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thoughts on life, parenting, news, and crazy shit

Mariah, Nobody Cares About Your Feelings

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Miami Herald

As I flipped through the news this morning, there was YET ANOTHER article about Mariah Carey and her stupid performance on New Year’s Eve.

This time she is going on and on about how her feelings are hurt.  She’s humiliated. 

Boo fucking hoo.

Can you please just get over yourself, Miss Thang?

Everyone else would just pleasantly forget about it and never talk about it again if you would just shut up and move on.   We get it.  You’re a professional performer who had the unfortunate experience of a technical malfunction at a live televised performance.

It sucked.  You sucked.   But it isn’t indicative of your overall abilities.

What it is appearing to be indicative of is your character.   The more you go on about it, the more I consider you a narcissistic cry baby asshole.   And I don’t want to think that about you because you used to be kinda amazing.

Everybody has a shitty day at the office, you know?  You’re not exempt from that.  You can’t change the past, so just move forward, okay?

What you can change however, is that horrible one piece sparkly bathing suit with feathers you had on and the stupid cheesy non dancing dance moves.   And fire your choreographer.  You looked liked a washed up Barbie whos limbs don’t bend all the way.   You know, those old school ones from the 80’s that only bent like 30 degrees at the knees but who’s arms were stuck at the awkward angle?

Please.  New Year’s Eve was 8 days ago.   Get over it.

 

Getting Rid Of The Guns Won’t Make People Not Assholes Anymore

bin_the_guns

Wikimedia Commons

As I’m sure you’ve all seen, yesterday there was yet another shooting in the United States.   This time 5 people were killed, 8 wounded, and thousands traumatized.

I kept thinking to myself what I would have done if I were there with my kids.   My first instinct would be to just to push them to the ground and shield them with my body.  My second would be to try and get behind something and just pray.

How does this keep happening?

I’ll tell you how.

We are broken.  The human race has made hate and judgement our priorities.  We have made our priorities to attack the things that are different from us and to harm the things that we are afraid rather than understand and tolerate them.

We are so, so broken.

And once again, there are cries of “get rid of all the guns”.  But that just isn’t going to happen.  You will never get rid of all the weapons out there, and even if you did, the crazies will always find a way to harm others.

People who intend to do harm will always do harm.

Should everyday civilians have access to assault and fully automatic weapons?   I personally don’t think so.

Should we have access to hunting weapons and recreational firearms used at gun ranges and marksmanship sports?  Yes, I think that’s reasonable.

And it goes without saying that all the checks and security precautions possible go into acquiring these weapons, including safe storage.

What I don’t get is how this man in Florida was permitted to remove his checked bag with his weapon inside while it contained ammunition.   How the fuck does that make any sense?  You go through all these “precautions” and checks to secure your gun in the baggage area, but as soon as the flight lands and you claim your bag you have FULL ACCESS to a firearm with ammunition in a crowded airport.

What the actual fuck is the point of any of the other security measures then?   Great.  He didn’t hijack the plane.  But he still shot up the airport.

We went through a period of time where babies bottles were being checked for explosives but some dude can check his gun and then load it in a bathroom and kill people?

Wouldn’t you have reasonably thought that there would be a rule where you can fly your gun ( for a hunting trip for example) as long as you have no ammunition with you?

Get your shit together, people.   Guns or no guns, nobody will be safe until you:

  1. Get your shit together. Make real rules that actually make things safe.
  2. Start putting resources into healing mental illness
  3. Stop hating each other
  4. Stop the mentality that all problems are solved with conflict and violence
  5. Change the culture

I really believe that guns are not the problem.  Doesn’t mean we should give access to military style weapons to civilians.   But if someone wants to do damage, they will find another way.

Change your hearts.  Educate.   FIX THIS.

The Double Sink Life

If there is any silver lining to the past few days while I have lied in a fever induced near death state, or at least a wish for death state, it is that this is the time of year where tv channels have marathons of all the things.

First it was The Walking Dead.  That on was harder to follow as I made trips back and forth to the bathroom during my stomach flu.  But also “Untold Stories of the ER” in which I got to see a man fall off a roof and land his face on a crowbar.   It made my gastro thing not seem so bad.

BUT, luckily for me, one day after recovering from my annual New Year’s Vomit Fest ( no it wasn’t from drinking, it started before I could even have one glass of wine) I succumbed to a lovely case of strep throat.

