Apple Butter Business

Two weeks ago  I started a campaign on craigslist for canning supplies. Preserving is my cause du-jour at the moment. I am getting super excited about things like canning, fermenting, and dehydrating. Oh the possibilities!

During my quest for free canning supplies, I was contacted by a person that worked for an older gentleman with a plethora of canning business cluttering up his shop since his wife passed on. Boss and I immediately planned a trip out to the nether reaches of the county to pick up our free swag and start the canning fun times.

When we got there, we found the COOLEST gentleman either of us have had the pleasure of meeting since our own grandpa's (who are both extremely awesome mind you). Farmer Jim had not only canning supplies, but an industrial rock tumbler, gads of shiny rocks from all over the US, a stuffed owl and so many amazing handy craft projects I think etsy would blow up if it allowed him to post to their site.

Farmer Jim loaded us up with jars and a canning set up and also sent us home with a HUGE bucket of apples to start off our adventure in canning. Boss now has his old gentleman mentor, and I now have my canning supplies...all in all, a prosperous trip.

[caption id="attachment_943" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="above: a veritable shit ton of apples"][/caption]

When I got home,  I couldn't decide what it was I wanted to DO with these nifty canning supplies and all of these apples. We are big fans of apple muffins in this house, but it seemed a little silly to make 600 of them just to use up my apples. After a quick offering to the Oracle, it was decided that apple butter would be the coolest thing we could make with the ingredients we already had on hand.

The process begins with a veritable shit ton of apples. We used two bags from the grocery store as well as 10 of Farmer Jim's far superior apples. We filled the crock pot with tiny chunks of apples and thought smugly...this shall make thousands upon thousands of gallons of delicious apple butter! MWHAHAHAHAHA! It of course made...2 pints of delicious apple butter. According to the interwebs, if youw ant to make gallons of the stuff, you will need to keep adding apples as it cooks down and you will need far more than like 30 apples. SO the recipe I am posting here is for a small yield batch that you can do in a weekend with your crock pot. The apple butter purists will do it in gigantic pots over fires and such. I am no apple butter purist.

Let us begin.

Ingredients:

A bunch of of apples (30 or so) -cored and chopped. I leave the skins on because they cook down and it doesn't make any difference to me. Plus...the lazy...

[caption id="attachment_944" align="aligncenter" width="225" caption="like-a-so"]

Mommy Guilt is the New Black

Oh holy hell fellow Mediocre Mamas, it has been a trying couple of weeks around my house I tell you what. I am currently in the process of doing two relatively major things, resulting in a relatively large amount of anxiety and relatively low amounts of sleep.

1) I am starting a new business.  Any of you who acctually know me in real life are likely PAINFULLY aware of this fact because it is ALL I can talk about right now. I have been a photo hobbyist since I was but a little person and recently decided to take my hobby to the next level. Mostly, I wanted an insanely expensive camera and Vulcan said I couldn’t get it unless I figured out a way to make money with it. So I bought it, a lighting kit, a backdrop set and a fancy flash and I am now plugging away attempting to learn to use all of this nifty shit and remember all of the things I learned from high school photography. Biggest thing I’ve learned? Having an eye is not enough. You also need to know about color theory, light stuff and all sorts of geometry.

My first couple of shoots were okay, not great. But now that I’ve been playing around with my camera, studying my books and will be taking classes on photography and art theory in the next few months. I’m feeling relatively confident most of the time that I haven't sunk a ton of money in to something I totally suck at. 

Of note, if you have a light optimization function on your camera, TURN IT OFF. Its stupid. I’m sure there is some sort of function for this little thingy but all its done for my portraits is blow the shit out of every ones faces and create a lot of noise when dealing with low light. Your strobe will work much better without it on.

2) I has a special friend *shy giggle*

So big thing number 2 is kind of a really big thing. For sometime I’ve been toying with the idea of dating again. I’ve gone out of dates, attempted copulation one or two times with one or two people, all in the name of science. Generally, I jump into things FAR too quickly (last girlfriend and I were an item about….2 days after my husband left so….) so this go round I’m trying to be a little more conservative…yeah to hell with that. I met a woman, she is outstanding and she is Canadian. Not even the right Canada, the one that’s only an hour away. She is from the WRONG Canada which is multiple hours away. At least it is a drivable Canada rather than a flyable Canada. She is coming out to stay with us for an extended period of time in the interest of getting to know the lot of us better and to help me get the business up and running. I wiggle like a giddy school girl everytime I think about it.

Pink One is thrilled. She adores the Canadian who allows her to color with her fancy pencils and play zombie games on her laptop. Also, because Canadian is not used to being around small, pink headed children for extended periods of time, her method of child placation is to just say yes, which Pink One exploits whenever possible.

Seriously though, they get along famously and I am relatively stoked regarding this particular endeavor.

So with all of this change occurring, Pink One is kind of grasping for a little bit more attention. The business in particular is stressing her out. I feel like I have said the words “not now, mommy is busy” about 700 times in the last month. With multiple shoots every weekend, editing to do, books to read and social media marketing strategies to work out Mommy doesn’t have the time or patience she once did for crawling about on the floor playing Monster, Princess and Jon. My already limited patience for nonsense and tomfoolery has kind of dwindled to nothing. Example conversation:

PinkOne: Mom, why do alligators not wear shoes?

Mom: Lil, they have no need for shoes, now go play computer mommy is working

PinkOne: Why?

Mom: why what?

PinkOne: Why do they not need shoes?

Mom: Because swamp mud is soft, go play computer or its time for bed

PinkOne: Why?

Mom: Why what?

PinkOne: Why is it time for bed? I’m not tired. Why is swamp mud soft? Do they have McDonalds in the swamp? (Now sitting upside down on the couch) Can we go to McDonalds for dinner? Can I have some ice cream? I’m hungry RIGHT NOW I can’t wait 5 minutes for dinner? (Now hanging off the arm of the couch with a foot on my laptop) What are you working on? Why is that lady in her underpants? (I take pin up photos) Can I edit a picture? (Jumping up and down on one foot) Look at my Hannah Montana camera Puck gave me! Look what I can do? (Jumping from table to couch and back to table) Why are you making that face mom?

Mom: GO. A. WAY! JON REMOVE THE MINION I'M WORKING!

Inevitably I lock myself in my room and continue to work, interrupted intermittently by inane questions and a need to be reminded that mommy is in fact still present. I’m not proud of this interaction, nor am I proud that my poor baby has eaten mostly sandwiches for dinner the last week. Oh the mommy guilt, like a hundred tiny knives right in your heart. Any advice on balancing exciting and stressful life changes with active 5 and ¾ year old monsters that require constant attention?

Why is Mommy Kissing Girls?

This is not my usual blog fodder as you may well notice after about 3 seconds of reading it. I am applying for a blogging job for a queer parenting column and this is my writing sample. I figure, lets kill some birds with some stones and post it here too. If you have anything particularly nasty to say about it, please don't, I'm sensitive.  And as a bonus, a picture of Pinkone!

When it comes to explaining sexuality to children, our own children in particular, it is never going to be comfortable and the choice to simply not deal with these people again is just available to us.  As a later in life queer identified parent, how does one traverse the ever treacherous terrain of coming out to their own children? Every conversation should be tailored to the individual child and family situation, but there are a few universal truths that exist for all of us attempting this particular endeavor.

 Be Discreet

Keep your conversation fact based, and without physical specifics. There is not a child in existence that wants to know the particulars of their parent’s sexual predilections. If there are questions asked, you have the right to tell them that the specifics of your sexual experiences are none of their business but (if you feel comfortable) you can give them a broad overview of the mechanics.

 Model

A common mistake is making a bigger deal out of heavy conversations than needed to. If a kid sees that you are acting guilty, secretive (unless secretive is warranted, in which case explain this to the child) or treating your sexuality as anything less than perfectly valid, they will do the same. Children look to their parents to model behavior and reaction. If we are proud and matter of fact about our sexuality and lifestyle, our children will see that there is simply nothing to be ashamed of and will react similarly.

 Give them Choices-to a degree

They don’t get to choose whether or not we act on our sexuality, it doesn’t work that way, but they can have some choices as to how much they know and who they tell. Kids care about how these changes affect them, so giving them a choice allows them to feel more a part of the decision making process and less helpless in the face of great change. Dad is queer, and that is how it’s going to be, but the kids have the choice as to whether or not they want to tell people in their social spheres about it. Be clear that you are not ashamed and you don’t want them to be either, but it is within their control who, and when they tell about their family situation.

 Answer their questions, all of them.

