Damn, no one can say this woman is stupid. Well, ok, many people can say she's stupid. And crazy. But she certainly knows how to make people talk about her. And sell singles.
Her new song - say it fast now - is called "If You Seek Amy." I'm listening to a clip right now of a talk show with people arguing back and forth about the "inappropriateness" of the song, and the "embedded messages" that are poisoning our children and making us all go to hell. The line everyone is all aflutter over is, "All the boys and all the girls are begging to If You Seek Amy." Which personally, I think is hilarious. And creative.
And if you don't want your kids to be corrupted by a very cleverly inserted curse word then turn off the radio. Or change the station. Don't cause a ruckus and make national news complaining about how damaging it is to our puritanical ears, because you know what you're doing then?
YOU are selling more CDs. Funny, isn't it?
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Tiny Dancer
That's it. I'm convinced. My little princess is going to be a prima ballerina with the long flowing tutu and the grace of the wind whistling through the leaves of an aspen tree.
I've written about Alex's tendency to shake his booty - all the parents laugh out loud when, during taekwondo, while he's supposed to be bouncing in preparation for a kick, he instead wiggles his butt around like he's trying to shake a bug off of it. He always danced from a young age, too. I would swing him around our living room for hours, and I guess that translated into bobbing his head back and forth, which translated to booty-shaking. He was dancing around the living room the other day and he proudly proclaimed that he had "new moves."
Anyway, I thought that he really liked to dance. But then I had my daughter. And DAMN, does she like to dance! Alex danced when there was music on, the radio or a CD or sometimes a commercial on TV. But Emma? All she needs is a beat. A rhythmically spoken sentence, a tapped-out rhythm on a table, even the rhythm of the tires in the car makes her smile, bob her head and shake her shoulders back and forth. I have as much fun watching her sway and smile as I do watching Alex shake his booty.
We need a video camera, because no description can do them justice. You have to see it to truly appreciate the joy the two of them get when they're feeling the music. I guess I understand it because I feel it myself, even if it's just a Britney Spears song. I hope that even after we take him out of his dance class that Alex continues to shake his booty. And that Emma eventually shakes hers, too.
I've written about Alex's tendency to shake his booty - all the parents laugh out loud when, during taekwondo, while he's supposed to be bouncing in preparation for a kick, he instead wiggles his butt around like he's trying to shake a bug off of it. He always danced from a young age, too. I would swing him around our living room for hours, and I guess that translated into bobbing his head back and forth, which translated to booty-shaking. He was dancing around the living room the other day and he proudly proclaimed that he had "new moves."
Anyway, I thought that he really liked to dance. But then I had my daughter. And DAMN, does she like to dance! Alex danced when there was music on, the radio or a CD or sometimes a commercial on TV. But Emma? All she needs is a beat. A rhythmically spoken sentence, a tapped-out rhythm on a table, even the rhythm of the tires in the car makes her smile, bob her head and shake her shoulders back and forth. I have as much fun watching her sway and smile as I do watching Alex shake his booty.
We need a video camera, because no description can do them justice. You have to see it to truly appreciate the joy the two of them get when they're feeling the music. I guess I understand it because I feel it myself, even if it's just a Britney Spears song. I hope that even after we take him out of his dance class that Alex continues to shake his booty. And that Emma eventually shakes hers, too.
Piss Me Off, Why Don't You
Overheard at Walmart (within 15 minutes of one another, on the SAME DAY):
1.
Approximately 3-year-old child: (screaming, whining, waaahwaahwaah)
Mother (appearing strung out and smelling of cigarettes): Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Shut up!
(slapping sound)
Child: (screams louder with hand on his face)
Mother: (with a smile on her face) How about some Dora underwear? They're so cute! (while child is still screaming)
2.
Woman (standing in cosmetics aisle): Maybe I'll get this one.
Man: Why don't you just pick a fucking lotion already.
Woman: Why don't you fucking shut up?
Man: I'll kill you. I'll kill you right in this store.
Walmart, you bastion of class, you.
1.
Approximately 3-year-old child: (screaming, whining, waaahwaahwaah)
Mother (appearing strung out and smelling of cigarettes): Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Shut up!
(slapping sound)
Child: (screams louder with hand on his face)
Mother: (with a smile on her face) How about some Dora underwear? They're so cute! (while child is still screaming)
2.
Woman (standing in cosmetics aisle): Maybe I'll get this one.
Man: Why don't you just pick a fucking lotion already.
Woman: Why don't you fucking shut up?
Man: I'll kill you. I'll kill you right in this store.
Walmart, you bastion of class, you.
Help where you can
This evening while reading I was reminded of all the pregnant women I currently know and a random thought popped into my head. When I was pregnant with Alex we decided to do the birthing class thing, because I was determined to not have a c-section and I wanted to know the relaxation tips and tricks and such.
(Incidentally, I ended up not going into labor on my own, being induced a week early because they thought he was big but my body wouldn't do anything, so I came back almost 2 weeks later - and after being induced a second time, and 19 hours of labor, his damned head was too big and I needed a c-section anyway.)
But again, I digress. I do a lot of that. Anyway, while at this birthing class we of course ran into some interesting types. One girl was 17 and came with her mom - the father never showed up but she and her mom seemed like nice, together people. The kind who, if she didn't decide to give the baby up for adoption, you knew would have a loving, supportive home.
There was the crunchy couple who were determined to have a natural birth - which, by all means, if you don't want drugs, don't get drugs. But damn, did I like me some drugs. Anyway, this couple's baby was breech, and they regaled us at every class with the natural ways they used to turn the baby, because they were determined to avoid a c-section at all costs - they even went with acupuncture. The baby finally turned just before our last class, so whatever they did, it worked, I guess.
Then there was this woman who came with her friend. She looked about 17-18, decent enough girl. But I saw in her eyes what I see in the eyes of some of my kids - that hopelessness, the, "I've never known a better life so this is all I'm going to hope for" kind of dullness. I don't remember exactly what the story was, but she told us about how she was walking out of a 7-11 and got shot in the back. And this happened while she was pregnant, so it was obviously recently. She talked about it with a wry smile on her face too, like everyone walking down the street gets shot, and yay! she survived it, no big deal. It made for a very uncomfortable moment when everyone in the class squirmed in their seats and made small, "Oh...wow," or "Thank god you're ok," remarks.