And with my new death spiral firmly settled, there was a new marathon:

House Hunters/House Hunters International

And if I learned one thing from watching this show, it’s this:

Americans are completely fucking obsessed with double sinks in the ensuite bathroom.

Why is that, exactly?

I mean, every other person on that show who isn’t from the states could give a single fuck about how many sinks are in the ensuite bathroom.

“Oh that’s just not going to work with both of us getting ready in the morning”

I mean, seriously.   What in the hell are you two doing in the sink in the morning that you can’t wait your fucking turn?  Are you bathing in the goddamn sink? Brushing your teeth lasts 2 minutes.    You can’t go find a pair of socks or start the coffee while your husband gargles some Listerine and wait a minute?   Your life will be ruined?

I mean, what a dealbreaker.

How would you feel if you knew that we are a family of four that has the horrible tribulation of one full bathroom with one sink?  With NO ENSUITE off the “master bedroom”.  With just a half bath off the rec room that also only has one sink.

How did we get here, folks?  How did we become that spoiled and ridiculous and in need of such immediate gratifications that we can’t figure out how to share one fucking sink in the bathroom?

Get a grip.  First World problems, assholes of the universe.   Figure your shit out.

Happy New Years, Sorta, Not Really.

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Pixabay

In keeping with all the New Year’s wishes and sentiments out there, I thought I’d write out a few quick thoughts about it all.

New Year’s doesn’t really mean shit to me.

I know.   For most of you, it’s a time where you reflect on the past year, thinking of all the ups and downs.   Mourning your losses and celebrating your gains.   Thinking about all the things you wish you could get back and all the others you’d like to do over.   Desperately clinging to those happy things that you want to freeze in time.

But  for me, the changing of a calendar is just that.   Changing of the number when I write a cheque or sign my name somewhere.

I stopped believing in New Year’s resolutions because I think it’s just one more way we try to tell ourselves we aren’t enough as we are, and somehow the magic change of the calendar year will give us the strength we need to do better.

I started believing in accepting where I was in the moment and embracing it.   And THEN looking for opportunities for growth.  I stopped believing that a new year was the catalyst I needed to do more for myself and my family.

It’s just a number.

So many people have remarked on how 2016 sucked.   But for me, it was just another year.   There were shitty moments and wonderful ones.  Happy tears and sad ones.   And that is just how it goes.

So anyway, I will take the time to wish you a Happy New Year, but most importantly, I wish you all the very best you are able to give yourselves whether it starts today, or March 3rd, or November 30.

And if it takes you until the very last second to make a positive change in your life, the year is not a bust.  It’s not lost.

Have a happy life, Bitches.   Ride hard and fast, and love all the minutes.  Don’t wait for the calendar to give you permission to be awesome.  Just be awesome whenever.

 

It’s Ok To Remember Carrie Fisher As Beautiful Too.

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Wikimedia Commons

2016 has been a sad year in terms of iconic people we have lost.  *We* as in the world.

Entertainers, philanthropists, activists, artists, good people who not only used their talents to make us laugh and cry, or sing and dance, but who used the fame from that to try and make this world less shitty.

This week we have all been shocked by the unexpected death of everyone’s favourite princess. Carrie Fisher was one of those unforgettable faces and actresses who were timeless.

So, this morning while reading the news online, I came across this article on msn.com  about how New York magazine got their tits in a knot when Steve Martin commented how Carrie Fisher was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen when he was young.

They went on to comment about how she would rather be remembered for her talents blah blah blah blah.

I call bullshit.

Is that what feminism is?  Disallowing any comment about a woman’s beauty?   What a bunch of double standard, hypocritical crap.   How many beauty ads are gracing the pages of every single magazine, online article or newspaper?

Look.  I agree.  Carrie Fisher’s contribution to this world far exceeds the iconic image of her kicking Jabba the Hut’s ass while wearing that gold bikini, but it doesn’t mean that isn’t a part of who she was.  Steve Martin was commenting on how that image of her was imprinted on him as a young man.  It’s one of the most recognizable images of movie history.  Just because he acknowledges that it made an impression on him doesn’t take anything away from her.   It’s his memory, and he just shared it.

For God’s sake people.  Has feminism come so far that to call a woman beautiful and to say that it is memorable is insulting?

Give me a fucking break.

For good or bad, that image of Carrie is part of who she is, and part of what allowed her to become the advocate for addiction and mental health that she did.  I’d like to think that she would like to be remembered for all of that.  I’d like to think that she would want to be remembered as a woman who was able to embrace this world, that likely emphasizes too much on physical beauty and use it for great things.   She WAS beautiful.  It’s not insulting or taking anything else away from her to say so.