Answer the questions they ask. If the 5 year old asks her father whether this means he will now be wearing dresses instead of slacks, he should explain his fashion preferences honestly. Some questions will be completely out of the blue, others will be thoughtful and intelligent. The questions will continue to come over the years and will get harder as they get older. All we can do as parents is continue to be honest, give them choices, and answer the questions to the best of our abilities. It is also always okay to say “I just don’t know”.

 Coming out to kids is  emotional and difficult for a parent. The great thing about kids though, they are incredibly resilient. Ultimately, our kids want happy, consistent parents that put their needs first. Coming out may rock the boat a bit, but as parents we are still the anchors. Showing our children that regardless of this new information, we are the same loving, secure and stable forces we have always been will do more to ease the transition than any amount of rational conversation and brand name electronic bribery ever could.

A letter to the men in my daughters life

Dear Boys,

I need to say thank you to the men in my daughters life. Over the last month some very major changes have occured in regard to my family dynamic. Because of this, you boys have become all the more important to her, and to me. The men that sing her songs, that take her golfing, that answer her 37 mile an hour question storms with a smile on their faces,

Thank You.

When her father can't be bothered, or interrupted you are there. You hold her hand and tell her stories, teach her fart noises and watch Dora until your eyes bleed. When he forgets to call her and she cries, you remind her that she is loved and deserving of love. You don't resent her for existing and you know that being a father is more than providing DNA, all this and you aren't fathers yourselves.

Thank You.

I will be forever grateful for your contributions to her life and to mine, and I know that when she grows up to be a strong, independent creative woman, you will all be there cheering her on. You can proudly take credit for your piece in teaching her how a man should treat a woman, what a woman can mean to a man, even when she isn't sleeping with him, and how to simply be a good person.

 Thank you.

During this time where my family is in many ways falling apart, and in others finally coming back together, you are here, where her father should be helping me keep it together. I'm so grateful for all of you, and for your very real and true commitment to my daughter. Thank you for being here, thank you for picking up the slack,

 Thank You.

Ben, Jon, Joe, Dan, Matt, all of the men who step up despite their total lack of legal responsiblity, financial obligation or any reason other than they are just good, honorable men that care deeply for me and for my little girl,

 Thank You.

Debbie Downer *whaWhAaaa*

Anyone who has ever ready my blog has to be familiar with "The Pinkone" and her many quirks by now.  She's bossy, she's bawdy, she's the very definition of precocious. She has been telling me for at least 2 years that as soon as she turns 6, she will officially be a grown up and will then be able to drink beer and get a tattoo, (the tattoo is of a rainbow pony in case you were wondering) and she is determined to be a Princess Doctor when she grows up. No, not a doctor that treats princesses, but a princess, who is also a doctor.

So now at the age of 5, her various idiosyncracies are even more present in my mind as her foray into the "real" world that is kindergarten looms ever closer.

Her father and I could never be termed "normal", thats for sure. He looks like "The Dude" and I have the mouth of a trucker and the ability to ramble on  nonsensical about my new love of cheese making at a moments notice. But how does the child of two such socially awkward parents and a myriad of socially awkward "aunts and uncles" stand a chance in navigating the waters of kindergarten society? I suppose we can just dress her in black, re-dye her hair and call her "artistic" .

Her latest weirdness is of a more serious nature, and a weirdness I am ashamed to say she got from me. She is SUPER negative, to the point of exhaustion.

She is the kid that can be given 43 scoops of ice cream and be sad because she wanted 44. Her adorably cherubic face is in a perpetual scowl. She refuses to share and says the entire trip was ruined if one kid looks at her funny.

One particularly memorable day found our little family traversing back from a trip to see a movie she wanted to see, stopping to get ice cream, and clutching our brand new build a bears, all in all, a preschoolers dream day. When asked "did you have a good day?"  Pinkone responded thusly: "No mom I did not."

"why is that baby?" says mommy

"because i wanted to go somewhere else and do this other thing then go see auntie and I wanted pink ice cream and daddy got me green"

"fuck" says mommy

SERIOUSLY? the pink vs green ice cream debate was about 2 seconds of the entire day and OF COURSE that's what Baby McSadness has to focus on as the defining moment that ruined her day.

I was a negative kid, and  I still can't point to where it came from but it made it VERY difficult for me to enjoy my childhood. I spent an entire trip to Disney Land bitching that I was hungry and afraid of ride.  When i think back on it, i can't remember why I was so miserable at the  HAPPIEST PLACE ON EARTH, and now as an adult I can only imagine how pissed off my parents were at the time. It makes it really difficult to want to spend time with your kids when they shit all over every activity, game, story and joke you engage in.

So how do we fix it? Is this just part of her personality? Will she always be overly critical and self deprecating? Can this penchant for negativity some how manifest itself into a positive attribute later in life?

All I know is that I'm still able to find the licorice flavored jelly bean in an entire bag of cherry and drag everyone down with me when i want to. The difference is that I don't want to anymore. I don't know if my childhood negativity made me a more interesting and well-rounded person as an adult. I just know I don't want my kid to be Captain Buzz Killington at every party and always feel shorted in some way, even when she isn't.

Any ideas folks?

Camp Fire Candy and Shilling to Strangers

It's that time again!...is how every one of my e-mails this month have started.

It IS that time again. Time for Camp Fire Candy sales, a right of passage for every red and blue b-vested child enrolled in my favorite youth organization, Camp Fire USA. Time again to stand in the cold outside Haggen harassing strangers, walking door to door begging for cash, and quietly threatening a negative performance review if someone doesn't buy just ONE box of freakin' mints.

The theory behind the candy sale is that the children will take an active role in supporting their organization, learn interpersonal and business communication skills, give Camp Fire a fantastic once a year PR boost. This, is not reality.

Reality is that Mom and Dad are schlepping candy to and from work, calling relatives, placing said child uncomfortably on the phone and forcing them to beg Auntie Muriel to shell out 5 bucks for a box of almond roca and sitting outside for 2 to 4 hours at a time in front of the neighborhood grocery store hoping beyond hope that the kid sells enough that we don't have to endure the shame of returning unsold product to the ever watchful eye of the "Candy Captain" *shudder*

All this before cutting a big ass check yourself to pay for the 2 or 7 boxes of clusters you had to have at 2am and the 17 missing bags of peanuttles that seem to conincide all too closely with the new, self satisfied smirk upon a certain pugglet's face. 

I get fundraising. I really get it. I busted my ass when I was b-vested, and then b-gowned schlepping the candy up and down the street. I uncomfortably asked every distant relative I knew of how many boxes they wanted and how I could get it from them, and yes, the weather had been unseasonably warm, and no, I wasn't sure exactly what I wanted to be when I grew up yet, and no, I did not in fact have a boyfriend (haw haw). Even then I understood the importance of the candy sale. This is the major revenue stream for CampFire, it's incredibly important that every kid at least shill SOME candy so we can keep programs going.  I didn't mind it so much (though I'm sure my mother would tell you differently)

I still get it, and for the most part, it isn't unbearable since my kid isn't in school yet and I only have one fundraiser to shill for a year. So as I sit here pondering my frustration over my morning box of pilfered Carmel clusters I wonder, what changed?

I'll tell you.

Stuffed animals and patches.

Thats it.

Mommy doesn't get a stuffed animal to work for, or a patch to put proudly on her vest/gown. Mommy has to do 85% of the work (98% when the pink one is involved)

Camp Fire, are you listening? Mommy wants a series of stuffed gorillas increasing in size to work for, or better yet, a series of tequila bottles. Mommy wants a nice red, white and blue patch to sew proudly on her Mommy sized vest.

Mommy wants an award system. or a Spa day. Whichever.

In all seriousness, I don't mind dealing with Candy Sale for a month every year, seeing as we aren't the Girl Scouts and we have to actually WORK for a living (more on that during another drunken youth organization themed diatribe) candy is what we have to work with. For all the gifts Camp Fire has given me, and given my daughter over the years, I guess I can stand outside of Haggen for a couple of hours every Saturday for a month and not bitch too much. It is fun to watch the   try to remember how to say "Creamy Smooth Mint Patties" and "Thank you for supporting Camp Fire!"

Though seriously, consider the tequila reward system, its gonna be big. HUGE, and will definitely get the parents pounding the pavement smiles on their faces!

Also Parents, please be warned, Almond Carmel Clusters are like crack, if you eat one, you eat 5. Just don't do it.

Happy New Year!

I had a pretty great New Years this year and I have to say, this decade is looking up. Husband and I are celebrating our 4 year anniversary, pinkone will be turning 5 and I am inching ever closer to that first major milestone, 30.

