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50 Shades of Unrealistic Foreplay and (S)Expectations.

***SPOILER ALERTS****

Not that it matters. This book is not necessarily some M. Night Shyamalan movie that will be all messed up if you find out what happens at the end before you actually finish the book. Not to say the ending is anything special. AND, I think it’s safe to say, everyone pretty much knows what’s going on in these pages.

Here’s the 101-

50 Shades of Grey- smut/soft porn/ romance novel. I think what’s crazy about this book is how popular and main stream it is. Judy Blume and other authors have written some crazy sex shit in their novels too, and no one talks about it. This however, is all the buzz.

You saw my Music Video last week. You know I read the book and was obviously ‘distracted’ by it.

But let me break down to you where I call some serious ‘bull shit’ out to Ms. E.L. James and her big tease she calls a novel. This is not to say I didn’t enjoy the book. Which I did. Very much so. And after all you folks telling me you bought the book after seeing my video- Ms. James should thank me. I like Sephora gift cards- thankyouverymuch.

The author is married and has kids- so she obviously knows what ‘married’ sex is like. This book is after all, fantasy. And fantasy, means, we separate ourselves from reality. And yes, the characters in the book are not married. They hardly know each other. So the reality being that my husband will never play piano with his shirt off and send me texts and emails that are so witty and bantering, or tell me to eat my breakfast because he’s worried about me. HA HA! No sir-eee! One thing my husband has never had to tell me was, ‘to eat’!  I’m pretty good at doing that on my own. Nor will he buy me an Audi sports car and fill my closet with brand new clothes.

BAM- THIS is the fantasy ladies- A CLOSET FULL OF CLOTHES THAT FIT YOU PERFECTLY!!! Of all things in this book, this was my favorite. Does this Ana bitch know how lucky she is??? Oh my gosh- to never go in a dressing room with hideous florescent lights?? Heaven on earth!

Some points I would like to make as well-This is where some points of the book cause me to roll my eyes. And yes, if Mr. Grey caught me rolling my eyes, I’d get a spanking in the Red Room of Pain. Speaking of, I would not survive the ‘can’t roll my eyes’ clause thingy. Just get me a mini fridge and a futon in the Red Room of Pain, cuz I’ll be living there with my sarcasm.

When in the hell does Anastasia pee after sex??? All that massive thrusting and you know what- makes for a serious UTI. That’s Urinary Tract Infection, for those that don’t know the speak.

All I could think of was, ‘this girl better go pee here before she falls asleep or she’s going to have a raging bladder issue in the next 24 hours’.  And, you don’t automatically eliminate the risk of getting pregnant after taking your birth control pills for just 3 days for the first time ever in your life. PUHLEEZE!!

Then- the courtship of witty exchange, nuzzling with his hands in her hair, smelling her skin…. blah, blah, blah…. SERIOUSLY??

Unless you are on some tropical getaway with your husband to some remote island and you haven’t done it in ages so you’re ripping each other’s clothes off in your villa- it’s more like, ‘hey- do you need lube, watch my hair, your elbow is on it. Could you get me a pillow- my neck is cricked and oh, move the dog, she’s like, right next to me. Why is it so cold in here? Can you just make this quick, I’m not even taking off my t-shirt’.

You get the idea.

My husband is so preoccupied when he walks in the door. He doesn’t drop his laptop bag, throw down his Crackberry, grab me by the waist and pull my hair back to bring my mouth up to his and plant a deep kiss on me. If he did, I’d probably gripe about his scruff scratching my lip, tell him he shouldn’t leave his laptop bag there since one of the kids will trip on it, and ask where his commuter coffee mug is so I don’t forget to put it in the dishwasher overnight, and did he bring the sour cream I need for dinner that I texted him earlier about.

The character, Anastasia, tries to be all upstanding in her principles. Yadda, yadda, yadda. We get it. She can’t be a total floozy or we’d lose interest. There needs to be tension between the two characters. He wants to shower her with fancy things- she wants to make it on her own. Okay fine.

But seriously- I wanted to give her a head thump on the forehead through the book. Are you insane??? Take the guy’s offer!

Clothes that fit, a car that you will never have to take to Jiffy Lube for a tune up and wonder if you should go for the transmission flush AND the new air filter or not, since you are still paying for the new tires you had to put on back in January.

Clothes. I keep coming back to this, I know. Maybe it’s because I have dreams where I go in my closet and there are clothes I’ve never seen before with tags on. It seriously is the best dream ever. They are beautiful clothes that fit me and I don’t remember having to pay for them. I’ve had this dream since 7th grade. It just changes from stirrup pants of the 80s to pencil skirts and Manolo Blahniks of the present.

