be appropriate... Hookerland? I don't think so.

Seriously, I sat there today and listened to Whoopi Goldberg defend the little girls (who are 7 and 8 years old) by saying that their outfits were appropriate in dance competition because it allowed the judges to see their body parts clearly... to watch how they articulate their muscles and whatnot. Uh yeah... except here is why that is a load of crap. If nearly nudie were the only way to judge dancers, you would have seen that entire competition on the gossip shows. But it was only one group that got the press. Why??? Because the others weren't doing anything interesting enough to warrant talk. That means... the other kids were dressed. In actual clothing. If the next group came out in thongs and pasties, they would have made news too.

I also heard Ms. Dethroned USA on "The Insider" and she was defending their dance moves. It's just dancing she said as she proudly giggled and stuck her breasts toward the camera. Really? Because I've managed to see people dance without shaking their booty, spreading their legs and jiggling their breasts that haven't yet formed. There is more to hip hop than undulating hips and when it is an 8 year old doing it, then give me a break. They don't know what sex is, but they certainly mastered the moves.

For the record, I don't blame the girls. They are just doing what they see on tv all the time. I blame their teacher/coach and their parents. Maybe as mommy and daddy we ought to stand up and say "Honey, while I think your dance skills are out of this world, I think your self respect ought to stay in this one." I question where we have put the line for young girls these days. It is ok to wear thigh highs and boob tops, but please, please don't flaunt the goodies in school because you are more than just your girlie parts. It is ok to simulate sex on stage to music, but please, please don't have sex with your guy friends when you are only 10 years old. When did the arts succumb to the completely tasteless? Maybe costumes shouldn't show everything at 8 years old and instead should showcase the girls, not the sex. Maybe choreography should pack a pow without the porn. And maybe, just maybe, our little girls should stay little girls.... at least til they hit their tweens!

Phone Call With Phylicia

2010-05-12T19:24:00.007-04:00

Well, when I was on the phone with Phylicia Rashad today, I decided to start every single sentence I utter from now on with the phrase "when I was on the phone with Phylicia Rashad today." Is that ostentatious or obnoxious? Or both? Either way, let me just clue you into a little thing you may not have picked up on yet... I WAS ON THE PHONE WITH PHYLICIA RASHAD TODAY. Yes, true story.

In case you have lived under a rock for the last 30 years... this gorgeous woman staring back at you is Phylicia. She starred on stage (where she won a Tony) and on television in the critically acclaimed "A Raisin in the Sun," she became the international parenting standard prompting mothers to ask themselves WWCHD... what would Claire Huxtable do? through "The Cosby Show," and provided the mother's voice in one of my son's favorite cartoons "Little Bill." This woman does it all and now she is starring in a new film called "Just Wright" with Queen Latifah, Common, Pam Grier and Paula Patton. Not bad at all. And, did I mention that I talked to her today?

As impressive as all that is, if you actually talk to her (like I did today) you find that on top of all of the acclaim and talent, she can use that soothing "Mother Earth incarnate" voice of hers to put forth some pretty sage advice on life for the rest of us. I mean profound, deep, move over Dr. Phil and Oprah quality advice. And, luckily for you, I get to share it.

Number one: Boys (and I am going to take the liberty to expand this to all children) do not see their mothers as human beings with hopes, dreams and spirit... but rather as a creature whose sole purpose is to serve. I am going to put at link at the bottom of this post so you can hear the interview yourself, and hear how eloquently Ms. Rashad says it in her silky baritone. But, she says, the onus is on mothers to make sure and introduce that side of themselves to their children. Share who we are, not just what we do from day to day. Introduce our humanity to our children... I like that.

Number two: Life is full of reversals and the unexpected. Build upon that, do not run from it. If you read my blog you know that we had a reversal (as she puts it) two weeks ago. Mark lost his job. Well, that isn't true. We know where it is.... he just isn't allowed to do it anymore. But, the point is... we need to meet that head on. We cannot hide behind the woulda coulda shouldas of the situation and instead put our game face on and move forward.