Calm the fuck down.

 

What Kind Of Mom Are You At The Playground?

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Pixabay

Yesterday I decided to do the dumbest thing in the world and take both of my tiny humans to the mall in the post Christmas sales blitz.

But the mall has a play area you see.   And we were on the second day after a blizzard, it was fucking cold outside and Husband was sleeping after a night shift.

The mall was my only hope.

So we went.  I found some fabulous boots on sale, the monsters didn’t monster too bad in the shoe stores and I rewarded them with a lengthy run in the overcrowded, germ infested insanity of the mall play area.

It was ridiculously busy, so I didn’t dare even take a “mom-out” to look at my phone for fear that Buddy would fuck off on me just for a special Christmastime treat.

Instead, I watched.  And I found it super interesting to watch the other parents out there.  Their style.   Their involvement.  The way they speak to their kids.

There’s a lot of different types of moms out there.

Myself, I’m a stay out of it but watching the whole time kind of mom.  I like to see the kids play and figure out how to interact with other personalities without much coaching from me.  I like to see them react or not react to what the other kids do, and especially love to see how kids just play with other kids without hesitation.  I am always ready to jump in if they can’t figure something out, but I figure they won’t learn how to push their boundaries and physical limitations if I always step in.   I like to let kids be kids, so to speak.

Also, I like to sit the fuck down for a few minutes sometimes, and let my children be entertained by other children.

There was this one mom who actually called her child over and told him not to play with my child because Buddy at one point had his finger up his nose.  “Don’t go over there and touch where he touched”.  

Lady, while I appreciate your effort to rid the world of communicable diseases, I can assure you that every surface in a crowded mall play area contain some type of booger or spit or tears or something equally gross.   He’s three.  He pretty much has a finger in his nose or down his pants 75% of the time, regardless of efforts on my part to get him to leave his orifices alone. Give it up.

There was another poor mom who had a baby on her hip, and spent the entire time chasing her two-ish year old back into the playground.  She was the mom who was constantly redirecting her kid, and got no rest at all.

God I remember those days.  Mall people:  Can you get a brain and put a gate across the exit so this poor woman can sit down and have a coffee while her kid runs free for a few minutes?

Then there’s the dads.  They tend to not ever say anything to their kids.  No nagging, no calling for them, no baby talking them.  They just physically alter their kid’s course by picking them up, twirling them upside down a few times, and setting them down in a different place.  An ultimate disorientation and redirection plan.  I like it.  I like it A LOT.

Then there’s the regular parents that just sit there.  Sometimes they chat with you.  These are my favourite kind.  Nobody trying to out-parent you.  Not trying to tell you how to do a better job.  Just normal parents.

What kind of Mom are you at the mall, Bitches?

 

 

Motherhood: Limiting Or Limitless?

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Pinterest

Over a Sunday morning coffee while watching our not so tiny humans play, I caught myself saying the words “It can be really limiting”.

The “It”  was motherhood.   The “It” was irregular work hours.  The “It” was financial obligations and a need and desire to provide all the things I could for my kids.

But what was I limiting?

We were talking about work, career, and furthering our education.   We were talking about giving ourselves a little bit of consideration after spending time at home with our children.

And then it dawned on me.  The only thing that I’ve been  limiting was my career, and perhaps due to guilt by association, my ego. 

Because you know what wasn’t being limited one bit?   The privilege of getting to see the first steps of both of my kids.  The privilege of hearing their first words, and soothing their first face plant. I was the one to make my daughter feel better when she got stung by a wasp, and make her first sandcastle, and print her name for the first time.

I’ve been there all along.

I’ve had the privilege of letting my kids drive me up the fucking wall and around some asshole’s bend every single day since they were born.  I’ve been blessed to spend so much time with them that I need a break and fantasize about a 24 hours alone in my house.

So you know what hasn’t been limited?  The opportunity to raise decent kids in a world full of greed and assholery and downright nastiness.   My chance to make the world a wee bit better has not been limited because my ego said that I should be more than what I am.  I have been gifted this chance to have such a huge impact on their lives and the people that they become.  Isn’t that more important than feeling like I am keeping up with my friends who have high paying, highly successful careers?  Is it ok to put my family first and catch up later?  Or not catch up later because really, who gives a fuck about what I do anyway?  When did I decide that my children are limiting my life?  Because I want a better job?  Because I want a PHD added to my name?  When did I decide that being a mom isn’t enough for me?

