Hobo Teacher

If you don't already read this blog, you should.

SWOT - 31 Days To a Build a Better Blog - i do it for you

Feel free to skip this post - it will probably bore you.

*****

I signed up to participate in a 31 Days to Building a Better Blog Program (and it's not too late, you can, too). I did it for you. I love my blog. I'm proud to have kept it going for so long (3rd anniversary coming up) and I still very much enjoy blogging. I rarely have writers block, but not everything I post is up to snuff. So, maybe this little thing will help me to give you a higher quality product. You're welcome.

But first, I'm supposed to Run a SWOT analysis: Strengths, Weaknesses, Opportunities, and Threats.

1. Define your mission and goals.

I blog to maintain a record of my life, to find myself when I Google me, to force me to hash out my political and religious philosophies, and to connect to other thinking individuals whose diapers I am not responsible to change.

My goals are to post 4 times a week, update the goings on of my family, search for solutions to the political issues that weigh on my heart (Daylight Saving Time, Gay Marriage, etc.), improve the quality of my writing while maintaining my unique style and voice. I'd also like to use my blog as a springboard to/practice for a professional writing career.

2. List your blog's strengths.

My blog is not limited to one topic or genre - there is a bit of variety. I consistently publish almost daily. I have several commentors of various diverse backgrounds who force me to carefully justify and analyze my views and who continue to read even when we disagree (I love my readers/commentors). I add a unique perspective to the Mormon Mommy Blog genre. I genuinely enjoy blogging.

3. List your blog's weaknesses.

I use a very casual writing style, an attempt to sound conversational - this is not necessarily compatible with professional writing. I often publish shite just to have something new up. I worry that when I post on oft discussed topics (DST, gay marriage) it is redundant and boring to my readers. I don't have a swanky mast or special button - my blog is very straight out of the box in appearance. Two years of untagged posts. I'm not actively trying to publish, to get my writing in front of publishers. If I allow myself to be categorized as "just another Mormon Mommy Blog" it limits my audience.


4. List your blog's opportunities.

I got some exposure through an article on Religious Dispatch. Also Be Gay About It (no such thing as bad publicity, they say).

5. List your blog's threats.

Stereo-typical Mormon Mommy Blogs - silly fluffy narrow. Readers who come with preconceived ideas about me.

6. Analyze your reflections and generate strategies.

If I have any hope of using my blog as kind of a portfolio, bait, the work needs to be higher quality, need to take it more seriously. Also, if blog is to record life happenings, need to regularly speak to that. If I worry my topics are stale and I have no new insight, probably don't need to keep posting on it (except DST).

7. Plan to do something and do it.

Read each post out loud before publishing it. Delete as much as possible - be concise. I'd like to work harder on generating new readers and keeping them coming back, but not sure how.

Sick

Now we have a coughing illness.

All three of us here at home.

*hack hack, bark bark, wheeze, sigh*

and no, the vicks in the socks didn't work.

I just wanna feel good again.

Nap.

and i think sagers puked in her crib, so if you wouldn't mind ...

Canon keeps asking if I have a penis. (I don't).

Head. ow.

sucky post. posting anyway.

A Coward's Response

A while back, I was looking for answers. I was beyond confused and could not reconcile my life long support for the gay rights movement with the council of my church.

It wasn't an easy time to be in my head. But I came to a place of clarity.

It was not well received.

As always, I survived. Mostly intact. More cautious.

Now. Now I am afraid. Afraid to say one word. To comment. I am afraid my attempts at illumination will be taken as an attack. I am so weary of the topic. It confuses me that such anger came from an attempt for understanding?

I can handle being wrong; it happens all the time.

I have to continue following that blog. I care. I need to know how it goes. It is illuminating.

But I can't contribute there: today was the third time I wanted to post a comment, started to, and decided I better not risk it. Anonymous isn't an option for me and I worry that my name makes my words unreadable.

Go read today's post. If you're lazy, to summarize, it lays out the parallels in experience between religious fundamentalists and LGBTs which makes the two communities such perfect rivals.

One line I wish to contend, here, safely on MY blog: "Both camps also saw themselves in an ultimate struggle. For gays, that meant the eradication of prejudice; for fundamentalists, it was the scripturally demanded battle against sinners and their sins.

Maybe I'm not fundamentalist enough, but my goal in life is not the eradication of all sin in the world. That would be an effort in futility. All are sinners and God loves us all anyway. My scriptures warn ME against sin and command me to warn my brothers and sisters. But those who believe in Christ, believe our faith and obedience activate the power of the atonement. Though our sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.

I don't think sins are a big deal.

I'm sure there are plenty of scriptures one could pull up about the battle against sin (well actually, my perfunctory search turned up nothing relevant), but the purpose of my life, as it relates to others, is to obey the two great commandments: to love God and to love my neighbor. All the commandments focus my life at one of those two purposes. I can't find any scriptural reference indicating MY purpose is to universally eradicate sin or sinners. I'm pretty sure none exist (78.452%).

When you talk of battle lines and you vs me, it tells me, in your mind, we are at war. It tells me you think I want you dead. That's a lie you tell yourself so you can hate me.

You think I am unbendable. You refuse to acknowledge how far I have stretched.

You keep calling for war, for a leader to wage your war. I want peace. There are a lot on my "side" like me, confused, trying. We're not out for blood, yet you lump us all together as one evil enemy, without even the slightest attempt (as far as I've read) to hear, listen, or understand. You don't have to agree with me, I don't agree with you ... but if we truly seek for progress, we all have to abandon the us/them mentality.

Where to start?

one...

Testicle Festival - Have a Ball

I don't have much to add from the title. Here's the story.

And, for all the guys out there, here's a picture.


Now behave.

Uplifting the Sick With The Color Purple

When page one has our main character, age 14, being raped by her father ... there really is no place to go but up, right?

(I've am definitely turning to some nice YA literature next!)

The Color Purple was a hard book to read. Very profane, graphic, violent, sexual. Abused, ignorant characters living out their miserable, bestial lives. I plowed through about 150 pages out of friendly obligation before the book started looking up. And by looking up, I mean our poor, abused protagonist gets involved in a lesbian relationship with a lovable whore.

Someone tell me why modern literature is so graphic, so "edgy." It's as if writers feel required to take the most messed up, revolting situations they can possibly fathom, then inflict and mutilate their protagonists. Because modern audiences have "seen it all?" Reading the vulgarity of life is challenging; I don't enjoy it. It's that whole curious voyeur stuff -you keep saying to yourself, wow, that is some sick merde (because you swear in French to yourself). There was a lot of raunchy filth in this book. The ugliness of the situation made it hard for me to appreciate the mediocrity our characters achieve at the end.

And I guess that was kind of the point: Much of life is ugly, wicked, and painful. If you don't make the effort to see "the color purple" or, the beauty and love God has created for us, life is all pain with no point. BUT if you can force yourself to wake up and see God's love and to love others - that's all it takes to make life bearable. Then your dirty old step-father dies, leaves you a pretty house and you can make a living sewing pants with your previously abusive husband and share the now geriatric lovable whore.

I had to read the first line of the last chapter or I'd never had made it through.

I'd love to hear your take.

*****

A long time ago, I went to a little movie called Moulin Rouge. I LOVED it. I happened to be rehearsing The Sound of Music at the time and it made reference to my show. It had the amazing EwanMcGregor singing his beautiful heart out. It had a devastating ending. Greg and I went right out and bought the soundtrack afterwards.

When the movie came out on DVD, of course I bought it and we invited my favorite cousin (who had somehow missed it completely?!) and her almost husband over to watch it. THEY GOT UP AND LEFT IN THE MIDDLE! I was flabbergasted. Who couldn't LOVE this film.

So, now, when people recommend something they love to me, I have to remember to handle with care. Please, do not be offended by my opinions about this book; I am an unqualified hack with no teacher to impress by mimicking their insight.

Picture from irishview.com.

I Faked It at Waterworld in 1995

In 1995, I hadn't done much of that boy asks a girl out and they go somewhere thing. Dating, it's called. That summer, I went to Nampa, ID and stayed a few weeks with my favoritest cousin and her wonderful family.

