Tuesday, April 7, 2015

Modern Obscure Maternity (M.O.M.)

I'm not normal.  I don't strive to be normal nor do I harbor any jealousy towards those mothers that encompass all the requirements that I feel place them in the traditional or "normal" category.  I do, however, respect the women out there that do all those mom-things that categorize them in what I feel is more conventional than myself.  I don't fit that mold and I have finally decided that I'm totally okay with it.  I wasn't always okay with it...that came with time and a family that let me be...well, me.  Trying to be something I'm not was not good for my mind or my soul.  I personally feel we need all types of mothers out there to fill the many different roles our kids need and we ultimately make one well-oiled machine that our children can only benefit from.

What is normal or traditional you ask?  I'm sure I can't answer that question entirely or to the satisfaction of all of you ladies out there although I'm sure most of us could probably agree on a lot of the same ideas.  In fact, I have a feeling that when I do try to describe, in my humble opinion, what I think falls under this "normal" category that it may actually step on some of your little toes.  So, I'd like to pre-apologize for missing anything in my personal assumptions as I try to outline as best I can what I feel qualifies some of you as the quintessential (of or relating to the most perfect embodiment of something) mommy. Oh and I'd also like to remind you that this is my blog and direct you to the word "my"...feel free to write whatever you like in comments.

Actually, I'm not sure what makes up the "normal mom", I just know I'm not. So I'm just going to tell you a few things about me that I feel makes me the non-traditional type of mother and tell you about the journey that made me who I am today.  Mind you, some of the things that we have in common are things that you did well before you were with child and were long-ago whims or my-friends-dared-me-to-do-it type things...I just happened to want to do them after my kiddo came along.  In fact, she's so much of her own person and has been since she was small, that I would say she's the main reason I've embraced my true self.  Some of my non-traditional qualities you guys will embody too...it's not like my true self wanted to rob banks or something, I think that it's the culmination of them all while in my 40's that lends to my thinking that I'm not mainstream and maybe not the perfect fit for certain groups.  I like to think I can hang with just about anyone but I've said before in previous posts that I'm not for everyone and I'm okay with that.  I can promise you this though - I'm about the easiest friend you'll have; I don't need to talk to you or see you everyday to validate our friendship and unless you give me reason to think it, I won't assume you have a problem with me just because we haven't spoken for a month...or two...or longer.  Sometimes I wonder if that makes me a lazy friend but then I step back and check myself because I can't forget that we all have things going on in our lives...even us stay-at-homers.  I am, however, lazy in other ways I hate to admit. I actually started writing a post called Tales Of A Lazy Mom but stopped mid-way through...I'm not sure why...

If I had to identify  myself in a particular category during my teenage years, I'd have to say I was fairly mainstream with the prerequisite 90's wardrobe, big hair and a love for MTV (you know, back when it was actually about music and music videos - you wouldn't remember if you were born anytime after the mid 1990's).  I tried to never call attention to myself and was actually told that I was very quiet in high school when I went to my 20th reunion.  The quiet part shocked me because I love to make people laugh (and I have to be reminded that I don't need to yell my stories when I'm sitting beside someone...my poor family.  I just get so excited!).  I spent a huge part of those early years trapped in a scoliosis brace, shoe lift and braces on my teeth (my teeth and spine were jacked up, bless my heart) so blending in was a mix of goals and dreams especially because my identical twin had no desire to remain unseen whatsoever.  I guess I spent so many years after high school trying to be that funny girl people wanted to be around that I forgot I never wanted the attention all those years ago.  It was inevitable that I would want to tell good stories to my friends I guess; if you could meet my dad you would know that at least one of his daughters was destined to learn the art of delivering a humorous spiel.  It rubbed off on both my sister and myself, I just chose to advertise it via blog, radio, that one time on stage (too frightening to do again), etc.  I'm not saying that I've mastered it, but I would like to think I've gotten pretty decent at it.  The good news is, and if you read my blog regularly you'll know this about me, that my social anxiety actually helps with the funny stuff (also something I've embraced). My late teenage and early twenties were something quite opposite of when I was in high school and quite frankly surprised the hell out of me.

When I graduated from high school I also got to graduate from the scoliosis brace and all those other things that made me want to hide from the world.  It was freeing and terrifying all at the same time.  I went off to college and was probably less excited than I should have felt because it was the first time I would be without my twin sister (and parents of course).  If you don't have an identical twin or if you aren't the more passive of the two you might not understand how scary it is to wake up and not have the stronger personality mentally (and sometimes physically) pulling you through everyday life.  I had to be my own person!  That was not okay with me.  I had to make my own way...for a whole week!  As it turns out the person I was without my sister wasn't that bad.  Surprisingly I met the man I would marry only two years later during my first week away from my whole family and he liked who I was!  Because of him I heard new music and saw new places that I'd never think of visiting on my own.  He taught me how to play pool and introduced me to stand-up comedy.  I loved that part the most and we still quote some of the greats to this day, over twenty-four years later.  I also fell in love with watching movies; we would go to the theater and usually watch two per weekend night (they weren't freakishly expensive like now though).  I guess I'm trying to describe myself through telling you my journey through my twenties.  Is there a part of me that wonders if I'd be much different today if I hadn't met my husband at 18 years old?  Sure, but what we go through over the years is what molds us into who we are today and I know I'm not anywhere near perfect, but I like this version of me.  As much as my daughter is more her own person than I was at her age, she'll make some changes here and there because that's what living and the people in your life, well, force you to do quite frankly - and that's not a bad thing.

The years between my late twenties and now have been spent doing the whole mom-thing but in my own way no matter the opinion of others.  That's not to say I don't welcome advice because I've needed a ton of it from the moment I understood my parents words and I will until the day I no longer walk this earthly path.  Will I take all of your advice?  Um, no...would you take all of mine?   I advise you not to; sometimes advice is really an opinion and Lord knows we all have different ones.  There's a saying about opinions and it mentions that some of them stink.  Moving on!  This is me as summed up and condensed as possible because I've rambled on so long about how I got here.

I love tattoos (sorry Mama) and I have a few now.  They all mean something to me and I can't promise that I won't get another.  I pierced my nose recently because it's something that I've wanted to do for a while and low and behold it didn't change who I am.  I quit my job to pursue something that not many people succeed in - writing.  I wear clothes that probably cost too much and aren't age appropriate anymore (except those items with words in visible places), but let's face it, True Religion makes your butt look better.  I love hanging with my kid and her friends and quite frankly I like their music too.  I'm not one bit domestic but I'm optimistic as is my husband...well, he's more hopeful than optimistic.  I literally don't sweat the small stuff to a point that it can appear that I don't care.  Nine times out of ten I'll choose to stay home instead of going out even at the promise of a yummy dinner. So maybe these things don't disqualify me from being bor...conventional but it certainly lands me in a different category.

I think I completely missed the mark of what I was intending to write about...but thanks for the therapy.



Sunday, February 8, 2015

It's Heart To Talk About

I wish I could sit down with my daughter and coherently explain to her why when she is in any kind of pain I feel it too.  In fact much of the time I feel it deeper and longer than she does especially when I can't do anything about it.  And the physical stuff?  I wouldn't know where to begin explaining to her that her headaches make my heart feel like a pincushion from worrying whether it's a concussion or a sign of something worse. Or, when she's limping because she killed her knees as goalie during a soccer game I feel like someone has my heart in a choke hold, especially knowing that she did it willingly and will again the very next day. But the emotional pains that my child suffers are the hardest on me and I'd be willing to bet that most mothers feel the same for their children.

Honestly, until you're in a position where you take care of someone who depends on you to survive, you can only imagine how much it hurts when that dependent hurts.  It's not the same kind of hurt you feel for a spouse or your parents and not even close when it comes to friends.  That sounds callous but it's true; I love my husband and my parents to pieces but that doesn't change the fact that they aren't my child.  Your child is your heart and if they aren't then you need to reevaluate yourself.  I tell my daughter all the time that I want to take whatever pain she's feeling from her and make it mine.  Over time the look she gives me when I tear up over her boo-boo's or her hurt feelings have gone from "what the heck" or "why would you want to feel this" to "I know, I know...you'd rather it be you than me".  It's not just about taking her pain away; explaining the emotions a mother feels for her child is as complicated as solving those darn Rubik's Cube's and she won't completely understand until she's a mom herself and I'm not talented enough a writer to articulate it to her in a way that she'd truly understand why I'm sad when she's sad and happy when she's happy.