I think working at my school has done a lot for my acceptance of things like this. Growing up I lived a very sheltered, upper-middle-class life, and went to schools where even the least popular, poorest kids still had at least an apartment in a decent neighborhood to go home to. I've been to some of the "homes" of my kids - the trailers, hotel rooms, apartments where there are roaches on the floor and nothing but popcorn in the kitchen.
I took one of my kids home one day, after taking him shopping for some clothes because he came to school every day dirty and smelling like pee. He lived in a hotel room with his mom, stepdad and older brother, and the room didn't have a kitchen or microwave or anything, and they were eating popcorn for dinner. I paid for their hotel room that night, secretly, just before I left, because 2 weeks before this they had gotten kicked out of their apartment and his mom told me that they didn't know what they would do soon. I did all this knowing that my student's parents were both mentally ill, and possibly drug-addicted, and I wasn't surprised when a couple of weeks later his mom approached me, no shame or even pride on her face, and asked me if I could give them some money. That time I said no, and made sure our counselor and CPS knew what I knew. The boy is now living with his real dad and making strides. He's still not ever going to be accepted by the other kids - he has some mental health issues and god only knows what living with mom and stepdad did to him. But at least I know that I helped him a little, and I hope he remembers me for taking an afternoon to spend just with him.
The year after this I took a couple of girls on a shopping trip. One, I'll call her "Sydney," whose mother had been in prison for a long time, who basically abandoned her, and who was living with her aunt. I still have a good relationship with her aunt - we're on a first name basis. She told me recently that she uses my influence as a way to keep Sydney on the straight and narrow, by saying, "Is what you're doing something Mrs. B. would approve of?" It apparently works, which makes my heart swell every time I think of it - that I've had enough of an influence on this child that even years later as she's entering teen years I'm still making a difference in her life. She calls me to chat and occasionally texts me to tell me about her life and things she's going through.
The other girl, "Shauna," has been through the ringer. Molestation, drug-addicted parent, a sibling with enough issues to cause her problems with friends...the poor thing, from day 1, thought she had to not only care for herself but everyone else, and she never had a chance to be a kid. When I talk to her it seems like she's 25 years old sometimes, and then she'll turn around and do something that I'll think is terribly pre-teen of her. Recently I got a call from Sydney, who is still friends with Shauna even after moving and going to different schools. The call started normally, with me asking about how school was going and if she was being picky about boys, when suddenly she burst out, "Shauna's gone!" and started crying.
Apparently Shauna had run away, met up with a boy (who was VERY NOT her own age) and was gone for almost 2 days before the police caught up to her and him. Sydney told me that she heard Shauna was cutting herself, wearing "emo" clothes and being depressed, and that she had sex with this "boy" (who turned out to be VERY NOT a boy, but a man who should have known better). I imagine it has something to do with the fact that I'm a rather self-centered person, but all I could think when I was hearing this was, "If I had been more involved with Shauna's life the last couple of years, could I have prevented this?"
This is why I do what I do, I guess. I originally got into teaching because I love to teach - to impart knowledge to others and watch them light up when they have that "AHA!" moment, knowing that I had a part in that. But when I started teaching I didn't realize how much of myself I would end up giving to these kids, just because they need me. And I beat myself up every day because I don't have more I can give - I have my own life, with my own kids, and I have to keep the two separate or I will literally go crazy. But I end up loving these kids as much as I love my own, especially the ones that are hurting the most, and all I can do is help where I can.
I'm taking Sydney and Shauna out for lunch next week.
(Incidentally, I ended up not going into labor on my own, being induced a week early because they thought he was big but my body wouldn't do anything, so I came back almost 2 weeks later - and after being induced a second time, and 19 hours of labor, his damned head was too big and I needed a c-section anyway.)
But again, I digress. I do a lot of that. Anyway, while at this birthing class we of course ran into some interesting types. One girl was 17 and came with her mom - the father never showed up but she and her mom seemed like nice, together people. The kind who, if she didn't decide to give the baby up for adoption, you knew would have a loving, supportive home.
There was the crunchy couple who were determined to have a natural birth - which, by all means, if you don't want drugs, don't get drugs. But damn, did I like me some drugs. Anyway, this couple's baby was breech, and they regaled us at every class with the natural ways they used to turn the baby, because they were determined to avoid a c-section at all costs - they even went with acupuncture. The baby finally turned just before our last class, so whatever they did, it worked, I guess.
Then there was this woman who came with her friend. She looked about 17-18, decent enough girl. But I saw in her eyes what I see in the eyes of some of my kids - that hopelessness, the, "I've never known a better life so this is all I'm going to hope for" kind of dullness. I don't remember exactly what the story was, but she told us about how she was walking out of a 7-11 and got shot in the back. And this happened while she was pregnant, so it was obviously recently. She talked about it with a wry smile on her face too, like everyone walking down the street gets shot, and yay! she survived it, no big deal. It made for a very uncomfortable moment when everyone in the class squirmed in their seats and made small, "Oh...wow," or "Thank god you're ok," remarks.
I think working at my school has done a lot for my acceptance of things like this. Growing up I lived a very sheltered, upper-middle-class life, and went to schools where even the least popular, poorest kids still had at least an apartment in a decent neighborhood to go home to. I've been to some of the "homes" of my kids - the trailers, hotel rooms, apartments where there are roaches on the floor and nothing but popcorn in the kitchen.
I took one of my kids home one day, after taking him shopping for some clothes because he came to school every day dirty and smelling like pee. He lived in a hotel room with his mom, stepdad and older brother, and the room didn't have a kitchen or microwave or anything, and they were eating popcorn for dinner. I paid for their hotel room that night, secretly, just before I left, because 2 weeks before this they had gotten kicked out of their apartment and his mom told me that they didn't know what they would do soon. I did all this knowing that my student's parents were both mentally ill, and possibly drug-addicted, and I wasn't surprised when a couple of weeks later his mom approached me, no shame or even pride on her face, and asked me if I could give them some money. That time I said no, and made sure our counselor and CPS knew what I knew. The boy is now living with his real dad and making strides. He's still not ever going to be accepted by the other kids - he has some mental health issues and god only knows what living with mom and stepdad did to him. But at least I know that I helped him a little, and I hope he remembers me for taking an afternoon to spend just with him.
