Offend

I use to have a ton of blogs.  I have lots of ideas and no follow-through.  I deleted some of those blogs.  One in particular is hard because it was just me writing stuff that I thought might offend certain people and now I don't really care about offending people. 
 People say I am funny.  The thing about being called funny is you feel like you have to be funny all the time and that is impossible.  This is why the best funny people commit suicide or get into drugs or become alcoholics; too much expectation. 
Anyhoo, now I don't care about people and before I delete this blog, where I wrote stuff  that was 'offensive', I want to keep some of the posts so I m posting them here to keep.  Forever. 



Right now I am watching "Jesus Christ Superstar" on TV, which you know is how I like my Jesus.  Dirty.  Wearing Bell Bottoms.  Driving a tour bus.  Totally fuckin' awesome.
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My kids have discovered my kryptonite.  Books.  I don't want to be that asshole mom that doesn't read to her kids.  The moment I call it quits, go to take a breather my kids show up with a stack of books.  How can you say "f-off" when your kids are showing a desire to learn, use their imagination and all that stuff?
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I am now an official cat lady.  I fear that when my kids leave me I will start hoarding cats.
The last fucking show I want to be on is "Hoarders"  I rather be on "Intervention."
I rather be addicted to crack, heroin, mari-g-iuana, ecstasy and meth  and have my family secretly draw me to a cheap hotel room in tears then have a bunch of assholes touch my underwear.
"Intervention" is dramatic.  People are all like "we are here, we love you, we are sending you to a treatment center with massages and therapists and meals and help."
Hoarders they are like "that is one dirty,smelly crazy ass bitch."
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Did you ever notice that the priests in "Jesus Christ Superstar" look like giant penises?
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bully

I see stories and I usually don't have the same reaction as everyone else.  My gut doesn't function properly sometimes.
Case in point the grandma bullied on the bus.
Although I don't condone bullying, all I kept thinking was "Who is the adult in this situation?"  Is it bad that I didn't feel sorry for her?  I didn't pity her.
I questioned why she wasn't doing her job.  What if those same kids were bullying another kid?  If she couldn't stand up for herself how in the world would she stand up for another person?  Her job is to keep the peace and by just sitting there she neglected her duties.
This of course is my opinion.  I think it is a valuable one.

Did you ever notice when you see stories on bullies the answer to bullying is by bullying the people who bullied.  That above statement is a tongue twister, say it three times fast.

...stories on bullies the answer to bullying is by bullying the people who bullied.


...stories on bullies the answer to bullying is by bullying the people who bullied.


...stories on bullies the answer to bullying is by bullying the people who bullied.

You read the story about the bullies and people's comments bully the bully.  It's a vicious cycle.
Word hurt and of course the only answer is to not say hurtful words to people.  It's an easy enough concept, not easy in action.
We say hurtful things and mean it.  We say hurtful things as a joke.

"Oh hahaha, I'm just kidding!"
I tell my kids that when we say we are 'kidding' it is just our true feelings in disguise.  By saying 'I'm kidding' you are not making the hurt go away, it might soothe it a little, the pain will always stay.
Always.  And Forever.

*We just have to live a perfect life.  The best we can.

the more things change they stay the same.

*She's got an octopus on her head.  Does it matter?  What does it symbolize?  Is she trying to be funny?  Or ironic?  Poetic?  Does it matter?  Not to me.  She represents my repressed youth or something like that.  I am about her age and when I was younger she sang what I wanted to say and sing and couldn't or wouldn't.
And now I am not so moody and repressed and she just sings songs that I enjoy.  No pressure.
How things change.

*Whenever I am by myself in the car I leave my house in a sense of rush, like I can't wait to get away.  And on my way home there is this overwhelming sense of anxiety because I have to get home and make sure everyone is still alive.  I can never get home  fast enough and a million thoughts go through my head.
My poetic self looks for some foreboding symbol: A black cat, a broken mirror, a storm cloud, a plastic bag floating that suddenly comes down from its heaven.  My literal self puts her foot down a little harder on the gas petal.  Never fast enough.
They are such extremes.  
The leaving and the coming.
They are so different.
Yet they stay the same.

refrigerator doors

The hub of our being is of course the refrigerator doors.  You open the doors to nourish yourself and put things on the doors to nourish your soul.  Have you ever noticed that?  You will walk by those doors a million plus time in your life.  You stand in front of them.  You put things in and take things out.  You probably use them more than your front door or your porch door.  The fridge door represents your life right now.  Who you are and where you are going and where you have been.  It's all there, just take a look.