Some days my daughter's day has so many ups and downs that I feel as if I've run through an emotional maze.  And not just a normal mice-find-cheese maze!  No, no...I'm talking about one of those horrid ones you see in movies like Labyrinth with hidden walls and changing paths. Or, on a particularly rough teenage day, the kind of maze like in The Shining.  You know what I mean - the kind you have to frantically keep covering your tracks after every step with snow in hopes that the psychopath can't track you down and stab you with an icicle and if done successfully, he finally ends up freezing to death because he's so lost.  Oh shoot, I meant to say spoiler alert since 1980 wasn't that long ago (said no one ever).  I strongly feel that it helped paint a good visual for you, thus forcing you to better grasp how hard it is for a mom to navigate her teenagers emotions especially on those occasions that your daughter feels that one of her friendships is falling apart.  Those are the times that you really, really don't want to watch your child suffer through.  As hard as I try to remain dry-eyed, I can't.  I say, what I hope is, the right things while trying not to let her see that I'm hurting for her because if she thinks I'm upset she might stop talking.  You have no idea how many times I've told her that I'm only wiping my eyes because something flew in one of them or that I'm sometimes allergic to the dog we've had for years, like it had a bad dander day. Lame, I know.

There is nothing more important than the "right now" with teenagers.  We all have gone through it and we all have felt like nothing matters but what's happening right then.  It's not until you leave high school, I believe, that you start to see things differently.  I've tried to tell my daughter this and I've promised her that how this or that person is treating her right now is not a reflection of her, it's a reflection of who that person is.  But, no matter how much you try to tell them the tears still flow.  I want to tell her that I've met that girl or boy before back when I was a teenager and she will be saying that to her children someday (Dear Lord, let me have at least one grandbaby).  I say to her that sadly there's always at least one jerk born every year that's only out for themselves and will hurt you no matter what or how close a friendship you thought you had.  But the look on her face says you're not really helping because it's still a broken friendship.  Gah, I want to find that kid and...and...well, nothing because I'd get in trouble just for wagging my finger in their face.  But I want to say to them that they are a walking cliché and to enjoy the moment of being able to hurt someone by just ignoring them because in a few years they'll be irrelevant.  Then I think to myself, what's the point because they are so self-centered that my words wouldn't even phase them for a second so I'd just be standing there looking like a foolish old mom fussing at someone else's kid.  I'm thinking about this so hard my daughter can hear it and she tells me not to do anything that she just wants to vent...that she doesn't need my help.  There are many reasons I continue to tear up during this whole night-time conversation, starting with her not needing my help, but the biggest one is that my daughter is hurting and I can't magically make her forget about this kid.  The other reasons I'm sad for her is because I know this isn't the last time it will happen, that I too liked that kid, and that I know she would forgive them if they asked and she will think it's genuine.  

I like to tell my daughter that not everyone you lose is a loss and really it's that person who screwed up because they lost her.  I feel sorry for them because she's everything I wanted in a friend growing up and they are too blind to see the fierceness and loyalness of her friendship.  I tell her that someday, when she's not hurting so badly, because time does heal us, when someone asks if she knows that very person, she'll be able to smile at the good memories and say "I used to".  But, as you can imagine, it doesn't fix it right then and there (so I give her melatonin and knock her butt out because she's not listening!  Kidding!) so I have to let her cry and deal with it in her own way and just hope that my words slowly sink in.  To walk out of her room knowing that tears are flowing down her cheeks is so hard and if I could paint you a picture of what my pain looks like, you'd see me dropping little pieces of my heart like breadcrumbs on her floor from her bed to where I sit down at night.  And I sit there knowing that I left her there feeling sad, confused and hurt and I actually feel like I physically ripped those pieces of my heart out and if I were to look down I'd be able to see the trail I left behind.  You know, as much as I would love to be young again...never would I wish to be a teenager again.  But everyone must go through it and learn to rise above or work around or handle the teenage years with as much grace as possible so that you see the value in a true friendship later.  Believe me, even the jerk-kid has to go through it and maybe, just maybe he will be a better person when or if you ever meet again.

I would like to add one thing that annoys me that too many people say to kids all the time like it's a remedy to solve all problems.  It's "life ain't fair!" Where do you think you learned that lesson?  Your teenage years of course!  First of all, it's a silly statement because life is not a singular event.  Also it sounds like you're trying to say that everything in life sucks - you sound ridiculous because life is made up of millions of events and most of them are positive.  Events that are happening to our children are big to them so I beg you to please quit using a blanket phrase that makes it sound like they are whining because they didn't get the same amount of cookies that someone else got. 

Kid:  I thought they were my best friend!
Dad: Life ain't fair.

Kid: My best friend just said she didn't like me anymore!
Dad: Life ain't fair.

Kid: Why wouldn't they invite me, all of our friends are there?
Dad:  Life ain't fair.

Sorry, I just couldn't type a mom saying that over and over again.  What?  Life ain't fair.  That was a horrid attempt at humor.  Anyway, I just had to add that pet-peeve of mine in here; being eloquent is my delima not throwing out platitudes in hopes that it miraculously explains away everything.  You and I both know that what our children are going through isn't as big a deal as they think much of the time but it's a huge deal to them and it's our job to help try to lessen the pain and teach them to deal with lifes curveballs so they can do the same for their children.  I look at the teenage years like this - being in your teens is like being at war and you just have to fight to make it out of there alive.  Our job as parents is to watch, worry, and sometimes send in a care package to help lessen the proverbial bleeding.  I can't imagine how much harder it would have been without my mom's shoulder to cry on or my dad's sage advice when I was my daughters age.  Right now I'm wondering if Daddy remembers telling me that no matter what, when I was at school the next day to smile as if what's-his-face didn't hurt my feelings by breaking up with me.  That's some of the best advice ever!  I'll tell you guys why in a different post.   I'm sure they were thinking how that someday I'd look back and realize some of those things that felt so terrible at the time weren't really as tragic as I thought.  And I'm positive my parents hurt for me too when I was balling my eyeballs out about some boy or when teased by a classmate but now I can't even remember their names...well, for the most part.  

I'm always working really hard at not overstepping my boundaries as a mom by remembering that to be my daughters hero is to let her go through the pains of these high school years only mentally holding her hand and not trying to fix the situations for her.  I would be failing her if I didn't respect that right of passage, but I won't lie...it hurts like hell to watch.





Friday, July 18, 2014

A Heart Overused

I always knew, somewhere deep down, that my Daddy's heart would break before any of us was prepared for it to.  If he sat down and really  thought about it, Daddy would have realized it was bound to happen as well.  I'm not necessarily talking about the heartbreak we all suffer during our lives; if you have loved someone, cared for someone or even depended on someone over the course of your life, your heart has surely broken countless times. Yes, he has gone through that scenario many, many times just like you and I have.  Personally I believe we can't enjoy the glorious moments to their fullest without knowing the pain of lost love, death, and bitter disappointment. But the difference between my father and the rest of us is that his heartbreak and heartache goes much deeper than anyone that doesn't know him well could ever imagine.  I'm talking about the kind of break, or to be more accurate, destruction he was bound to experience because of how much he cares.

Thanks to modern medicine and numerous brilliant doctors and surgeons my Daddy is alive and doing well after his open heart surgery he underwent recently.  They did a wonderful job repairing the damaged part of his heart even if they don't know why it was literally falling apart.  But the why at the time wasn't important to them (or us) when he was rushed to the hospital - we just needed him fixed.  But I know the real reason his heart was giving out and to be honest I wouldn't change a thing that led him to needing it fixed.  I know that sounds...heartless (sorry, the wording fits) for me to say that so let me explain what I mean by that to you.