If my husband bothered to tie me up during sex, I’m pretty sure  both of us would fall asleep before we were finished. Leaving me still in the bonds. Which when I finally did wake up, he wouldn’t unstrap me and give me a massage on my shoulders like Christian does, I’d have to nudge him in the head to free me, which I’m sure he would (maybe). My hand will have fallen asleep so I’ll be walking around the room, waving it like a lunatic to regain blood flow, then stub my toe on the laundry basket over by the dresser that I can’t see in the dark. Then he’d roll over and steal the covers and double check that his alarm clock is set for the morning, while I remind him of the fact that tomorrow he needs to take the boy to Cub Scouts,  bring home cat litter and call his mother.

Christian in the book, doesn’t let Ana, touch him, but he does all kinds of ‘things’ i.e. caresses, spankings, massaging… to her. Okay, fine with me. Let HIM do all the work. Do any of you ladies know what the ‘race track’ is? It’s the figure 8 pattern your husband sleepily draws on your back when you’ve asked for a back rub and he lays there half asleep with one hand pitifully ‘massaging’ you.

Oh, and I almost forgot. Hired help to make breakfast. Another deal sealer in my book. Not having to do breakfast dishes, make the coffee and wonder if I remembered the milk… priceless.

This is some serious porn in my book.

So don’t get the wrong idea. Like, I said, this is fantasy. We want to escape when we read novels. And yes, I did, for the most part. But I guess I’m so firmly entrenched in my way of living, that all I could think of was the minutia of details. I’m thinking Christian puts his socks in the hamper. What do you think?

That's more like it.

Yoga gabba gabba

I went to yoga last week and again this week. First time in years. To a class, that is. I do yoga stretches at home all the time. Apparently, not like this instructor does though. She worked me, and worked me good. This must be how taffy feels in Atlantic City getting pulled all over the place while people watch for fun.  The best part-  I didn’t pass any gas. Whew!!

Yoga is such tricky shit. You are trying to get your body to look like Jennifer Aniston, but in the meantime, you know that you really should be there to get your heart and your mind like Ghandi. Then you feel kinda bad thinking to yourself, ‘how many of these sessions will it take to look hot in that LBD I saw at Nordstrom?” Because really, we want to feel good, but we want to look good too. Is that so wrong? Not only do I think of Little Black Dresses, or cute new sandals, my mind trails to all kinds of thinking while in Ohm pose. Like, ‘what’s for dinner, what does Rick Astley look like these days, did Joanie really love Chachi’. You know, important stuff like that.

I carry a lot of tension, pain, hormones, whatever, in my lower back. Carry it like a pack mule down to the Grand Canyon. Geeze, what is the matter down there?? Yogi Nancy really s t r e t c h e d  it out of me. I love it when I’m downward dogging and she comes over and just pulls at my hips a little more to the ceiling. Oh sure- cuz that’s so much easier now!!  I’ve been sore for a couple days, but in a good way. My back felt great the next day. I know now that stretching is probably going to be key to my quality of life even more so than running or strength training. How in the heck do I get so wound up down there? I mean, I’m not doing any heavy lifting, I wonder if it’s my posture, the way I sit when I’m driving in my pimpwagon (minivan)?  Oh wait, I know- it’s this damn couch I’m sinking into while blogging and on Facebook all the time!! Anyway- my hips are tight. Super tight. Like I need Maksim Chmerkovskiy on Dancing With the Stars to Samba the knots out – kinda tight.

At the beginning of class our Yogi said something to us that really stood out to me. She was talking about a term- I have no idea the Indian name for it- but it means ‘non grasping’. She talked about not holding our pain. Not grasping at things in life.  When we grasp, our hands are closed, and they aren’t open and ready for the next thing.

Huh.

I am always trying to grip so hard on to things to hold them dear to me. I never thought of the idea of ‘not grasping’. She says when you are grasping constantly, you don’t appreciate the ‘now’, what this moment has for you. You are grasping and it traps you in the past. Let me explain. Like a dog that is happy to go on a walk. Dog isn’t thinking on the walk how dog needs to go home and do chores, cook dinner, or write blog, dog is just happy to smell stuff and watch squirrels. Dogs don’t grasp apparently.

I thought of what I’m grasping.

Maybe I am grasping pain. We always reference something to our past. “Gosh, last year when I ran that 5k, my hips didn’t hurt the way they do now.” OR “Last time I went out late with friends and danced on the  bar, I didn’t get so tired so quickly”.

I grasp onto my parent’s aging.