There was a boy ... his name escapes me. He was a friend of my cousin and he worked at the Sno Hut. We visited him there a few times to buy yummy snow cones (my favorite that year: Tiger's Blood). Then one day, he asked if I would like to go to a movie with him.

How quaint.

I agreed.

Oh, wait, let me backtrack. One huge important detail: for whatever silly, bizarre reason (because we were girls, is all I can think), when my cousin introduced me, we had decided to tell the guy I was her cousin from London, England. Every time I talked to him, I'd affect the best British accent I could and make up impromptu lies about my life across the pond. Not to brag, I'm kind of a good liar ... ahem ... ahctress.

Okay, so now I'm going to a movie with this guy. I should have just come clean in the car on the way to the theater, but, no, (DANIEL, his name was Daniel) I just kept on with my "how aahhr you to night?" and "Whaht? No spahkling wahter? Ah'll just hahv a Sprite then."

He took me to Waterworld. He covered his eyes during the full backal nudity. He was a shy, sweet boy and I totally lied to him, every word EVERY WORD I uttered was false.

He never suspected a thing.

After I'd gone home, (TO BURLEY, IDAHO) my deception came out: My cousin's brother (who is also my cousin, of course) happened to work in the same grocery store as Daniel's father. Daniel's father asked my cousin if they'd sent that girl back to England, yet. I'm sure there must have been a Whiskey Tango Foxtrot moment as my web of confusion and lies was unraveled. Ah. Silliness. I hope poor Daniel was ok. I hope.

MORAL OF THE STORY: You tell me.

Crichton's Movie

Crichton, my little writer, has taken his story writing skills over to the movie making world. He's been working on this first piece for quite a few days.

Now, I am not going to sit here and tell you I didn't help him, that he is a super genius computer wiz (even though I think so). I helped him quite a bit, taught him how to use the program, but I wasn't so involved that I had to "fix" every little thing until it was "perfect." He did learn how to import pictures and songs from their various folders within my computer, how to add titles and credits, how to import pictures he drew himself when he couldn't find any he liked from our libraries, basically, how to edit a story together. This program (Windows Movie Maker) is very user friendly and an excellent creative outlet.

Crichton asked if I would put it on my blog - he is quite proud of it.

So, without further achoo, let me present Crichton's first movie: Crichton Saves the World.



I think we forgot to credit the music - it's All American Rejects, Move Along.

Jesus Jokes, I Kid You Not

Me: (after getting my child a glass of water, not waiting for HIM to thank me) Thank you, my beautiful, wonderful mother; you are the best mother ever!

Crichton: No. I don't think you are the best mother ever?

Me: Wha??

C: Heavenly Mother is probably the best mother ever.

Me: Yes, perhaps you are right. But I'm number 2, then, right?

C: You are probably like 20 or 21.

Me: Yeah?

C: Because all the prophet's mothers.

Me: So, but I am still like 20 or 21st best mother ever?

C: Yes.

Me: And (quick check to make sure other son is not in hearing distance) you are the best son ever!

C: No. Jesus was the best son ever.

Me: Yeah, you're probably right. You make me laugh.

Later that evening.

C: Jesus used to tell jokes.

Me: Yeah?

C: Yes, but nobody liked them.

Me: Oh?

C: They were all Christ jokes.

Me: Uh... Oh?

C: Yeah. Like Knock, knock.

Me: Who's there?

C: Christ.

Me: (watching for lightening) Um ... Christ who?

C: Christ the Lord. But no one thought it was funny. Then he made up that boo hoo one: Knock, knock.

Me: Who's there?

C: Boo.

Me: Boo who?

C: Don't cry. Jesus Christ will save you.

*****

See how my kid is? Can you IMAGINE if we had regular family prayer, scripture study, and family home evening, like they tell us. This is my kid on once a week church and nightly prayers. Sometimes I think I SHOULD do it all, but, wow, Crichton is a little zealot.


*****

Hello too much time on Facebook. On a completely different note, a guy I went to high school with (Jeremy Bingham, if you're a Burleyite) is compiling a book of essays written by everyone entitled My America. If you want to shoot something over to him, send your 1 page essay (just like school, 'member) to: nopartyjustamericans@gmail.com. I posted his request on my Facebook profile (you could be my friend if you'd like). Due May 1st. Write something brilliant, why doncha.

I Can Read - Nolite te bastardes carborundorum

I just finished The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood. On of my delicious readers recommended it to me and, considering how I often think about love and marriage and religion and POST APOCALYPTIC POLITICO-RELIGIOUS sexcapades, this was a great recommendation.

I am one of those dreaded readers who needs to know the end of a book before I get there. I have no qualms about spoiling the end for others (SO STOP READING THIS BLOG POST NOW IF YOU ARE ANTI-SPOILER AND HAVE ANY INTENTION OF READING THE BOOK IN THE FUTURE) because reading a book is the only time I get to peak into the future and prepare my heart accordingly. I found out, in advance, that Dumbledore dies. My husband is still disgusted with me.

I just don't like surprises.

So, if you've read The Hadndmaid's Tale, you might imagine that I am extremely EXTREMELY disappointed with the end of this book. EXTREMELY unsatisfied. EXTREMELY waggling my finger at Margaret Atwood. You don't write a work of fiction, stopping at the climax and let your story stand as a pseudo-historical document. Take me on a 300 page journey to no freaking where. Canadians ... pshaw. I can't even express how frustrated I am. Maybe Ms. Atwood has 35+ published works, but that just goes to show, she should KNOW BETTER! I will never be able to see Atwood's name on the cover of a book and not sigh and roll my eyes.

That said - I kind of liked it. 7/10. I liked it better than Brave New World (a nice group murder rather than an orgy ... po-tay-toe, pah-tah-toe). The persona character was compelling, despite a confusing plot. Some of the ideas are very interesting to explore.

It's taken me hours to find the bit I wanted to quote. Can I advise, if one plans on blogging about a book, one ought to somehow mark the parts one wants to quote. Saves so much time. But then again, carefully reviewing this, knowing how it bounces around in time, I must say Atwood does a remarkable job of NOT losing the reader)...

The basic background: In the not too distant future, something happens in America, politically, and basically all the women's rights are taken away: property, speech, movement, even reproductive rights. In this new society, all women essentially dress like nuns and their lives are limited to a few niches - wives (blue dresses), household help (green), young girls (white), and baby making machines (red). The main character is a red dress. She HAD a normal life with a guy (not quite her husband) and they had a daughter together. She was captured as part of this not-well-explained big political power shift, taken to a retraining camp, and is now essentially a concubine, trying to make a baby for the Commander and his wife. The sex act is a twisted emotionless manage-a-trios (I hope that's spelled right, some things you just know you can't Google). I'm not sure how one could tell this story without the graph details.

One night the Commander wants to play Scrabble with her. All very taboo, red dresses aren't supposed to read or write, yet alone be alone with the husbands. Whatever. So they have this "affair." Nothing matters because we never find out what happens in the end (I am still so frustrated - maybe I could ask the author what she had in mind, cuz it's making me a little crazy).

I think that's enough background for you - the bit I found interesting to quote and discuss is a conversation between our nameless main character and her "boss" (oh, and I think Atwood's computer had an issue with quotation marks, sometimes they are used, sometimes not ... another annoying thing, doubly so when you get to the "end" and find out it's not even really a "historical document" but transcription from cassette tapes, so why no quotation marks?) :

We've given them more than we've taken away, said the Commander. Think of the trouble they had before. Don't you remember the singles' bars, the indignity of high school blind dates? The meat market. Don't you remember the terrible gap between the ones who could get a man easily and the ones who couldn't? Some of them were desperate, they starved themselves thin or pumped their breasts full of silicone, had their noses cut off. Think of the human misery.