Number three: Rashad shared a truth that a wise person once told her... "A good marriage is a good fight." That doesn't mean that you are fighting each other... you are fighting the problems that come at you... together. Mark and I have been married for a little over 5 years. In that time we've lost people dear to us, we've lost jobs, we've had money problems, and we've struggled to raise our children the way we want to. But, we struggle together. We fight, don't get me wrong, but we fight our obstacles more. What more can you ask for than a teammate through everything?

All that being said, the purpose of the interview (link at the bottom of this post) was to discuss her new movie "Just Wright." While I haven't seen it yet, I have no doubt it is worth the ticket. With Phylicia Rashad playing Common's mother, how could it not be? After all, I am changing my parenting vernacular from WWCHD to a life philosophy of WWPRD... what would Phylicia Rashad do?

Check out other "mommy bloggers" and me talking motherhood, marriage and the movie "Just Wright" right here. And then go see the movie opening this Friday night... I know I am.

The Downside to Unemployment...

2010-05-04T14:49:00.004-04:00

Can I just tell you the pitfalls to having your husband off of work? Ok, there are the obvious issues of no money and benefits which clearly leads to homelessness and death by untreated illness, but that is really not that bad. The bad thing is that your husband is home. And you are home. And you're both home. All. Day. Long.

I wake in the morning and Mark is home. I go about my day and Mark is home. I prepare for the evening and Mark is home. And, I bet you can guess what is next... I go to bed and Mark is home. He is trying to be helpful and doing things, but here is the problem... he doesn't do things the exact way that I do. To a normal person, that would be fine, but to a control freak like myself.... That ain't fine. Let me give you and example. Last night Will passed on dinner (he's sick, otherwise I wouldn't allow said passing to have occurred) and then he decided he was hungry later. Mark prepared PB&J for Will and of course Jack needed one too. Well, by the time Jack was done with his, he, the couch and I were more grape than human. Mark's reasoning... "Uh... I like the jelly." Well, thanks Mark, but freshly bathed and pajamaed Jack, the new slip cover and I don't prefer being coated in Concord's finest.

Some parts of his current status are nice. I can send him out with the kids whenever I feel like it. They play and romp and have fun, and then Mark passes out by 11pm because he is used to spending roughly 9 hours a day sitting on his fanny. Not anymore, Mark. That means I get kid free time in the day and remote control possession at night. That is a bonus. But, I am pretty sure I would be willing to trade that in for a little spouse free time. Seriously, what do you talk about when you've been four feet away from each other since last Wednesday night??? I feel like there is nothing to say, except a constant need to tell him to shut up because I do not spend all my free time on the phone. Ok, I do, but I still don't need his comments on it 100 times a day.

So, let this be a warning for all of you SAHMs with working husbands. Make sure they have hobbies or play dates lined up if they suddenly become unemployed... because otherwise you'll regret any time you ever asked him for a little "togetherness."

My thoughts on downsizing...

2010-04-29T19:04:00.003-04:00

Facebook status yesterday at 4:48 pm: Lynn - is starting to question our financial planning. Three kids. Two mortgages. Two car payments and as of this afternoon when Mark's company gave him the boot because of "downsizing"... no income.

Twitter post today at 1:10 pm: Dear President Obama, You know how you're fixing the economy... Can you hurry up? My hubs got downsized. Thanks, Lynn.

Blog Post right now: This sucks.

My Life in Movies...

2010-04-28T09:47:00.002-04:00

So, as I have mentioned before, some people think I need my own reality show. And, actually, I just saw an ad for a show about the geriatric version of Jersey Shore, so maybe watching my family could be considered "good tv" these days. But, I think movies might be more appropriate. In fact, I think we have the makings of three good ones just from this morning.

1. Ice Cold. The Horror Flick.... starring Will as the helpless victim and Jack as the serial killer. Begin scene: Will is a star hockey player and Jack is his jealous fan. Will is playing with the puck as he skates down the ice when Jack decides to play along. Jack steals the puck and Will decides to show who the better player is and he steals it back and deflects all of Jack's future attempts. He easily scores and Jack is triggered into a serial killer-esque rage. Will realizes that Jack is out for blood and runs for it. But, (in true horror film fashion he will be played by a big boobed blond in a tight wet t-shirt), he falls rounding the corner. He drags himself forward as Jack gets closer. Will issues a blood curdling scream as Jack's hands close around his arm. End scene.

