Declaration of Independence

I've had enough. 2007 will be a year of change. Of progress. Of freedom for all oppressed mothers.

We the moms of America will no longer bow to the senseless demands of our youth. Let it be known:

If microwave Mac n' Cheese was good enough for dinner last night, it's good enough for tonight, tomorrow night and any other night we see fit.

Mother's Day does not start until 11am at the earliest. Any children attempting to bring over-baked muffins or limp dandelions into Her Highnesses bedroom before this time will be drop kicked over to Great-Aunt Ester's house for the week.

If toddlers fling heavy, pointy objects into our faces we demand the right to scream, stomp and hide in our rooms for an hour muttering.

6'oclock is bedtime. End of story.

Anything Dad says is uninformed dribble. Mom's word is law.

If you mess your diaper, you change it. Do we look like we care?

A finger will be cut off for every minute past your curfew you arrive home. After that we will advance to toes, limbs, or anything remotely lumpy on your tardy little body.

Any children not able or willing to clear their own dishes will eat outside off the dirt.

Mom may at any time search your room for diaries and revise with black Sharpie any content that inaccurately reflects her divine attributes for posterity.

Any resistance to living your parents' fantasy childhood vicariously is futile. And who knows, you might actually like being the Clogging Champion of the Chesapeake.

All runny noses will be duct taped until the flow of snot ceases.

The definition of allowance has been changed. It now refers to mother's largess in allowing children to continue living. However, resistance to the demands as outlined above will terminate this "allowance."


I for one am excited about this much-need regime change. But when I told my one year old the exciting news today she threw a block in my eye and laughed. The fool. Not everyone can appreciate the turning wheels of progress.


**Sarah Flake is a mother and brie connoisseur living in Los Angeles, California. Notable past achievements include: 4th place in a church chili cook off; 2rd place in a town pumpkin carving contest in the "Prettiest Pumpkin" category; and the coveted blue ribbon in a Limbo contest at an office Christmas party. She began writing stories for friends in 2nd grade and hasn't stopped writing since. Nowadays she writes primarily on her humor blog at http://hollywoodflakes.blogspot.com and derives sick pleasure from total strangers laughing at her daily flubs.

You can find me, Vicky, over at her site today. Click on the Blog Exchange button on the right for more Starting Over stories.

It's Product Time

Honest Baby is a great parenting website. You can enter Story Time and read what other insane issues parents are dealing with or post a question or story yourself. The motto of Honest Baby (see my sidebar) is "celebrating the imperfect journey of parenting". It really is that. There are fun blogs to read on Honest Baby (mine included!) and they sell some super cute t-shirts for kids too. I just purchased T.D. an "I'm not a Performing Monkey." shirt. I think she's felt that way a lot the last few days.

I've been on Honest Baby for about as long as I've been blogging and it's a nice community of parents who simply like to share their parenting experiences, have a few laughs and connect a bit even if it's just for a small minute or two.

So check Honest Baby out. You'll be glad you did.

Let's Hear it for the Boy.

In about six weeks I will be in sunny L.A. visiting my best friend while soaking up some much needed sunshine. Relaxation and girl time will ensue. I don't care what we do. After that it's a quick jaunt to the unknown state (to me) of New Mexico for another few days of fun and frolic with another close friend. This was my Christmas wish and my gift from H. For one week I will be alone traveling and relaxing with my girlfriends. I simply cannot wait!!!

Is there anything more therapeutic than girl time? I think not.

*** Updated*** H thinks he deserves more praise than what is above. So how's this? YEAHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm Going to LA and New Mexico!!!!!!!!! YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm so excited and it's all because H is so wonderful and thoughtful and kind. There. Happy?

Tis the Season, I Suppose.

So Christmas is over and done with and like H said yesterday, I too am a bit played out with the holiday tunes. I'm glad it's over so I don't have to play that radio station for a whole other year.