Yes, think of all you do? Me, I pluck my eyebrows. I hate it and I love how I look after I do it. One woman, who's blog I love, spent $500 to have botulism injected into her lovely face last Friday. And me, running on the treadmill, pretending like the 5K is the goal ... ha ha ha. I'd like to put in writing, to publicly vow, I am not going to Botox my laugh lines, not going to fill with gel, my saggy milk sacks, not going to pay money to sit in a cancer coffin, not going to put harsh chemical overlays on my nails, or buy into the notion that I can improve the inside by FIRST improving the outside. I mean it. (today)

...And then if they did marry, they could be left with a kid, two kids, the husband might just get fed up and take off, disappear, they'd have to go on welfare. Or else he'd stay around and beat them up. Or if they had a job, the children in daycare or left with some brutal ignorant woman, and they'd have to pay for that themselves, out of their wretched little paychecks. Money was the only measure of worth, for everyone, they got no respect as mothers. No wonder they were giving up on the whole business. This way they're protected, they can fulfill their biological destinies in peace. With full support and encouragement. Now, tell me. You're an intelligent person, I like to hear what you think. What did we over look?

Love, I said.

Love? said the Commander. What kind of love?

Falling in love, I said. The Commander looked at me with his candid boy's eyes.

Oh, yes, he said. I've read the magazines, that's what they were pushing, wasn't it? But look at the stats, my dear. Was it really worth it, falling in love? Arranged marriages have always worked out just as well, if not better.

...

Those years were just an anomaly, historically speaking, the Commander said. Just a fluke. All we've done is return things to Nature's norm.

Is he right? I certainly enjoy having reproductive freedom, and all the other's, but I wonder what the stats really are. Does choosing your mate make for a happy marriage, happy life? Some people really, really suck at spouse-picking. Certainly, it's no guarantee. And women are much more likely to be living in poverty ... I mean we have freedom, but it's still not fair. Who do we have to blame for the disparity? Just ourselves, right? It's my fault I chose to get married before I finished my education. All the choices after that have made me increasingly dependent upon my dear husband. At this point, my life is so completely entrenched, so fully supported by his continuing commitment to his marriage vows, if he falters, my world collapses.

I don't know, this would have been a great book to read and discuss in college. I doubt this book would ever be an acceptable Book Club book, at least not in my 'hood. So, I read for entertainment, escape, information. This book let me down a little. I spent a lot of time getting to know the persona, caring, then the author just leaves me hanging. Cheap, says me. Lazy. Now, I'll always wonder in my mind, what ever happened to that red dress woman. The persona was kind of weak (like me), let things happen, take a little power here and there ... but we never get to see how it pays off or ruins her.

My husband would NEVER have let me write a book like this ;)



post script - having just now read the wikipedia article about this book - I'm a little offended. She won the Arthur C. Clark award for this, then went on to mock Sci fi, saying it's all chemicals and rockets or squids in space. I'm liking this author less and less. Clearly, she is a literary snob and completely unaware of what good sci fi really is. See if I ever pick her up again. hmmm, maybe an author's personal views DO effect how I read their books. Except I wasn't THAT impressed to begin with.

Taking a Nap

I've been trying to write you a nice inspiring post about how brilliant my Sunbeams are, how they have changed me in just a few months, how challenging it is and yet how it so completely exemplifies everything I believe about Christianity.

Sunbeams are perfection.

However, I was up almost all night last night (two little teeth about to bust through). And we're out of bread. And I am reading a book I must finish (Handmaid's Tale, if you must know - what a strange little story).

So, I apologize.

Um ... here's a funny story:

Ok. Sorry. I can't actually think of any funny stories or communicate them in any way that won't come out sounding like my husband is a psychopath.

Tell me a funny story, why doncha?

PANDORA

Hey, if you're cleaning your house today and thinking, wow, if I only had some awesome music to listen too (and your iPod is dead) - I have the answer to your prayers.

There is this site called Pandora that is magic and you will love it. Say you feel like listening to something like Cake. You type in Cake and they give you all kinds of great music kind of like Cake (I want a girl with a short skirt and a looooooooooooong jacket).

It is the music genome website - you can type in Weezer and get some Weezer, then some They Might Be Giants, some Green Day, some random British punks. You can put in Lenka and get the cutest happy girly music you could ever hope for.

AND IT IS FREE. FREE FREE FREE FREE FREE. Becaue they think they are a radio station. But it is a million times better. A Million Billion Trillion.

So, if your working out and want something to run fast to, think of one song that gets your bum moving (I like Garbage) and this website will keep pumping out tunes until you are a sweaty heap at the end of the treadmill.

And say several music snobs you know have mentioned Tom Waits numerous times, but you've never really bothered to check him out? Type in the name and sit and scratch your head wondering, Whiskey Tango big deal?

It's brilliant. If you're too lazy to read up or ask people for suggestions, too poor to just buy music you don't LOVE, this is such a perfectly amazingly beautiful invention.

Did you get that I highly recommend this website? Yes. Pandora. Open the box right now, I dare you.

In conclusion, I hear there is a Pandora Application for the iPhone ... I might MIGHT now be sold. My iPod is kaput. Verizon, my contract with you is up next month ... I (as usual) am on the fence.

*Lovely artwork from luna-bear.com

Spring Cleaning Tips

Gearing up for all that wall wiping and couch moving? Here are a few tips you may find useful.

My favorite?

Have you had it with the drudgery of constantly scrubbing that dirty kitchen floor?
Boo-[expletive]-hoo, Toots.

Mrs. B. Roth YouTube Channel

If you are ever bored, you could check out our family movies on my very own, infrequently updated YouTube Channel. Also Roth Videos are linked somewhere on the side panel - for updates and such.

As it just so happens, I uploaded THREE new movies just today.

Like this little gem:



And remember this old classic:



So, hurry over to the Mrs. B. Roth Channel. You get a total of 34 glimpses into the real life Roth Family for absolutely nothing. Except for time - which, seeing as how you are here now, you have some to waste.

Y'know, unless you have exciting plans for the weekend.

Parent Talks

We had the reproduction talk before baby sister got here.

The very very basics - it takes a mom and a dad to make a baby. He didn't ask any follow ups.

We teased Milo about cutting off his fluffy testicles. Why? So he can't go out and make babies with the girl kitties. No follow ups.

Do I wait for follow ups? What goes on in his head. I don't want to give him more than he's ready for.

Like that commercial:

Kid: Daddy, what does sex mean?

Daddy: (big sigh, it's that time) Well, when a mommy and a daddy love each other very very much ...

*Transition*

Daddy: So, that's what sex is.

Kid: (holding up soccer sign up sheet) Uh, okay, but what do I put on the line after "sex?"

*****

If I could have any super powers it would be telepathy and divination. I hate surprises.

*****

So this morning, we're all still in bed (ALL 5 of us). Crichton is playing around with daddy, he says, "I'm gay," and kisses his dad. Canon yells, "I GAY!" and kisses everyone.

*****

A few days ago, Cri said, "Do you know what 'gay' means?"

"Yes. Do you?"

"Yes, it's when a boy wants to marry a boy or a girl wants to marry a girl."

"Yep, pretty much. Where did you hear that?"

"On TV - Chowder. Chowder is gay."

Chowder is on Cartoon network. We USED to watch cartoon network, we loved Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends. But then there was Camp Lazlo and really just a bunch of Ren and Stimpy knock-off type shows. We don't watch Cartoon Network anymore. Not at our house.

I Googled and YouTubed, because that's what parents do today. I couldn't find anything that discussed Chowder's gay agenda, but plenty of people think Chowder is gay, not gay gay. Stupid gay.

*****

So what do you say to your kid, your little boy, when he says, "I'm gay," and you know damn well he doesn't know what he's talking about?

THIS, this right here and now, is what the religious right, the ultra conservatives, the Pro Prop 8 folks are worked up about. The high school kids, I'm sure, talk about these issues all the time; it filters down down down until the first graders are teasing each other with kisses and calling each other gay, labeling each other with these words, these words that can confuse and hurt.

*****

Every homosexual person I know says they were born that way. I was born LDS. How much responsibility do we take for our actions and our choices? Nurture/nature. Everyone is born wanting to eat sweet, fat foods. I don't care to argue origin or choices today.