The year after this I took a couple of girls on a shopping trip. One, I'll call her "Sydney," whose mother had been in prison for a long time, who basically abandoned her, and who was living with her aunt. I still have a good relationship with her aunt - we're on a first name basis. She told me recently that she uses my influence as a way to keep Sydney on the straight and narrow, by saying, "Is what you're doing something Mrs. B. would approve of?" It apparently works, which makes my heart swell every time I think of it - that I've had enough of an influence on this child that even years later as she's entering teen years I'm still making a difference in her life. She calls me to chat and occasionally texts me to tell me about her life and things she's going through.
The other girl, "Shauna," has been through the ringer. Molestation, drug-addicted parent, a sibling with enough issues to cause her problems with friends...the poor thing, from day 1, thought she had to not only care for herself but everyone else, and she never had a chance to be a kid. When I talk to her it seems like she's 25 years old sometimes, and then she'll turn around and do something that I'll think is terribly pre-teen of her. Recently I got a call from Sydney, who is still friends with Shauna even after moving and going to different schools. The call started normally, with me asking about how school was going and if she was being picky about boys, when suddenly she burst out, "Shauna's gone!" and started crying.
Apparently Shauna had run away, met up with a boy (who was VERY NOT her own age) and was gone for almost 2 days before the police caught up to her and him. Sydney told me that she heard Shauna was cutting herself, wearing "emo" clothes and being depressed, and that she had sex with this "boy" (who turned out to be VERY NOT a boy, but a man who should have known better). I imagine it has something to do with the fact that I'm a rather self-centered person, but all I could think when I was hearing this was, "If I had been more involved with Shauna's life the last couple of years, could I have prevented this?"
This is why I do what I do, I guess. I originally got into teaching because I love to teach - to impart knowledge to others and watch them light up when they have that "AHA!" moment, knowing that I had a part in that. But when I started teaching I didn't realize how much of myself I would end up giving to these kids, just because they need me. And I beat myself up every day because I don't have more I can give - I have my own life, with my own kids, and I have to keep the two separate or I will literally go crazy. But I end up loving these kids as much as I love my own, especially the ones that are hurting the most, and all I can do is help where I can.
I'm taking Sydney and Shauna out for lunch next week.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Two kids
How in the hell did it happen that I'm almost 30? And that I have 2 kids? Where did the time go? It seems like just yesterday I was living in the duplex in Pullman with my boyfriend and ex-boyfriend. Boy, was that a story.
Anyway, two kids. Enjoy. :-)
Anyway, two kids. Enjoy. :-)
Strictly Alex
And to keep things fair and balanced, here's a treasure trove of Alex pics. He's just as cute as Emma. Especially when he looks at you all sweetly and says, "Mom, I like your pretty glasses," or "You're beautiful, Mom."
Strictly Emma
So, the natural tendency is to have FEWER pics of successive kids, right? Yeah, well, I totally went against the grain on that one. I find I have at least as many pics of Emma as I did of Alex, if not more. But to be fair, we didn't have our own digital camera when he was little, and I HATED having to take pics in to get developed. Plus I just discovered Shutterfly recently, which totally opened up my options. So, that being said, here are a veritable shitload of pictures of my freakin' adorable daughter.
More Christmas pics. This was playtime after presents but before she passed out.
I know I'll have to get used to this face when she's 13.
She really is ALWAYS this happy.
Mid-clap. She learned to clap last month. And she's starting to kind of say "YAY!" when she claps because that's what I always do. :-)
8 month photoshoot. Isn't the dress adorable? I love Carters.
I LOVE TOES. God, I love baby toes. I just want to eat 'em all up, they're so freakin' cute. (And I really should be arrested and thrown in word-choice jail for the amount of times I've used the word "freakin'" in this one blog entry.)
More Christmas pics. This was playtime after presents but before she passed out.
I know I'll have to get used to this face when she's 13.
She really is ALWAYS this happy.
Mid-clap. She learned to clap last month. And she's starting to kind of say "YAY!" when she claps because that's what I always do. :-)
8 month photoshoot. Isn't the dress adorable? I love Carters.
I LOVE TOES. God, I love baby toes. I just want to eat 'em all up, they're so freakin' cute. (And I really should be arrested and thrown in word-choice jail for the amount of times I've used the word "freakin'" in this one blog entry.)
Monday, January 19, 2009
Christmas Pics
This was Christmas at my parents' house. You can see Emma in her second "First Christmas" outfit, the one that wasn't Alex's originally. Alex got several Transformers, that Football outfit he's wearing, and various other Toys That Are Currently on Amber Alert (since he can't find them. Already.). Emma got her first My Little Pony that crawls and talks and calls her Mommy. I died. :-) She also got a little piano and various other toys that, oddly enough, are NOT under Amber Alert. She also got a babysitter in the form of a black dog. Who luuurves her.
Love This!
Turn off your alarm, come back to bed, and snuggle for another hour and a half.
Then go do a puzzle with our son.
All before 7:30 a.m.
God, I love that man.
Then go do a puzzle with our son.
All before 7:30 a.m.
God, I love that man.
Updates
1. I, once again, get to wear the Mother of the Year crown. Last weekend Emma was sitting on the floor of her bedroom, I was sitting on one side of her, Scott behind her, and she reached over to the hamster cage. I grabbed her hand before she could stick her finger in, looked up at Scott to say something, and in that split second she managed to not only stick her finger in the cage but get the tip half bitten off by the little shit of a hamster. (I can't blame the hamster - it did look an awful lot like a teeny tiny carrot.) She's fine, didn't need stitches or anything, but it bled like a m-fer for 2 hours.
2. PICTURES! I finally have pictures! I'll post a few different posts over the next couple of days to get updated on our pictures, since we finally were able to get them off the camera. Something happened and the computer isn't recognizing the camera when I plug it in so we have to take an extra step and download them to the laptop, then move them over. Which I finally managed to get Scott to do this weekend since he's been working so hard lately. More pics coming soon!
3. Nursing: I quit pumping last week. I'm tired of it - I was getting two ounces in THREE DAYS. So I quit, and oddly enough, my supply seems to be back up and running. We may make it to a year yet.