In the spirit of things, i have made some resolutions, most of which I intend to keep this time around. However, i have only made one "stop" resolution, which is to quit smoking. Husband, and various friends have agreed to try this as well so hopefully together, we can last longer than the 2 months we lasted in 2009.

Instead of a bunch of other things i want to stop doing, i'm going to list a couple of things i want to START doing this year.

1) I resolve to let the Pinkone be the boss, of something. I'm told this might help with the attitude, and the general bossiness. were thinking maybe the hampster, or a toy.

2) I resolve to listen to music more. I love music, all kinds of music, and I haven't had time or inclination to listen in a long time. Short of my morning drive time.  I am finally, 5 years after everyone else, discovering pandora. With the help of the Music Genome project, I will increase my musical apptitudes.

3) I resolve to enjoy more alone time. Husband needs to date his daughter and mommy needs some alone time. This is a resolution I plan to uphold.

4) I resolve to do more chores. Okay, this one isn't fun. In our house, husband tends to do the bulk of the chores. While this is lovely, its not interly fair. I plan to help much more this year.

5) Finally, I resolve to do at least one fun thing with the pinkone that doesn't result in fighting, yelling, bossing or mocking a week. Its a good plan I think.

I've very excited about my plans, and i think i'm setting myself up for obtainable goals.

What sorts of resolutions have you guys out there in blog-topia made? If you didn't make any, why?

Baby Boom

Another friend is having a baby. (this makes baby number 911 that is not mine) Why am I not thrilled for her? I’ll tell you why, because I am petty and mean and jealous. We have been trying for well over a year and still no pink one take 2, annoying to say the least. But I digress from my original point.

Truthfully, I am really excited for her. This will be her first little bundle and she is going to do all those cute new mom things we all did when our first little bundle came along. She is going to pick out matching outfits, organize her nursery, set schedules, come up with crazy schemes and pick extreme parenting philosophies. Then, while we all nod our heads sympathetically and “totally agree” with her, we will giggle quietly as it all gets tossed out the window in favor of what is acctually going to happen; baby dictated chaos.

MUHAHAHAHA (that’s my evil laugh)


I love new mom’s, I love them so much. I love how cute they are with their plans. I love remembering myself as a soon to be new mom, glowing with tiny life inside of me, smugly protecting it, creating custom made nursery baskets that matched the mural on the wall, that matched the curtains, that matched the bumpers etc. etc.

I love that I totally planned on using NOTHING but cloth diapers, organic, homemade baby foods, educational television, black and white soothing educational toys, co-sleeping cradles and bondlicious, nutritional breastfeeding until she could tell me she didn’t want it anymore.

And I love that NOTHING turned out the way I planned. Secretly, (or, not so secretly now) I really REALLY love it when the other smug new mommy’s like myself finally hit that realization as well. I think it might have to do with my own insecurities, but you be the judge.

I admit, I gave in a lot faster than most. The pink one was a child that would not be controlled even as an infant. She was a great sleeper, luckily. However, if I wanted her to eat, she wanted to sleep. If I wanted her to sleep, she wanted to eat. If I wanted her to play independently, she needed extra snuggles. If I wanted her to nurse, she wanted a bottle. When I wanted her to show off her nifty new tricks, like sitting up, or talking, she was a mute blob on the floor. I am fairly convinced she developed a lactose allergy early on just to spite me; willful little wretch.

I made the homemade baby food exactly twice, and I froze it in ice cube trays, where it stayed. I was never able to get it defrosted enough for her to eat it, and when I did it was all stringy or watery, she of course turned her nose up at it, but gobbled down anything pre-processed from a jar that she was presented by her grandmother. This theme continues today, 4.5 years later.

So for us, plans didn’t work, and I had scads of them, so I know. Most of the mom’s I know are the same way. They have plans and schemes and theories and books, most of which are thrown out the window at some point, usually around the 6-12 month mark. This is about the time that most of us realize that babies suck as cute, pink clad accessories, and are really, bawling, spitting, kicking tiny people with no impulse control and the inablity to use an inside voice.

A couple of others stubbornly hold on to their plans a bit longer, and I commend them for it, becuase I did not have the willpower to see it through. Then again, I have always been of the school of thought “If its easier, just do it, I’ll pay for their therapy later” it’s the same school my mother used on us, and we turned out only mildly neurotic.

So while I am bitter, jealous and somewhat conspiratory against my dear friend who is about to embark on this treacherous path of motherhood; I will be there for her. I will be there to hold her hand when she bawls that it just isn’t going the way she envisioned it, and to tell her she is NOT a failure because nursing isn’t as easy as it looked in lactation class. That putting the baby in the crib is not child abuse, sometimes its just a necessity for all of you, and that just because she had a C-section, her child will not end up a serial killer; well, he might, but not because of the C-section anyway.

And I will laugh. But not to her face, I swear.

Avoiding Dr. Phil

So, I didn't get to post yesterday...after doing so well, but in my defense, I posted twice on Tuesday.

This morning on my way through the normal, "wrestle child into clothes, throw sheets in washer, make lunch, get out the door, convince child we do NOT need Starbucks today, and get child to babysitter, get Starbucks for myself, and get to work on time" morning routine a couple of interesting things happened.

1) Lily is apparently running away, naked (of course) with nothing but her baby doll and her flowered lunch box; she will also be taking the car. I did offer to drop her at the bus station, but she said, no, driving would be more practical.

2) While trying to explain the metaphor of the song Little Boxes (which you may know better as the theme song from Weeds) my daughter informed me that she does not like herself and wants to be her friend Alyson from school.


So these are two new situations for me. I sort of sarcas-ti-mom’d my way through the running away conversation, which is what my parents always did to me, but is this something I should be taking more seriously? Is she totally miserable, or just trying out phrases? I catch myself watching Dr. Phil or something like that when I’m home from work sick and praying to every God I know that I don’t end up on one of those shows in 10 years saying “If I’d only have paid attention to the threats when she was 4, she wouldn’t be addicted to glue and running about with 40 year old men that work at Blockbuster” (other than Joe) Then she would come out with giant hoop earrings and make up that’s too light for her face and lipstick that’s too dark, wearing too much mousse, and have to be beeped out while she tells me that she’s pregnant and she’ll do whatever she bleeping wants with her bleeping baby. Oh God. I think I’m having an episode.
[caption id="attachment_368" align="alignleft" width="150" caption="thats an omage to my husband, facepalming due to our shame."][/caption]<

Has anyone else had to deal with the 4 year old ready to set out on their own? How did you handle it? Are your children at least marginally well adjusted now?

So the second thing, if you haven’t heard the song before, the jist of it is that everyone in upper middle class suburbia is living in this predescribed box , in which they will inevitably go to summer camp, university, go into business, and marry and raise a family. Picture the street Diane Weist’s family lives on in Edward Scissor Hands, that’s the idea. So Lily is asking me what this song means, I tried to explain to her that the song is telling you that its okay to be yourself, and to be different if you want to be. I started in on my diatribe that I had written at 14 while wearing clothes made of hemp and lamenting my parents inability to understand my need to practice Wicca (just like every other chubby white girl in suburbia)* She listened to me intently, and I felt the lesson was going well until she popped up with “Mom, I don’t want to be myself, I want to be Alyson.” Not the response I was expecting.

“Why is that buddy?”
“I don’t like myself, sometimes I do bad things”
“Well, you know Lil, sometimes everyone does bad things, even Alyson, the trick is trying to do good things when you have the choice.”
“Mom, I don’t want to talk about this anymore, can we listen to the dancin’ song now?”

So that was the end of the conversation for today, but I feel like my point was not conveyed appropriately. Other than my Dr. Phil nightmare, I have another vision of her, wearing skinny jeans and all black, hair an unruly mess, white faced make up, stabbing her thigh with a thumbtack and writing terrible poetry on her shoes.

I tell her everyday how smart, pretty, strong, brave and creative she is, but I live in fear that her self-esteem is going to be in the toilet by adolescence. Its easy to tell the child of a mom who was a fat, poorly adjusted adolescent, they are always wearing shirts that say “I’m great and you know it!” or “It’s Hard to be this Awesome!” or something equally ridiculous, they are also often uncomfortably performing in pageants, school and church plays, or various sports and esteem building activities while being forced to watch Dove commercials. All of us formally issue laden mothers are quietly wondering to ourselves, “Is it enough? How do I spare her that feeling of shame from just being who she is?”

With all the images the media, other parents, and magazines shove down our kids throats it’s a wonder any of us made it to adulthood without some sort of lingering eating disorder. How do we as mothers protect the next generation of little girls from feeling invisible, hopeless, and without a voice? How do we keep them from writing terrible shoe poetry?!?!