One day I took all the those advertising magnets we received with the phone books and re-purposed them.  I am sure it's nice to have the phone number of our local plumber on hand, but it is more important to remember our roots.

I love quotes.  They remind me of what's important. These are two of my favorite quotes, they are about love and family and that is what it's all about.

They are just words.  When you put those words together, string them in a row, they say wonderful things.

 My husband believes in the number '8'.  It holds mystical power, or so he says.  The '8' is there to remind me that there is power in everything.

Sometimes you just need a little reminder.  You are great!   You are a wonderful person!  The refrigerator doors are the perfect place for those reminders.

There is a lot more on those doors, this is just a choice sampling.  The best of the best.  The pictures and words that grace these doors will change but the heart of it will stay the same.  We all need something to inspire us, and I will always know where to find them.

  

addiction

*I have been adding club soda to my wine lately, more refreshing.  Have you ever tried it?  I do a 70% wine to 30% club soda mixture.  I pretend I am a mad scientist creating the elixir of life.  I am creating the elixir of life.  Just doing my part.

*I can count the number of times I have been really inebriated on my two hands.  I have thrown up due to alcohol like three to four times in my life.  I try to be very careful when I drink.  I come with the alcoholic gene.  It sits deep in my self, beneath the blood and cells and chromosomes.  Right next to my hair color, my above average breast size, and predisposition for cancer.  I get it from both size, alcoholism  runs in my blood like a tidal wave. When I drink wine or whatever and wake up with a headache it is my reminder of how I can be everything I don't want to be.  Slow down.
Of course because I don't fill my predisposition with alcohol I find myself filling the void with internet and food and shopping and other creature comforts.  Soft addictions.  I usually stop myself before I get carried away.  I used to shop like mad.  The key to a shopping addiction and hiding it from the people you love is you buy things for OTHER people.  You don't have the reminder of you follies staring you in the face everyday.  And for the most part people don't question because they are benefiting from your addiction.  It's a win win.   Until the credit card bill comes.  And one day someone asks you "Why do you keep buying me stuff?"  And all you can say is "It feels good."
Of course if you have nothing to feed the addiction gene the anxiety starts.  That's always fun.  Anxiety is an addiction in and of itself.  Another thing to obsess over.  Anxiety is like a rocking chair, it gets you moving but doesn't take you anywhere.  No one benefits from anxiety.   Well maybe the drug companies.

* I end with a song.  Because it is my way.  In my house Tuesdays are Taco/Timbaland Tuesdays.  We make tacos and dance to Timbaland music.  My kids wake up and I say "What day is it?" and they answer with an excited "Taco/Timbaland Tuesday!"
Tis awesome.

Eas-E

*When I say absolutely I replace the 'b' with a 'p' so it sounds like a-pp-solutely.  I don't say it that way because it's cute or I am trying to be funny.  That's how I say absolutely.  "A-pp-solutely."  Sometimes I actually catch myself writing with the 'p' instead of a 'b'.  That's when you know you have a problem.

*My kindergarten kid is learning how to spell/read.  Spelling and writing out things phonetically is just the way it works around here right now.  I read what she writes and I have to really look at her words, the way they are written, words are spelled the way they sound. You think it would make my job easier.  But it doesn't.

I look and sound out each word in my head till I get the right word.  And sometimes I correct her.  And sometimes I don't.  

Right now we are working with the ending 'y' that makes a long 'e' sound.  It is an easy-eas-E- enough concept for her to understand.  But still she wants to put and 'e' at the end not a 'y' because "That's the way it sounds Mom and that's how it should be."  I can only agree with her.  Yes, things should be spelled the way they sound.  

If only life was that eas-E.

*I feel like my 'thing' lately is to post a song clip.  I love music.  

The other day I was talking to my children about how the songs I like have meaning.  We talked about how music is more than dancing or partying on Friday night or shaking your butt or calling the boy you like on the phone.  I used this song to demonstrate what I mean.  I hated to talk about war and children dying in war but after we had that chat they went outside and played and I saw their joy.
 No, I mean I REALL-E saw their joy.  

Music is magic.

the burbs. just fine.

*I am going to dance recitals and Little League games and helping lead a Girl Scout Troop and going to book club.  I am the quintessential suburban mom.  It was never my intent, it just happened.  It's life.  And life is good.
 My girl can dance and my boy can pitch and I can read.
My life is just fine.