4. My perfect sleeper has decided she doesn't want to be perfect anymore. Although, technically, she still is, since she's still sleeping through the night, and as soon as we GET her down, she sleeps 10+ hours. But the poor thing decided this week that she didn't want to GO to sleep, so we've been Ferberizing her the last day or two. Actually, I don't know if the method I'm using is Ferber or not, it's probably simple Cry It Out, but it involves putting her down and letting her cry for a successive number of minutes, and going in to comfort her and let her know we're here at intervals. Last night it was cry for 2 minutes, then comfort, then 5, then 10, and she was asleep before we got to the 15 minute period. She woke up happy as a clam this morning, so it's obviously not hurting her. This will probably take a couple of days and she'll be back to normal.
5. Alex got his yellow belt and sparring gear in Tae Kwon Do. He was very excited about the sparring gear especially, because now he gets to practice his kicks and punches ON OTHER PEOPLE. And he's really GOOD. If he can learn to control himself and be aware of things around him, he will do very well in TKD. He also asked about starting soccer again, so we're going to look into that.
6. This, sadly for me, will be Alex's last year in dance. We always said that as soon as he became aware of the stigma associated with male dancers that we would take him out unless he REALLY wanted to stay in. But he has been saying lately that he doesn't want to go to dance, and his little friend Spencer, who has 2 older siblings (one a teenager), has been making comments like "dancing is for girls." We don't want to teach him that Spencer is right, so we finish out the year. But after that we'll tell him that TKD, gymnastics and soccer (or whatever else he does) are enough for him so we decided to drop one of his activities. He's actually pretty good at dance, but if he were to continue it would be on his terms, and the type of dance he wants to do, and I'm pretty sure ballet/tap/jazz isn't it. Although with the way he can shake his butt I'd say hip hop might be the way to go. :-) And he stays in gymnastics as long as possible - it has really helped his flexibility. The other parents at TKD marvel at how flexible he is when they do stretches and such.
So that's it. Posts with pictures coming later today. I have shopping and playing to do!
2. PICTURES! I finally have pictures! I'll post a few different posts over the next couple of days to get updated on our pictures, since we finally were able to get them off the camera. Something happened and the computer isn't recognizing the camera when I plug it in so we have to take an extra step and download them to the laptop, then move them over. Which I finally managed to get Scott to do this weekend since he's been working so hard lately. More pics coming soon!
3. Nursing: I quit pumping last week. I'm tired of it - I was getting two ounces in THREE DAYS. So I quit, and oddly enough, my supply seems to be back up and running. We may make it to a year yet.
4. My perfect sleeper has decided she doesn't want to be perfect anymore. Although, technically, she still is, since she's still sleeping through the night, and as soon as we GET her down, she sleeps 10+ hours. But the poor thing decided this week that she didn't want to GO to sleep, so we've been Ferberizing her the last day or two. Actually, I don't know if the method I'm using is Ferber or not, it's probably simple Cry It Out, but it involves putting her down and letting her cry for a successive number of minutes, and going in to comfort her and let her know we're here at intervals. Last night it was cry for 2 minutes, then comfort, then 5, then 10, and she was asleep before we got to the 15 minute period. She woke up happy as a clam this morning, so it's obviously not hurting her. This will probably take a couple of days and she'll be back to normal.
5. Alex got his yellow belt and sparring gear in Tae Kwon Do. He was very excited about the sparring gear especially, because now he gets to practice his kicks and punches ON OTHER PEOPLE. And he's really GOOD. If he can learn to control himself and be aware of things around him, he will do very well in TKD. He also asked about starting soccer again, so we're going to look into that.
6. This, sadly for me, will be Alex's last year in dance. We always said that as soon as he became aware of the stigma associated with male dancers that we would take him out unless he REALLY wanted to stay in. But he has been saying lately that he doesn't want to go to dance, and his little friend Spencer, who has 2 older siblings (one a teenager), has been making comments like "dancing is for girls." We don't want to teach him that Spencer is right, so we finish out the year. But after that we'll tell him that TKD, gymnastics and soccer (or whatever else he does) are enough for him so we decided to drop one of his activities. He's actually pretty good at dance, but if he were to continue it would be on his terms, and the type of dance he wants to do, and I'm pretty sure ballet/tap/jazz isn't it. Although with the way he can shake his butt I'd say hip hop might be the way to go. :-) And he stays in gymnastics as long as possible - it has really helped his flexibility. The other parents at TKD marvel at how flexible he is when they do stretches and such.
So that's it. Posts with pictures coming later today. I have shopping and playing to do!
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Love This!
Occasionally I'll check etsy.com for adorable handmade items for Emma or my friends. I found the two below and my brain went "SQUEE!"
Trinity's Tutus Kristy, Jazlyn's getting one of these for her birthday. And it may come early. ;-)
Ladybug Dress
Trinity's Tutus Kristy, Jazlyn's getting one of these for her birthday. And it may come early. ;-)
Ladybug Dress
Saturday, January 17, 2009
REALLY Piss Me Off, Why Don't You
So the in-laws borrowed Alex last night and are keeping him for a couple of days. I'm enjoying my quiet morning reading various blogs and such, when through a movie-review website I found this link.
"Butterbodies"
Reading that article made me want to pick up my cat litter box and dump it on the head of the asshole who wrote it. And then pour more cat pee on his head so the litter really clumps up in his ears.
You know, I actually read Maxim magazine, and when my ex had a subscription to Playboy way back when, the girls and I who hung out at his apartment actually spent more time reading it than the guys did. (Although that probably stems from the fact that we were actually READING it, as opposed to ogling, but still...) I appreciate the humor, for the most part. And face it, I would read a napkin if it had something printed on it, I just like to read that much.
So I can appreciate and occasionally understand the stupid stuff I see on Spike TV when I'm catching reruns of CSI; the random "Bacon Porn" crap they print every month in Maxim; and hell, I even get the half-naked women (or at least, I like my male eye candy, I'm not going to begrudge Scott his female eye candy).
But "Butterbodies"? At first I got really pissed off, and by the time I was done reading that article my brain was so pissed off at *me* for reading it that it literally jumped out of my skull and ran away. I mean, Sara Ramirez? Drew Barrymore? What the hell are mothers teaching their sons if they can't find these beautiful, vibrant women attractive because they aren't stick thin? Holy shit, Sara Ramirez has hips! And BOOBS! And my husband finds her ridiculously hot, which I should probably hate her for, if I didn't have my own little girl-crush on her myself.