*****

Have you noticed that heterosexual men seem much more concerned about the homosexual label than heterosexual women? Mommies can kiss and hug and snuggle all her kids up like crazy, but daddies ... like we told Crichton, daddies are for hugs and high fives.

It made Crichton cry, at first, that daddy wasn't comfortable kissing him.

(Crichton cries a lot. He hates his name and thinks it's related to his emotions - Cry-ton, cry cry ... people warned us ...)

I'm not here to sugar coat or play pretend, most daddies I know simply aren't comfortable kissing their boys. Greg will kiss Cri on the top of the head, but rarely on the face. When he was smaller, a baby, it was no big deal. But now ... now we are teaching appropriate behavior, who what where when why and how. And we're gonna do it that best we can.

We're going to go with treat people with respect even if they do things you think are wrong. We make our choices but we don't pick our consequences.

We're also going with Heavenly Father set things up so that it takes and mommy and a daddy to make a baby. Having both a mommy and a daddy makes the home balanced. When you need hugs and kisses, go to mommy. When you need wisdom and direction, that's daddy department (mind the cobwebs).

Your family may be different from mine and that's okay - I don't know my left from my right, I get lost so very easy ... and I'm not just talking geographically. At our house, dad is wisdom and direction. And wrestling. And bashing your head about.

Mommy is for hugs and kisses. Which is good, since I dole out the majority of time-outs and spankings. I have to make it better, show how much they are loved. That's how you do it, right?

*****

Homosexual people often say things like, "Do you really think anyone would CHOOSE this?" and, with all the pain and confusion is causes, is it really any wonder why we moms and dads try to shield are children from that road?

I think there is a spectrum, one end homosexual, bi in the middle, and hetero on the end. I wonder if it's not a bell graph, skewed by culture, preference, and society. We just don't get much unbiased research, though, do we? Everyone has their agenda. One side looking to prove it's normal, genetic, nature. One side trying to prove it's choice, preventable, fixable.

I am so tired of this topic and yet, I am drawn in again and again. There must be a reason.

*****

So. Because of who we are and what we believe and what we hope for and where we live and everything: boys don't kiss boys.

*****

This place and time; sometimes I do feel like a stranger in a strange land.

Stupid Sick Sick Stupid

Right, I know, don't post when you're sick.

Today, Greg stayed home for me ... because my head feels like it's going to rupture. Every time it changes elevation, even a little bit.

I went to the park Wednesday night. There was a Muslim mom there, head covered, shirt to her wrists, pants to her ankles. There I am, in a V-neck T shirt, capris. Hussy. Modesty is a good thing; I'd be in favor of going more towards the modest extreme.

Yeah, what Vesper star said, there is a price we have to pay to co-exist in the land of the free - sometimes people want attention and do naughty things and we just have to suck it up and explain to our kids. A long time ago, on the topic of censorship, I read where a guy had taken his family to Disneyland and there was a nice rednecky fellow with a shirt that read something like, "If I wanted to hear your opinion I'd take my ... out of ..." you get the idea. Inappropriate, vulgar. Sure, Disneyland is private property, someone could have asked him to change. Probably plenty of children asked their parents what it meant ... but really, does it hurt? At some point, as a parent, you have to explain to your children what is appropriate and what is not. In fact, most of parenting is that.

And another sick rant - stupid Utah, get off the stupid alcohol laws already. I don't want drunk drivers, I really hate the idea of people driving home from the bar, it seems really stupid that this is part of our society. And not just because President Whatshername from Battlestar's pregnant sister, other sister, and father all died when they were hit by a drunk driver, okay? Fine. Drink. Kill your brain cells. Destroy your liver. But don't drive. That said, does it really matter if children in a restaurant see adults drinking? I think that's the law they are trying to pass, the Zion Curtain, they call it. Like when you go to Apple Bee's and the bar is in the middle? MADD Utahans don't like that. Your children might have to see what? People getting drunk on Daiquiris? Like smoking, those sins must only be done in the privacy of your evil home?

Loosen up. Loosen. Up.

Gays won't make your kids gay, drunks won't make your kids drunks, Sex ed in school won't make your kids nymphos, TV and Internet might get your kids addicted to porn. The thing is, parenting is hard work and you HAVE TO prepare your kid for the world as it is, not as you wish it might maybe could be someday if Jesus came back. You have to sit them down and talk about bodies and hormones and reproduction. You have to tell them about sex and marriage and why, despite what their bodies say, they have to maintain control. You have to explain what drugs and alcohol do, what they take away, how some people resign responsibility for their behavior and how that is wrong (if you feel so inclined, which I do). You have to explain how people are different, how they make choices you think are a million percent wrong and we still treat them with respect, act civil and polite. You have to do the work, supervise, observe, explain and discuss. It is beyond stupid to expect you can legislate yourself in Utopia.

Sticking the vacuum tube to your nose does not make your sinuses open or clear out.

You can't take Musinex when your breastfeeding.

Sudafed makes me crazy worse.

Amoxicillin makes me itchy, a little.

High tree pollen mean the plants are feeling frisky and we all have to breathe it in.

I'm going to take advantage of my husband's personal day and nap for the rest of my life now.

Verbalizing

I see her giving me the "put me to bed, mom" cues: rubbing the eyes, big yawn, crawling towards the stairs. So, I pick her up. She snuggles into my shoulder and starts sucking on her middle two fingers. Stares at me with her big blue eyes. Blinks a couple of times.




Then ...

blah blah blah bububububu pfftttt ba da ba da badabada muhmuhmuhmuhmuhmuh ah ah ah ah ah ah ah blah blah blah bububububu pfftttt badabadabadabad muhmuhmuhmuhmuhmuh ah ah ah ah ah ah ah blah blah blah bububububu pfftttt ...

Sagan feels obligated to monologue to me for 2-20 minutes before she will finally give up and close her eyes.

"Hey, baby girl," I cut her off, "how about if I just lay you down and Glowworm listens to the rest of your speech? Okie dokie, here we go ..." and I plop her in her bed. "Night night, sweety."

She stares at me as I softly close the door.

Then ...

Unholy screams of dissatisfaction. Threats to report my lack of service to the management. I'll be hearing from her lawyer.

I give her a few minutes: maybe she'll cry it out. But no, she is tenacious, this little dear. I go back in. She has pooped. Of course she pooped. Of course. And diaper changes are so conducive to nap time.

Diaper change done, time to start the monologue over. From the tops.

Ok, baby girl. I'm listening.

bah bah mah ... zzzz ...



I was nothing, no one, before I was mommy.

Big Love, Temples, and A Better Solution Than Censorship

I got the following forward today. I have received several requests to join Facebook groups telling me to boycott HBO and make them censor their Big Love temple scene. I think it's pretty crappy that the show's writers/producers/actors want to use a ritual I hold sacred for fodder on a soft porn TV show. To be fair, I've only watch part of the first episode, but it was bad enough that I had no desire for more.

As little the respect I have for this program, even less is my respect for censorship. Whatever I may think, people get to do and say what they'd like in America (within the standardized legal limits). I can boycott and shout my opposition, but the more I shout, the more likely you are to go youtube or tivo it or sit and watch it.