Men are funny creatures; the majority of the male population prides itself on being the stronger, tougher, and less passionate of the sexes.  From the time of Adam and Eve and the Cro-Magnon era men have clung to the hunter-gatherer persona (some men more than others - you know who you are) and still practically pound their chests when they conquer any task, menial or skilled.  Who's to blame them?  Not me, it's just entwined within their DNA or something.  Personally I don't mind a bit of that in my household...what?  It just means that his form of hunting equals going to the local grocery store instead of me and I'm totally cool with that.  Okay, it's really because I spend way too much money on crap that we don't need when I set foot in there and he goes by our weekly list.  I think I just undermined my likening my husband to a big ole' caveman when I brought up the grocery list.  Regardless, I like to think of it as him bringing home his latest kill for me to cook.  Wait, I don't cook!  Um, I'm going to stop there because I'm questioning my role as the dutiful wife now.  Anyway, my point is to say that it has been a part of human nature for the man to keep up a brave front, physical or emotional, in whatever crisis or predicament is at hand while the woman tends to dish out compassion in whichever form fits the situation.  However, there are those rare male souls that have somehow muddied the waters of the emotional chasm that has divided the sexes for hundreds of years and my father is listed amongst them.

My father has an immeasurable amount of wonderful qualities but the one that shines the brightest and far outweighs the others is his "emotional well" that never runs dry.  I am not exaggerating when I say that he feels every word he speaks or is spoken to him.  A simple "hello" from a stranger will remind him of a moment where he first made friends with a long-time friend or at the least how nice people can still be. And when he's telling you about how his favorite basketball team (go Duke!) was down by twelve points at the half and fought their way back for the win, his eyes, turning red-rimmed,  tell a story of hard work and perseverance that he admires to his core.  The best thing about Daddy telling you anything is the way he tells it and the way he makes you feel it as strongly as he does.  Sometimes I can't even look at him when he tells a story because I don't want to cry and let him know that his eyes have betrayed the part of him that's trying to be my strong father...so, I'll mess with my fingernails or look at a non-existent bird flying by so I can remain composed while he finishes telling me about the time he swallowed so much bubblegum that he threw-up and my grandmother called the doctor because she thought the huge wad of gum that came up was his stomach.  We both laugh, he at the memory and I at the picture he painted for my minds eye, but my quick glance at his eyes and his smile that's strained because he's choking down that cry-lump one gets right before tears spill, I know his story is filled with a longing to see him mama just one more time because he misses her so.  I would like to add that among the top ten qualities that my dad possesses, ranking at the top is his story telling abilities.  When he tells you about sneaking his dog into the movie theatre as a young boy, your heart starts racing and you fear you're about to get caught if the dog barks even once!  Or the time that his pant legs caught on fire and he panicked and jumped on his bike to ride home to his parents for help all the while just fanning the flames...well, I'll just say that I felt stupid checking my calves for burn marks.

It's a bitter-sweet thing to feel so strongly about everything; being an emotional person is a gift because what the less emotional person enjoys for a moment, someone like my dad takes that moment and ties it or relates it to some part of his life story.  The "bitter" element of feeling so deeply is the part that feels the need to help, fix, change or take over an impossible task thinking that your passion will infect others and a change of heart or mind will occur.  People like my dad know that not everyone and everything can be fixed but part of him cannot help but think if he tries hard enough, says the right things, pleads to the compassionate part he hopes dwells in others that somehow resolution will manifest.  Because I was in my teen-I-don't-give-a-crap stage I wasn't aware of how he was at his job pre-retirement, but if he was anything like he is now, just trying to make his neighborhood better for all by serving on the Board...well, I'm surprised he didn't need that open-heart surgery before June 2014.  I'm not going to go into what he's tried to do to bring those people together because that's a whole other blog post, but I will say that he cares about the betterment of the place he wants to live the rest of his life so much so that he has poured everything he has into reaching each individual like they actually care as much as he does (disclaimer, some do and they know who they are).  Maybe he thinks that if he cares deeply enough it will cover the "caring deficit" that's plagued too many in his community?  No, that's not it.  It's that Daddy's passionate about anything he feels affects his family and friends and the minute he took that damn position...it took him.

You see, where most of us have passion righting a wrong that's occurred or about a particular "thing" from time to time, my father has that passion about anything that's touched the life of someone he cares about past or present.  When he tells me the struggle, triumph or death of a neighbor or friend unbeknownst to me I leave feeling that I've made a new friend (or enemy...he's too forgiving) or lost someone too soon too.  I love that about my dad and I wish I was more like him even if it damaged my heart too.

I hope now you understand why I say I wouldn't change a thing about what happened to Daddy's heart; I can't imagine my father any other way than he is and I truly believe that all of our family and his friends would have empty holes in their hearts if he wasn't constantly filling those holes with pieces of his own.  Daddy, you have my heart too so use it anytime you need to!

Interesting facts about Daddy pertaining to this post:

1.  Oddly enough, emotional and caring as he is, my dad is a patented mechanical engineer. (If you are an engineer or married to one you'll know what I mean)

2.  Although mathematically inclined, he is crazy artistic!

3.  He has freakishly strong arms but hugs you like you're a delicate flower.

4.  His stories are amazing but he's shy and uncomfortable in large groups (though he hides it well when Mama drags him to a party).

5. He is the most level-headed person in the family even though things affect him the most.

6.  He once made a sock-puppet act so real I wanted to cry when it got angry. (So that's not about this post...I don't care, it was awesome)

And the best for last:

7.  My Daddy thinks his heart surgery made him more emotional than he already was.  Dear Daddy, you just had more to be emotional about these last few weeks and haven't realized that we've all seen the red-rimmed eyes that betray your inner-most feelings.  I speak for everyone when I say you affect our lives with your huge heart more than you'll ever know.

I love you Daddy!


Daddy and Me - June 2014


Friday, May 2, 2014

Prom...iscuous

Ah, prom season - it's in full swing once again and just like all things teen related, there's gonna be drama.  This year, and probably building up over the last few from what I've seen, it's all about dress-coding girls.  How do I feel about this?  I'm not torn actually; I personally think that too many girls have lost the art of dressing in a way that leans more towards elegance and understated beauty.  Even worse, many of our young tend to dress more towards the "gosh, I hope my boyfriend confuses me with a prostitute tonight".

Not all girls feel the need to flaunt all their bits and pieces but unfortunately for the ones that actually have some taste, rules have had to be put in place that might actually be a little over the top, even in this moms opinion.  But don't despair all you young women out there...it will continue to happen even in adulthood because those same fun-ruiners grow up and continue to ruin it for others in their place of business.  Matter of fact, the dress codes put into place for things like the prom, grade school, and the ever popular "Casual Friday's" in offices wouldn't have to be anywhere near as strict as they are except that the females that crave to be ogled on the regular will push the limits of whatever boundaries are set.  So, to help alleviate the problem or pending lawsuits, schools and businesses will over-do so as not to have to address the usual suspects over and over again.  Trust me, I've been in Human Resources for years and trying to tactfully fix the problem does not register with them. See, you can't say something straight up like "hey, quit dressing like you're about to go work the corner downtown!" or go about it like you're making an honest mistake to drop a hint, such as -  "Yo', I was chatting with Bob in the corner office and I promised him I'd ask if you were booked tonight and what are your rates?"  For most females either of those approaches would be their golden ticket outta there via a new yacht to their new beach house courtesy of <insert company name here>.  There are a few of those that will look mildly ill but immediately upon leaving your office will do a quick fist pump because they were successful in pulling off the slutty co-worker look.  You can't be too direct and you need to ease into the conversation with an adult about the choice of clothing they are wearing; you can be as direct as you wish when telling a teenager that they can't wear something at school like what they are parading around the halls in at the moment.  Let's compare the two types of conversations before we get back to the prom topic shall we?