Then, after I calmed down a bit, I realized something. They might as well have called that list, "The Fat Girls' Guide to Being Successful in Hollywood," because really, every single one of those women is more famous and successful than the asshat who wrote that article. (God, what I wouldn't give for Salma Hayek's boobs. They're phenomenal. Scott agrees with me on that one.) And I can guarantee you that every single one of those women has had a harder time being successful in Hollywood than your average stick-thin, plasticized blonde.
I saw a picture recently of 3 women - Men's Ideal, Women's Ideal, and the National Average. I would link to the picture, but they're mostly naked (the important parts are covered) and I don't want innocent people being offended by it (comment me if you want to see it). If this picture wasn't proof of how hard women are on ourselves about our bodies, I don't know what is: Women's Ideal was a tall, thin size 8. Men's Ideal? Curvy size 12. National Average? Size 16.
You know the thing that pisses me off the most? Now even more people will go read that article and increase the asshole's ad revenue. Which was probably the point in the first place. Or at least I hope it was. The fact that someone (or worse, multitudes of someones) actually thinks that these women are fat and unattractive really does not make me feel good about raising my daughter in this world. Or my son, for that matter. I just hope that my influence on Alex and Emma can overcome the constant bombardment of "stick thin is the only thing you should have or be!"
I grew up with that. I know how hard it is being fat in this world, and having people either assume you're stupid because you're fat or that you don't ever stop eating. I also know that I'm not the only one who is constantly questioning my body or how I look - typically "beautiful" women do it too. And that's just sad. That any of us have to do it. Whenever I'm hanging out with my friends Jennie, Sara, Kelly, Laura - any of them, really - I always hear something about how they aren't happy with themselves. No matter how beautiful they may be (and they are all beautiful, each in her own way).
So why do we have to buy into what assholes like this guy (the author of the article) have to say? It's only the opinion of one guy, disseminated for the whole country to see like it's gospel. Not everyone thinks that way - in fact, most guys I've talked to don't. Different people are attracted to different things, but from childhood on we're made fun of or judged for what we find attractive, so then we start to think that something else is better, instead of the thing we originally loved.
I'm able to find something beautiful or attractive about just about everyone I meet, whether it be their features, personality, intelligence, banter - why can't everyone else?
"Butterbodies"
Reading that article made me want to pick up my cat litter box and dump it on the head of the asshole who wrote it. And then pour more cat pee on his head so the litter really clumps up in his ears.
You know, I actually read Maxim magazine, and when my ex had a subscription to Playboy way back when, the girls and I who hung out at his apartment actually spent more time reading it than the guys did. (Although that probably stems from the fact that we were actually READING it, as opposed to ogling, but still...) I appreciate the humor, for the most part. And face it, I would read a napkin if it had something printed on it, I just like to read that much.
So I can appreciate and occasionally understand the stupid stuff I see on Spike TV when I'm catching reruns of CSI; the random "Bacon Porn" crap they print every month in Maxim; and hell, I even get the half-naked women (or at least, I like my male eye candy, I'm not going to begrudge Scott his female eye candy).
But "Butterbodies"? At first I got really pissed off, and by the time I was done reading that article my brain was so pissed off at *me* for reading it that it literally jumped out of my skull and ran away. I mean, Sara Ramirez? Drew Barrymore? What the hell are mothers teaching their sons if they can't find these beautiful, vibrant women attractive because they aren't stick thin? Holy shit, Sara Ramirez has hips! And BOOBS! And my husband finds her ridiculously hot, which I should probably hate her for, if I didn't have my own little girl-crush on her myself.
Then, after I calmed down a bit, I realized something. They might as well have called that list, "The Fat Girls' Guide to Being Successful in Hollywood," because really, every single one of those women is more famous and successful than the asshat who wrote that article. (God, what I wouldn't give for Salma Hayek's boobs. They're phenomenal. Scott agrees with me on that one.) And I can guarantee you that every single one of those women has had a harder time being successful in Hollywood than your average stick-thin, plasticized blonde.
I saw a picture recently of 3 women - Men's Ideal, Women's Ideal, and the National Average. I would link to the picture, but they're mostly naked (the important parts are covered) and I don't want innocent people being offended by it (comment me if you want to see it). If this picture wasn't proof of how hard women are on ourselves about our bodies, I don't know what is: Women's Ideal was a tall, thin size 8. Men's Ideal? Curvy size 12. National Average? Size 16.
You know the thing that pisses me off the most? Now even more people will go read that article and increase the asshole's ad revenue. Which was probably the point in the first place. Or at least I hope it was. The fact that someone (or worse, multitudes of someones) actually thinks that these women are fat and unattractive really does not make me feel good about raising my daughter in this world. Or my son, for that matter. I just hope that my influence on Alex and Emma can overcome the constant bombardment of "stick thin is the only thing you should have or be!"
I grew up with that. I know how hard it is being fat in this world, and having people either assume you're stupid because you're fat or that you don't ever stop eating. I also know that I'm not the only one who is constantly questioning my body or how I look - typically "beautiful" women do it too. And that's just sad. That any of us have to do it. Whenever I'm hanging out with my friends Jennie, Sara, Kelly, Laura - any of them, really - I always hear something about how they aren't happy with themselves. No matter how beautiful they may be (and they are all beautiful, each in her own way).
So why do we have to buy into what assholes like this guy (the author of the article) have to say? It's only the opinion of one guy, disseminated for the whole country to see like it's gospel. Not everyone thinks that way - in fact, most guys I've talked to don't. Different people are attracted to different things, but from childhood on we're made fun of or judged for what we find attractive, so then we start to think that something else is better, instead of the thing we originally loved.
I'm able to find something beautiful or attractive about just about everyone I meet, whether it be their features, personality, intelligence, banter - why can't everyone else?
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Love This!
HAHAHAHA! I actually laughed out loud at this -
So I signed up for the Google ad thingy, which is cool 'cause if people click the ads on your page you get paid (although that sentence is NOT asking you to click, because according to the "terms of contract" I'm not allowed to ASK anyone to click).