Here's a better idea:

Date: Tuesday, March 17, 2009, 8:57 AM
> Dear Brothers and Sisters,
>
> As you've probably heard, there's a big controversy
> swirling around HBO's show "Big Love" this
> week, as they are reportedly portraying the endowment
> session in their episode this Sunday. I have visited their
> website and expressed my disappointment and concern, but as
> I was listening to a reporter on the radio "cover"
> (more like "sensationalize") the story, the
> thought came to me...
>
>
> We should go to the temple.
> Wouldn't it be awesome if there was a surge in temple
> activity during the middle of March?! What better way to
> show Satan that he's not going to win this one?!
>
> When President Hinckley died, the youth used the power of
> technology to pass the word around to their peers:
> "Wear church dress to school to honor Pres
> Hinckley" and the youth responded in massive numbers.
>
> Why can't we grown ups do the same with our temple
> attendance this month?! I wish we could pick a day to try to
> all be in a temple, but I know that's not feasible. So,
> if your circumstances allow, I just wanted to strongly
> encourage you to visit the temple this month. We are so
> blessed to have the knowledge, ordinances, and peace that
> the temple gives!
>
> I can't think of a better way to fight back against
> Satan and his emmissaries. In fact, I know that Satan would
> not want us to do this...when I was halfway through
> composing this email the first time, my computer suddenly
> shut down and rebooted, and I wasn't even typing at
> the moment! ;) Yes, there's official proof that my
> computer is possessed! ;)
>
> Please pass the idea along to anyone you feel might want
> to make a special effort to partake of the blessings of the
> temple this month, and in turn, bless those who have gone
> before us and those who are all around us. There is so much
> power for good found in the temple...and we sure need it!!!
>
> God Bless,
> Kristin Robison

  
 

So - that's my plan for opposition.

Here's a little discussion I found interesting about it.

Someone Love Me

Oh, and I almost forgot, I got my second ever blog chain letter award thing! The uber-book consuming Britt at Confessions of a Book Habitue awarded me (she thinks I'm funny - or insanity inducing, depending on how you define "cracks me up"). And if you don't know, Habitue: [Fr. a-BEE-twey]-- noun 1. Devotee 2. a frequent visitor to a place 3. denizen

As it turns out, there are a few blogs I've been following and would love to just say "Hey, try this on for size. I like it, maybe you will, too. We're all alone in this together."

The "rules:"

1) Add the logo of the award to your blog.

2) Add a link to the person who awarded it to you.

3) Nominate at least 7 other blogs (or whatever random number you want :)

4) Add links to those blogs on your blog.

5) Leave a message for your nominees on their blogs.

*****

I. For a huge variety of random insight, often musical, point your clicker on I May Have Been Born Yesterday But I Stayed Up All Night. Mr. Kiggins is an interesting fellow with a great writing voice. He will offer you samples of "music" so obscure that it is likely that aliens in space have heard it before you. As a Jr. High custodian, he also has access to insightful bits of graffiti and doodles. And brilliant dating tips/anecdotes. If I could, I would totally use my matchmaking skills to find him someone who could appreciate his potential.

II. A strange little cubbyhole, try Everything Must Go! Ken likes to deconstruct advice columns and provides, free of charge, very useful bits of dating and marriage tips. Fearlessly weighing in on adult topics without becoming crass or puerile, I find his messages useful and entertaining.

III. Not to leave out the female bloggers, I like I Like to Read. Jenny is a friend of a friend and, though I've never met her, nor do I imbibe alcohol (is that redundant - you can imbibe things besides alcohol, right?), if I ever went bar hopping, I think I'd want to go with her. Such a funny take on life. And, she once asked me for dating advice. Me. Highly entertaining.

IV. I think this is a pretty popular blog, but I've only recently discovered "Where am I going and why am I in this handbasket?" Mamatuplip writes with that perfect bittersweet voice. She has you laughing a moment before she makes you cry like a baby. Or maybe it's just me.

V. I often wish I had my own "A Room Of Mama's Own" - a place to really get it out there under the safety of a pseudonym. Mary P. Jones is a really intense writer with heart wrenching stories to share. Think you're life's been challenging? Read this blog and thank your lucky stars. Or empathize.

VI. With his spot-on spelling, grammar, amd pronounciation, dear Literal Dan never fails to pluck out momints of parenthood and tern them into bloggy gold. Whether giving voice too his daughter's naked dolls ("... can I have my pants back now, please, so everyone can stop looking at my "bagina"?) or simply taunting me to barrage him with commints (stupid little talley bored - (I'm #1 right now, if your whondering), Mr. Chicago is indefatigable.

VII. Last, but never least, my favorite Buddhist priest, Karen Maezen Miller writing at Cheerio Road (among other places) is always writing perfection over at her blog. Just honest, brilliant, perfection.

There are several more blogs I would love to include, but alas, I guess I'll just have to wait until I get another award/chain letter. I try to keep my blog roll up to date with the blogs I follow, so there you go.

I'm kind of shy ... I really have to go tell these guys I awarded them? I'll try.

I'm Not Saying ... I'm Just Saying

Canon got Rocket and the Little Einsteins for Christmas and has never been so happy. His life was complete.

Until we lost Quincy.

I thought perhaps we could replace the poor fellow. So I went to a local retailer where I found this:
Leo and Pals equals Leo and the two chicks. There are only four Little Einsteins. Whose idea was it to include 60% of the characters (75% of the humans) as a set for sale. Oh, of course you could separately purchase this:
Yeah. That's Quincy, on his own. In Egypt. As in Egypt, Africa.

I love The Little Einsteins, but I think I need to write someone over a Disney a little letter about EQUALITY! You should, too, if you feel so moved.

I mean, I'm not irate, but this is kind of blatant, isn't it?

Sorry, baby is crying or I'd find you an email link and draft you a cut and pastable letter.

I Will Never Never Lead You Astray

I am really picky about my TV shows. I don't like something because everyone else says it's brilliant. Usually the shows I love get canceled pretty fast. Please, before it is too late, let me direct you to a new piece of excellence sparkling among the piles of rubbish that fill the television air waves.

Kings.

It's Shakespearean. It's patriotic. It's unique and familiar.

Every actor plays their part flawlessly and passionately. Every line is elegant and moving. The plot is engaging, the characters flawed, yet noble.

Watch it now, what else have you got to do?

To Do:

[x]Take Cri to school.

[x]Take Milo to vet (snip snip time).

[x]Canon play date.

[x]Dr. appt (are there drugs to end the endless green snot?).

[x]Pick Milo up.

[ ]Karate.

[ ]Laundry (underwear and towels).

[ ]Straighten public rooms.

[x] Post something on the blog until you finish writing something decent and publishable.

[x] Comment on Literal Dan to stay on Top Commenters list.

HAPPY PI DAY

A Reason to Celebrate!

Ok, it's not PIE day, but March 14th is Pi day. SO get cracking, you better whip up something lovely with which to cram into YOUR pi hole at 1:59:27. Or you are no kind of geek.

3.1415926535897932384626433832795028841971693993751058209 7494459230781640628620899862803482534211706798214808651 3282306647093844609550582231725359408128481117450284102 7019385211055596446229489549303819644288109756659334461 2847564823378678316527120190914564856692346034861045432...

When a circle's diameter is 1, the circumference is pi.

Pi is infinite.

Pi is beautiful. Seriously, just read the numbers for a while, sometimes it gets dark and scary, sometimes it is happy, even a little sarcastic.

Pi is.

I'm having cheesecake; that's my favorite pie. Greg's making pumpkin pie. Wait, I might make a nice chocolate mousse pie instead. Whatever it is, it will have a gram cracker and crushed nuts crust. That's how I roll.

mmmmmm pi.

How Tickling Can Solve Your Discipline Issues

It must be Satan himself who has kept this universal cure-all a secret. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give to you, free of charge, How To Fix EVERY negative emotional issue by tickling.

Do you have whiny kids? Are you sick and tired of nagging, threatening, time-outs, and spanking? Next time you say, "Go clean out the kitty litter," and they say, "Why do I always have to do everything?!" Chase that kid down and tickle him until he agrees to do his duty.

Got yourself a little back-talker? Does, "I hate you, mommy," sting a little more than you'd like to admit? Take that monkey to the floor and tickle him until he's screaming, "LOVE YOU MOOOOMMMEEEE!!!"

"I don't like this food?" Tickle 'til they try it.

Are they ignoring you again? They can't ignore you when you're tickling them? Give them ONE chance, then, ATTACK!

Husband won't get out of bed and go to work? Every one is ticklish SOMEWHERE (and if not, there's always splashing water - though, husbands may retaliate to an extreme, so always have an exit plan in place. Be quick!)