I don’t want them to get older. I don’t like when I hear my mom talk about how she is slowing down, or my dad is slowing down. I’m grasping on to the time in their lives before cancers, before hip replacements, before they were too tired to get on the floor and play with the kids. Thankfully, my kids are older now- we don’t play on the floor- much. Owen likes to hang out with Oma sewing or reading. And both kids always like to sit at the table to enjoy a cup of tea and a jam butty with their Odaddy. So really, no one needs to be moving much. Right?

I grasp on the times when my children were little and sweet and innocent. When their cheeks were pudgy and their knuckles had little fat indents.

I grasp on to the early courting days of my relationship with my husband. He used to bring me flowers every month. We used to go antiquing on weekends.

People say kids today are so busy texting and on Facebook. They are grasping on to the past of when there were no cell phones, no computers, no XBOX, no Kindles, no GPS.

Yeah- that might be true. I make sure my kids ‘unplug’ from time to time.  I am NOT a strict no TV mommy. Don’t give me too much credit.  But here’s what is cool today in the here and now- kids can treasure hunt using satellites, they can text their mom that they will be late for dinner since their coach kept them late at practice, they can strategize through puzzles on Portal 2 in case they work for the CIA when they grow up (okay, I threw that last part in, but I can’t do diddly squat on Portal 2 and my 8 year old has it mastered.) I can’t even fold a map these days- so thank GOD for GPS. Right?? Our state can issue an Amber Alert that can be spread through social media outlets within minutes. Kids have the chance to be found the same day. Not to be lost forever with their picture on a milk carton.

I will try to open my hand and not grasp but think of the following:

  • my parents are here, they are wonderful people that sit and listen and make me feel important, special and loved. I don’t necessarily have to DO anything with them to enjoy them.
  • my children are humorous, independent and growing up to be pleasant people. Actual persons. Just like I intended. They will one day leave the nest, I want them ready to fly. I can’t have them stay sweet and peachy fuzzy chubby forever. Which makes me break down in sobs sometimes and want to climb in their bed when they are off at school and stick my nose in their blankets to just get their sweet smell.
  • maybe my husband doesn’t bring me flowers hardly ever. But I was living in an apartment in those days. We didn’t have our babies yet. The future seemed so vast and daunting. Now I know where I am meant to be.  I wouldn’t change today for anything and where we are now. And we don’t need any more antiques.

Hold your hands open to what is. To the now my friends. Oh SNAP! I am turning into Gandhi. Maybe my enlightened self will just accept my body as it is and go get that dress at Nordstrom anyway….

Namaste.

 

The Music Video

I’ve been reading the soft porn book 50 Shades of Grey about domination, kinky sex, and everything you don’t want your parents to know you are reading. Whew, is it hot in here??

If you’ve read it, you know how, uhm, steamy it is. Steamy? Geeze, that’s putting it lightly!! It’s like jungle steamy, humidifier steamy, boiling noodles steamy.

The other day I had to put it down because I think my cheeks were flushed and the kids came home from school.

I will be honest. I haven’t finished it yet. I feel dirty reading it when the children are home.

So this is me during the day whenever I get a chance on my own to read it. I incorporate chores, Daniel Craig, some subliminal thoughts- you’ll be surprised, and how I really just can’t put the book down. Unless of course, my kids are home! Then I hide it under the couch cushions.

Please keep in mind- I’m a goof ball and by no means take any of this seriously.

Disclaimer-

I’m a happily married woman who has no problem with vanilla sex. Thank you.

I know- more than you needed to know.

Enjoy!

I have it really good.

But that doesn’t mean I have it easy.

Does anyone have it easy? I mean really now. Life is a struggle. There is probably a very small, hmm, can we call them the 1% of people, who have few worries. If you relate your worries to your finances I guess.

I figure, if you are a loving, warm blooded human- you have worries or problems.

Here is why I have it good. And yes, I’m an appreciative type so I will focus on the positive for now. ‘Bout damn time I stop complaining about PMS and cellulite anyway.