So apparently what they do is the Google program "crawls" your site and looks for keywords. And then they post ads that match those keywords. Hence the breastfeeding ads that were in abundance.
Until just now, when I saw this, and I couldn't freakin' resist: www.kathyscatcaskets.com
Who in her right mind would make a living out of selling CAT CASKETS? Why, Kathy, that's who!
So I signed up for the Google ad thingy, which is cool 'cause if people click the ads on your page you get paid (although that sentence is NOT asking you to click, because according to the "terms of contract" I'm not allowed to ASK anyone to click).
So apparently what they do is the Google program "crawls" your site and looks for keywords. And then they post ads that match those keywords. Hence the breastfeeding ads that were in abundance.
Until just now, when I saw this, and I couldn't freakin' resist: www.kathyscatcaskets.com
Who in her right mind would make a living out of selling CAT CASKETS? Why, Kathy, that's who!
Piss Me Off, Why Don't You
Come home late from work because of traffic (which I understand) and then ask if I mind if you have cereal for dinner. When I ACTUALLY COOKED. A really good, healthy meal. PART OF WHICH CAME FROM YOUR MOTHER'S RECIPE.
NO, you can't have cereal, you snot. EAT MY FOOD.
NO, you can't have cereal, you snot. EAT MY FOOD.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
The intricate analysis of death, as told by a 4 year old
Last night Scott tells me, "If I end up going to my parents' this weekend, it would probably be best if Alex doesn't go." Apparently their dog Buddy is on his last legs. Scott didn't know exactly what was wrong, but Buddy has had a lot of urinary tract issues lately and he has lost a LOT of weight very quickly, which we all know doesn't bode well. Apparently they're thinking of putting him down very soon. So Scott, in his wonderfulness, thinking about our son and his gentle innocence, gently suggests that we should probably wait until after Buddy is gone before subjecting Alex to seeing him as he is right now. Which I agree with.
However, Alex has already dealt with death, and very well, I might add. Last year, just before Emma came along, my class pet guinea pig Snowflake died. It was an older guinea pig and it was just his time, but he died at school so Alex didn't witness any of the stuff that goes along with a pet dying. It wasn't really his pet anyway; I'd had Snowflake since I was pregnant with Alex and he spent most of his time at school with my kids.
But after Snowflake died, Alex knew he wasn't going to be coming home during breaks anymore, and that was about all I told him. I thought he was too young to understand much more. Not long after that, last summer, I decided to get Alex a hamster. This was going to be Alex's pet, not my class pet, and Alex got to help pick him out and named him George.
Unfortunately, George didn't last long. Most of the hamsters I've had (and I've had many) have lived at least 3 years, but George must have had something wrong with him from the beginning, because he never really ate anything. Or drank anything. He was a very sweet hamster, but the poor thing starved himself to death within 3 months. This was after offering fruits, veggies, changing his food several times, offering a water dish instead of bottle, etc. He didn't make it, and one morning when Alex and I sat down to clean his cage, he was gone.
Alex saw George lying there very stiff, and I decided very quickly what to do. I picked George up, gently stroked his fur, and asked Alex if he remembered what happened to Snowflake. He said that Snowflake wasn't coming home to visit us anymore because he died. So I told him that George had gotten sick and died too, and because of that we weren't going to be able to play with him anymore. I let him pet George and find a shoebox to put him in, and then we went about our day. (Later I properly disposed of him, but Alex didn't see that.)
I don't remember when Alex and I had this conversation, but I think it was while we were talking about what had happened to George. Anyone who knows me knows my religious views, and being that I am an atheist, I don't believe in Heaven or Hell. It would be rather hypocritical to explain to my son that his hamster went away to Heaven when I don't believe there is a Heaven. Telling him that would also have been the easy way out and would have avoided a tough conversation that I think benefitted Alex in the long run (evidence of which you'll read in a minute). I also think that if Scott or anyone else wants to explain the Heaven thing to him, they're welcome to, but I was the one talking to Alex at the time, and Scott was still asleep. So this is what I told him (and it's not verbatim, but it's pretty close).
"Alex, sometimes when people or animals get very sick or get older, their bodies stop working. And when that happens, they die. That means that we can't play with them or spend time with them anymore because their bodies stopped working. And when they die, we bury them in the ground so that they can help other things to live. Their bodies break down and help give nutrients to the ground so that good things can grow. Do you remember the Circle of Life in the Lion King? How when the lions die, they become the grass? And the antelope eat the grass, which makes them strong. So when something dies, and we bury it, it helps other things to grow."
My little sponge of a son took this in and accepted it, over 6 months ago, and today I wondered if he remembered it. I decided to tell him that Buddy is very sick and might not be at Grandma and Grandpa's house the next time we go there. So I asked him if he remembered what happened to George. He immediately looked over at Hannah's cage (Hannah is the new hamster) and asked, "Did Hannah die?" Since she was happily gnawing on the cage wires he looked back at me, satisfied, and said this, and I quote:
"George got sick and died and got buried and turned into better food for flowers cause his bones came apart and he came apart."
Very matter-of-fact, very calm, just telling it like it is. He wasn't upset about it, I think he latched onto the flowers thing and that made him happy about it. I think the "bones came apart" thing came from me saying that bodies "break down." Which is pretty cool, actually, coming from a 4 year old.
So I explained to him about Buddy, how he was sick, and he said just about the cutest thing I've ever heard. (You know, aside from the "makeup on my lips" thing.)
"If he's allergic to something or got the flu or something we can give him some get-a-life medicine."
I don't make this stuff up, folks.
Anyway, long story long, after he said that we went off to read stories and he hasn't said anything else about it. I imagine he'll be sad when he finds out that Buddy's gone (whenever that happens) but he did pretty well with it before. So we'll see. I'm just constantly amazed by what he can take in, analyze and articulate. It's one of those things where I just want to parade him around in public, pointing at him and going, "Yup. That's MY son. You can't have him, he's MINE."
However, Alex has already dealt with death, and very well, I might add. Last year, just before Emma came along, my class pet guinea pig Snowflake died. It was an older guinea pig and it was just his time, but he died at school so Alex didn't witness any of the stuff that goes along with a pet dying. It wasn't really his pet anyway; I'd had Snowflake since I was pregnant with Alex and he spent most of his time at school with my kids.