EVERY TIME you feel that impatient, tired, angry you threatening to make you yell or lose your temper, go tickle the offending party. Tickling is now my FIRST disciplinary tactic, for kids and husband alike. It feels good to see people twitching and laughing (even if by force). Make sure you are tickling gently, though. Nothing is worse than that horrible hard tickling, ug. Nice tickles. Always listen; all will be lost if they start crying or pee their pants ('specially a spouse!). So, when they yell, "STOP!" go ahead and take a break to see if they are ready to bend to your will. However, if they refuse, tickle more.

Just for clarification, there may be some situations where, unfortunately, tickling may be inappropriate. Such instances may include, but are not limited to, the following;

• If your boss or coworker is being grumpy, tickling is probably not the best way to go. Let me recommend avoidance and efficiency.
• If the waitress is exceptionally slow or otherwise incompetent, yeah, don't tickle her, let your tip reflect your level of dissatisfaction.
• If the police officer says, "Do you know how fast you were going?" don't respond with, "Do you want a tickle?" Just apologize and give him your license and registration.
• If you are selling something (Mary Kay, Pampered Chef, whatever), should a potential customer tell you they aren't interested, let them go. Don't chase them down and tickle them until they promise to buy the lip gloss.
• If you are foolish enough to shop at Wal-Mart and doubly foolish enough to want to buy a large piece of build-it-yourself furniture, do not tickle-attack employees until one of them helps you heft it. (I suggest shopping somewhere else).
  

Seriously. Tickling has proven to be at least a million times more effective for getting my kids to comply. Today is Fun Fun Friday, please, go tickle someone you love.

CONTEST TO WIN MY FAVORITE BOOK !!!! Like Anyone Ever Listens To Me

You might read my blog, but you never DO what I tell you. You'd never yell "WOLVERINES!" for me or anything. I love you anyway. It annoys me that you haven't helped me end daylight savinG time or make civil unions universal for all couples, but fine. I get it. You're busy.

But, just this once, will you do me a favor. There's this blog I read called Confessions of a Book Habitue (and to be honest I don't have any freaking idea what a habitue is, but I bet it means she's a bibliophile). She asked for recommendations and I told her (like I tell everyone) to read Lost Boys by Orson Scott Card. I love love love love love love love love love love that book. Broke my poor heart into tiny little pieces, it did.

So but then SOMEONE else recommended Dragon Slippers by Jessica Day George. Honestly. HONESTLY! Dragon? Slippers? I haven't read it, but I don't have to read it to know that there is no way on God's green Earth that a book called Dragon Slippers could be anything like the powerful amazing experience Lost Boys is. I mean absolutely no disrespect nor offense to the individual(s) who recommended the other book, nor to the author; please don't get mad at me ... I am just saying, I REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY enjoyed Lost Boys and maybe I am a little competitive, but if y'all would oblige me ...

Go to Confessions of a Book Habitue, on the side bar is a poll. Vote for Lost Boys. Make me happy. For freaking once in your life. Please. Pretty please.

OOHHHH, I know, I'll bribe you! I just bought two copies of Les Miserables, MY FAVORITE BOOK, one unabridged and one abridged. You go vote, leave me a comment HERE telling me you voted and your favorite book ever. Then, IF (and only if) LOST BOYS wins, I will randomly pick a winner from these comments to receive YOUR CHOICE, Les Miserables, abridged or big and fat.

HURRY GO VOTE NOW!!! (I hope I'm not too late..... HURRRYYY!Y!!)

And even though I still have yet to mail my last prize to its winner, I will be more prompt, cuz it's way easier to mail a book then a painting.

YOU Be Dr. Laura For Me, OK?

I don't want to bore you with my repetition. Let me just warn you in advance: here is yet another self-indulgent, ruminative, pathetic post about Brandy's Mommy Issues.

One Friday afternoon, about a month ago, I was on hold for Dr. Laura. "I hate my mom and she lives in my basement. How do I control my hostility?" Unfortunately, the show ended before she got to me. I keep thinking I should call her again and get my answer, but that would take effort. Effort I don't have the energy to put forth.

You see, my baby girl thinks the night time is the right time to scream like a banshee every few hours. And when I take pity on her and bring her into my bed, she scratches my face off and bites my nipple. Teething. AND I had to wake up at 6 am (which is really 5am and I'm so not fooled, unlike SOME people, by the adjusting of my clock ) so that my husband would get up and go to work early so he can get off early because I need him home in the evenings because I'm going a little crazy (full moon).

Since sitting in the recliner with my laptop is easier than trying to call a radio show. You play like Dr. Laura and advise me, ok?

A word of warning: my husband's advice was to get over it already and that advice is not helpful. If I could just get over it, I would. Faking it ... every day ... Of course, he has to hear me whine about it way more than you do, and you get it a lot. So I understand his jerky insensitivity... I get where he's coming from and I try not to discuss it with him. Much. However, that leaves me bottling up frustration, seething, spilling out randomly, until it explodes, here, in front of you, my bloggy friends.

I think the catalyst for today's post was this other blog; Google Reader recommended it for me. Sometimes I just covet other women's relationships with their mothers. Long for the love and mutual respect they describe. Even the sadness after loss; I can't relate at all, but I want it. As a mommy blogger and the reader of mommy blogs, the party line is "We all just do the best we can," but, y'know, sometimes that just doesn't [expletive] cut it.

I am a very, very bad person. God knows my thoughts. He knows how intense and evil they are. No amount of generosity can compensate.

A few nights ago, I got into this discussion with my husband, him with his persistent "get over it already," me with my "but she was a bad mom" idiocy. I told him I wished someone would have called CPS and taken me away. People are so big about keeping kids with the parents ... pfft. Making kids is easy, being a parent, well, people never want to judge, but, look at me, for crying out loud, do you see what happens to the hearts and minds of kids who have to raise themselves? Sure, I seem fine, most of the time, but I don't talk to people, I don't trust people, I am over sensitive to the possibility I will be judged unworthy, I resent having to do things for people (I had to take care of myself, why can't you).

It just makes me so mad. Sure, her incompetence made me super self-reliant in some ways in devestatingly incapable in others. I'd rather have a mother I respect.

Ok, so, if you're not too busy or irritated, please tell me how one "gets over it" while "it" is shoved in her face every day? Don't sypmathize, fricken advise. I don't want to be this bitchy, whiny, bitter, sad, little girl, I want to be a calm, happy, strong, confident woman. What little thing do I repeat in my mind when it's pushing me too far? Like after I've given her a ride to work, she calls because she forgot her work shoes and needs me to bring them up to her. What the mantra for when she asks me to come pick her up, even though I just got the baby to sleep and just want to sit still for a moment? How do I breathe when she comments about my house keeping skills? How do you remind your mom to do the one little chore she agreed to do? What do you say when she does it in the same crappy manner she does everything? When she's a fifty year old teenager? How do you keep it all together so you don't become the same kind of useless mother, in your bitterness and spite? What is the trick, the one that will work for me everyday until ... it is finished.

Silliness Concerning the So-Called Bloggernacle

The day that insightful article about my blog ran over at Religion Dispatches (good gravy I love to link to that article, can you tell?), there was another article about Mormons and blogging, called Birth of the Bloggernacle, that included a lot of inaccurate generalities ("Mormons are natural born story tellers" and "Mormons like to keep records"), which caused some intra-LDS bloggy ruckus. The thrust of the article was focused on various Mormon blogs that describe the day-to-day life of a Mormon, predominantly mommy blogs (like the one you are reading right NOW), with just the hint of a nod to the serious doctrinal type blogs (i.e. Times and Seasons) where the term "bloggernacle" (silly as it is) actually originated.

Then my blogging cohorts got ... stupid. In the article comments. We invented that word, you can't say it's your word, it's our word. Yeah? Well, our blogs get way more hits than yours, so eat that.

Then, the same journalist wrote another article, Mormon Bloggernalce is No Choir, all about how stupid Mormon bloggers made themselves look on RD by getting so worked up over the confusion her inaccurate reporting caused. Fact checking is FUN (I read that last bit out loud, and Canon said, "No. It's Silly." SO maybe I'm wrong.).