Secretly I'm ready to take down the stockings that were hung from the mantle with care. The tree can stay but for God's sake can someone please put those half opened boxes away? The tinsel on the floor mixed with pine needles dropping at a now acclerated rate from the tree are making me batty. So is the fact that T.D.'s schedule is already in shambles and she is become about 90 times more the dictator than she was four days ago. The kid naps for about twenty seconds and then wakes up screaming. She has mastered the art of throwing her pacifiers out of her crib and all blankets too. I'm a bit holiday'd out. Is it the boring month of January yet?

No? Damn...

Ooof!

Oy! I'm tired. I'm a crap sleeper so the sheer fact that I was excited about sleeping in today did me in. I couldn't sleep. I woke up with a headache. Geez. I'm like an old man. A grouchy old man. Someone made a comment yesterday that my blog needs a 'moment of zen' once in a while.

The cantankerous old man in me says, "Phooey!" That's not what I'm about. I can appreciate it and it might happen. We'll see. Maybe I'll be a lot more smiley once I'm home with T.D. More smiley with a cleaner house and I make my own soap. Sure. That's plausible.

My own soap, cards, I'll knit and make preserves. I'll start growing wheat in our townhome's back yard too. H will come home one day I'll have T.D. working a loom. The dog will be whittling spoons in the corner while smoking a corn cob pipe. I bet I find a few moments of zen then.

For today though three levels of my home loom before me with dust bunnies, scuff marks and sticky spots to clean. It's the holidays after all. Time to showcase your house all polished and bright! My parents are also coming into town tomorrow so the race is on to spit shine the place or at least hide the evidence.

All I really want to do today is walk the mall finding a cute outfit to wear for a party tonight and maybe something for New Year's. Soap scum be damned!

Melting

I am not a touchy-feely person. I haven't been since about birth. It was a running family joke as I began dating about what I was going to do when a boy tried to hold my hand or give me a hug.

As I got older friends had to warn me that they were about to hug me. I have to tell myself daily to pet the dog, hug my husband, or my parents as I get off a plane to see them. I have to tell myself, "ok this person is obviously coming in for a hug- do it back." I don't know why I'm programmed this way. My parents hugged and cuddled me all the time growing up. It's just something in me that doesn't come naturally. My parents say they knew H was special when they noticed me touching him more, even in front of people. This had to be the real thing they said.

I don't naturally like children either. Don't get me wrong. I like my friends kids. I will coo about them and say how cute they are, sweet or funny. But, I rarely hold them or touch them. It's nothing against them. I just simply don't think about it. I just look.

Now that I have a child I'm continually amazed at how easily I find myself smothering this baby with kisses. I squeeze her. I kiss her neck. I hug her and carry her around the house with me non-stop. We play and interact yelling at the top of our lungs and laughing. This is not me. I press my face to hers dancing cheek to cheek. We touch foreheads and bite noses. Was it the sheer fact that this being was forced to touch me for nine months that I now am finally conditioned to touch without thinking? I don't know.

I do know that a whole world of imagination that had been dulled has opened up it's doors again. I can have whole conversations with T.D. over pureed turkey and rice bits about her impending coup or hostile takeover with the dog, her attempts to Christmas shop without a lisence, and how she plans to rule her world for generations to come. We are loud and gesturing. This is not me. We laugh and smile a lot. Again, not me. The world is, while tiring, a much more alive place now that T.D. is here. Slowly, I feel that maybe I am melting. But, only just a little bit.

That my friend is about all the sap you are going to get out of me.

Hating Hefner

I've always had a dislike for this man, Hugh Hefner. When I was little I just couldn't see beyond the silk pajamas and bathrobe. To me that seemed so hopelessly un-hip even at the age of 8. What grown man wears silk pj's and a yachting captains hat? His smile creeped me out. Now in his 80's his laugh is like a cackle. His power eludes me. I cannot find the appeal. He cannot fathom even after all this time why feminists dislike him. Here's a hint. In 1967 a journalist asked Hef why he chose the symbol of the bunny for his company. Here's Hugh's reply.