But after Snowflake died, Alex knew he wasn't going to be coming home during breaks anymore, and that was about all I told him. I thought he was too young to understand much more. Not long after that, last summer, I decided to get Alex a hamster. This was going to be Alex's pet, not my class pet, and Alex got to help pick him out and named him George.
Unfortunately, George didn't last long. Most of the hamsters I've had (and I've had many) have lived at least 3 years, but George must have had something wrong with him from the beginning, because he never really ate anything. Or drank anything. He was a very sweet hamster, but the poor thing starved himself to death within 3 months. This was after offering fruits, veggies, changing his food several times, offering a water dish instead of bottle, etc. He didn't make it, and one morning when Alex and I sat down to clean his cage, he was gone.
Alex saw George lying there very stiff, and I decided very quickly what to do. I picked George up, gently stroked his fur, and asked Alex if he remembered what happened to Snowflake. He said that Snowflake wasn't coming home to visit us anymore because he died. So I told him that George had gotten sick and died too, and because of that we weren't going to be able to play with him anymore. I let him pet George and find a shoebox to put him in, and then we went about our day. (Later I properly disposed of him, but Alex didn't see that.)
I don't remember when Alex and I had this conversation, but I think it was while we were talking about what had happened to George. Anyone who knows me knows my religious views, and being that I am an atheist, I don't believe in Heaven or Hell. It would be rather hypocritical to explain to my son that his hamster went away to Heaven when I don't believe there is a Heaven. Telling him that would also have been the easy way out and would have avoided a tough conversation that I think benefitted Alex in the long run (evidence of which you'll read in a minute). I also think that if Scott or anyone else wants to explain the Heaven thing to him, they're welcome to, but I was the one talking to Alex at the time, and Scott was still asleep. So this is what I told him (and it's not verbatim, but it's pretty close).
"Alex, sometimes when people or animals get very sick or get older, their bodies stop working. And when that happens, they die. That means that we can't play with them or spend time with them anymore because their bodies stopped working. And when they die, we bury them in the ground so that they can help other things to live. Their bodies break down and help give nutrients to the ground so that good things can grow. Do you remember the Circle of Life in the Lion King? How when the lions die, they become the grass? And the antelope eat the grass, which makes them strong. So when something dies, and we bury it, it helps other things to grow."
My little sponge of a son took this in and accepted it, over 6 months ago, and today I wondered if he remembered it. I decided to tell him that Buddy is very sick and might not be at Grandma and Grandpa's house the next time we go there. So I asked him if he remembered what happened to George. He immediately looked over at Hannah's cage (Hannah is the new hamster) and asked, "Did Hannah die?" Since she was happily gnawing on the cage wires he looked back at me, satisfied, and said this, and I quote:
"George got sick and died and got buried and turned into better food for flowers cause his bones came apart and he came apart."
Very matter-of-fact, very calm, just telling it like it is. He wasn't upset about it, I think he latched onto the flowers thing and that made him happy about it. I think the "bones came apart" thing came from me saying that bodies "break down." Which is pretty cool, actually, coming from a 4 year old.
So I explained to him about Buddy, how he was sick, and he said just about the cutest thing I've ever heard. (You know, aside from the "makeup on my lips" thing.)
"If he's allergic to something or got the flu or something we can give him some get-a-life medicine."
I don't make this stuff up, folks.
Anyway, long story long, after he said that we went off to read stories and he hasn't said anything else about it. I imagine he'll be sad when he finds out that Buddy's gone (whenever that happens) but he did pretty well with it before. So we'll see. I'm just constantly amazed by what he can take in, analyze and articulate. It's one of those things where I just want to parade him around in public, pointing at him and going, "Yup. That's MY son. You can't have him, he's MINE."
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Love This!
Me(to myself, Alex is in the backseat): So Alex has make-up classes all next week. Monday and Tuesday are Tae Kwon Do, Monday and Thursday are Gymnastics, Thursday and Friday are dance...
Alex: But I don't like to put makeup on my lips.
Me: ...wha...?
Alex: I don't want to go to a makeup class! I don't like putting makeup on my lips!
Alex: But I don't like to put makeup on my lips.
Me: ...wha...?
Alex: I don't want to go to a makeup class! I don't like putting makeup on my lips!
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Love This!
Everytime I see this little ad pop up on one of my daily websites, my heart skips a beat. Go ahead and click that link. I dare you.
SHOES
OMG, aren't they BEAUTIFUL?
Not that I would actually wear them, but OMG, I could so be a shoe hoarder if I didn't think it was ridiculous to pay more than 30 bucks for a pair of shoes.
SHOES
OMG, aren't they BEAUTIFUL?
Not that I would actually wear them, but OMG, I could so be a shoe hoarder if I didn't think it was ridiculous to pay more than 30 bucks for a pair of shoes.
Piss Me Off, Why Don't You
Parade your adorable-fuzzy-snuggable-I-want-to-NOM-his-little-face-off puppy around me when I've been dog-less (dog-LESS, I tell you!) for 3 years now. Scott gives me 3 weeks.
Any bets on when we'll be getting a dog?
Any bets on when we'll be getting a dog?
Monday, January 5, 2009
Nothing? Seriously?
So I talked with the lactation consultant today. I must say, she was rather sweet and praised me for all I've done, but she was completely, utterly and freaking annoyingly unhelpful. Apparently I've made it far enough that even prescription meds won't help increase my supply. She was impressed with all I've tried already, but basically told me that I should be happy that I've made it this far. The freakin' lactation nazi told me I've done all I can.
So I hold out as long as I can and hope that I can make it to my goal of a year. I just hope that my story can help convince some other women out there that no, breastfeeding is not "the easiest thing in the world." It's goddamned hard work, goddammit, and not only will it not necessarily come easy but if it doesn't, you're not only going to be worried about what's wrong with you, but you have another person to worry about nourishing as well. I can't tell you how many tears I've shed over this, how many "supplements" I've taken for this, how many hours I've spent pumping and getting next to nothing and worrying that I wasn't going to be able to do this anymore, but then feeling guilty about wanting to quit, because "BREAST IS BEST!"
And now I'm ranting. Dammit. I need a cookie. Anyone have a cookie? Preferably a really big one. With chocolate chips. Lots.