Conversation One - HR vs. Jane Hoe (see what I did there? Not Doe but Hoe...as in 'Ho like Wh...anyway)

HR: Jane, can I see you in my office please?
Jane:  Sure, what's up? Something wrong?
HR:  Well, no...no, not really wrong per say.  Have a seat.  Jane, let me just come out with it so you can get back to the wonderful work you do here at IAMBSINGU.  But before we go into that, I just wanted to let you know that your work here is invaluable and I've heard many great things about you.  But the reason I wanted to chat with you for a moment, other than your terrific sense of humor - you do make me laugh! Remember that time we had that team building meeting?  You had me in stitches young lady!  You had everyone doubled over in laughter that day! We've had some complaints about some of the things you wear here on Casual Friday so if...
Jane:  What?! What kind of complaints?  Who's complaining?  I bet it's that bitch in Accounting! What did she say?  What...
HR:  No, no, it wasn't her. I mean anyone in that department!  It honestly doesn't matter who it was; it's my job to talk to someone when things of this nature are brought to my attention.
Jane:  Things of this "nature?" What in the hot Hell does that even mean?  What's wrong with the way I dress?  Do YOU think there's anything wrong with what I'm wearing?
HR:  Do I?  Oh!  Well...well what I think doesn't matter really.  But, I mean, I may not choose to wear such tight jeans or such a low cut top?  But, I don't have the body type to pull it off like you do.  But if I did? Um, I'd still probably opt not to wear that sort of outfit.  If it were me that is.  Maybe you might want to think about a less provocative ensemble in the future?  You know how people talk and we don't want it to get so out of hand that we lose out on "Casual Friday's" you know?
Jane:  This is absurd!  Look! <stands and turns rear towards HR> Do these look too tight to you?! Do they?
HR:  Well, not everywhere; they certainly aren't too tight at your ankles.  Listen, let's not get all worked up here Jane.  If you could just save those particular jeans for after hours that'd be great.  Don't worry about the people talking, they'll move on to other things soon enough.  Oh look at the time!  Sorry, I'm going to have to cut this short I have a meeting in five minutes.  Jane, if you have any questions just let me know - my door's always open!  Thanks for helping save our Fridays...by not wearing those jeans again...or that top...

Conversation Two - Any School Official (ASO) vs. Female Student (FS)

ASO:  You're shorts don't come down to your fingertips Miss FS so they don't meet school policy. Call one of your parents to bring you a change of close then report back to class immediately.
FS:  But..but...okay.

My point about being direct and not entertaining an argument with a child or teenager about choice of clothing is that it's our job to teach each girl self respect and that means dressing appropriately and not like she's willing to do something that she's probably not even close to really wanting to.  We have to teach young women that if you dress like you want the boys to attack you then don't be surprised when they do just that. But also don't be surprised if they treat you like garbage later because in the end it's the girls that demand respect for themselves that they boys really drool after.  Teach the girls to leave something for the imagination when picking out that prom dress or beach attire, etc.  If we teach them young then they won't be conditioned to think that they have to look like a "working girl" to get ahead in the workplace later.

Now, I must add that I've seen and read some disturbing things about dress-coding too and it's only fair that I call out those teachers that have been wrongly turning girls away from one of the biggest days thus far in their short lives.  Teachers, school officials, etc you need to chill out just a bit and recognize when you're being ridiculous!  I am ashamed of some of you for turning away girls that look perfectly fine and possibly better dressed and covered than you were at your own prom.  One teacher turned a girl away that had on the same dress (different color) than another that was let in moments after! For shame Mrs. Teacher!  You're either picking favorites or just being vengeful for some reason.  If you can't take into account that every person is proportioned differently then this night of chaperoning was not something you should have signed up for.  At my height most dresses that come to the knee on my friends would be somewhere around three inches shorter on me but still at my lower thigh.  Would you turn me away for that?  Or rather would you let me in because I'm the quiet one in your class that does what she's told but you wouldn't let my friend in because she's too chatty during school even though we thought it would be cute to wear the same dress in different colors?  Another school in Charlotte actually kicked a girl out for wearing pants!  Please explain to me how that violated the schools dress-code! Sad.

The ugly truth is that it's mainly the parents fault for allowing their children to wear whatever their hearts desire from well before the prom was a thought in their heads.  You are parents! You are not pimps!  They'll find the right guy without you helping them find their cleavage before they've stopped giggling at the word breast.  So say it with me everyone:

Parents not pimps! Parents not pimps! Parents not pimps! One more time!! Parents not pimps!

Girls, please remember that you do not look beautiful when all of your junk is spilling out of the top of your strapless gown or if that gown is too tight.  I promise you'll look back and shudder because you stuffed yourself into a dress to impress someone and didn't realize that you looked like you were one hors d'oeuvre away from ripping through the seams like sausage out of it's casing.

Be stunning, be elegant, be proud of yourself and have the best night of your teenage lives!



Jennifer's (my twin sister) dress circa 1990 



Thursday, February 6, 2014

Justin Bieber - A Tale of Parenting Failure

Although I have no immediate idea of how my feelings in this post about Justin Bieber will lean until I'm in the midst of writing it (sympathy, disgust, etc), I'd like to quickly point out that I blame the majority of his issues on his parents.  I wanted to make sure I threw that out first because I really don't want to spend the next few days worried that some outraged teen will show up to claim retribution by setting my house ablaze.  Those "Beliebers" can be a bit coo-coo...bless their hearts! But I'm also not excusing his behavior either; I have heard so much buzz about his ridiculous actions lately that I felt the need to "discuss" it all at once and publicly.  Well actually I really wanted to write his parents a nasty-gram shaming them for allowing their son to let his life spin so wildly out of control before it got this bad.  Can you imagine someone like you or me sending some finger-wagging letter to Pattie and Jeremy (his parents of course) like it would all of a sudden make them open their eyes to what their non-parenting has done to their once sweet son?  Here's how I'd like their reaction to be (and I know they're from Canada but for some reason I'm already thinking in a British accent.  Don't judge, it's uncontrollable and...well, it's how I work):

<picture Pattie slowly walking up their driveway after checking the mail and reading my extremely eloquent, albeit harsh, letter>

"Jeremy come here you have to see this!  Apparently we've been doing things all wrong for our son to become a contributing part of society.  As well we've let the money Justin has made blind us toward his retched behavior for years and years.  Let me finish reading...oh my she does use some colorful language!  Oh dear, she also says it's too late to fix it now because he's legally an adult and that we should request that he comes home to Canada post-haste and that you and I issue a public apology for being stupid.   Well, I wish this Barbara had written us years ago so we wouldn't have made these mistakes!  She must be right because the letter is so well written.  I think I'll start following her blog too!"

What?  I'm just saying that I wish that's how the letter would be received.  Also, I'm not sure why I didn't just email them in my little fantasy...huh, that is quite strange.  Oh, and they don't live in the same house.  Whatever.  Anyway, although I am trying to be a bit humorous with that whole letter thing, in my "wish response diatribe" I was actually highlighting the real underlying parental issues that has allowed Justin to feel like he can do whatever his heart desires.  He is clearly ignorant when it comes to laws, social grace, and even others feelings.  For those of you living in a world without his music, posters, movies, etc (clearly you don't have anyone living in your house younger than 20) let me briefly go over his beginnings so you can be up to speed.  This is in no way every little thing about him so no need to "scream" at me for leaving something inconsequential out.  Justin was born in 1994, his mother was just 18 at the time and never married the father.  At the age of twelve Bieber entered and won a singing talent show and his mother posted it on YouTube.  After continuing to post his songs online he was eventually picked up by a record company.  No one could or can deny his ability to sing...the boy has chops for sure.  He can also play four different instruments that he taught himself.  I'm not a huge fan of much bubble-gum music but over the years I've certainly caught myself singing along with quite a few of his hits.  On top of his musical abilities, Justin was also blessed by the good-looks fairy which didn't hurt his already skyrocketing fame.  Side note, he and Miley Cyrus could be twins - his delicate features bend towards a slightly feminine note.  But still, he's a cute kid and I can see why all the girls practically drool when they see him.  They do worse than that actually!  His effect on the young female population is so insane that people have dubbed it as Bieber Fever.  Really people?  Whatever my feelings on girls crying or passing out over a celebrity (silly, that's what I think.  Silly.) it's what happens when he comes anywhere near his fans.  So, now you're up to speed on The Biebs.