  • I am a stay at home mom. Yep, I said it. Proud of it too. I ADMIRE WOMAN WHO WORK AT PAYING JOBS TOO! so there. I am just happy in MY shoes. Don’t judge me for not ‘working’. That’s bullshit. I work all the time. I volunteer too. Which is working for free. So that means, I do two jobs and don’t get paid. I raise my kids and I volunteer. Bam.
  • My husband is a good man. He really is. I give him crap. He can’t load or unload the dishwasher or put his socks away. But God bless him, he works hard for his family and puts us FIRST. Which in my book, is what makes a man a man. He loves us, even if he has shitty communication skills. He trusts me. He let’s me be me. He lets me have fun with girlfriends, blog about shit, fill our home with beauty products and copious amounts of tea. I love tea. He doesn’t give me a hard time for going vegan-ish. He even secretly is trying it himself.
  • My kids are healthy. Gee whiz. I can’t say enough how this makes me feel warm fuzzy and guilty as hell all at the same time. Yeah, I know. I’m pretty effed up to feel guilty about healthy children. But between the friends I know whose children have suffered through cancer or the families I know with Asperger’s and Autism, I feel like I dodged a bullet somehow. Now, if that cannon were to fire in my direction one day, I would maybe change my tune. But I really appreciate my children and all the milestones they’ve accomplished.
  • I have great friends. I have great ‘real’ friends and great ‘virtual’ friends. I’ll explain. I have girlfriends that I have known for years, have been there for the births of my children, my wedding, my ugly shoe phase in college, my bed rest during pregnancies, my children’s baptisms, at the bus stop to be there when I couldn’t, for carpooling, for birthdays, coffee dates, dinner dates… the list goes on. I also have friends who I have never met in my life. They see me only through my blog and my Facebook blog page. They give me accolades and validation that I feel I don’t deserve sometimes. But I always appreciate it and drink it in. Because it feels so damn good to get appreciated!
  • I have complete use of my faculties. Okay, this might not last forever, and except for the slight tinkle when I laugh, sneeze or jump on a trampoline- I am so grateful to be upright and functioning!! I am not 600 pounds lying in a bed for a forklift to take me to the doctor. I do not need a wheelchair or a speak n spell device like Stephen Hawking to communicate. I can go for a run. Play with my kids. Dance a spaz dance to LMFAO. Cuz you know I do!
  • I don’t have to go to a well for water. Gosh darn if I don’t complain about chores on a daily basis. And wouldn’t it be grand if the cat would just poop in the toilet instead of the litter box? But really? I have machines that do most of the work. Water comes magically out of a faucet. The washing machine beats and spins my clothes until they are clean. All I have to do is fold them. Although, by the length of time they sit in laundry baskets in the hall way, you would think that was the hardest task in the world.
  • I have freakin’ Amazon Fresh delivering groceries to my door! Yes- people. I can sit in my $100 Lululemon yoga pants and buy organic kale at my computer and it comes the next morning. The beauty of the USA people!

Now let’s not get all mistaken by this sunshine and unicorn post. There’s shitty shit going on in the world. Even in my neighborhood. I buy supplies for needy kids at my son’s school. There’s a frickin’ SWAT team in my city today, actually because some asshole shot at someone in a home. This ain’t Beverly Hills folks!

But I’m going to smell the roses, AND the freshly ground espresso. I’m going to try and be happy that I CAN cook dinner for my family because I have the food and the appliances to do so. (although sometimes that shit gets so old…)

Yep. That’s my Mr. Rogers post for you today. Won’t you be my neighbor? Remember, he always sang- “It’s such a good feeling, to know you’re alive…” Sing it my friends!

Beauty advice that you shouldn’t follow from me.

Here’s the thing- I love me some product. Put me in a Sephora store and let me run free. I could spend hours in there. I get this crazy high from the product smell. The florescent lights. The colors and product to dabble with. I smile and act like I know what I’m doing. Nobody bothers me. I don’t feel intimidated. It’s a playground! It’s like a little Julie Andrews- hills are alive- moment I feel each time.

I should just go to cosmetology school. I could do hair, nails, facials, you name it! Well, I THINK I can. There’s a difference of what I THINK I can do, and what I actually SHOULD do.

Things I SHOULDN’T

Let’s start with 7th grade:

You TOO can have golden locks!!

Sun In

You know you did it. It didn’t matter what your natural hair color was. The temptation of those cute beach girls lightening their hair in the commercial was too much to resist. How easy it was to just spray on the stuff- and Voila! Orange hair. Or straw blond. Not strawberry blond. STRAW blond. Like hay. Dry and yellow. Whichever. Guys used it too <<cough McSweetie cough>>.

Ogilvie Home Perm

How many times I made my mom do this god awful process. Hey- perms were IN back in the 80s! Who DIDN’T want body and luscious waves? Who DIDN’T want a poodle perm? COME ON! Sad thing was- my hair was so hard to curl, it only lasted about a week. And the SMELL. Oh the smell…

If I could ONLY have looked like this!! Luckily, I have no actual pictures documenting MY hair don't.