Just though you'd like to know.

Mormon bloggers (and journalists writing about Mormons as a group): the church is diverse enough that generalities border on offensive (Mormons are good bloggers cuz we are natural born story tellers - for every decent Mormon blogger, there are at least a dozen Mormon blogs that sound just like Seriously So Blessed, but not on purpose. Also, if your secret goal is to help the LDS church (as mine is), let's be less stupid with each other. At least where people can see us. K? Like a married couple fighting at a restaurant, don't let's make these fine people think we're blathering, juvenile idiots. Take it home. E-mails are good.

And here, with this post, I break my own rule, mocking mocking mocking. I suck.

I'm sorry, default set to Sarcasm. And Jerk, apparently.

Also, DST.

Finally. Schizophrenic iPod. Tomorrow's post, perhaps.

Just feel generally grumpy and complainy. Probably a post about my mom stewing in the mental queue also.

Don't look at me. I'm a freaking monster.

10 Stupid Things I Say to My 3 Year Old

1. "Canon, you can't hurt your sister!" (Not only CAN he hurt her, but when I say it, she is probably already crying.)

2. "Ohmigosh, Canon, did you spill your drink again?" Seeing as how I am already up getting towels, the only question stupider than this one is...

3. "Why do you keep spilling your drinks?"

4. "What are you doing!?" Nutting

5. "Canon! Get down right now. Do you want to fall and smash your brains out?" No, I bean tareful.

6. "We do NOT hit mommies. Mommies are for ...." uh-uh "What are mommies for?" uh-uh (muchness of tickling - have they even tried tickle torture over at Gitmo? I get great results with tickle torture.) "WHAT ARE MOMMIES FOR??!!!" (in a funny voice) hugs and tisses.

7. "Canon, are you poopy?" Even if he's walking like a cowboy, with shite leaking out of his diaper, and 3rd degree diaper rash burns on his bleeding bottom, fifty-fifty chance he says either, "No," or, "I not poopy, you poopy."

8. "Canon, do you want to [get dressed/change your clothes/eat whatever mom has fixed/sit on your bottom/sing for the nice folks/sit in your car seat/sit on the potty/stop screaming random Chinese sounding insanities]?" mm-mm/CHIN CHANE CHOON!

9. "Don't you dare wake up your sister!" (After he has already gone in, turned on the light, and shouted, "Sagers! Wake up!" Sagan does have that fun, fun, spinning rocking chair in her room though. Canon loves that chair.)

10. "Canon, if you do/don't do [x, y, and/or z], I am going to [tell you to/not to do x,y and/or z again, spank you, take away your TV/play dough/breathing privileges, and sigh a lot], sohelpmeBob, I will."

11."Where did you put [your shoes/my cell phone/the remote control/Milo kitty/some random tool daddy left lying around]?" Points randomly, Ha ha.

12. "Why is there a samurai sword in the vegetable drawer?"

13. "Can mommy give you a hair cut?" MM-MM!

14. "We don't eat our boogers." Oh, yes we do!

15. "You have to [wear shoes/put on pants/wear your jacket/eat first/be quiet/be nice/stop yelling/stop jumping on that]!" Oh, no I not.

16. "What the monkey-loving-crap happened to my make-up?!" I don't know, it wasn't me.

Cute Things Canon Says To Me:

• "Mommy, I need a huuug!" (He says this a dozen times a day; he has hug-emergencies.)
• "Where's Tie-tin (Crichton)?" He's still at school. "Where's daddy?" He's still at work. whining and sadness - Canon loves his family.
• "Little Einsteins and Rocket here!" (opens front door for them).
• "Oh boofoo boofoo momee, peas can I haf summa your soda?"
• "Tank you mama." (Because who wouldn't give in when he asks so nicely?)
• "Love you, mama."
  

*Sometimes I write the title of my blog before I write the body and sometimes I'm too lazy to change the title afterwards. Titles are hard to think up, y'know. Plus, it's gotta be kind of eye catching, pull people in a little. Sixteen is such an awkward stupid number ... ten is much more manageable. Sorry for the false advertising. Think of it as 16 for the price of 10.

For Your Perusal

It was early when I finally went to sleep. And I wanted to get up early and run, but it's the first Monday of Daylight Savings Time, which means I may not even get around to showering or dressing today. And, it snowed.

So. For your perusal, here is a link to every time I've mentioned Daylight Savings in my blog. Yes - I am sending you into my archives to see how this topic has concerned and plagued me ... it is my life long mission to end Daylight Savings Time ... a futile and hopeless mission that causes me much pain and grief.

But y'know what the worst part is ... my elected officials don't listen to me, don't respond. I'm gonna have to research How a Bill Becomes a Law or How to Petition Something onto the Ballot - I might have to do something that involves more than typing on my laptop. And I will totally buy your vote with brownies, if it is for sale.

Every Random Thought

If I hadn't posted about how I got Milo to stop messing up my plants, I might have been successful at getting Milo to stop messing up my plants. As is, I think naughty kitty reads my blog. Which is great; hopefully he be emotionally prepared for The Big Fix coming up later this week. I smiled as I wiped up the dirt from my plants today.

*****

Maybe it was the full moon. Maybe it was Daylight Savings. Maybe it was because it wasn't supposed to be my turn to teach and all I did was read the Sunbeam lesson, no preparations. But I had 6 insanely out of control Sunbeams. We were all struggling. I don't get embarrassed or angry when little kids act like little kids anymore. I just do my best and hope things go better next week. Next week, I will be prepared.

*****

Greg and I went to The Watchmen (I love super hero movies, I really do). This was a very R movie and I can't recommend it without severe reservations - nudity (sexual (avert your eyes awkward) and just plain naked nudity (giant, blue, glowy, jangley nudity), profanity, violence. And it was LONG - almost 3 hours long. It's very much a sit back and watch and think and discuss on the way home kind of movie. What if Superman didn't care about human life? What if the "villain"'s plan is to save the human race? What if the "hero" is a psychotic, brutal killer? I wasn't impressed by the female characters (are their any great women super hero movies yet? Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Serenity - is Joss Whedon the only guy who gives his female character strength and depth?). I still give it an 8/10. Giant blue ... glowing ...

*****

Husband keeps saying nice things to me, telling me I'm smart and such. People keep leaving nice comments and messages. I'm not good at hearing nice things about myself. It makes me ... well, it makes me feel phony. I want to grab a microscope and say, "LOOK! See, I'm really stupid and awful and boring and awkward and mostly unlovable. And even then, people say, "You're fine." Blert.

*****

I have nothing to say. And it doesn't stop me. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

*****

Did I mention how I threw a loud screaming stomping fit this evening at "7:30" because it was really effing 6:30 and my kids were no where near ready for bed, so we went outside, played some kind of Star Wars game that involved a lot running and hitting stuff. I really do hate Daylight Savings Time - I know I said I could compromise and stay at DST all year, but I changed my mind. I like the stars, I want it dark at bed time, I would like my kids to be able to stay up just a little late and get to enjoy the constellations with me. I hate Daylight Savings and I want it to stop. I hate it ... hate is a strong word, and I actually feel even stronger than hate ... detest? loathe? abhor? The kids were up until "9:00" and look, it's freaking "11:32." My good grief.

*****

Hey, good news: two shows I would never watch, I might watch - Ewan McGregor is in Angels and Demons (based on the Dan Brown book) AND Christian Bale is in some new Terminator movie.

*****

Now I have nothing more to say. Feel free to opine.

All Kinds of Bad Mommy Blogger

Today's post will entail a list of the numerous ways numerous people, to my face, all but tell me I am a bad mom. Following that, I will give you a piece of my mind - though I haven't much to spare.

Part I - Brandy Complains.

Exhibit A: Pants are NOT optional.

Canon has a thing with pants. He doesn't like to wear them, and I don't care. If we go out, I usually (but not always) throw him in a pair, but at home, meh.

Today Greg declared, "Pants are NOT optional."

Pshaw, as if.

Exhibit B: The Landmine Neighbors.