Justin's home videos were very good and he looked to be just a regular kid other than his incredible musical talents.  But he was so talented that fame hit him faster than anything you could imagine.  Literally his very first song was a number one hit in Canada and the US!  This is where his parents should have stepped in and at least tried to help him adjust to this whole new lifestyle.  And let me just say that his mother travels almost everywhere with him which makes her lack of parenting even worse because she's right there with him!  He was twelve years old and that makes him a kid that needs rules and structure no matter what else he's involved in.  But sadly they just let him do whatever he wanted and now he acts like a kid that was never spanked, grounded, or hell, a time-out woulda been something!  His teenage antics aren't like our kids because he can do it on a grand scale that can hurt others and himself.  And just like we've seen with some other child stars, he's spun out of control and doesn't even care.  And no, giving to charities does not erase his ridiculous, rebellious and dangerous activities (including drag racing, drinking and driving, drugs, destruction of his neighbors property...the list goes on).  All his fans can do is hope that he sees the error of his ways before the drugs he's now doing kill him or someone else.  I read something that I just had to shake my head in disbelief at the other day; someone who was defending Bieber about his drinking when drag racing said he barely blew anything on the breathalyzer so he shouldn't have been arrested.  Ah, blind allegance...HE'S NINETEEN-YEARS-OLD FOOL - ANY NUMBER WAS ILLEGAL!!  Jeez.  Now, people are dealt bad hands all the time and they grow up and make the necessary changes - and this is where I start putting the blame back onto Justin and not just his parents.  By the way, his mother being young and single does not an excuse equal.  This is what I would love to say to the young Mr. Bieber:


Dear Mr. Bieber,

I'm so sorry that your parents weren't there for you in the way that you really needed them to be.  It sucks that they loved the money you made for them so much that they didn't even think once about teaching you that for every action there is a reaction and sometimes it's going to be severe consequences when you make bad choices.  I'm super sorry that you weren't yanked off your tour years ago when you had been drinking and threw-up in front of all your adoring fans.  But son, I have to tell you that the following things are not acceptable and if you insist on acting this way you'll not be making any money off of this family with your posters, songs, etc.  It is not okay to spit on your fans because you think it's funny.  It is not okay to put others lives in danger because you can afford a fast car and people supply you with all the alcohol and drugs you want.  It is not okay to pretend to be a good person and then go around vandalizing other peoples property.  You may not have chosen to be a role-model but you are and I refuse to let you promote the idea that your behavior is one my daughter and her friends should emulate.  Take responsibility and grow up.  It's not too late to make the changes you need to to become a responsible adult but if you don't soon you will see that parents control the purse strings in their households and I can speak for myself and many of my friends when I say that our kids will not be given money just so they can fund your new-found and growing worse habits.  I hear talk about the US thinking of having you deported and I fully support that decision now.  Go be a nuisance to Canada and get off our streets...when you become a real man feel free to come back (if you want to since you did say that we are evil).

Signed,
Mother of a daughter that used to think you were awesome.

ps.  I wish you had been spanked once as a child.

pss.  Thank you for not wearing skinny jeans anymore. 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Well, I know that if kids read my blog they'd be looking to cause me bodily harm right now because it turns out that my post did lean towards feelings of disgust.  Whoopsy!


I wonder if any pediatricians offer a vaccine for the Bieber Fever...


BUT WAIT!  THERE'S MORE!!

Right before I was about to post this I heard on the radio and then more on the news that Justin is at it again and could care less who he hurts!  Bieber and his fathter were smoking pot on a plane going from Cananda to New York and after the pilots and flight crew asked repeatedly for them to please stop (father and son refused) they all finally gave up and and put on oxygen masks so they wouldn't feel the effects of the marijuana or have to breath in the smoky air.  It wouldn't surprise me at all if JB assumed they could just roll down one of the windows for some fresh air. 

**I do hope you caught the part about Justin's FATHER in my update.  Not only was he guilty of allowing his son to do drugs, but that failure was joining in on the "fun"!  Right now I'm mentally ripping up Bieber's work visa or whatever is allowing him to stay here.

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

A Come To Jesus Meeting With Santa

Ah, Christmas!  I love, love, love Christmas!!  With all the decorations, lights, prettily wrapped packages, cold weather with the hopes of seeing some snow, and spicy smells - it's like living in a beautiful dream.  Putting up the Christmas tree is one of the best feelings in the world too (on the flip-side, taking it down is the complete opposite).  Well, for most people it is, for my daughter it's a day of hearing "no, no...we put this kind in the front!  Don't put that one back there - no one will see it!  Dude, you've put all reds in a row!  Ew, I don't like...oh, you made that one?  I knew that; let's put that one down at the bottom so you see it when you're sitting on the floor unwrapping presents?!" Fun right?  But still my daughter makes it fun for herself by having us sing the theme song to How The Grinch Stole Christmas every time we make a little progress.  You can imagine my husbands delight at hearing "baa whoo moray...baa whoo moray..." every few minutes.  I'm assuming that when I hear him say "seriously?!" he's really saying "you know that's right ladies!".  Anyway. All the work of putting up a tree that gives me a rash from elbow to fingertips and the lights that decide not to work is all part of the Holiday experience that I look forward to from January to November each year.  Even when you aren't thinking about the true meaning of Christmas whilst throwing Holiday bobbles around your dwelling you have a sense of the Lord surrounding you in warmth particularly during this season.  Now, I'm not trying to get all preachy on y'all, but if you don't think that there's something bigger than the human race at work during Christmas then you've lost the whole point of why we celebrate this time of year.

I, like most everyone, enjoy the commercialism of what Christmas brings; shopping centers start decorating about the same time I'm wiping cheap Halloween make-up off of my daughters face almost as if to erase the taste of All Hallows Eve off of everyone's palette.  Heck, if it's cold enough on Halloween night I start wishing I could swap out the sparkly witch hat for my really cute Santa boot I like to display!  But sadly with times a-changin' people have started to forget the real reason for Christmas and actually change it to appease those who don't believe in Jesus at all.  And here's the kicker - those who don't believe in God or Jesus and the reason we celebrate Christmas in the first place still decorate and prepare for the "Holiday Season" too!  What?!  Exactly what do they believe they are celebrating?  Are they celebrating the huge sale at Khol's?  Did they get a great deal at Dick's Sporting Goods and think "you know what?  I should decorate my house with a tree because my Nike Air's were fifty percent off!  And what says I got a killer deal like a star placed atop my spruce pine?!  High-five me Honey and while you're up grab me some eggnog!"  I seriously want to know why your house is decorated for a time of celebration that started for a reason that you truly do not believe in?  Is it because you're giving your child the knowledge of something they can decide is true or not later?  Or rather is it because Junior might feel left out at school because Mommy and Daddy don't believe in God but he deserves the newest X-box just like his friend Lucas?  Or do you justify it by saying Santa Claus isn't named for a saint and is a jolly fat man with a big wallet and a super-fast vehicle throwing toys around because he actually does have a money tree?  Let me be clear, I have friends that don't believe and I don't judge them - that's not my job, but I do question why, on Christmas Morning, they are sitting around a tree celebrating Christ.  But I guess they are negating that too because now it's offensive to say Merry Christmas; now it's proper to say Happy Holidays.  Again I say WHAT?!  To what Holiday are they referring please?  Maybe we should start saying "Happy Cold Weather I Really Like Twinkly Lights And A Killer Sale At Target Season Everyone!"  But wait, that would clash with Easter since it's usually still cold at that time too.  Or maybe that's easily explained away since that's clearly a holiday with a ginormous rabbit NOT dressed in a red suit that breaks into your house leaving a chocolate self portrait of himself instead of potentially throwing himself to his own death by diving into a chimney.  I'm pretty sure that Saint Nick and the Easter Bunny have at least a little faith that they won't get shot once they find a way in to your abode.  Heck, without the real reason for Santa and the Easter Bunny being in existence they would be what nightmares are made!  Forget ghosts and monsters...there are two really bored psychopaths breaking in and making sure you're asleep!

It's just confusing for me because I was brought up in a house with faith.  For me, without my faith in God, Jesus, the Holy Ghost and what was sacrificed so that we could live knowing that even when our flesh dies we live on, I would be lost.  I'm also not blind to the science of life and yes it brings questions that are normal for anyone to ponder but no matter what science can explain away I still come back to my faith because it gives me comfort.  That might not work for others and that's okay...it's when those others try to take away from me, my family, my fellow Christians that I want to question what their intentions are.  Furthermore, it doesn't bother me that non-believers want to celebrate Twinkly Lights Season until they want to change the meaning for me.  Do I still buy my kid presents at Christmas?  Yes!  Should anyone else that wants to do that too join in?  Yes!  But when the words "Merry Christmas" bother you like you've been persecuted for your non-beliefs and you try to change it then I take issue.  Just recently Hallmark has made some changes in their wording as not to offend anyone...well I say good luck with that because it seems that we have reached a time where there is something that's going to bother someone no matter how many changes we make.  How about make an Atheist Holiday?  I promise not to get offended unless it has something to do with hurting my family.  I'll even say "Happy I Don't Believe In Anything Day!" if it makes you happy...just leave my beliefs alone.