This movie is inspired by the fight over the hockey puck that occurred in our foyer/kitchen. Fall rounding the corner and blood curdling scream both historically accurate.

2. Bare Naked. The Comedy... starring Will. Begin scene: Will is walking down the grocery store aisle pushing his cart. The bottom of his pant leg gets wrapped up in the wheel. Will pulls his leg while simultaneously walking forward. His pants are ripped off exposing that he was going commando. End scene.

Movie based on Will's walk in the playroom with the block cart today. Obviously, body double will be hired for the nude scene.

3. Destruction. The Disaster flick... starring me as helpless victim and "natural disaster of scientifically impossible make up" played by Will and Jack. Begin scene: I walk into the bathroom and find a tornado has ripped it apart. I walk into playroom and find all toys spread across the room. I walk into the office and find all my business and bill materials emptied and ripped apart. Victim screams, "Why, God, why?" as the entire house is ripped apart around the victim. End scene.

Movie loosely based on the unravelled toilet paper roll, dumped truck and matchbox car bins, and emptied desk drawers. Liberty was taken with cause of mess and dialog.

In honor of Luke Pearl...

2010-04-25T11:44:00.003-04:00

Luke Pearl died at 4 years old. I don't know how he died, be it accident or illness, and I didn't know him or his family back in 2003 when it happened. In fact, I don't know them now. The first time I heard of Luke was yesterday when I was attending my preschool's fundraiser for the "Luke Pearl Scholarship fund." I didn't know him... but, after the lesson that I learned in his honor yesterday, I really wish I had.

Will's school held a purse auction yesterday to raise money for Luke's scholarship fund. The money goes to families who cannot afford the fantastic education that Will has been so lucky to have. They received tons of donated purses and filled the bags with donated goodies from iPods to restaurant gift cards to Godiva chocolates (my mom got that one!!!). There was a silent auction of tons of bags and then a live auction of four particularly expensive, well stocked designer bags. I won two of the silent auction prizes, bringing home a plethora of outdoor toys for the kids and then another full of indoor treats and board games. Not a bad haul for my money, if I do say so myself. But, the real prize is what I took home from the live auction.

The last bag came up, a lovely green shoulder bag filled with an iPod, gift cards, etc. and the bidding started at $50. It went up and up and up until two people were bidding against each other. It was a miscellaneous woman in the crowd and Luke Pearl's older sibling, a late middle school or early high school aged linebacker of a boy. Finally, the older Pearl won the bag at $160. The crowd clapped and cheered and then quieted as he rose to his feet. He pulled the bag onto his shoulder (at which time I yelled out "the green brings out your eyes") and he sheepishly walked over to the woman he was bidding against. He handed her the bag and said, "I don't really use purses." He went back to his seat as if that act of generosity was no big deal at all. The woman paused for a moment and then said, "I brought $200 to spend today, and I will donate it to the scholarship fund in light of what this young man just did" and she handed over $200 cash.

I don't know what kind of child Luke Pearl was, but in his brother I got an excellent view of the young man he would've become. That young man's selfless gesture... his willingness to spend that kind of money and walk away with nothing... that was a gift to all of us old ladies in the room. I walk away more proud of that moment then of either of my own donation or winnings. And I now know that even though Will doesn't benefit from the Luke Pearl Scholarship fund, he will from kindness and generosity that I will strive to teach him.... thanks to the Pearl family.

The Pursuit of Happiness...

2010-04-19T20:57:00.003-04:00

A friend of mine called me on Sunday and asked what should have been a simple question. She said, "are you happy?" My first thought was, "is this a trick question?" It should have been super easy to answer. In theory, it's either yes or no. But, in practice it took a lot of thought before I could come to a conclusion. In fact, I think I've only reached it now, as I type this entry.

Initially, my thought was yes. At that exact moment, I was happy. Then it occurred to me that I was really more content than happy. At the moment she called, my boys were sleeping. Tabbi was napping on the couch. Mark was mowing the lawn. I was upstairs in my bed reading a book and lazily dozing off. That was pure contentment. But, is that happy? I am not sure.