I’ve decided that at least for now, I am ok with my primary description as “mother”. 

Because that’s not limiting.   It’s limitless.

The time will come when they’ll need me less, or at least differently then they do now.   When that time comes I will answer that quiet nagging to continue to feed my ego’s needs for career and change and education and success and whatever that entails.  In the meantime, I’m going to try to transform what I’ve been seeing as limitations into limitless opportunities of memory making and moments that I will never get back again.  And appreciating that so many of us don’t have that chance.

Kudos to all those women who work hard every day and sacrifice so much time with their kids.  Kudos to those moms who are able to seize an opportunity for education or travel or whatever makes them feel good.   Kudos for being able to balance it all.

But for me right now, it’s ok not to be the best at everything all the time, as long as I’m the best at what is most important to me.   I’m going to allow myself the luxury of being ok with who and what I am in this moment, not because I am limited by my current situation, but because I am blessed by it.

 

 

Motherhood Isn’t For Everyone, And That’s Ok.

I read this article over tea this morning and I have to say it struck a bit of a nerve.  It’s a bit long, but it describes how many moms ( and dads too) secretly resent and hate motherhood.

And I don’t blame them one little bit.

Here’s the raw truth, no Facebook filters or sneak peeks into how amazing our days are.

Motherhood is the shits a lot of the time.

It actually really fucking sucks a good chunk of the time.

I can see how so many women are just not interested in participating in something that literally sucks the life force out of you and spits you back out in an effort to still be a moderately well functioning member of society.

Your whole life now revolves around managing unreasonable, moody, nonsensical tiny humans and keeping them alive every day.   You are blessed with the task of trying to take these maniacal little dictators who push you to the very limit of your humanity every 90 seconds and turn them into someone who will not end up contributing to the general assholery of the world.

It complicates everything.   You can’t just take a class, or go back to school, or volunteer your time, or make yourself a better human in any way without having to figure out who is going to step in and do your mom job for you while you are out making yourself less of a shit.

All while not sleeping, managing household tasks, cleaning, managing what’s left of your career and generally just trying not to fucking explode into one of the 17 directions you are being pulled in on a daily basis.

It’s not for everyone.

And like anything else, sometimes you don’t know that until it’s too late.  And I can understand why some women just can’t.

Some days I feel like that too.

And yes.   I know I wanted this.   I know that I CHOSE this.   I know that so many women can’t have children and probably hate everything about what I am saying.   But Bitches.

Motherhood is really hard.   And just because it was my decision to make this my life doesn’t make it go away and doesn’t take away my right to say so.

BUT.

There is this nagging thing for me that makes it all ok.   And that nagging thing is a love so strong that not only would I step in front of oncoming traffic to save my babies, but I would do so repeatedly, every goddamn day  for the rest of my existence.   I would sacrifice my own growth for them a thousand times over so that they can become twice the person I am.

And yeah.   Sometimes it’s hard to see women around me doing all these amazing things professionally and socially and fucking just generally while I am at home trying to convince my three year old to eat his lunch and that licking ketchup off his fingers doesn’t count.

But I don’t care.   I count my successes in smiles and hugs and successful trips to the potty.  I can’t do it all and won’t try to anymore.

But for some of you out there that feel like you’re drowning and you wish that your life was something other than what it is……I see you.   I get you.   I could be you.

It’s not for everyone.   But hang on if you can, and hopefully one day that will change.

And for the rest of us……find your people.   Support your people.   Don’t mom alone….there is strength in numbers!

 

 

I’m Pretty Sure I Invented Mom Guilt, But You Can Share

A good friend of mine posted a little video about mom guilt on Facebook this morning. A bunch of mom’s talking about the things they could take back from the day, lies they told their kids, things they wish they hadn’t said.

And here I thought I invented Mom Guilt.  Turns out that deep down, a lot of you Bitches feel like you suck balls at this gig too.

I suffer from this guilt thing a lot.  Husband works long days, and by the end of his rotation I usually feel ready to either sell my children to anyone who likes repeating themselves over and over again with no results, or literally filling the bathtub up with tequila in hopes that is a pleasant way for me to drown.

In this stupid day and age of being hopelessly busy and being pulled in 5000 directions at once, I simply cannot deal with the amount of time it takes my children to accomplish one task. Why is it SO HARD to put your fucking shoes on?   Why is that always the wrong hat?  Why can they not pay attention for long enough to put on their jacket and for GOD”S SAKE how come nobody can stand straight and face me when I try to zip it up?