For those of you who get offended with the word Christmas, I've taken the liberty of going ahead and making the changes that are apparently headed our way:

How The Grinch Stole (dirty thief)
The Night Before (sounds like a great cliffhanger to me!)
Oh Tree (silly tree)
Have Yourself A Merry Little (that's just wrong!)
It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like (well, now I'm downright intrigued...I'll put this on my "must listen" list)

And just in case the name God wrapped up in a Christmas song bothers you:

Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen (lazy but happy I guess)

Hey, most of us are guilty of getting wrapped up into the commercial side of Christmas but that doesn't mean we forget the why of such an important Holiday.  I will apologize if I've stepped on any toes with this rant-like post...I pray you forgive me.

Merry Christmas everyone!

Monday, September 30, 2013

Does This House Make Me Look Fat?

Although I probably should be on a diet, I'm not talking about my body weight; what I'm referring to is shedding the weight of the things I own.  I recalled watching a talk show years ago where there was a guest speaker who was preaching about the negative effects of "living fat".  I wasn't paying very close attention, but the words "living fat" apparently settled somewhere deep in the wrinkles of my brain and slowly started chanting louder and louder over the last year or so until it was screaming at me to pay attention and make some changes.  Even after I had thought long and hard about downsizing my house and the stuff inside of it, I didn't bring it up to my husband for a long time.  How do you tell your spouse that the house they have been working so hard to pay for over the years was now something you find excessive and pointless to maintain?  How do you ask your thirteen-year-old to up and move to a smaller place when all she's known is the house she's been in from the age of two and is inside the neighborhood that contains at least three of her very best friends?  This was not an easy decision and one that I wouldn't have ever entertained had I not had the supportive husband and agreeable child that I am blessed to have.  Still, as lucky as I am to have such a good family, I knew that I was going to have to have some pretty darn good reasons to broach the subject to my better-half and my awesome kid.

After I stopped working last year I took some time to reevaluate what I wanted to do career wise.  Well, I guess "reevaluate" isn't the correct term because in reality I've known for many, many years that I wanted to write.  Sadly, writing a blog and working on my novel hasn't paid any bills and we are a family used to having two incomes.  There's something very addicting to bringing in two paychecks and it's hard to change the way you live when it's cut down to just one.  Can it be done?  Of course!  People lose jobs all the time and have to adjust their lives accordingly.  What's different for us is that this time it's being done by choice and I had to make certain changes that were slightly saddening to me because I'm self-admittedly spoiled.  I knew that when I was ready to present this idea to my husband that I was going to have to make some promises of change in my spending habits that would cause me to wince in mental-pain when making that verbal contract that would outline what I would give up to stay at home and write...paid or not.  Luckily for me my husband thinks I'm at least slightly talented in my writing, "so I have that going for me...which is nice." (that's a little quote from a movie that we like to use...all the time...probably way too much.)

So, living fat - what exactly is that?  According to Dr. What's-His-Name, it's when humans fill their homes with tons of stuff that they don't need and most of the time don't even remember having.  Knick-knacks start piling up because we don't take the time to weed through the un-needed every once in a while.  Furthermore, and this is just my opinion, people tend to fill their houses no matter what the size.  What I mean is that we grow our stuff to fit the house instead of buying the house to fit what you already have.  It's normal I think; my husband and I bought this house with a certain future we had pictured for ourselves and I think that's what most people do.  We thought we'd have more than one kid so we bought a house that would be suitable for two or three children.  Well, flash forward eleven years and we still have only one child with no intention of having any more.  It's just the way it worked out and we are more than satisfied with our personal status-quot.  Anyway, we didn't just leave the extra two bedrooms empty in hopes that they would be filled with baby equipment at some point; we put a bedroom suit in each of the extra rooms for guests.  Basically the furniture just acted as dust collectors, picture holders, a graveyard for old flower arrangements that I didn't want anymore but felt badly about throwing away, etc when not in use for visits from family.  To be honest, all that furniture didn't bother me either until we needed to let our cleaning people go and I realized how much work it takes to clean something we didn't even use!  That led me to think about how much extra house we were keeping cool or heated depending on the season.  Now I was thinking like my husband and I could actually talk to him in a way that he would appreciate.  Go me!  We were now on our way to making a plan to shed some of the unneeded expenses or "weight" that go hand-in-hand with over-buying.  It felt good just to get the wheels in motion, knowing that we were working together with the same goals in mind.

Telling my daughter wasn't quite as easy because she couldn't give a rats patooty what we pay in electricity each month.  Also, I couldn't just pat the seat next to me (the universal sign for "let's talk for a minute") and say "Hey, Sweetpea...our house is fat so we're peace out.  Cool?"  I mean, hellooooo, she has friends right across the street for goodness sake and that's the most important thing to her right now.  Luckily for us we had been making her cut the grass and help clean bathrooms for a few months so other than her concern over how often she would be able to hangout with her besties she was all kinds of in on the plan.  So, needless to say I had to agree to letting her peeps come over a couple times a week and my only caveat was that if I had to cart them home it had better be before wine time!

I believe that this decision was meant to be because the one place we could all agree on had one more home available in our size range and price range along with the must-have features we all put on the table. I won't bore you with the details of the selling and purchasing process, but I will give a mental fist-pump at selling our house in one day.  One day!  I also want to tell you about how good it felt to start unloading extra furniture via the very convenient Craig's List.  When the first piece of furniture sold my tummy did that weird roller coaster flippy-flop thing that represented my feeling of excitement and nervousness; we were on our way to trimming the wasteline of our lives (see what I did there?  Wasteline instead of waistline...waste... unneeded stuff...eh? ehhhh? Well, I thought it was clever!).  After selling a few of the larger items filling rooms we didn't use I felt so good that I had to stop myself from posting everything we had planned to get rid of before we even had a place to move into.  Well, when I say I had to stop myself it was more like my husband said to slow down because apparently he hates sitting on the floor while trying to enjoy his steak dinner.  Whatever Mr. Party-pooper.  Oh, and one of the negatives of selling on Craig's List is that for every decent person that comes to your house there's an Uncle Creepy that wants to tour your house and ultimately tries to buy the items that you have no intention of selling.  I'm pretty sure that my daughter was getting tired of faking injuries and taking imaginary phone calls that couldn't wait so I could take the wimpy way out of asking someone to get the hell out of my house!  On a positive note I got very proficient at texting Skye on the down-low giving her the cue to come limping in holding the body part of her choosing or sneaking out to call me from out of ear-shot of said weirdo.  She got really good at it too and at some point I had to tell her that no, we really didn't need to go to the costume store and buy a couple tubes of fake blood.  Amateur!  If we over-played our hand we might have had to accept a ride to the nearest emergency room!!  She'll learn.

Since starting this post we have settled into our new casa and we love it.  We dropped a few hundred pounds and are adjusting to our thinner lifestyle.  If it had any effect on my personal weight I haven't noticed (I did notice how out of shape I am when moving out and then into this new place so hopefully that will kick-start some type of exercise regiment. I love that word "hopefully", it gives me options).  Downsizing isn't for everyone but if you're batting around the idea just know that this girl gives it a two thumbs up!

I'll close with this question:  Why haven't they done a show called The Biggest Loser Home Edition?



Friday, August 2, 2013

I'm Going Bald...Sweet!

Before you feel misled, let me explain my title...and before I explain my title, let me me warn you that this is one of my completely shallow, vain, whiny posts about aging.  So, no, I'm not going bald (yet) but rejoicing or at least being happy is something that I feel every man should feel when they start losing their hair.  I'll tell you why...

In my opinion most men get better looking with age.  I find that completely unfair and quite frankly ridiculous as most of them don't even care that they are sliding into their silver years.  Even their "beer bellies" don't look bad considering they can still wear the same jeans, t-shirts or dress clothes for years and years.  So what if they have to go up a size?!  It still looks the damn same and it makes me green with envy.  Woman have to (yes, have to - and no, not just want to) keep up with styles and also adjust to their growing mid-sections, back-sections, arm...need I name all the body parts that grow, sag, dimple, and MOVE over the years for us?  And what really chaps my dimples...er, hide?  The names that men came up with for our changes.  "Hahahaha...did you see the bat wings on that lady?  She could take flight with a strong enough breeze to lift her cheese burger butt!"  I'm picturing some man laughing so hard he gets a cramp in his side...falling over in pain and praying that a winged-woman blows his way and still has the energy to dial 911 after galloping over to him.  Thank goodness her kankles can hold her I-can't-lose-weight-like-I-used-to body up long enough to still help him.  Oh poo, my daydream ended before I saw if she helped or not.  Whoa, sounds like I'll be having some sour grapes for lunch today instead of my beloved pizza rolls.