"The rabbit, the bunny, in America has a sexual meaning, and I chose it because it's a fresh animal, shy, vivacious, jumping- sexy. First it smells you, then it escapes, then it comes back, and you feel like carressing it, playing with it. A girl resembles a bunny. Joyful, joking. Consider the kind of girl that we made popular: the Playmate of the Month. She is never sophisticated, a girl you cannot really have. She is a young, healthy, simple girl- the girl next door... we are not interested in the mysterious, difficult woman, the femme fatale, who wears elegant underewear, with lace, and she is sad, and somehow mentally filthy. The Playboy girl has no lace, no underwear, she is naked, well-washed with soap and water, and she is happy."

I don't even know where to begin with that one. So much to say. On many levels. I think Hef has issues with women who can talk and not just breathe and smile. Doesn't he sell lacy underwear in his catalog? Well-washed with soap and water? Geez. It reeks of a dirty old man/pedophile like qualities. I almost threw my book at the gym when I read those lines. Let's also keep in mind that he has been known to say that if he wants a conversation he talks to a man. I've heard this from him many times. To think that woman side with this man and wear and buy his stuff because it makes them appear "frisky" as the company purports, just makes it more discouraging. To think that he has a show on cable now with his "girls next door" with their spray tanned, botoxed faces, overlined lipes and eyes and not one real bit about them makes no sense to me. It really is like Ariel Levy says, The Rise of Raunch Culture.

It's everywhere we look these days. From the Bratz dolls wrapped under the tree to the ho's in music videos to the use of the word pimp continuously. It makes me feel like daily I'm fighting a war for my daughter's soul that I can only hope to win in small pieces. To probably only see real victory when she doesn't go away to college and become a bit in 'Girls Gone Wild, Part 136'. Can that be my holiday wish?


*Quote taken from, Ariel Levy's, Female Chauvanist Pigs, Women and the Rise of Raunch Culture.

Oh What a Night....

Mid-December back in 2006... ok so it doesn't really go with the classic song but let me just say last night was one of those nights that I'll always remember. Hopefully I will remember it in the way of laughing and not in the frustrated sense in which it all happened.

For what seems like eons H has been sick. First a flu, then a cold and then a nastier cold. Top that off with me being sick as well as T.D.'s colds and ear infections and we're quite the germ infested, tissue scattered house these days. Since last week I've been telling H to get thee to a doctor but he just wouldn't budge. I begged him to stay home and rest. Now in the second week of a rather nasty cold he finally lamented. Guess what? Sinus infection. I must say I'm a bit smug at my diagnosis as I repeatedly told him that is what I thought he had. When he walked in the door last night from work looking alternately blotchy and pale I knew he HAD TO GO. I convinced him to check out the local Urgent Care. I stayed home with T.D.

It was just an hour. Yet, in one small hour I cleaned the same area of carpet three times. I got puked on twice. Somehow dog poop ended up smeared on my hands. Yup. It was that kind of night. First, T.D. puked a bit. Not a big deal. Only a small amount on her, me and the carpet. I cleaned her and the carpet, then me. Up the stairs we went. Down the stairs we went. Clean we decided to play in the den again. Suddenly the Lex, the dog, comes in from outside. It reeks of poo. I can't figure out why. I see doody smeared on T.D.'s overalls and shirt. Fabulous. I look down and, "What the..." it's on my hands?! Gross! How? I don't know. It's still a mystery to me. Up the stairs we go to clean up. Holding T.D. at arm's length, her little legs kicking we get changed. I wash my hands. I strip T.D. down. I find no poop in her diaper. I realize at this point it's plain and simple. Dog shit. Wonderful. Smelling good again and in her pj's we head back downstairs. I am down there only a nano-second when T.D. waterfall pukes down my front, her side and onto that same area of floor I just cleaned the poop and puke from previously. Now the dog has puke on her too. Awesome! Back up the stairs! Strip off the pj's. Wipe down the kid. Clean off the dog. Take my raw, overly clean hands and strip myself down. Better.

Thinking that the den is probably some bodily fluid/function vortex I decide to play it safe and stay upstairs until it's T.D.'s bedtime. When H came home from the doctor's I was still reeling from it all. At least my quads got a workout on doing all those stairs.