Sometimes I cannot handle the random crying and drama that occurs seemingly every second without justification.  The fights about nothing.  The tattle-taling.  The whining.  The constant needing.  The mess making.

The pants shitting.

And so I do what every mother out there has done for generations.

I yell.  I threaten.  I punish.

And.I.Get.Nowhere.

Besides feeling horrible and making them feel horrible, that is.  I also get one step closer to needing therapy and detox and a new liver.  But that’s a whole other post.

And then I put them to bed and think “Tomorrow is a new day.  A better day.  I will be more patient and try to spend more time just hanging out with them.  All they really want is more attention.  I can do this.”

And then, the next day happens and I am so busy feeding them and cleaning up after them and doing laundry and working that time runs out again and I left with the mom guilt for another day. I never, ever, ever, feel like it’s enough.  Like I’m enough.

Thankfully, every now and again, we have a day where everything goes just right.  I put all my bullshit aside and focus just on them.  I say “yes” more often.  I let the schedule go.  I let the dishes sit.  I make all the things that are usually such a big ass deal no big deal, and just fucking let it stay where it is. We stay up past bedtime.  We get dirty and eat junk food and just never mind about all the things that really aren’t that important after all.

And it’s all ok.  Everybody is still alive the next day.

So far.

And then I feel guilty that I don’t do all that more often.

But you see Bitches.  Mom guilt is just this thing that happens when you love something so much that you set up this impossible standard for yourself.  It’s when you love something so much you can’t possibly ever do enough because there is no action that could ever possibly declare just how much you actually love it.

We will always have mom guilt because we won’t ever be done trying to give our children every single thing they need to be nice humans and smart humans and happy humans.  We have the mom guilt because even though children need to be corrected, and moms are allowed to get frustrated, we don’t want our kids to ever for one second think we aren’t on their side.

We feel guilt because we want more for them than is possible to give.  So we never feel like it’s enough.

So, chin up Bitches.  Tell a few lies that helps to avoid a temper tantrum.  Yell at them when they are assholes, because sometimes love involves teaching them that being an asshole is not a desirable endeavour. Drink the wine and vow to love them JUST AS MUCH TOMOROW  as you do today.  Not more, because that’s hardly possible.

And have a “free day” sometimes where you just lower your expectations and give yourselves a goddamn break.

 

 

 

 

 

In The Old Days….Kids Still Shit Their Pants At 3 Too.

In the Old Days, and by that I mean before there was such a thing as social media, how did you do it, Bitches?

And by IT I mean, how did you raise your children without:

  • having a heart attack
  • feeling judged
  • getting SOME decent advice
  • complaining to the universe
  • venting
  • hating better moms than you
  • being told how you’re doing it wrong

Because honestly, I love social media.  Sometimes I hate it when women are being total cunts about all the things I am doing to raise my kids, but usually it’s pretty helpful.

I was just having a free for all rant/advice thread on my Facebook page about the frustrations of potty training, and really, everyone kept it helpful and nice and nobody made me feel like an asshole at all.  Which was kinda cool because I already feel like that anyway.

But THEN, I had a lovely private conversation with an awesome girl about her struggles, and she made a comment about how she wonders if all the people with late pottiers ( is that a word?) are just not saying anything because they feel embarrassed.

YES.

For sure they are.

Whenever I go out to some thing with kids, there is always some woman talking about how they started potty training at 8 months and how wonderfully easy it was.  It’s like some sort of sign of brilliant parenting.

But what if it isn’t?  What if you read all the books and go to all the playgroups and learn from these great moms and try so hard with stickers and candy and praise and dedication?

And the truth is that you kid just really still is more comfortable shitting their pants than going on the toilet?  What if the truth is that the age your kid learns to piss on the pot is NOT indicative of your ability as a parent or the future career path of your little genius?

I wonder if you took a class of Harvard graduates and asked them each what age they stopped shitting their pants if their answers would vary?

I don’t know.  I know that potty training is annoying and frustrating and that I appreciate all the things that people offered in order to help me.  But honestly, the thing that helped me the most were the moms and dads who were just honest about how it really is, and shared things with me openly.  It’s nice to know that if you suck at something, there are others in your village who suck just as bad.

And lived to tell about it.

 

 

 

AfterOtis

Written by Natalie Louise Oldham.

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