Adult beauty mistakes:

DIY Hair color

Within the last 10 years, I went against better sense and colored my hair at home. My cool blond tresses have never been the same. The box of color was on the Target clearance end-cap. Tell me Sarah Jessica Parker doesn’t just pick up her hair color at Target. Right?  I followed the instruction booklet closely. The color was something like Champagne blond on the label. I looked more like Blush champagne when I was done. Like Arbor Mist Blond. A little on the strawberry side. A little flat too. It killed my highlights and made me really reddish blond. If that is even a color. I went to my regular gal and got a foil to break it up a bit. She laughed at me and made me Girl Scout swear never to do it again. Anyone out there who does color their hair from a box- I’m jealous.

Frownies- WTF? Huh!

Just look at this picture.

Yes, that's my forehead.

They are these paper sticky things you put on your ‘frown lines’ and it takes the place of Botox. Trains your facial muscles to relax so you don’t furrow and squint unnecessarily. Are they working? Well, it’s like a treadmill, it might work if you use them. But they kind of feel weird and hurt when you peel them off and you need to wear them up to 3 hours at a time or overnight. When am I going to go 3 straight hours with paper triangles stuck to my face?? And at night, I always ‘forget’ (translation, I’m too embarrassed to wear them in  front of the hubs). So they just sit in my drawer collecting dust.

Be careful of fruit acid peels. When it says not to use more than 2 times a week. Follow that rule. If you don’t. You will look like you went skiing with goggles on a sunny day.

Fruit peel or idiot who didn't use sunscreen?

Waxing-

I wax my eyebrows successfully each month. Remember when I told you I didn’t wax anywhere else?

Well, I decided to shave instead. BIG MISTAKE.

Let’s see how I can put this.

If you trim DOWN THERE with just a regular razor for your legs, it gets a little hedgehoggy. Maybe waxing would eliminate the stubble. But right now, the grow-out is pretty prickly. It seems that after writing my blog, Wax On, Wax Off- I almost felt like I could challenge myself and see what could be done DOWN THERE. Well, never again. I’m leaving it alone. It’s not itchy though. Yet. Maybe I shouldn’t have used the razor that was a month old sitting in my shower.

Oh look- it's my vajajay!

THINGS I WON”T TRY-

Anal bleaching- there is no reason I would do this myself or pay someone to do this for me. My anus has never been the same since child birth. I will leave it at that. I’m not auditioning to be in a porno in the near future, so it will stay its original color I was born with.

Eye lash extensions. I might get this done by a professional. I won’t do it myself. I don’t have a steady surgeons hand. I would look like Tammy Faye if I tried this. I don’t even think you can get your hands on the stuff if you aren’t a professional.

Eyebrow tinting.

Bird Poop beauty masks- yeah in Japan or somewhere they take bird poop- I’m hoping it’s special birds and not just pigeon shit. Not that it makes it better! They use the poop in beauty masks.  Anyway- Asian women are on a quest for white, porcelain skin, and there’s an ingredient in the poop that lightens skin.

Leaches- yep. This is sort of making a ‘come back’. Apparently, Demi Moore does this. Demi Moore also smoked some bad salvia and ended up in the hospital. I’m not taking beauty advice from Demi any time soon.

Botox- okay, except for the lady who injected beef fat in her own face- who would ever do this on their own? My Beef with Botox I’m not saying I’m not doing Botox ever. I’m just not doing it MYSELF!

Piercings, tongue splitting or scarring. Just don’t even go there..

So there you have it. Confessions of a not quite Beauty School Dropout. Not bad, right? Okay, maybe just a little…

Oh, look- under there. Under where? Haha, made you say underwear!!

What does your underwear say about you?

For starters- let’s hope it says you do the laundry and that it’s clean.

 

Undergarments. Yay or nay? I love my undergarments. But I found out (dun da dun) not everyone does!! Some of my friends don’t even wear underwear!! EWW!! So I’ve decided to compile four groups of women and their philosophies about undergarments. I am using the Mad Men ladies to illustrate my point. I mean, because… well, why not??!! They are fine ladies and back then in the 60s, fashion was really going through a lot of changes. But I will also sort of use a time machine to introduce things like thongs and SPANX. Since they didn’t have those back then. They still wore belts with their feminine products for crying out loud!

 

 

 

Then we have our undergarment categories:

Commando (that’s no underwear, BTW)

Thong

Granny brief

Boy short with lace

Here is how I think the girls match up to the underwear or lack of.  Decide who you match up with in YOUR undergarment preferences. Can you guess who I am?