So I hold out as long as I can and hope that I can make it to my goal of a year. I just hope that my story can help convince some other women out there that no, breastfeeding is not "the easiest thing in the world." It's goddamned hard work, goddammit, and not only will it not necessarily come easy but if it doesn't, you're not only going to be worried about what's wrong with you, but you have another person to worry about nourishing as well. I can't tell you how many tears I've shed over this, how many "supplements" I've taken for this, how many hours I've spent pumping and getting next to nothing and worrying that I wasn't going to be able to do this anymore, but then feeling guilty about wanting to quit, because "BREAST IS BEST!"
And now I'm ranting. Dammit. I need a cookie. Anyone have a cookie? Preferably a really big one. With chocolate chips. Lots.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Piss Me Off, Why Don't You
Pull up behind me and put on your blinker for my parking spot. Before I have unloaded my cart. Or gotten the 4 year old strapped in. OR THE BABY. Screw you, I'm not hurrying.
Pondering
My new ads section has posted 4 ads on breastfeeding already. Dammit, Matt, you were right - I DO talk about my boobs too much.
Love This!
In a nod to my favorite blogger's genius, I decided I'm going to do a few short blurby posts every once in awhile titled: "Pondering," "Piss Me Off, Why Don't You," and "Love This!" (imagine it said in a squeaky, high pitched tone). I fully admit that I'm ripping off Dooce here, but I love her and would kiss her feet for all the laughs she's given me since Scott introduced me to her a couple of years ago. So go to her site. She actually makes a living doing this bloggy thing.
Friday, January 2, 2009
I now crown myself MOTY
First words out of Alex's mouth this morning: "Morning, Mom! Can I have my cookie with breakfast?"
An aside, for the moment: I have now figured out a way to get Alex to behave like a normal kid when we go out to dinner. I would suggest drugging him, but that might be illegal. Although I might want to check on that... Anyway, so yesterday my parents kidnapped him and took him to the play area at the BX on base, and we met up with them at the mall where he got to wander around for another almost-two-hours before we met up with our friends Scott and Becky for dinner. Midway through dinner I looked at Alex and realized that I had had almost 20 minutes of straight actual honest-to-god listening to conversation, without having to correct, admonish, remind, ask to sit down, or any other constant nagging of Alex. And I'm thinking, what the hell is wrong with my kid, what did somebody slip into his corndog and can I please get some more of that?
So I grabbed the little snot, gave him a big hug and a kiss, and over his head mouthed to Scott, "What's wrong with him?" The magic formula? ALL DAY EXERCISE AND NO NAP. It can be done! We CAN tire him out! Holy shit, it's only taken us four years to figure it out, but it CAN be done! Unfortunately it's about as good for him as those aforementioned drugs. Dammit.
So back to the cookie. See, last night at dinner, he wanted dessert. He was so quiet and good at dinner, I wanted to stuff sugar down his throat to reward him for it. However, I do have my limits - I didn't want to get dessert because their desserts are huge, and much more sugar than my overtired four-year-old needed in his system at that moment. So I told him we'd get something on the way home. Thinking we'd stop by DQ for a little mini cup of ice cream. But then I realized, NO, DQ is closed for remodeling. So after we got home and I had forgotten about it, he reminded me (after brushing his teeth) that I had promised him dessert. My solution? Because I often forget that my son remembers EVERYTHING (especially involving food)? I told him he could have a cookie with breakfast in the morning. Thinking he would forget. You see how well that worked out for me.
Oh, and then! This morning he went back to preschool for the first time in two weeks. (Mommy was ready for a BREAK. SO NOT CUT OUT FOR STAYING HOME.) And I thought, he hasn't had McDonald's in forever, so I'll get him a special treat for breakfast. Mind you, fast food for Alex involves one item, usually a burger, that's unhealthy, and milk and fruit. My little healthy eater, after I told him we were going to McDonald's, says, "Remember, Mom, I love fruit salads. Don't forget my fruit salad."
He made up for the cookie. :-)
An aside, for the moment: I have now figured out a way to get Alex to behave like a normal kid when we go out to dinner. I would suggest drugging him, but that might be illegal. Although I might want to check on that... Anyway, so yesterday my parents kidnapped him and took him to the play area at the BX on base, and we met up with them at the mall where he got to wander around for another almost-two-hours before we met up with our friends Scott and Becky for dinner. Midway through dinner I looked at Alex and realized that I had had almost 20 minutes of straight actual honest-to-god listening to conversation, without having to correct, admonish, remind, ask to sit down, or any other constant nagging of Alex. And I'm thinking, what the hell is wrong with my kid, what did somebody slip into his corndog and can I please get some more of that?
So I grabbed the little snot, gave him a big hug and a kiss, and over his head mouthed to Scott, "What's wrong with him?" The magic formula? ALL DAY EXERCISE AND NO NAP. It can be done! We CAN tire him out! Holy shit, it's only taken us four years to figure it out, but it CAN be done! Unfortunately it's about as good for him as those aforementioned drugs. Dammit.
So back to the cookie. See, last night at dinner, he wanted dessert. He was so quiet and good at dinner, I wanted to stuff sugar down his throat to reward him for it. However, I do have my limits - I didn't want to get dessert because their desserts are huge, and much more sugar than my overtired four-year-old needed in his system at that moment. So I told him we'd get something on the way home. Thinking we'd stop by DQ for a little mini cup of ice cream. But then I realized, NO, DQ is closed for remodeling. So after we got home and I had forgotten about it, he reminded me (after brushing his teeth) that I had promised him dessert. My solution? Because I often forget that my son remembers EVERYTHING (especially involving food)? I told him he could have a cookie with breakfast in the morning. Thinking he would forget. You see how well that worked out for me.
Oh, and then! This morning he went back to preschool for the first time in two weeks. (Mommy was ready for a BREAK. SO NOT CUT OUT FOR STAYING HOME.) And I thought, he hasn't had McDonald's in forever, so I'll get him a special treat for breakfast. Mind you, fast food for Alex involves one item, usually a burger, that's unhealthy, and milk and fruit. My little healthy eater, after I told him we were going to McDonald's, says, "Remember, Mom, I love fruit salads. Don't forget my fruit salad."
He made up for the cookie. :-)
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