I think on most days, I would say yes. I would sum up my general state of being as happy. I love Mark, I love my kids, I love my home, I love my family and I generally like my life. There are days when I would say no though, and no part of that equation would be any different. There are days when Mark and I are just not getting along. Usually I want a higher degree of participation from him and he wants a lower degree of nagging from me. Then there are times when I don't love being a SAHM. There are days when I miss working.... I miss feeling like I accomplish something. Instead, I spend the day chasing my tail trying to get Will and Jack to do simple things I need them to do... like pee in the toilet not the floor or color on paper, not my couch. I feel impotent, not important, and there are days that makes me sad. So on those days, I am not happy.

I think if anyone says they are happy all of the time they are lying... or stoned. One or the other. I think that the goal should be to have more good days than bad, and when you don't, it is time for a drastic change. I think that no person is happy in every aspect of their lives at one time, either. As I laid in bed reading my book and listening to the sounds of silence, I still had moments of nagging money thoughts. See, Mark, I nag myself too. We're super tight this week so I was pondering transfers from accounts and whether or not I could get one of my measly paychecks this week. While we are extremely fortunate to be able to have me stay home with the kids, I dream of a time when I will have a substantial paycheck too and we will not nickel and dime our way to the next check. But, when I balance the scales, we still land in the positive. We have a home, two cars, food and even Netflix. If this is "making it work" then I have no place to complain. But, I could be happier.

The day before I moved to Kansas from Iowa, the only home I'd ever known, I got a fortune cookie that said "you're only as happy as you let yourself be." That is probably the best statement on happiness that I have ever heard. I've never forgotten that advice and when I ponder the question asked of me yesterday, I think yes would have to be the answer. Because even though we could use more money and raising the kids can be like raising a herd of worms, ultimately, I choose to be happy. And I am.

Lynnland: An Introduction

2010-04-15T13:35:00.006-04:00

So I received a Facebook message from someone saying that they "love how my mind works." Yeah... I was scared too. Once you clear the cobwebs out, and the gears start turning, I am not sure how my own mind works, let alone why someone would love it. After all, my three closest friends just determined that I need strong medication, not a strong endorsement of the inner workings of Lynnland. So, it made me wonder. Maybe I am not being clear on my blog posts as to how the world of Lynn is operating under the hood. So, today... I am going to unleash the unedited thoughts of me. God help us all.

Firstly, I sat at the computer and immediately was reminded of the pimple/in-grown hair right along the pantie line of my grunders. I sit down and it's like there is a thumbtack on the seat. I've checked several times and there isn't. Just a weird sore/blemish growing out of my lower butt cheek. Yeah... gross.

Speaking of gross... today I emptied one of Jack's sippy cups and the milk that used to be there had morphed into a sippy-shaped cube of goo. I would call it cheese, but the smell more closely resembled that of a biological weapon.

Speaking of smells... have you ever wondered why people offer up something for you to smell after they declare that it smells bad? I have always wondered why people do that. Do they need confirmation that it does indeed smell bad? Like maybe their nose broke, so they think it smells of poo but you might think it smells of roses? And more so, I've wondered about the people that then take a big whiff. I gotta tell you, if you think it smells bad, I am totally willing to take your word for that. I don't need to verify it for myself.

Speaking of "your." Have you ever noticed how many people confuse your with you're? It drives me nuts.

And, do you know how many times I say something "drives me nuts" in one day? I haven't actually counted, because math is not my forte, but seriously, I think I say it every other sentence. I really do. Mark drives me nuts, my kid drives me nuts, Whoopi Goldberg's constant need to defend every person that the other View co-hosts thinks did something wrong drives me nuts... Pretty much every single thing drives me nuts.

And, I don't even really like nuts. Which is odd. I like nuts in things... like salads, pastas, bagels, sundaes... but I don't really eat them alone. I wouldn't sit down and just eat nuts. Oh, except those honey roasted almonds that they sell at sporting events and fairs. I am the same way about cheese. I like cheese on burgers, but not subs, and in things... but I don't like to eat cheese alone. My kids eat cheese sticks, but I don't. Yuck.