Anyway, barring the comb-over (please Lord, I hope that no one does that anymore), going bald isn't all that bad and I believe that if a man is headed in that direction he should be grateful that's really all he has to worry about (when it comes to looks...inside they are all kinds of messed up).  Most balding men just shave it off and go for the Mr. Clean look and it works!  I mean, that dude is hot (the mop he's holding might help)!!  In fact, if Mr. Clean and the Brawny man got into a throw-down I feel strongly that Mr. Clean would clean Brawny's clock.  I'm really sorry about that low-brow humor; what I meant to say is that the Brawny man would try to wipe the floor with Mr. clean but he can't hold water compared to...I'll stop now (I've lost a bit of respect for myself for that).  So, when going bald a man should say thank you to the looks fairy and thank his lucky stars that other than his inability of pushing back from the table when presented with a Cowboy ribeye, all that he's suffering from is the decision to use a number 1 or 2 guard on his razor!  Oh, and you know what else?  There's a saying for men who make the mistake of trying out the $5.00 haircut at some chain (sounds like Hooper Huts).  Wanna hear it?  I'm so glad you said "yes!"; the saying for a mistake haircut for any man past the 80's era is "Oh well, I'm only two weeks away from the perfect cut."  What the?!  That's a load of crapola right there!  Last time I heard "uh-oh" while getting my bangs cut it took two weeks for me to come out of a deep depression and another two to get over the desire to use those same sheers on the...well, let's just say I didn't want to cut out paper-doll streamers.

Let me ask you this - why is it that when a dude starts going gray he looks all debonair or distinguished even?  Unlike women, when the male species starts getting those few strands of grays it lays down and acts just like the rest of the protein-pack it joined, but when we get them they decide to stand up and shout "aw, hell naw!  Ain't no one gonna tell me how to act; I'm gonna shoot straight up and be my own hair!  I'm gonna crinkle weird and send word that I ain't into conforming!".  So my hair has a country twang - what of it?  I also picture my wiry grays getting a tattoo and drinking straight from a cheap bourbon bottle!  In my defense, I saw a freaky Stephen King movie years ago about a balding guy that got one wish and it was for hair.  See, in the movie, the character gets his wish but it won't stop growing and when he cuts it off the little hairs scream in pain and then get all kinds of pissed off.  So the drunk tattooed hair is a lot better than when I dreamed my hair was trying to strangle me in the middle of the night (probably due to the bang-whacking I suffered too).  How is it that I can't finish my novel to my own liking and a movie like Revenge of the Hair (or whatever it was called) can get produced?!  Of course Stacy Keach's career has reflected his poor choice of filmage to star in.  He still has a killer (killer...hahaha) head of hair though...so good on him.  I strayed again - not unlike my lovely new hair color.  I do consider myself fairly lucky in that I didn't start going gray until this year and I've heard from many girlfriends that they started early in their 30's.  At any age for females it's just shocking and upsetting.  Unlike the migration of the chest, the hair is very noticeable in public if not covered quickly like a dark family secret.  But what color to get?  Do I do a full color?  Do I do highlights or maybe lowlights?  And what in tarnation is a lowlight (I do know that it is not unscrewing every other light bulb in the bathroom like I thought)?  Do I pluck the hairs out one by one and not worry about color?  My decision?  I'm going to find a salon that has silver and go all in!  At least that way it will look like I chose to be spontaneous and...um...wanting to match my jewelry?  Anyway, anyone that knows me also knows that I'm not scared of changing my look, I just don't want to be forced to.  Oh, and to just revisit the chest migration comparison I made earlier, what I meant was that it only takes a good bra to change the elevation of your endowment if you're willing to invest some good trial and error time.  Some of you aren't and that's a shame - or maybe genius!  Maybe you'd rather have someone not even notice your head due to staring at your "signs" now directing ones view southbound.

I guess I just don't find it very balanced that when a man ages it's called "growing into" their looks and when a woman ages it's just called aging.  I mean really?  What happened?  Did whoever was coming up with adjectives run out of creativity immediately after coming up with the male description?  Was some Greek philosopher exhausted from wracking his theologian mind trying to describe the superb way his silver hair made him seem even more deep than his sandy-blond 'do?  Clearly he wasn't so theological that he realized the value in beautifying the female description thus costing men truck-loads (cart-loads?) of gold and silver years later in our quest to slow the aging process.  Man, he do sucketh.  Furthermore, men may grow into to their looks but let us not forget that whatever you're looking at on him tends to keep growing AFTER they've grown into their looks.  There are the few men that are exceptions and will probably continue to look awesome all the way to their grave.  I've listed a few for example:  Sean Connery, Patrick Stewart, Mel Gibson (crazy though he is), my Daddy, and my Uncle Wayne (both of which should grow their beards back 'cause it made them handsome and cute all at the same time).  For real, my Uncle has always been that relative that you would describe to your friends as being the cute one! Speaking of beards...even that is an unfair advantage.  Double chin?  Beard! Sagging neck-skin (stupidly dubbed the chicken neck)?  Beard!  Weird mole under your bottom lip inexplicably shown up?  Beard (and a doctors appointment)!  Sadly, we too could make a noble attempt at growing facial hair to cover up these changes but then we'd be that weird aunt that people whisper about.  "Why doesn't she wax that off?  Someone needs to tell her!  Uh-uh, not me!!  I don't want her swinging that bat-wing at me...YOU do it!"  And so on.  Quick story about my secret (even to me) facial hair-growing attempt - you know that good feeling you have after walking out of the salon with freshly done toes and a quick eyebrow wax?  I used to have that too until that fateful day that the cute Vietnamese lady asked me "you wan you lippa wax too?".  What?  Why?  Give me that mirror!  I don't have...NOOOOOOOO!  "Yes please.  And my chin if you don't mind."  Good feeling gone!  I also feel badly for the woman that gave my orthopedic surgeon reason to make sure the attending nurse checked to see if she needed to shave my shoulders before putting me under the knife.  Dear Whoever You Are, I know a very nice salon that will take care of that for you and probably offer to dehair you elsewhere while she's at it.  Love, Barbara.

Anyway, thanks for letting me get all that off my chest...or where my chest should still be.  I would like to take a moment to thank the following for giving me the topic of yet another thing that I shouldn't be obsessed about:

To Time - thank you for robbing my skin of elasticity and the ability to bounce back.  That's just great that you have that ongoing deal with the skincare companies.

To Vanity - without you my bathroom counter tops would look much less crowded.

To Memory - thank you for letting me remember how I looked so many years ago.  I'm sure you'll make a grand exit at just the right time.  I'm counting on you to do something hilarious like leaving me as I'm getting dressed thus letting me wear my bra over my flowered polyester button down.  That joke never gets old does it?

Should I embrace aging as part of life and a treating my wrinkles as a badge of honor for every year I live?  Yes, yes I should.  I won't...but I should.  And you men out there...I got nothin' for a wrap up.  Oh!  Have fun buying yourselves a car to make yourselves feel younger.  In the long run it's a heck of a lot cheaper than what your wives do to keep your attention.

Love to all of you young and old.  I'm off to pray that I age like my mom!

Monday, July 15, 2013

Growing Pains Of The Heart

I don't cry easily, so this should be a breeze to write about...