Check, Check, Check it Out Yo!

Do some good this season and I mean more than just buying that pair of black leather boots you've been coveting. Go to Her Bad Mother's Auction. It's not really an auction but a raffle. Great prizes for many types of folks and it benefits her sweet nephew Tanner who is fighting MS. It's truly a feel good kind of thing. So buy a ticket. Maybe win something fun. Know that you are indeed doing a very good thing.

While in the festive, feel good mood you might want to peruse the sidebar too and click on Find.com's ad. For each search for something RED they will donate a $1 to Doctor's Without Borders. $1 buys a whole lot. It buys one immunization for a person. You can definetly head on over and spend a minute or two searching for some mean reds.

Cheers!

Product of the Week!

This week's feature item is an entire line of products by Pureology. I started using this hair care line about a year ago. I initially used the Volumizing (pink bottles) hair gel, shampoo and conditioner. It's also for color-treated hair which yes, I do possess. Every product in Pureology's line is anti-fade and sun-protectant. They have products such as root-lift, gel, and straightner as well as their various shampoos and conditioners. They DO NOT test on animals and are entirely vegan. I've recently switched to the Hydrate (lavender bottles) as I'm addicted to the menthol cooling feeling on my scalp when I use the conditioner. My hair, I have to say, is shinier with less tangles than with other products and the color no longer turns brassy in a month. Makes me happy and I know no tiny bunnies were blinded or maimed in the process. That's always a nice way to start the day. So check out Pureology if you are serious about protecting your hair or just want something new to try.

My Black Heart

You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch.
You really are a heel.
You're as cuddly as a cactus,
You're as charming as an eel.
Mr. Grinch.

Ooh I'm feeling awfully Grinch-like the last few days. I tried in vain to get into the Christmas spirit by wrapping presents. We've decorated our tree. I've baked cookies, made candy and tied it all with a bow. All to no avail. I just can't seem to pump some well-needed holiday cheer into my now tiny, hardened black heart.

Maybe it's our insane, disjointed schedule. Maybe it's the fact that H and T.D. are always sick lately. Maybe it's the overtime without pay I keep putting in, the endless meetings and rounds of changes at work and lack of gym time. My body hurts from lack of movement. If I don't get my yoga class asap I might snap. Either that or my shoulders will. I am literally on the verge of having a massive temper tantrum the likes of which have not been seen in anyone over the age of three. Unless of course your friends with Paris Hilton perhaps.

It all just came to head today when I realized I still have to buy some gifts, I can't find time to buy groceries again, and I'm already sick of wishing holiday goodness to people. I would rather box their ears. After which I will then crawl into my cave above the town and frown.

I don't know the remedy for this. It might be some vacation time. I have some but I can't take it. Maybe I should just say to hell with it and do it. Just one day. One day to find my holiday spirit and make my heart that has become two sizes too small go back to normal.

Confession

We've all done things that we are not proud of, things we regret. Hindsight is 20/20 after all. Maybe you regret that unfortunate acid jeans and matching acid-wash jacket. Possibly it's the fact that you still own a leisure suit or once kicked a three-legged dog because it just wasn't gimping fast enough for you. Well, here's one of my things. I once bought, owned and (gulp) wore a t-shirt that said...Playboy on it.

I know. I know. I cringe whenever I think of that stupid thing. Why?! In fact it's still hanging in the way back of my closet. A reminder of a less than secure time in my life I suppose. Why did I buy it? Was it an impluse purchase? I have to say no to that. It was definetly a calculated buy. I bought it, of course, when I was much smaller and more svelte. It's white and a low-cut v-neck. In glittery silver letters the word 'Playboy' would sit directly where it was supposed to. I cringe over the fact that I actually forked over hard earned money for that piece of crap. I shudder to think I actually wore it on occasion but to my relief only at home. I bought it to...oh god...like a piece of sexy underwear to make my husband happy.