Joan- Commando. This girl is not to be bothered with visible panty lines or any extra fabric for that matter. She wears SPANX slips under her pencil skirts and cocktail dresses. She is sleek and smooth. On weekends, she wears peddle pushers and silk negligees. Commando. Totally. She is fearless and knows her shit. This girl would not be caught dead in yoga pants or anything else like from our time. And she would NEVER let her man see her stuff herself into her SPANX either. (ahem, nothing to see here, move along. NOT that I’VE done that, oh no. Maybe once.)

This is oh so Joanie. AND it still allows for Commando.

Betty- Thong. She is stuck in the middle. She probably would love to go Commando but thinks it would be unsanitary. She doesn’t want to soil more garments than she should. And she’s such a twig she doesn’t need the support of any garments to hold in flab.  She opts for zero panty lines, but with some crotch coverage, just in case, for you know, female stuff.

We’re not talking G-string here. Still demure enough for Betty.

Peggy- Granny briefs. Peggy’s strict Catholic upbringing has instilled in her that good girls wear ginormous underwear. She likes the security it gives her. Girdles and support hose will help with the panty lines. She needs coverage all the time, 24/7. Despite her struggles to be ‘one of the guys’ at the office professionally, she still asserts her feminine side and isn’t shy of feeling sexy, despite the granny pants she has underneath her pencil skirt. She’s uber confident that way.

Comfortable and soft. Perfect for Peggy types.

Trudy- Boy shorts with lace. Trudy is complex. She wants everything without coming across needy, bitchy or slutty. Comfort, no panty lines, sex appeal, coverage. She’s not just a little housewife. She needs to keep her husband interested. She needs to know that in case of an emergency she’ll have coverage where she needs it. (What emergency? you ask.) Well, like what if she sneezes and looses a little bladder control. It’s not her fault she doesn’t know what kegels are.

Comfy AND alluring, dontcha think?

So there you have it.

My underwear philosophies. To each her own, right?

Spoiled kids vs. well-nurtured kids. vs. Helicopter parents vs. Roomba parents.

Oh boy. This is going to take awhile. And with my ADD and short term memory issues, it might take longer for me to get to my point.

You all know what a Roomba is right? That self run vacuum cleaner that just rolls along bumping into the furniture and finding it’s way while sucking up the dirt? You know what helicopter parents are right?  Helicopter Parents are parents that hover. Take care of their kids even when there’s really nothing wrong to take care of. In Scandinavia, they are called curling parents. I mean, those Nordic countries know their curling right? So, it means to them, sweeping away problems before they transpire.

Look at them furiously sweep that ice!! How metaphoric for parenting right?

After People I Want To Punch In The Throat‘s blog about people needing to be happy, I felt a light bulb go off in my attic. Yeah, an a-ha moment, if you will. Kids are bored. Twentysomethings are bored. So we need to not be so damn cajoling to our kids all the time.

I seriously doubt I would call myself a helicopter mom. I mean, do helicopter moms hope and pray the neighbor kid will ask your kid over for dinner so you don’t have to feed them? Does a helicopter mom hope that the sleepover your daughter plans is at her friend’s house and not yours so you don’t have to host? Do helicopter moms stick Uncrustables in their kids’ lunches everyday because it’s easier than actually making a sandwich?

God Bless Smuckers

See what I mean?

On the other hand, I make my kids wear their helmets when they ride their bikes. I like to know who they are with and have the parent’s number. I make them buckle up and sit in the back seat. Daughter has started riding in the front- she’s 12, it’s legal. If they are invited on to a boat or somewhere, I make damn sure there’s life jackets. I would never let them do 4 wheeling or anything hazardous like that. Too many Dateline stories. I don’t let my daughter go with her friends to the ice rink at 9pm on a Friday. Who are you kidding? I was a teenager once!

Safety is a priority with me.  But if they have a problem at school, with a friend, with homework, whatever- I will make sure they can solve it first before I step in. Kids need to figure out the world. They need to know how to fight their battles. Some battles I had as a kid, I hated. But I still fought them. I’m not going to make my kid run around in the snow in his underwear to learn a lesson. (That was stupid) I’m not going to drop them off at the mall and say, get your own ride home. No. And I sure as hell won’t forget my kid at a Chuck E. Cheese on their birthday!

So this is why I think of myself as a Roomba parent. I’m there, I take care of the messes after they actually happen, I do my job. But am I as hovering and attentive as a helicopter mom, I don’t think so. Maybe I’m better than a Roomba parent. Maybe I’m a Zamboni parent?  But you get the idea.