Okay, that was a total lie; I cry easily, frequently, silently, loudly and ugly.  I cry tears of sadness, happiness, anger, frustration, love and when I run out of the new International Delight's new iced coffee (preferably the mocha flavor).  Basically that means you can't say to me any of the following without the possibility of my eyes welling up and more times than not spilling over:

  • I love you - happy tears (the amount of tears spilled is directly effected by the punctuation I hear in your voice...unless you're patting me on the head and looking at me like you're chanting "bless her heart" to yourself)
  • I hate you - angry tears (that will get you the hot-salty tears and possibly a strongly worded email that will most likely sit in my drafts folder)
  • I'm disappointed in you - instant tears with immediate spillage
  • Clean the house - that's a mixture of frustration and sadness tears with a dash of the angry kind (okay, so I don't cry about that but I do secretly pout)
I'll assume you get the picture because according to all the emoticons developed recently someone has a direct line to whichever lobe or section...gland(?) in my brain that's tethered to my tear ducts and what I feel depending on what's been said to me.  I'm mostly impressed with the little yellow face that has the big, toothy grin that, in my opinion, excuses me from asking all types of my under-developed or premature <cough>...fine, stupid questions I text, post or email.  For instance, let's say I ask you if you'll get extra cheese on the pizza you're ordering for us while I'm at the store and I know you hate too much cheese on your pies (which makes me ponder the foundation of our relationship anyway...who doesn't like extra cheese?!).  Knowing that you're probably muttering some endearing words about me under your breath, I quickly text you the yellow-toothy guy (that everyone should have saved in their "recently used" tab) just to ensure your sweet words aren't diminished by putting them in writing.  See, now you're wondering if I'm serious or joking.  It's both, Genius!  If you get the extra cheese and have that disgruntled look on your face when it shows up at the door I can say "awww, that's so sweet, but I was just joking!"; if you don't get the extra cheese and look too smug about it I could possibly get a little pissy myself and say "I sure wish I liked the pizza as much as you do, but whatever, as long as you're happy."  Ah, so many options with the yellow-toothy emoticon.  I can assure you, that was just two examples of what that little yellow dude can do!  I'd also like to quickly tip my hat at the martini glass emoticon as it can mean so many things as well. For instance, it can mean "yeah, it's five o'clock somewhere!"  Or, if you want to get cray - do the martini glass and then the little gun pointed at it when you're kid texts you to ask if it was okay that she took the liberty of inviting seven of her besties over for a sleep-over that night and that, by the way, they'll be here in about forty-five minutes to an hour and this time only one of them is allergic to peanut butter, chocolate, your dog...and hates pizza so what can we have for dinner 'cause they all want to know.  This way instead of texting back something smart-assish like "how 'bout everyone eat a big slice of...", you just text the alcohol/gun combo thus letting your more-than-generous daughter know she is driving you to drink...or shooting perfectly good cocktails.  I didn't think that through until just now; my daughter has probably contemplated doing the head-patting-I-love-you thing many times.  I'd better text her the yellow toothy dude so I can decide how I feel later.

You'll have to excuse my rambling tangent; it's been much too long since I've written a new blog post.  Sometimes life gets in the way...or better yet, we let life get in the way and find other things to do or that need to be done and one day leads to another.  I was just thinking the other day that I've let things that aren't in my control steal my funny.  Even when I knew it and saw it, I would just think to myself "tomorrow...tomorrow I'll get back to what I love to do!"  And I also over explain myself.  I was writing about how easily I cry because whenever I think about my daughter growing up I think about the stages of when and how she says she loves me from when she learned to talk up through present day.  If you want to feel how quickly time has passed think about that!

I wish with all my heart that I could remember the exact moment in time when I first heard my daughter tell me that she loved me.  If I had known then that her teenage years would come so quickly I would have clung to every moment she said those words and every time she looked at me like I was her everything. I'm blessed in that she has said it for so long and so frequently that I didn't miss a one-time thing, but at the same time I know I took that moment for granted and can only remember the more commercialized moment of when she said "Mommy" first.  Well, I think she said that...she could have said "money".  Still a proud moment in time thank you very much.  Anyway, what I do remember is the evolution of her "I love you's" from toddler to teenager and this is how I see it...

When my daughter was around two and only recognized that her dad and I would say the same three words, "I love you", anytime we went to work, bed or whatever that was removing us from her site for longer than five minutes, she learned those words like she was a parrot (didn't care, still wanted to hear them); if I had made a point to say "no new taxes!" every time I left her room or put her to bed then she'd think that was how you tell someone I'm not leaving you for good but just for now and she'd come to expect that and start saying that back to us.  But I don't think her future boyfriends would appreciate it when they found the courage to say that they love her (I could write a whole new post on the misconceptions of love during one's teens) and she would look back at them with huge adoring eyes and say "oh, wow!  No new taxes!!"  Dang, I regret not doing that now; that's my kind of twisted humor right there people.

From the age of four through kindergarten saying I love you was, in my opinion, still a learned response.  I'm sure she knew it meant something warm and fuzzy so those three little words flowed freely from my child as she secretly tested it's strength and usability.   At this age, while sticking to my opinion that saying "I love you" was automatic or a learned response, most children are also testing parents resolve, patience, and limits all the while (and unbeknownst to the lay-parent) testing what the three magic words can get them or let them get away with.  Because I am in that group of parents that have their hearing tied directly to their heart-strings, my daughter had more power than she knew.  There is a sucker in every parental unit and that was me.  My husband was more than willing to point that out when it was obvious I bought into the words during times that maybe I was being sold a bill of goods.  "I love you too Skye!  What?  Well...yeah, sure you can bring home a velociraptor!  You owe me ten kisses too now?!"  Is that an exaggeration?  Yes, but only slightly.  When she said those words my defenses fell at the speed of melt.

Somewhere in the six to eight year range kids learn that saying I love you can be dangled in front of adoring family members like a carrot to a farm mule.  I imagine them holding a crappy twig from the creek they frequent in the neighborhood with a bunch of silly dentist office stickers adorning it and, using the only white sewing thread you have for emergency button fixes, they've tied the words "I love you" written in puffy stickers that are barely clinging to their most recent report card and all you can think is "I must get those words...I...must...get...almost there...yes, you can have McDonald's that's-probably-not-real-meat chicken nuggets for dinner for the third time this week...just give me the damn half-deflated puffy letters that feed my soul!"  What?  That's normal right?  Okay, so maybe your letters aren't puffy...I can't help that my "I loves you's" have flare.

Now we're at the age where everything gets confusing; from sixth grade until...until...well, from then on it's touch and go when you can and can't say I love you to your child. Now, instead of you seeing the words dangling precariously in front of your face-heart, our darling children hold the words hostage.  Hostage I say! They should come with a disclaimer saying, in teeny-tiny type I should add, that these words do not bind said child to repeating them in the same scenario or setting in the future, as well said child may resend these same words at any moment if you happen to play any 80's song louder than a setting of 1 on your car radio as you let them out in the mommy circle at school.  Also, you will not hold your child responsible for accidentally slipping and saying the words aloud within ear-shot of any peers and for the love of God don't bring it up in hopes that you'll gain a repeat performance in the future.  So because I like you I'll give you some tips (bribery) that will help (get) the "I love you"'s to flow (more like hissing) from your child.  This is only for the brave (not so bright) parent so try at your own risk.

1.  When dropping off your child at school prepare them to let loose the words you long to hear by warning them that you will not only blast your radio to any tune being replayed on the 80's or 90's station but that you will, knowing the words or not, be singing along when they get out of the car.  Note:  this goes for getting a kiss while waiting for the kid that takes forever to get out of his or her car even though it's the same routine they've followed for years and they still can't get their shi...stuff out in a timely manner.

2.  Make sure you follow through!  If number one doesn't work and you didn't blast your radio as threatened, make sure to pretend like you were giving them a chance.  It's important that the very next time they don't at least whisper I love you while you come to an almost-stop while throwing their book bag at them you roll their window down and screech something like "I love you too!" or if you've chickened out on number one a few times bring out the big guns and say "I love you too!  And don't worry, I'll flush the potty this time but try to remember tomorrow!!"  I also suggest pretending not to see the "I hate you" look they shoot you if you have to resort to such measures.  For me it only took one time of waving like a freak and loudly suggesting to my kid that she "make good decisions!" to keep her on track for a good six to eight months.  I only had to threaten the radio when she was in the seventh grade because she is now scared to test my resolve.  Hey, it bothers me none if some random kid hears me...besides, they probably have some help-group for kids tormented by caring parents.

3.  If all of that fails...well, you have a boy and I have NO idea what to say to help you.

The good news is that my daughter, no matter the age, showers me with love and affection from somewhere around 7:00pm (after she and her two besties that are boys finish killing zombies, playing some Madden football game or come in from skateboarding) until she falls asleep.  Does she use that to make me come re-tuck her in too many times for what a 13 year-old needs...yes!  Do I care?  Heck-to-the-no!  I love it and I love her.  

My teenager might suffer from growing pains in her bones but I, like most parents, suffer from growing pains of the heart.  Keep saying "I love you" as much as possible because I can promise you they hear you whether they acknowledge it or not.

I love you Skye!!