Or, do we just keep trying to remind them that no matter what the rest of the world looks like, home is safe, and you can be anything you want at home, because that’s the one place that everyone will love you no matter what? Maybe those experiences of feeling voiceless and invisible are what creates the next generation of artists, actors, and helicopter feelings oriented parents.


I am intending to read several books on the subject, cram Lily into a foofy gown for a pageant, and let you know what I find out.



*Not that Wicca is not a totally valid religion, I’m just saying, chubby white girls from suburbia have a tendency to flock to anything that they think might make either Justin Timberlake, Edward Cullen, or, in my case, Drew Carey, fall in love with them by simply chanting and melting stuff.

It Begins...*forboding music*

I think I mentioned this on Friday briefly in the weekly re-cap, but when I went to the doctor last week for my tendonitis, I was given a startiling realization when the nurse took my weight. I am offically 6lbs away from the weight I always privately said I would never get to.

I have always been over weight, my mother, sisters, grandmother, father; all of us, have always been over weight. We are a family of eaters. We eat to celebrate, we eat to mourn, we eat just to eat, then we watch TV, so it really wasn't expecting a svelt 150 to appear to on the scale, but I was unprepared for the number that appeared in front of me. Oh the shame.

My nurse luckily was very kind and said nothing, knowing that I was there for an L&I claim and not seeing the point in getting into the weight issue at the moment.

Had I been seeing my obstetrician however, things would have been very different. When I was pregnant every visit was a constant barrage of thinly veiled jabs at my weight. "Oh my its so hard to see the baby when the mothers abdomen is as dense as yours" yeah...thats doctor for fat.

Anyways, so this startling realization made a dramatic impact of me. I had always said to myself, "yes, I'm overweight, but I'm not THAT overweight, I mean, its not like I weigh Xlbs or anything!" and now I almost do. So its diets for this family!

I was realizing that my family was starting to get on the "crap food and inactivity" wagon too and I just don't want Lily to go through what I've gone through, what my sisters and mother and father etc. have gone through because of our weight, and its so much eaiser to start the good habits at this age than to try and curb them when she's older and more sneaky.

The plan is to change the way we eat, what we do, and how we look at food. Food is no longer a reward, food is for fuel and nothing more. Sister and I started going to the gym again last night, look for many hilarious stories of me trying to navigate an eliptical or cross trainer, and I bought a big ass bag of bone less skinless chicken breasts and frozen vegetables, the staples of healthy eating.

I imagine i will be blogging about this alot, especially since this is going to be a BIG change for Lily who is used to noodley side dishes, cheesey everything, and eating the blossoms and leaving the greens. Luckily, the husband is supportive, which suprised me.

The best thing about all of this though? When I told husband that I had gotten so near to the suicide weight, guess what he said?

"Really? I didn't even notice, you look just as beautiful as ever."

sweet man. smart man.

Mmmmm.....Memories.....drool

I am eating an English muffin, smeared in peanut butter and jelly with cheese on top right now. While this is a delicious taste treat on it own, I am finding that the taste combination of warm sourdough English muffins, and melting peanut butter is satisfying more than my hunger, it is invoking in my mind a memory of my father from a day long gone by. A memory of Sunday mornings in the trailer, or even a side dish to any night’s dinner, he ate peanut butter and cheese english muffins all the time.

There is something so evocative about food, so comforting. Certain tastes and smells linger in your mind, unnoticed, until they raise their heads again, unexpectedly, dragging you back through time and space, to the last place you sampled that particular dish, or to the person that it reminds you of. I picture that scene near the end of Ratatouille, where the mean crusty critic is given a dish of Ratatouille, and with one bite, you are pulled into this visual vortex, showing him, as a young, sad boy, snuggling his mother while she comforts him with a bowl of the same dish, and dries his tears. That scene always gets me.

Eating my memory filled english muffin I can help but ruminate on other dishes that evoke those same feelings of comfort in me. Eggs and sausage, heavily peppered and pop tarts smeared with butter, remind me of sleeping over at my Grandmother’s house before she passed away. I would always awaken late on a Saturday morning with that scent of pepper and greasy sausage hanging heavy in the air, tickling my nose and tempting me toward the kitchen. There she would have eggs, sausage, pop tarts (usually strawberry) orange juice, and grandpa’s favorite, strawberry milk, waiting for me. Food was like a hug from her, she wasn’t always the warmest Grandmother, we have often guessed that she had depressive episodes, but her food was so full of love and nurturing that just smelling it was like hearing her say “I love you.”

Cottage Cheese with Johnny’s seasoning salt, smoked salmon, fresh shrimp and oysters, along with my delicious muffins remind me of my dad, and anytime I start to miss him, I can summon his spirit with any of these foods. I have trouble writing about my dad, it was a lot easier for me before he passed away, but now, anytime I try to write about him, or my experiences with his death, I get stuck, the feelings and memories stick in my throat like tears you are trying to suppress. But, while I struggle to find him in my words, I can always find him in those foods.

Lasagna, chicken Dijon, and macaroni with tuna and mixed vegetables always remind me of my mom. Those dishes take me back to a much simpler time, when my whole family was here, young, healthy and had only relatively simple problems from day to day. She would make these simple, not incredibly healthy, but very delicious meals to feed not only our family, but all the other people we would invariably have hanging around on a day to day basis.

Hot tea with milk and sugar reminds me of Shelli, anything from Denny’s reminds me of Amy, top ramen reminds me of Meghan, tang and tequila reminds me of Andy, the list could go on and on. Its pretty easy to see why I am around 50 to 100 lbs over weight. Its hard to feel bad about the extra weight when I think of what food can do for my mood, my memory, and my soul.

Suggestion to all of you in blog land: make a dish this week that sings to you, that evokes fond memories. Post the recipe and the story behind it on your blog, or face book as a note, and tag me back, we can swap! I’ll post one later this week.

Happy eating!

Sick Days

I'm sick. I am that special kind of sick where you don't really have a fever or stomach issues per se, but you can't make yourself get up and be productive without a crane. I am at that point where every time i cough, I pee, every time I sneeze, I get light headed, and walking for too long wears me out like you wouldn't believe.

So, i have given myself a day off, such as it is, and as all of you know, a day off as a mom, is never really a day off.

On top of being sick, and constantly afraid of peeing my pants, I still have the little person running around, perfectly healthy, and demanding of my attentions, my ability to turn things off or on and to reach all things high up.

But I have no patience for that right now. I don't want to reach things, I don't want to turn things on or off, and I don't feel like watching PBS Kids all day long. When I'm sick, I want to just be sick, just for a day. I want to watch day time television, eat soup, moan and groan and wallow in my sickness, or, even better, be taken care of by someone who wants nothing else in return.

Instead, by being a mother, I have given up my right to take a sick day. I did get to sleep in, after calling in to work and making sure all the work flow was handled for the day, I was re-awoken around 9am, with a demand for pancakes and a movie to be turned on.

I am spending my sick day turning on video games, making snacks, begging her to put on underpants, and trying to get caught up on Desperate Housewives.

Just add sick days to the list of things you give up when you have little ones, my lap apparently is also on that list as she refuses to get off of it right this moment.

I have often complained that companies do not have adequate benefits for employees that have dependents they are responsible for, as it is, i am going to have to work late all week to make up for this sick day since i used up all my sick days when the school wouldn't let Lily go in becuase they thought she had swine flu. But you know which job has the absolute worst benefit plan? Motherhood. Not a single sick day, vacation day, dental package, nothing that is just for you as a parent to say, "hey, thanks for workin' here"

Sure, we have our little perks from time to time, the occasional adults only weekend or grandma visit to take off some of the pressure, but man, days like today, I could really use that benefits package.

Armpit Fudge and Fairy Rings

We just returned from Camp Kirby, Whatcom and Island Counties local Camp Fire USA resident camp. Every fall and spring the council puts on a weekend for the kids and leaders to attend outside of the normal summer season.

Growing up, I was a Camp Fire kid to the extreme. My mom was a bluebird, and I think she regretted not sticking with it as she got older so she was 100% involved with my sisters and I doing Camp Fire until only recently. I did camp, day camp, Horizon Cabinet, Youth in Action Coalition, got my WoHeLo and served on the board of directors. My Camp Fire career is yet another example of my inability to do anything half assed and will do anything to be indispensable whenever possible.

My best memories growing up involve Camp Fire, and Camp specifically, I am still great friends with several of my former group members and my former co-leader, and I share memories with those people that I can't share with anyone else in my life.



This weekend I got to watch my group, ranging from 4 years old to 11 years old, experience some of what I remember from growing up. We played on the beach, we hiked up to the Fairy Ring and investigated the little homes the kids have made over the years for the fairies. We taught our new members the stories we learned from the older kids last year and we stood up in chapel and gave our affirmations of self that remind us how special and unique we really are.