My kids have it good. They are ‘lavishly indulged’ compared to most industrialized countries, I am sure. As most kids in this country are. When I say ‘lavishly indulged’, I mean, roof over their heads, laundry done, snacks stocked in the pantry. But I am okay with this. I try hard as a parent to provide them with the best things and experiences. Healthy meals (except for Uncrustables, a mom’s gotta have some slack here and there), I sign them up for swim lessons. Soccer if they want to. Theater. Yep- daughter does that. But only one thing at a time. I can’t stand driving them all over creation. We need down time. And by down time, I mean, time where I’m not in my car and I can watch GCB on DVR while having a glass of wine! My kids don’t have a TV in every room, iPhones, name brand fancy clothing or shoes. They have Target clothes, Supercuts hair cuts. I’m a bargain shopper. But don’t get me wrong- I buy some quality things too. And special things like a Kindle for my daughter. Anyway…my point is- I don’t think my kids are spoiled. Because, and I stress, because- they are gracious and appreciative.

My son says thank you for every blessed thing. Okay, he can be a little shit when he wants pancakes on a Saturday if I haven’t had my 3rd cup of tea, or he asks for milk when he sees me sitting with the laptop and the dog and have no intention of getting up. But still, he says thank you when I take him to the library. Thank you when I get him a burrito from the drive thru on the way from something, thank you for getting his hair cut, thank you for taking the family to the movies. When he was 2 years old he had diarrhea in the middle of the night. Like any two year old. I changed him, and when I put his jammies back on he says, ‘fank you mommy’. OH melt my heart!!!

The girl is gracious too. For her bday I took her to get her haircut, shopping, lunch and bubble tea. She said how much fun she had and thanks for taking her out. She needed a haircut, paid with stuff with her own money, and didn’t whine about anything. I didn’t exactly hire the Jonas Brothers to sing at her birthday or anything!

Okay- this is making my kids sound really good. And don’t let me fool you. They are not angels. They are little shits sometimes. But most of the time, they are awesome, I will admit.

What I worry about, is our future generation of adults. The twentysomethings of today.

We have two rental properties near a local college. Our tenants are students at the college. All in their twenties. Some tenants are very low maintenance, pay the rent on time, buy bug spray if they see ants in the garage, call the fire department if a pipe bursts. You know, basic stuff.

OTHER tenants- I swear still want their mommy or daddy to wipe them! They have no concept of when to send the rent check in. For how much the rent check will be. That we say no pets, we mean- no pets. That if they bust a window or a smoke detector because they were fucking around- they will have to pay for it. My husband and I repeatedly shake our heads in disbelief with some of the calls we get from tenants. Or when we have to send them their rent reminder on the 10th of the month. Seriously? <<SIGH>>

So where does this lead me, oh crap, I forgot to buy cat litter today, see- ADD snuck in!

Anyway, where was I….

Parent your child how you see fit, but please, I hope that means, teaching them how to pay their bills on time when they are older. Thanking folks when they have something done for them and speaking for themselves when they have a problem. So if you want to shower your kid with Juicy Couture clothes, Ugg boots, crackPads, new cars, whatever, make sure they APPRECIATE it. I like nice things. If I could afford it, I would buy the next Marc Jacob’s bag in a hot second! But know where it all comes from. Someone’s working hard for it. Because I like nurtured kids. Spoiled kids- not so much!

Oh, and for heaven’s sake- helicopter moms- teach your kids how to chew their OWN food!!

The Bearded Iris plays Helicopter Mom and chews her kid’s food for them. Trust me, it’s hilarious, and don’t take it seriously!

The happiness of being a mother. No- really!

We are celebrating my daughter’s 12th birthday today. And it happens to be Easter. One of the perks of being born in April, there’s a chance your birthday falls on Easter. This is the second time we have celebrated the two together. The last was five years ago. We were at Disneyland for spring break. I don’t think a 7 year old could have had it any better!

This year, Emma is on the brink of teenagedom. She has always been mature- beyond her years. She was uber sophisticated at the young age of 2 when she said very clearly- “Aunt Edna broke her pelvis” to everyone she met on the street. This was true. Aunt Edna had, in fact, broken her pelvis. She also would lay on our family room carpet with the clear plastic toy bin over her head pretending she was Snow White in the casket the dwarfs had made her. And we would have to take turns playing the Prince. Getting on bended knee, lowering our head in sorrow, then lifting the toy bin to kiss her. She would open her eyes and play the princess off to be with her prince. Oh gosh, how I miss those days. Sort of.

Emma was never really a good sleeper. She gave me trouble even in-utero when she decided she wanted to start coming out at 25 weeks. I was hospitalized and on strict bed rest for 10 weeks. When she was born, we couldn’t get her to latch on. Breast feeding was hell. I think this is what caused her to not sleep. Her poor sleep patterns continued until she was about 5.