The next door neighbors are the easily disturbed type, like landmines, y'know. I tell my kids to never touch their lawn, stay off their driveway, don't climb on the connecting fence, don't throw toys or anything over or through the fence, don't make eye contact with the dogs, don't bug any of them in anyway, shape, or form.

Recently, Neighbor Lady knocked on my door to see if I could confirm that the cable company had broken her fence, as her dogs had gotten out and she had to chase them down (I KNOW how annoying that is, which is one of the many reasons I am not no longer a dog owner). She had called the cable company, the utility company, and the police, and wanted me to be aware, in case I'd seen anything. Sorry, no idea.

Later that day, the kids "accidentally" throw their beloved Anakin Skywalker action figure over the fence. "Go knock on the door and see if they'll let you get it." 5 minutes later, kids come home, sad little faces, she won't let us look for the toy. Sorry guys, maybe the Easter Bunny will bring you more Anakins.

That evening, in the middle of dinner, she knocks on the door again to explain to me that she didn't want the kids to go looking for the toy because her dogs poop over there (gross, but thanks, I guess) and she'll throw it over if they find it, assuming the dogs don't chew it up (as dogs do do).

But that's not all she has to say to me. Me, with a jar of baby food in one hand and the baby spoon in the other, the family (minus late working dad) around the table, she proceeds to tell me how she sees my kid (the oldest - 7 next month) running around all over on his own, how her sprinkler and fence were broken, now suggesting my kid, while asking to get his toy, had told her HE broke them (mind you, my kids was still in school when she mentioned the broken fence the first time), and how she was worried because things just aren't safe.

I take a deep breath. She's renting the house. She's from California. She gave me overly generous baby gifts when Sagan was born. She voted for Obama and even had the yard sign. She gave, by far, the most extravagant neighbor Christmas gifts of the whole neighborhood. I try to take what she is saying (which is basically that my kid is a hooligan who needs more supervision and is responsible for acts of destruction at her house) and pretend she is being kind, concerned, and helpful. I graciously thank her for her concern and for taking the time to come over and talk to me. I touch her arm as I say it because Dr. Laura told me to be more touchy, and she eventually retreats.

I go back to the table and rererereitterate to my kids how they must not every disturb any aspect of our neighbors' lives ever again. I hope, eventually, they move/buy a house/move/move.

I don't know about that whole Love Thy Neighbor thing sometimes ... did Jesus ever have landmine neighbors? Where was he, Jerusalem ... well, maybe he did.

Exhibit C: Swear Words

I have a habit of saying "freaking." I say it a lot. It's really the only colorful euphemism I use in front of my kids, and even so, freaking is maybe like a pale reddish orange (whereas the real f-word is black like Black Hockey Jesus, whatever that means. I also say, "Shut your cake hole." Sometimes, "Shut your freaking cake hole." And I say it to my kids. With a smile. Most of the time.

If my kids say something rude, I say, "You better smile when you say that," because my kids are kind of jerks sometimes and I'm hoping if people see that they are "just kidding" they won't get beat-up.

My area is really very conservative. At school, kids tell my kid not to say "the S-word," y'know, "stupid." Stupid is not a freaking swear word. Stupid is a perfectly appropriate and useful adjective. We don't say, "So-and-so is stupid," but we might say, "[This particular behavior] is stupid." Like a group of teen age boys J-walking in front of my car. "Oh my, that was stupid." Except that's not even a good example, because I am set to a sarcastic default setting and I don't know how to turn it off, so I would have to say, "Wow, that was really smart, their parents must be so proud."

Even so, at my house, you can say just about anything these days, if you say it with a S-M-I-L-E.

Because nothing makes mommy L-A-U-G-H more than children swearing:


Wait ... where was I going? Oh yes. So my kids will be the ones other parents squat down on their knees, hands on shoulders, look into their big blue eyes and say, "We don't say that word at our house. If you want to come over and play, you can't say bad words. Okay?" At which point, my kids hearts will break because they think they've done something bad, when really, people are too sensitive.

Part Two: BRANDY SPOUTS CRAP

Look. My 6 almost 7 year old can walk home from school, over to a friend's, around the neighborhood, or where ever in America he wants as long as his mommy knows where he is and said it was OK. Alright? So, you might not let your kid walk home from school, next to a busy street, but we're ok with it. We've taught him about traffic rules and stranger danger; and he's more likely to be abducted on a lonely backstreet than the busy street and he's not the kind to play in traffic. Plus, he's a gentleman, walking a little girl home every day, way out of his way, and just because y'all like to sit with your SUV's on, waiting at the school for 20 minutes so your kid doesn't have to walk 4 blocks, you do what you need to do and I'll do things my way. I don't want my kids to be scared of life, I want them to have adventures and I refuse to pour all my fear and concern into their hearts. Be not afraid, only believe, right? Right.

And pants may very well be optional, sorry husband and sorry neighborhood. There might be a kid running around in his diaper and maybe naked. It's not a big deal. I'll catch him.

And finally, words are just words. Stupids and F-bombs, when you're angry, are pretty hard for anyone to hear, but especially kids. And me. So, let's just be generally more creative and smile when we say it, if we have to swear. (and if you click the link, please leave that kind blogger nothing but flowers and rainbows as she often makes me laugh).

Mostly, here, I just wanted to rant about how my neighbor made me feel like a sucky mom because my parenting style is concertedly less hover-mom than she would like to see. However, me ranting here totally takes away any good-neighbor points I might have accrued for not getting offended during the confrontation. Also, can I get on that "don't judge other parents so much" band wagon everyone talks about, but I mocked ala Octomom (poor girl, such a nickname). Except moms who are afraid of little bugs, I will still judge them pretty harshly because I used to be afraid of bugs but somehow realized I am a million times bigger and faster than them, I can destroy insects with tissue paper (gentle-est of all things in my home). So bugs aren't scary, slightly disturbing and annoying, but nothing to scream for rescue about.

I done. I'm gonna go play Ninja + or N+ where I will bounce around and try not to get blowed-up.

Amen.

Be Nicer

How To Get Your Naughty Orange Kitty To Stop Digging Around In You House Plants

Our old kitty, Margaret Tootsie Lou Thatcher, is very well mannered. She NEVER jumps on the kitchen table or counter tops. She never peed anywhere naughty, no matter how much we neglected her litter box. She doesn't whine to go outside; she doesn't like to go out at all. She doesn't bite or scratch (she was declawed before we got her). And she is just a big sweety pie.

Milo, however, is a naughty rascal of a kitty. He needs to be neutered. And as soon as I can get my husband to find the money, snip snip, Milo. He wants to sleep with people, but in the middle of the night, he attacks your face, so, we all sleep with our doors shut. If the litter box isn't up to snuff, he pees on piles of laundry - clean, dirty, it doesn't matter to Milo (though it has helped me be slightly more efficient about laundry). And he thinks he's a jungle kitty. He jumps up on the counters and creeps though my plant shelf .

And he used to dig in my plants. I don't think he was using them as bathrooms, but he did make a big mess everyday. For a while, I gave up, just let the plant shelf be covered with dirt. But then I had an idea.

Back when we were dog owners, Juna used to dig holes in the back yard. After we got rid of her, it turns out she was hunting rats, but I didn't know that. The Internet told me to sprinkle crushed red pepper around her favorite digging spots. It didn't work.

But I tried the crushed red pepper for the house plants and it has been 2 weeks and my plant shelf is still fabulous. Milo still plays jungle kitty, but without the mess.

SO - Crushed red pepper. But, let me advise you NOT to boil black pepper balls and crushed red pepper, then strain the "tea" and make a pepper spray bottle to deter the cat. The "tea" will make everyone in the house choke and cough while you make it and it just clogs up the sprayer. Plus, it's pepper spray ... you don't want it lying around where the kids could get into it. Just ... a word to the wise.

Oh, and the scripture of the day comes from the Old Testament: Amos 3:7

"Surely the Lord God will do nothing, but he revealeth his secret unto his servants the prophets."

(just in case you like scriptures, or prophets, or Amos.)