When we had council fire that evening, and for those of you outside the in crowd, a council fire is a reflective ceremony in which the members wear their ceremonial garb, sing songs, present awards if they have have them, and light the WoHeLo candles (Work Health Love), its kind of the last vestiges of the traditional program started in the 20's, and even though little kids kind of hate it, its really good for them to be involved in the tradition and community that it fosters.

Anyway, during the council fire, the oldest groups leader, they were about to graduate, stood up and talked about how she remembered her kids at the age Lily is now, coming to camp for their first time, and wearing their little red vests, and now, at 18, they are ready to graduate, have been together since kindergarten and are ready to move on to the next phases of their lives.

Looking at the girls in their gowns, and at my little ones in their vests, I started to get a little choked up, i thought about my first time at camp, the first time I saw Lily in her vest, getting my WoHeLo, (the highest youth award you can get, I know, i'm awesome) and listening to the kids sing the Camp Fire Law for the first time. And I started to cry a little bit.

Time goes SO fast, It hasn't even happened yet, but I can't stop thinking about what it will be like when our kids are wearing their gowns/tunics, or graduating, and I get choked up all over again.

Thinking about that makes me so grateful to the Camp Fire program, and the people that make it happen from year to year.

Camp Fire, and other youth organizations, are so important for kids, i know it made a huge difference in my life. Youth organizations give kids a chance to build their self esteem, learn team building skills, outdoor skills, community involvement, a chance to see adults take an active interest in their lives, all the good stuff that makes a "caring confident kid and future leader"

Its just so cool to see kids, some kids who have such odds against them, just have fun, take joy in something as simple as building a fire or a house for a fairy.

I am so proud of these kids, and even though I am now sore, exhausted, dirty, and was fed something that looked like doo and was called armpit fudge, I can honestly say I had a blast and can't wait until spring.

The Horror of a Shared Bathroom

I am a neurotic mess. Anyone who knows me in the least capacity can attest to that fact. Toenails freak me out, i hate floppy socks, dirty nails, Jeff Goldblum, ducks, anything eyeball related,and guys on unicycles make me furious. I don't know where all of these issues stem from, probably some deeply buried childhood trauma I'm sure, but I have yet to unearth my "root" if you will, and so continue to live in a world where something new appears to either frighten, gross out, or irritate me everyday.

My latest issue is a little bit more crippling however. So long as the toenails are covered and the floppy socks are encased safely in shoes and I avoid lakes and Jeff Goldblum movies, I am usually able to function relatively well in the everyday world. This latest issue however, has become somewhat difficult to control. Working in a public place with several dozen people sharing one three stalled bathroom has lead me to a whole new horizon of neurosis i didn't even know i had.

It isn't the germs that bother me, on the contrary, germs have never freaked me out, I'm quite good with disgusting tasks that most people would shirk at, I like to believe that my immunities are better because of it resulting in fewer sick days used for myself. No, this latest problem is much more difficult to cover up. I am afraid of people hearing me go to the bathroom.

Get your laughs out now. I know, its weird, few people care, hardly anyone listens to others bathroom forays, and yet, I am physically unable to go when there is someone in the stall next to me, even in a real emergency, I clam up, unable to go until I am sure the bathroom is clear of all potential listeners.

Yesterday at work i went in to utilize the facilities when i was sure the last person had vacated and just as i began to settle in, turning a game on my IPOD and finally getting down to business. But then, the creak of the door signifying someone else coming in after me. Instantly i clenched up, my body fell into a state of shock and went into panic mode. The bathroom is dead silent, only the sound of the occasional throat clearing can be heard. She enters the stall next to me and, holding my breath I wait for her to finish. Silence.

"Just flush!" I psychically willed her to finish her business and be on her way, to allow me my moment of sanctuary. After a minute that drags on for days, I realize that this woman is going through a bought with the same neurosis I am fighting, together we are frozen in the crippling fear that is public bathroom panic.

We are in a stand off, well, a sit off. I'm silent, pretending I'm not here, hoping she'll give up and go away, she's silent, both of us, uncomfortable, for several reasons. But my will is strong. I will not have the awkward meeting at the sink, eyes meeting and quickly looking away, the worry of "am i not washing long enough? am i using too many paper towels? should I clean up the sink area, I didn't really make the mess," not today, I won't go back there, I won't do it again.

SUCCESS! After what feels like an eternity the woman gives, her resolve fades and I have conquered the public bathroom. Without a sound she quickly dresses, flushes the toilet and scurries out of the bathroom, waiting for me to leave I am sure.

photo pilfered from Team Sugar

I finish up and wash my hands, all in peace, rinse as long as i want, use all the paper towels i feel necessary and leave the mysterious puddle of water lingering on the sink. I feel strong, independent, not like the issue laden nut job I really am.

Returning to my cube I realize just how ridiculous I really am and resolve to chronicle my insanity in such a way that i might embarrass myself into abandoning these crippling troubles and moving on with my life, hence the blogging about bathroom phobias.

Anybody else have an irrational fear? either blog about it and track back to my blog, or leave it in a comment!

The Name Game

I got this from a great blog I've been reading, Mommy Words Check it out!

1. Do you have any cultural or religious naming traditions?

Nothing really, we always wanted to name a boy with the initals JP in our family becuase my dad never go the boy he wanted so badly, he was a JP and so was his father, and it was always hoped that the next baby would be the new JP, but instead he got three girls.

2. Did you or your partner come to the marriage with pre-selected names?

I did, I knew that I wanted a girl named Lily and a boy named Jack or Jackson, that was decided during a game of house long ago, when Lily replaced Sara as my all time number one favorite baby name. Korbin was my other favorite name growing up, and was the name of my baby think it over in highschool, but I decided on Jackson in college when I decided to go along with the JP theme. We have since expanded those names to accompany Steve's ideas as well, and he is in charge of all middle naming, but I get veto power.


3. Did you consider the sound of the first and middle and last names together? Did this make any sad eliminations?

We veto'd a couple of middle names that i came up with, (Hazel was one i really liked) because they didn't sound right with Lily, but I wasn't willing to give it up. And others would sound good with Lillian, but not Lily, or vice versa, and I'm really wierd about 1) need them to be able to have nicknames that work, and 2) being able to translate the name from kid to grown up, to old lady without anyone sounding silly.

4. Do you have veto powers?

I do, he doesn't unless he is really, really against it.

5. Did the baby naming cause arguments?

Surprisingly, we had her completely named in a matter of minutes, until like 2 weeks before she was born, then I changed it up on him becuase I randomly decided to honor my grandmother as well, so now her name is super long.

6. Do you think it is easier to name boys or girls?

Definately girls, its harder to get that "sounds good young and old" thing I am so passionate about for a boy. Most of the ones that sound good when they are young sound wierd when they are old, I can't picture a 45 year old justice of the peace named Kaleb or Ashton you know?

7. Did you eliminate names because of people from your past or present who you don’t like or because a certain image comes to mind.

DEFINATELY, when I first decided on the name I wanted, i tried to rhyme it with as many things as possible before settling on it. I was called Lame-y Pickle all through school, I didn't want her to know that pain.

8. Did you / would you survey your children to get their thoughts on the name?

my sisters, but I wasn't really listening to anyones suggestions, i knew what I wanted to name her for sure.

9. Did you tell people the name or possibler names before the baby was born or were they “in the vault”?

Oh yeah, i have a huge mouth, but I kind of wish I hadn't, we got so much crap about her middle name, people saying it sounded like a Cow's name or telling us that she will one day hate us. It was a downer.


10. Did you use baby name books?
A little, but more for the middle name, until Steve picked it out, we wanted to see what would sound good, and I went through the 1001 worst baby names book, I am proud to say none of her names are in there!

Drumroll Please…What did you name your kids and why? See – if you don’t share your names it’s okay you can still share your crazy story with 1-10!



We named her Lillian Mae because it shortens to Lily-my preapproved baby name and Mae is for my grandmother, Lillian Mae or just Lillian sounds good if she is a serious older lady or a supreme court justice, Lily works great if she is a kindergarten teacher or one of those funky older ladies with really long hair and lots of dogs. I always pair my names with "Miss" or "Mister" because thats how I addressed people when I worked at a retirement home, I think "Miss Lily" or "Miss Lillian" sounds just right.

Buttercup is straight from her father, and something that my family, and his have never ceased to torture us about. Steve's cousin even gave us a little stuffed cow when she was born, just to be a jerk.