*Every once and awhile a good idea hits me that I feel the need to share.

In the bag: Ballet shoes, costume accessories, recital program, pressed flowers and good luck card.   Sealed and dated!

She was given the choice:
1. You can wear recital costume and run the risk of getting it dirty or ripped.
2. We can protect the recital costume and one day when you are much older we will have your picture taken in front of all your dance costumes.

She picked #2, which leads me to believe that we are dance lifers.  
My hope is we can do this every year and when those senior pictures come around a decade plus from now we can hang them on a rack and chronicle her history in one picture.
That is if she sticks to dance.
If she doesn't it will be preserved for her daughter.

the center

It's funny isn't. The fact that she goes from five to fifteen in like two milliseconds flat. "I just needs my space" she said. I imagine this is what it will be like on a continual basis in about seven to nine years. Now I just see it in bits and spurts. I am being prepped for what my life will become. Because as quickly as she turns fifteen she goes back to five. And that is how I like her. A sweet, cuddly five-year-old who still fits in the center of my lap.
 And we'd dance to this song. In the living room when she wobbled on two little feet. Around in circles laughing.

the middle

It all can happen so fast, can't it?  One day you are holding them, feeding them from your breast and then the next moment they are begging to go solo.  To the park that is.  With friends of course.  How did this happen?  Where was that good stuff in the middle? 
The middle part where they still needed you.  The middle where being with you was good enough.  And all was right with the world as long as you were by his side.
I feel like it went to fast.  That somehow for a split second I closed my eyes and it was gone.
The middle is the best part.  And somehow I feel like I didn't get to savor it as much as I would have liked to.
Everyday I wish I can stop time.  And slow down the process of growing-up and changing.
Because once he was a little boy.
And now he is a little man.

Is it funny that I whispered this song in his ear as I rocked him it sleep....
 

Some would say that blogging is a pointless self-indulgent past time.  They might be right.  To me I am honing my writing skills.  Some day they might be put to good use.  They are being put to good use right now.
If the only thing I get out of blogging is the ability to write something that has a big impact in the fewest amount of words, well I'd say my time blogging was a huge success.

Loves and Kisses,
Me

Did you hear/see this?  I have a love/hate relationship with Florence.  I hear her songs and love them then I get pissed at myself for being so pathetically dramatic, that's the hate part.
Plus it kind of makes me want to see the movie in the theater and I NEVER want to see the movie in the theater...
.

 And I know Charlize is way prettier than Kristen but now you missed the whole point of Snow White. It's about inner beauty asshole.

Shake it out but don't shake it off

I am listening to this song on endless loop right now.  It is my battle cry for the day.  I imagine myself a little Sally Fields and a bit of a non-racist Mel Gibson in a kilt.
I have been up since 3:00 am preparing what I am going to say.  And how I am going to say it.  And how its important that I get the first word.  Because I have listened and cooperated and given the benefit.  Today it ends.  Today I am a beast.  A warrior.
 A mother warrior.
It started with tears.  There is always tears, but the word that followed set something off in me so visceral.  I did not take a second to consider anything but....ANYTHING BUT protecting my young.
First let me state that I have always ALWAYS made a point in making sure my children face the consequence of their actions.  The famous line "do the crime, do the time" is famous in my home.  But this is different.
After the teacher told me the consequence of writing '5 Things' he likes about a  teacher I was fine with it.  "Do it before baseball or there is no baseball."  Is what I told him.  'Think before you act' is what I said to him.  But when the tears came and he told me that the '5 things' would be hung in the cafeteria, on display for the school to see- well that was the spark that lit the fire in me.
I am all for consequence but I refuse to believe that public humiliation is a humane form of punishment.
Humane for a child.  A child that was said in a meeting.... a meeting that we ALL sat in to work on and understand his issues socially and the anxiety that went along with it.
 Humiliation for a child who struggles socially and with anxiety as a acceptable form of punishment is something I will never understand.  And more importantly is something I am not okay with
And the worse part is that not just one of those people that sat there in that room when "anxiety" and "social issues" was discussed went along with this inhumane punishment, but three.
Right now I am shaking out the residual anger that might get in the way of my main point.  I am shaking out the hurt I feel and focusing on the hurt that he feels and I am letting that drive me.
I am ready for battle.  Wish me luck.

And my words come back to me.  It's worth the effort.  It is  a big  deal.  And there is no good reason.