Speaking of fairs and the word yuck... I hate fairs. I don't like to be in a huge crowd of hot and sweaty people. I don't want to ride amusement park style rides that are assembled and disassembled on a daily basis and usually have a tire at the center of their operating mechanisms. What is that tire for and is the entire ride really balanced upon that tire? And we really trust these apparatuses built by traveling carnie folk? Like they are highly paid engineers in the off season? Would you walk up to one of those permanently stoned, tank top wearing, no teeth having individuals and ask them to perform open heart surgery? No? Well you might as well if you're (notice proper use of you're) willing to balance in a rusty metal bucket three stories up that is duct taped to a giant hamster wheel sitting atop a rubber car tire that they put together two hours earlier after a rousing game of beer pong. Interesting choice.

And, speaking of choices... I have no idea why anyone would choose to read this ranting. I am done now. And thus endeth the reason why no one should ever tell me that they "like the way my mind works."

Why I don't have my own reality show...

2010-04-12T11:58:00.006-04:00

Ok, so some Facebook friends have suggested that I need my own reality show. They think that my disaster filled life would make for good tv. I am pretty sure they mean it in the same way that Celebrity Rehab makes for good tv, meaning you watch Heidi Fleiss drooling out her mega lips and realize how much better your life seems now than before you tuned in. The Facebookeratti have determined that I too could make your life seem better. But, it's never going to happen. No, not just because ugly people don't get reality shows, but because my life is so freaking nut-tastic that no one is going to believe it's real. That brings me to today... let me tell you about today.

1. Will was up all night last night (and when I say all night, I don't mean the same thing as my grandmother means when she says all night and yet you walk into her bedroom and she is sound asleep.... I mean REALLY ALL NIGHT). So, I am going on 30 seconds sleep. Or wait... maybe this is all a dream...

2. I come down at 7:30a and open the fridge to get Jack's milk and I see that Tabbi has forgotten her lunch. She has a field trip today and was leaving the school at 9:00a. So, I think fast. I can't shower and get Satan and Satan Jr. out of the house on time to bring her the lunch, so I call my mommy. She agrees to swing by, pick up the lunch and take it to Tabbi's school. Immense amounts of hassle later.... and a chick in the school office tells my mother that Tabbi just bought a lunch in the cafeteria. Yeah... didn't know that was an option.

3. 8:00a... I call the pediatrician over item number one. Will hasn't been the same since adenoid and ear tube surgery. Our ENT's nurse blew me off all last week, so I go to our Pediatrician. Will goes berserk when I dare to leave his side and shower. I wrangle the two minions into the office only to find out that Will's issue is viral. VIRAL... as in "sure, Mom, there's something wrong... we just don't know what or how to fix it." Thanks, Doc.

4. I come home from pointless doctor appointment. There's a wasp in our playroom. I try to sneak up on it to kill it, but it could clearly hear me on the phone requesting that my husband come home from work immediately to kill said wasp and it flew at me on the attack. I hit the floor and army crawled out of the house... and now it has taken position on the ceiling fan. Clearly it knows military strategy so it took the elevated position in the house.

5. After fleeing the playroom that is occupied by Genghis Wasp, I walk to our coat closet to hang up Jack's jacket, and realize the foyer has been occupied by an army of ants. Roughly 600 million at last count. Am considering just abandoning the house.

6. While trying to wage a one woman Rambo style war against the insect community taking over my home, my pants keep falling down. And no, I am not losing weight to make my depantsedness worth it. Must be conspiracy... ants and bees united with moths in my closet who have eaten through the waistband of my boyfriend jeans. And no, despite the clear label, boyfriends don't come with the jeans.

7. In my infinite search of money and free things for little to no effort, I was duped into believing I had won at $1,000 Kohl's gift card. But, being the security genius that I am, I gave my dog's name. Ha! Take that identity thieves! However, I gave my real email and cell phone. So, Bentley is getting spammed all to hell and my cell is ringing off the hook. And, oh yeah... no gift card has appeared.

8. It's only noon.....

So here's the update:

So, I take the boys outside for awhile, telling them at 5:40 we are going to head inside and start the rice for dinner. We swing, we play. 5:40 rolls around and Will dutifully heads indoors. Jack runs. The neighbors watch as Jack runs. The neighbors laugh as I run after Jack (holding onto my pants for dear life). Jack gets in the house.