I haven't had my second baby yet, but I'm hoping to get pregnant very soon, and if we have a boy, we will name him Jaxon Perrin (so we get the JP with out making a John III) or Lucille June Diamond for the same reasons we went with Lillian, and Betty June is my other grandmothers name, so she will be either Lucy June, or Lucy Diamond, we really like the Beatles too!

this was fun! Check out the blog it came from at http://www.mommywords.com/2009/09/the-mommy-words-name-game/

Passing this one on to
MamaJade at Strained Peas and Other Messes
Mom Gone Crazy at The Every Mom's Blog
Maggie Mae at Walk on the Happy Side - Loving this Blog!

Pass it on girls!

Conversations We Should Have Had

Most mom's have been through this at one point or another, that sick feeling in the pit of their stomach, the uncontrollable panic rising up the back of their neck, she's gone, and you have no idea where.

Today, my family took a day trip down to the Puyallup Fair. After about 10 minutes, I already had a blog planned about the way the fair's milk you for every last cent they can possible get out of you. They managed to get us for $40 in entrance fees and busing in from the parking lot, $30 in ride tickets (no bracelets on weekends), $25 in food and soda and $50 in souvenirs before we were ready to pick up our scones and get the hell out of doge.

Sister and I were taking the pink one over to the exits to head to wait for Steve while he returned the $13 wagon we rented to shlep our stuff around. I was on the phone discussing where we will go and who will meet who and where while we navigated the crowds and made our way to the picnic tables to rest for the first time in several hours. I looked to the left and saw a flash of pink head, knowing that she was behind me, I continued on my way to the tables and sat down.

When I turned around to direct her to our spot, she was gone.

like that, she was gone.

This is one of those things you always worry about, always plan for, or at least, plan to plan for, but until it happens, everything is theoretical and abstract.

My eyes scanned the throngs of people, searching for that little pink head, calling to her, expecting to see her climb out from under a rack of clothes in the booth next to us at any second.

I could not believe how slowly the seconds passed at that point. I went over it and over it in my head, she was there, I turned and looked down, and looked back, and she was gone. Just gone.

Sobbing, I turned in circles, afraid to leave the spot, afraid to stay there and not keep looking.

In the midst of my panic, several strangers stopped me, asking to describe her, taking out their phones, calling the police, alerting the gate security, thanks to a couple that put themselves on the look out for her, she was found within about 20 minutes. They walked with her to the last place she saw us, and there was Steve, holding two large bags of scones and frantically calling her name.

The one positive thing I can say about all of this is that it has re-affirmed some of my lost faith in humanity. At least 15 people, men and women and teenagers all came to my aid, made it possible for my to do what I do best and stand in one spot and panic, looking for her, and calling her name again and again while they did the actual leg work. One woman stood with me while my sister went to re-trace out steps, and another man called 911 for me while still others went in every direction looking for her. The kindness of those people is something I will never forget.

Something I realized today is that we never actually made a plan with Lily about what to do if we ever got separated. We've done the "don't let anyone touch you where your bathing suit covers" talk, the "Its okay to say Hi to strangers but not talk to strangers" talk, the "yes you have to eat your vegetables" talk, etc. But we haven't had the "what to do if you lose mommy" talk not yet.

Apparently, we need a code word, I didn't even THINK about that! So somebody walks up to you and is like "oh! youre that lost little girl, come with me!" If you don't have a code word, who knows who's taking off with her! How could I have NOT THOUGHT OF THAT!

I am completely negligent.

After we found her, and I was able to let her go and stop crying, we started to talk about what happened, and what should have happened.

Apparently, she just got swept up in the crowd, and when she couldn't see me, she tried to go back to the last place she had seen me (she is so freaking smart) but she didn't really know how to get back there so she stood in one spot and started to cry, a couple that was helping me found her and walked her to Steve.

We told her that she did the right thing in making her way back to where she last saw us, and that if this ever happened again, to look for a police man, fireman, or a family to help her find us.

We also decided that we are getting her an ID bracelet, and if I get my way, a retractable leash.

I kid, but seriously, I get it now. We had that kid piled into a wagon the entire day, or holding our hands each time she decided to get out. The ONE time we let her out and aren't holding her hand, we lose her, what could have prevented this, other than paying closer attention of course, a leash.

So, all in all, it was a terrible experience that reminded us how important it is to make these kinds of conversations priorities in our house.

Have these conversations people, and invest in a leash!

What Happened to Amy?

I've been doing a little thinking about my name lately. My name used to be Amy, I never really cared for it, too short, not easily turned into a viable nickname, rhymes with Lame-y, not a great name, but it was my name.

In the last five years since husband and I hooked up I have some how managed to develop several new names, and even a couple of new alter egos, but Amy, as a name, and most of the time, as a person, has seemed to have disappeared.

On May 7th 2005 I became Mommy, and a short time later, Mom, and lately, I'm becoming Mother. When I became Mommy, everything about me changed. Rather than the sexually precocious, foul mouthed sarcastic little narcissist i have been my entire life, I was transformed into a person that was required to give, sustain, and nurture, life; and hardest of all, watch her swears.

I was shocked to find that Mommy was concerned about the violent content of video games and television shows, Amy never really thought about that, other than ones where they kill hookers for money points, she never gave a damn.

Mommy seems to care a great deal about what kind of food is in the house, vegetables, milk, cheese, yogurt, things with pro-biotics in them, Amy always just ran to 7-11 and grabbed a couple platters of nachos for she and husband, who was then boyfriend, to snarff up. Amy didn't care about carbs, and didn't want a husband, but Mommy, she is a little needy, and could stand to drop a few pounds.

Mommy needed a sensible car, a sporty hair cut in only one, natural color, and a house that housed only herself, the boyfriend (who is now husband) and the child that converted her to Mommy. Amy was content to live in squalor with somewhere between 3 and 7 smelly boys at a time where someone was always awake and everyone visited everyone’s room, giving the term "bed sharing" a completely different connotation than the one Mommy knows.

Amy had LOTS of friends, all kinds of strange people with interesting things to say and fascinating movies to watch and cigarettes to smoke. Mommy has however only recently found herself two or three really close friends and not even that in the early days of her new life.

Mommy knows the entire Veggie Tales song book; Amy knew every word to "Hurray for Boobies" by the Blood Hound Gang. (Mommy remembers the lyrics, but doesn't get to sing them very often)

Amy used to have opinions, and ideas and thoughts that centered on issues other than family medical leave and preschool bullying. Mommy is happy if she can maintain a 15 minute conversation without mentioning, or hearing about, poop.

Mommy knows that she has things that she cares about, remembers important things she see's on the news, and sometimes writes them down in crayon so she can discuss them at work the next day, but then that commercial for the children’s hospital comes on with all the skinny bald kids, and she starts crying and can't remember what that story on the news was about, and the dog has eaten the paper she wrote on.

Sometimes Mommy allows Amy to come back for a short time, usually on a Friday night. Amy takes over and dyes mommy's hair purple, or cuts it really short, gets a new tattoo, or inserts the occasional swear. Mommy then re-surfaces around the time preschool starts on Monday and is forced to answer questions like "Why is your hair purple? or mom's can have tattoos? Can I have a tattoo?" from the kids at school, resulting in stares and the occasional look of horror from the other moms. Mommy then wonders what Amy was thinking and if she should get back at her by buying a minivan.

As moms, wives, husbands, and parents, we tend to lose a piece of ourselves every time we acquire one of these new titles. We are now responsible for someone other than ourselves and that responsibility is something that takes a toll. Being carefree and narcissistic isn't something that translates well into effective parenting, but is so much more fun than worrying about who is getting enough protein and who isn't wearing sunscreen.

I'm not saying I don't love my life, I really do, but sometimes when its quiet, and things have slowed down, i sit back and wonder how I got here exactly. For those of us who have adapted these new titles, thinking about how we came to be in this strange new world allows us to be reminded of not only where we came from, but how far.

My pregnancy, marriage, and eventual nose dive into parenthood were so unexpected that it sometimes feels like I was picked up out of my previously self centered life and plopped down in the middle of MomLand, an uncharted territory by members of my former realm MeTopia, there were a few natives here sure, but I didn't speak their language yet, and I couldn't tell if they were inviting me to a feast or offering to roast me.


Amy was a little wild and had too many issues for Mommy, and Mommy is a little square for Amy. But together, along with my other personalities Honey, Boss, and Daughter, make up the person I am now. I expect that eventually a new personality or two will emerge, along with a couple of new names, they will be welcomed into the fold, asked to move over because it is getting a bit crowded in here, and offered a cookie. Unless of course one of them doesn't eat carbs either.

Counting to Three...and other threats that just don't work

It is 7am and I have counted to 2 and a half seven times in the last 15 minutes. Guess what good it’s done?