H, not a reader of the Playboy publications, doesn't care about such things in reality. But, newly married, wanting my spouse to think I was still hot, I was clearly dealing with my own warped issues when I bought that damn thing. Clearly. He thought it was cute mainly because it was tight and low cut and it could have said 'Motor Oil' or 'Wonder Bread' on the front and it wouldn't have matter to him.

For me though it was like a walking billboard that I was still desirable. Getting married, changing my last name, it was as if was losing myself and I didn't know who I was anymore. I felt older than I was suddenly and being unemployed, in a new place and incredibly lonely only added to those feelings of insecurity and loss. So I bought the shirt to make myself feel better. Did it work? Not really. I wore probably three times and came to my senses. I realized what I was doing was not only not working but making me feel worse. That shirt represents everything in a woman I've never wanted to be. Everything I abhor. I should just burn it in efigy on my deck one day to really make the statement it deserves. That's the statement I want to make with that shirt!

Things I will NEVER Understand

1. Stuffed animals placed in the back windows of cars. You can't see them so why put them there? They give no insight into the drivers personality either.

2. Crystals hanging from a rearview mirror. They blind me how do they not blind the driver? Aren't they illegal anyway?

3. When women wear dark brown lip liner and that's it. Does anyone else think this looks like they just ate dog doody?

4. Those creepy Christmas specials from the 1960s of Rudolph and Santa. Seriously they give me the heebie jeebies and I just cannot watch.

5. Santa, turkey, easter egg or other holiday themed sweatshirt and sweaters. On anyone except maybe someone over the age of 75. It's not festive its dorky and flatters no one but a nursing home resident.

6. The allure and power that is Tom Cruise. He wears lifts. In no other man is that considered an attractive, desirable thing to do.

7. Corporate America's mentality and work ethics. Productivity is up this month oddly enough which is good for the economy but we as a nation don't necessarily work harder just longer.

8. Eggnog.

9. Howard Stern and the women who love him.

10. Dick Cheney and the women who love him.

Green ~ The Color of Hope

Call her green and the winters cannot fade her
Call her green for the children who've made her
Little green, be a gypsy dancer

Just a little green
Like the color when the spring is born
There'll be crocuses to bring to school tomorrow

- Joni Mitchell

Sometimes it's still easy to forget that there is a life growing inside of me. Mostly, my body and my life is still my own. At almost twenty weeks, I don't really look pregnant to people who don't know me yet, so it's still my secret. But all of that is rapidly changing.

We felt the baby move for the first time this week. I had my hand on my stomach as I lay on the couch and there it was. The unmistakable feeling of something twitching in my abdomen.

At first, I was sure I had imagined being able to feel it with my hand on the outside of my body, but then, there it was again. Jeff came over to where I was laying. I put his hand where mine had been and we waited, breathlessly until again there was a sense of an involuntary muscle twitch and Jeff felt it too.

We looked at each other and burst into incredulous laughter. It was all we could do. It seemed so crazy, so unlikely, simultaneously surreal yet so incredibly real.

Green is the color of spring, the color of new beginnings. For us, it is also the color of hope. As we tried for months that stretched into a year and beyond to have a child, suffering dissapointment and loss, I began to feel that my body would never be able to sustain such life. Any woman who has suffered infertility can attest that after a time, you begin to feel dry, arid, dead, brittle - anything but green.

As the holiday season approaches and I find myself surrounded by the emeralds and forest hues of fir trees and wreaths and garlands I am reminded every day of how incredibly fortunate I am to have this opportunity to nurture a life, of the enormous priveledge we have before us as we meet our child in a few short months.

It is truly the best Christmas gift I could ever hope to have.


****Today is December's Blog Exchange day and my guest is Tammie who writes at Soul Gardening. She lives in southwest Florida in a tiny bungalow with her husband and two cats and is expecting a baby in April. You can view my post today over at her site. Go ahead and take a peek by clicking on the Blog Exchange Participant button below.******





It's busy here as it's also Perfect Post Award Day for November 2006. I awarded my Perfect Post to Izzy Mom for her post on November 26, titled 'When is MY Day Off?'. I think we all feel this way a bit too often.