I yell for Tabbi to tell her something. Jack grabs the rice. Jack runs outside. Lather. Rinse. Repeat last paragraph. Jack and rice get inside.

I start browning the vermicelli and Jack laughs. Jack all out guffaws. I look. Jack broke an egg on the playroom carpet. Jack thinks it's funny. I nearly cry. Jack runs outside. I let him stay outside figuring he has a better chance of staying alive outside with the wasps as opposed to inside with me. Good luck, Jack!

And... it's two and a half hours til bedtime.

My name is Lynn and I support universal health care.

2010-03-30T09:01:00.003-04:00

I am not a genius, and I don't know much about political anythings. I do know that you can't see Russia from Alaska, so in some circles that makes me more qualified for Washington than former vice presidential candidates, but still... I don't profess to be an expert on anything (although I did really well in debate the year our topic was universal health care so that must mean something, right???). However, I don't think it takes a genius to see that health care in this country is in the pooper. I don't think you need a masters in political science or a background in constitutional law to see that the status quo ain't good. There is no life, liberty and pursuit of happiness if you are dead, dying and pursuing crap medical care because you can't afford the treatment that you really need. And all men are certainly not created equally when the folks with the moolah get the meds and the poor folk get to wait in overcrowded emergency rooms waiting for someone to see their sick kid only to find out that their medications will cost too much out of pocket and they leave with nothing. But, here's what I do know...

I know that my son has had ear tubes twice, with one more set coming on Friday. I know that my insurance requires us to pay a $3,000 family deductible and the last two times Will had this surgery we were billed about $900 out of pocket... each time. I know that while that is an extreme hardship on my middle class, single income family.... we are lucky enough to be able to pay it. I know that another mother, in another town whose husband doesn't have the mediocre insurance that we have, would not be able to pay. I know that woman has to sit up with her son while he suffers the inconsolable pain of chronic ear infections and eventually that woman's son will have permanent hearing damage from the fluid festering in her son's ears. I know that is happening all over this country, and that is why I know our system sucks.

I know that there is a man in Delaware in desperate need of a lung transplant. I know that he is a former United States Marine and has been employed and insured his entire adult life. I know that the transplant he needs to survive is covered by his insurance. I know that the aftercare required to keep those lungs functioning is not. I know that the transplant gods who divvy up the organs will not give a dying man a set of lungs that he cannot keep alive. And I know that this man will die without them. So, this man is physically an excellent candidate for a transplant, his insurance will pay for the surgery, but at the same time, it makes it impossible for him to qualify for it. I know that his four children think this is unfair and it appears to be a form of corporate sponsored murder, and that is why I know our system sucks.

I know that a good friend of mine was laid off from her job after 10 years at the same company. I know that she decided to try starting her own dream business, something she was previously too afraid to do. I know that she tried to get medical insurance privately, and a surgery she had a couple years earlier was considered a pre-existing condition and she was rejected. The only insurance she could get would have cost a fortune and covered virtually nothing. By the grace of God, my friend didn't suffer any medical misfortune while she was without medical coverage, but that could have been different. One appendix rupture or one severely broken bone and she could be in serious, long term debt exceeding even her college student loans. I know that it sucks to avoid minor check ups at the doctor just because you know you don't have the cash to cover it that week, and I know that is why our system sucks.

I don't know if President Obama's plan is the right one. I know it is expensive and I know change is scary... but I can't understand why doing nothing seems like a better alternative. I know that Australia, England and Canada have all managed to provide quality health care to their citizens (all of them!!!) and those three countries have managed to continue to exist thereafter. Amazingly, their entire infrastructure didn't crumble just because they actually treat all their citizens equally. I know that this system sucks, and I find it hard to believe anyone out there can't agree on that. As far as the current plan of action goes... if you don't like it, propose another one. Don't cry about mandating insurance being unconstitutional.... cry about the people who die without it. Don't scream about the price of the plan... scream about the tax money already going toward the uninsureds' crappy care in emergency rooms. And don't accept a system that sucks just because you fear the unknown. We are a country who makes changes for the better in the search for equality. Why would that stop at medicine?