She's wearing a shirt... but that's it.

Every morning we go through this same ritual, I wake her gently, she refuses to rise. I go about my business for another 10 minutes, and, like a snooze alarm, materialize in her room, slightly more insistent this time, coaxing her to wake up. She again, refuses, this time hiding under Night Night (see A Day in the Life for an explanation of Night Night)

I give her another 5 minutes, and now I'm pissed, my pink headed sleeping beauty is showing no sign of rising with out physical force.

"GET UP NOW! 1....2....2 1/2...." and she’s up, slowly, but up.

Why do parents think that counting to 3 is an effective form of communicating urgency? For my kid anyway, all I get out of this ritual is watching her move ever so slightly to the left, just before I hit 3, and then I start again when the next demonstration of "slack" presents it self.

Lather, Rinse, Repeat.

"What happens at 3 exactly?" I can hear her pink mind musing. "A spankin'? loud voice? mean words? a cookie? Ooh, it might be a cookie...I'm just going to see what happens, just in case it is a cookie"

And I watch her, as she processes my warnings and threats, moving at a snails pace, attempting to pick her underwear off the floor with her toes, and then my face gets hot, and my voice comes out of my mouth at that register I didn't know I could produce.

"PUT YOUR DAMN PANTS ON NOW"
"Don't yell at me MUVVER, you haffa talk NICE!"

So now we are arguing, and arguing is NOT how I envisioned communicating with my daughter, even at 4. I dreamed that we would be like Lorali and Rory , laughing over coffee and talking really fast while referencing pop culture trivia, but so far anyway, it has not been in the cards for us.

What is the alternative to the old "counting to 3?" My mother still does it, and my sisters and I are all well over 18 at this point. Yet, we still scurry into the living room looking for our marching orders, but not before she hits 2 3/4.

I have tried the quiet, rational conversation attempt, the list of potential repercussions, including the definition of repercussion. And even, the viable alternative tract.

Each of these, supposedly "more effective communication models" end in one of three scenarios

1) Why? asked in succession until the mother drops to the floor in tears of exasperation
2) The daughter rejects all options presented and instead opts to cartwheel naked
3) One, or both of us, start to cry, and/or scream

I think a big reason we have this fight every morning is that my little person has recently realized how little control she has in this world. She doesn't get to choose her school, her size, whether she can drive or pump gas, she doesn't get listened to most of the time and I can see why she might feel frustrated and instead of getting dressed, opt to cartwheel.

According to Family Education the trick is setting up a routine, and letting her take part in that routine.

"You are absolutely correct about a good morning routine helping your child get ready for school. In the evening, pick out the next day's school clothes with your child and pack and place his book bag by the door. Set an alarm clock to give sufficient time for dressing. Have a scheduled time for a family breakfast to get the day started together. Be sure to enlist other family members' help in caring for the newborn and preparing breakfast. Most important of all, leave enough time after breakfast to cuddle your child and read a story together before he must leave for school."

I would KILL for snuggle time and family breakfast before school, but the reality of the situation is that I already have to wake her at 6am, and even when she goes to bed at 7, she doesn't want to get up, most of our clothes aren't dry the night before, Daddy is gone by 5 and if I want any hope of brushing my own teeth I have to let her sleep in just a tiny bit.

So how do we get out of the numbers game, how do we give them a choice in what their world looks like without destroying our own?

According to most of the parenting blogs and child rearing books I've read, the key is consistency and tangible consequences. I know that Lily is much more apt to listen when I preclude the count to 3 with "I'm going to count to 3, and if you aren't dressed there will be no...(insert favorite vice of the moment)" as opposed to my other favorite, with an equal fail rate, of bribing her, "If you are dressed by the time I count to 3 we'll get Starbucks!" This works about 25% of the time, the rest of the time, she isn't dressed by 3 but we get Starbucks anyway because now mommy wants it. Consistency and follow through are NOT my strong points.

So all the 1-2-3 Discipline Magic books and all the child psychologists and parenting experts have nothing to contribute when it comes to lazy mothers, insolent pre-schoolers, and 15 minute increments of morning time in which to wash, dress, brush, and pack lunches.

I am very aware that i could remedy this situation with an alarm clock for her and a pre-packed lunch the night before, I am also aware that this will probably not happen while I'm working full time and alone in the morning.

My goal instead is to make up for it in the evening. Rough mornings can equal extra snuggles before bed and a long story with pictures. I vow to at least attempt consistency when counting to 3, at least until I find a more viable method for getting this child to bend to my will.

Any ideas?

A Day in the Life

Okay, so I don't actually have an interesting enough day for a full blog, three quarters of it would be devoted to "looks at spreadsheets and says hrmmmmm" but my morning routine, now that is a "horse of a different color" as they say.

As a mom that works outside the home I have certain day to day responsibilities that require a timely exit of my house, usually no later than 7:30 (which it is right this minute actually, so this blog will have to be completed once i have a break form work.)

Okay, so I'm back, its now 9:55pm two days later and I'm finally ready to finish this post. If this weren't waiting in my drafts for completion I'm sure everyone would be waiting with baited breath for the run down of my morning routine.

So, I start my morning by smacking my alarm clock and calling it an asshole, my husband, thinking it would be less traumatizing to wake up to, bought me an alarm that starts with a soft beep, and then gradually increases in intensity as you ignore it. While the thought is nice, the reality is far more annoying. Picture your little one standing at the side of the bed while you are fast asleep just watching and breathing...then whispering, “mama”. You ignore it, of course, thinking you might possibly still be dreaming...then it becomes a little more insistent... “Mom, I'm hungry, mom”....then, just as you’ve convinced yourself that she’s big enough to take care of herself and start to drift back into REM sleep, the full fledged "I’m getting my own cereal and I’ve dropped the gallon of milk on my foot and this is all your fault you lazy bitch..." screaming mode. Startling and unpleasant.

Once the shrieking has subsided, I roll over to find that the pink one has again made her way to my bed, has again managed to wet through her pull up on to my comforter, and has dripped pink hair dye all over husbands pillow (well, that one at least only marginally affects me)

So I sneak out of bed trying not to wake her and proceed to sniff every piece of laundry on my floor hoping to find something that doesn't stink of either me, or the dog...no such luck.

Now I have to make my way out to the living room, naked, to sort through the ever growing pile of clothes I haven’t had time to fold. The thing you have to know about our living room, is that it offers absolutely NO privacy, with a giant picture window facing the street, and a city bus stop directly in front of my house, the man waving at me from the street only confirms what I have always suspected, everyone in this town has seen me naked.

Now, you may ask yourself, "Amy, why didn't you put on a robe? or wrap in a towel?" to which I would say, “Well blogging community, I don't own a robe, and all my towels are dirty because I hate laundry, that, and at 6am, all I can think about is, "Holy shit, that lazy ass didn't change the light bulbs again did he, remind me to kill him...Oooh pants! OW couch…"

Because the couch laundry pile has yielded positive results, clean pants that basically fit and a shirt that is somewhat appropriate for the early fall, I can’t tell if they match yet but I don’t have time to be picky, it is now time to release the hound.

The pugglet tears through the bathroom door at lightening speed, nearly toppling me in the process, I open the back door and she proceeds to bark at anything with a shadow and go to her super secret pooping spot because she can't be seen while pooping.The problem with this is that I know one day our land lord will show up, find nothing of the carefully hidden dog paraphernalia and then miraculously find a years worth of dog shit hidden behind a vault of some kind that she has erected and evict us for have a pet we aren't supposed to have.

So, while the pugglet sniffs and hides the pass code to her crap vault, I catch a glimpse of myself in a nearby mirror, now that I'm dressed, I realize that my hair is limp and somewhat greasy, checking the clock I see that it is far too late for a shower so extra deodorant and some mousse will have to cover my forgetfulness. Make up is, of course out, because I own only one tube of mascara, and a thing of pink eye shadow my sister talked me into buying and nothing to apply either, so, its another day of hearing, "Oh my, you look tired!" and "Are you feeling okay?" from the girls at the office.

With my hair somewhere between styled and tamed, and my odor contained I see that it’s now 7am and its time to wake the pink one. Pugglet follows me into my room and I start the morning song, my gentle wake up to her every morning; Booger, wake up, we gotta get moving! She starts to smile and shuts her eyes tight in definace...as Idgie lands on her face. So instead of a gentle wake up, we get a screaming fit that ends with Idgie the pugglet flying across the room.

She rises from the bed a tangled mess of pink hair, drool and Night Night, the ripped blue and green afghan my mother lovingly crafted prior to her birth. Unfortunately, my mother went a little overboard and Night Night is just about the right size for the newborn of a giant, rather than my little ball of baby, which allows her to effectively drown in Night Night with only her toes poking through the holes wiggling lightly.

She tells me her tummy hurts, she’s hungry, she doesn’t want to go to school, she needs to stretch and she hates me. And I remind her that it is now 7:05 and if she wants to make her own lunch its time to get up right now. She says simply “no”.

“isn’t the whole “I’m sick I don’t want to go to school” thing supposed to happen in junior high, or at the very earliest, elementary school?” Not my kid, she’s advanced.

I am eventually able to get her out of bed, this time I didn’t have to drag her, so that’s progress. I start throwing clothes at her as she vetos each outfit cast her way. “I don’t like jeans, dey awn’t comfowtable”, okay, how about a dress? “no, I want sweat pants.”

Nobody dreams of their kid being the sweatpants kid, you know the one. They always walk a little too fast to class, wear their backpacks, a little too high, speak in a voice that is just a little too whiny, as though she doesn’t have enough to deal with being the only one still trying to potty train, we are not adding sweat pants kid to the list of “idiosyncrasies” she has developed in her four short years.

“How about khakis? They feel like sweat pants”
“She grabs a pair of pink flowered pajama bottoms and a purple sweatshirt with a ballerina on the front. “Deese”

“lily, no, they don’t match and you are not wearing your pajama bottoms to school”
“Daddy wears them to work” she counters
“Well, Daddy is weird, put this on NOW or you don’t get lunch and you have to eat the school food.”

“FINE” she spits at me with a voice like venom, the sting running up my back and landing behind my eyes.

“LOSE THE TUDE KID” I yell back
“YOU TALK NICE MOM!” she retorts
“GET YOUR LITTLE BUTT INTO THOSE CLOTHES NOW BEFORE I SPANK YOUR ASS!”
Finally my tone sets her in motion and she scurries to the couch to put on the clothes she has reluctantly agreed to wear.

While she dresses I prepare the lunches and wait for her to enter the kitchen demanding to finish the sandwiches. I boil eggs for her breakfast and snack, cut up apples, spread peanut butter on to celery with raisins. I craft a nutritious and tasty lunch for my little daughter, all nicely fit together in her pink princess lunch box.

Once her clothes are on, she dissects the lunch box as I wrestle her hair into some semblance of order and shoes on her feet. She tells me how she hates or is in some way disgusted and sickened by each item in the lunch box. I let her finish up the sandwiches, smearing peanut butter on her pants from hers and over squirting mustard on mine. She smashes them together and licks her fingers, smiling at me and asking if she can have cookies for breakfast.

I managed to get my way out of that conversation without anymore threats or screeching and looking at the clock and see that it is now well past my 7:15 deadline and entering into the 7:30, “we better get our asses out the door” final deadline.

After grabbing Night Night, the lunchbox, my lunch bag, her back pack, and her shoes (which she has kicked off and is now refusing to wear) we pile into the car and head on our way. Now, in the early morning light, I see that my shirt and pants miraculously match, but realize that I forgot to brush my teeth, I will have to get some coffee to cover the smell of morning breath.

We make it to school, through the strange ritual of crawling on the ground speaking in her “kitty” voice which is high and somewhat whiny, while she demands the pink chair. I can’t help but wonder if the school will demand she be tested for some sort of learning disorder based on her obsession with cats and the color pink, but so far, they haven’t said much on the subject.

I pry her from my leg, rush out the door and jump in the car headed toward my office while inhaling from my morning cigarette, stopping only long enough to grab coffee and burn my tongue. Racing to the building I manage to make it in by 8, wondering how a 10 minute drive manages to take 45 minutes every morning, but, somehow it does.

Clocking in I start the rest of my daily routine; “looks at spreadsheets, says hrmmmmm”

Other People's Children

I know its wrong, but I can't help but want to call a four year old a total bitch. I haven't done it, but I'm definitely considering it.

Don't worry, I'm not talking about my own kid, as I have said before, she's more of a jerk, not so much a bitch. Today though, I ran into a little girl who is most definitely a bitch, or, more than likely, the daughter of a bitch and therefore, a bitch in training, and if this kid were 10, I totally would have told her so.

So here's the scenario, I get a call from the school because my daughter got into a fight today, and was complaining that her tummy hurt. As is the preschool protocol I went to pick her up and remove her from the situation.

As I walked in to the school I was greeted by an adorable red headed girl straight from the pages of Peanuts, she looked up and smiled and said "Lily, your mommy has the biggest tummy ever", bitch.

This little red headed pain in my ass and I have run into each other before, the last time when I was called to school, again, because Lily was fighting, the minute I walked in the door the precious angel told me that "Lily was mean and I should take her out of preschool"

At that point, I was already feeling a bit on edge and came back at her with "Yeah? well maybe you should try being nicer to Lily?" which was a lot nicer than what was actually going through my head.

So, the point of this ramble, and the subsequent profanity, is to say that I am dead sick of other peoples rude, and in this case downright bitchy, children.

These fights, which is kind of another issue on its own, have turned out to be becuase my kid is being seriously picked on at school, something I have suspected for awhile but did not have confirmation on until today.

When we got into the car I asked Lily if her tummy really hurt her or if she just didn't want to go to school, for the first time she told me the truth, "Mom, i don't like school, the kids are mean." and I almost cried.

She says that when she has an accident at school she is supposed to go change but Logan won't let her have any privacy to change in the bathroom, so she either 1) doesn't change, resulting in her getting in trouble and made fun of by the other kids, or 2) she pushes him, which makes sense to me on a practical level, if some little shit wouldn't give me any privacy in the bathroom, I'd probably get in a fight with him too.

Logan, along with the little read head, has been a trigger before, the last time I was called to school involved Logan as well. As someone who has worked with kids her whole life, I learned early on that most of the time when kids act out, their parents blame the teachers, and rarely discipline the kids, I didn't want to be one of those parents, so we gave time outs, we lectured and we made changes to her diet (she's hypoglycemic and LOSES it when she doesn't have enough protein) and things seemed to get better.

But now that the changes have been made, and most days are pretty good, until they aren't, I'm starting to sense a trend that has nothing to do with diet.

I started thinking about it, my kid, the smart, noisy, dark, sharing impaired, but generally good tempered potato is fine at home, demanding maybe, but otherwise pretty okay as long as she has plenty of protein in her body, is getting into fights, is hitting, is causing trouble...I don't see it. I don't see it at home, I don't see it around other kids, it seems to only occur at school, and seems to center around the red headed demon, and Logan. So it seems to me, we have a problem, with them, not with Lily.

It isn't right, 4 is too young to start learning that most people are generally ass holes. I really hoped that she would at least make it to second grade before she had to learn that lesson, but here we are.

Husband and I are faced with a choice, accept that some people, and therefore, some people's children, suck, and tell her to stick it out, talk to the school and the parents and raise a big stink, or pull her out and try something new.

We lucked out that a good friend of ours had recently lost her job and was looking to make some money, she has worked with kids for some time, speaks fluent Spanish (which Lily has been learning at school) and is willing to watch her for half what we are paying the daycare, so we made the decision, and I don't know if it was the right one, but its the one we made.

So I can't help but second guess myself on this one, how do you teach a 4 year old to deal with bullies? My first instinct is to congratulate her for standing up for herself, particularly in the bathroom confrontation, but I don't necessarily want her to be a bully herself, and I worry that encouraging her to fight back will just get her in trouble more than it will get the kids to leave her alone.

I read a parenting blog today that suggested inviting the kid over for a play date and getting to know his parents. But I kind of want to deck him, so that might not work. It also suggested engaging the teachers in dialogue about the situation and seeing what they have noticed, maybe that would be a better course of action, if I wasn't so damn furious.

I want my daughter to have strength, and I want her to have understanding, I don't want her to take shit, but I want her to learn to hold her temper, I have tried teaching her the "count to 5 and walk away" method, and I have also told her that if someone is hurting you, its okay to hurt them to make them stop, but then you need to run and tell an adult. I can't get out of her if this was the kind of situation she was dealing with today.

How do I help her without making excuses, and how do I keep her safe without keeping her sheltered?

I have no idea.

My decision to pull her out of school might not be the best decision there is, and certainly isn't practical in the long term, but its the best I could think of today, with a crying 4 year old who is making herself sick worrying about bullies at school.

My question for the rest of you is this, Have your kids, or have you, ever been bullied? At what age? What did you do when you found out your kids were being bullied? How did you control your temper, and how did you help them? Were you able to help them?

Any ideas? Help me!



Bullies, little jerks or misunderstood sensitive poets?
(polls)