Now, what do you know? I can’t wake her up in the mornings. She would sleep a solid 12 hours if you let her. Which is hard when you have to get her out the door for school at 7:15 am and most activities and homework keep her up until 9pm. She probably needs as much sleep now as a toddler does, but life doesn’t allow for that.

Well, let’s get back to my original point. Happiness in motherhood. Seems like a paradox huh? Just kidding!

But truly, I wanted to be a mom so badly. I wanted Emma to be born safe and well. I willed her to be healthy. Don’t patronize me. I know that it’s not my thinking that made her. But I prayed hard, I meditated, I focused all my energies to gestating that healthy baby.

When she came out- oh lord, that was something. I had the best epidural known to modern medicine. This was after two hours of my uterus being hypertonic in a contraction that was ‘off the charts’. I thought I would die. When they finally let me have the epidural, the anesthesiologist- Dr. Fritz- performed magic. I didn’t even feel the needle (this could be because I was in such a fit of pain, you could have cut off my toes, and I wouldn’t have noticed it for the pain in my midsection) and then he said that my legs would start to feel warm like in a bathtub of warm water. Oh. He was right!! I could breathe. The pain subsided, my legs went heavenly numb and warm. My thoughts returned to the room I was in and the people around me. Like my darling husband, McSweetie, my mom, and my doula Peggy. The labor nurse, Ruth, was awesome. She got me comfortable and we let everyone go get some breakfast since it had been such a stressful morning of watching me writhe in pain.

She assured them it would be a few more hours before it was time to push.

Tick tock. A whopping 30 minutes went by (tee hee, I kid) and I sheepishly told Ruth I felt like I had to go to the bathroom. You know- I mean, number 2. She’s like, uhm, I don’t think so, let me examine you.

Sure enough- she’s in there with her whole hand. “Oh yeah, I feel the baby’s hair- you’re 10 centimeters”.

Me- “So I don’t have to poop?”

Ruth- “Nope. You’re gonna have this baby!”

In walks husband and mom with lattes and smiles on their faces thinking, la la la, this is a piece of cake. Then I say, “Hey, guess what? I’m ten centimeters so we’re going to start pushing, and by we, I mean ME.”

So up my legs go in the stirrups, Dr. Johnson, the best ob/gyn known to woman,  comes by with all the paper gowns and masks, I’m sure they put something on the floor to catch the mess. I had my Mozart CD playing in the hospital CD player, the sun was shining and I didn’t feel a thing. Anything that registered on the pain meter anyway.  I did what they told me and in about 10 minutes, I could see Emma with her eyes wide open staring at the doctor! She was covered in stuff that looks like what babies look like on TV and the movies when they pretend it’s a newborn. The doc was a little concerned. Emma had had the cord around her neck and the fetal monitor showed a morbidly low heart rate. They wanted to get her to oxygen right away. The Dr. didn’t even ask if one of us wanted to cut the cord. My mom with tears in her eyes, is holding my leg in the air, cheering, “She’s here, she’s here!”

I started to cry. But in a good, relief-happy cry sort of way.  I hadn’t heard Emma make a sound yet, but since I saw her color and saw her eyes wide open, I knew she was going to be okay. Within a few minutes they had her wiped off and on my chest. When I placed my hand on her, I thought I put my fingers in a warm bowl of butter. I had never felt anything so soft. It was literally, ‘like buttah’. I could smell her, I don’t know how to describe it, but it was HER smell. I cried and cried for my baby. The universe shifted and my heart opened up to a big giant surge of power. Infinite power that I could never imagine. This is truly what LOVE feels like. I get it. THIS is what everyone talks about.

Bliss lasted for a few hours. Once the epidural wore off and I could help myself to the toilet- that’s a winning moment for post partum moms. You DO NOT want a catheter if your bladder is ‘injured’ in any way. I remember feeling fabulous that I could breathe, my lungs weren’t squished, my pelvis didn’t have 10 pounds of baby weight pushing on it, I felt incredible. Until the next day when my hoo ha, swelled up like a grapefruit and I had to sit with frozen maxi pads. But that’s another story…

The latching on- not so good. The sleeping that night- not so good. The sleeping the next 45 nights- not so good.

Both hubs and I were bleary eyed, happy parents. But we knew we were screwed.

I remember looking at her in her bassinet. She was about 4 days old. I was still miserable. My boobs hurt like mo fo’s and I didn’t know whether to, as my dad says, ‘shit or go blind’, I was so tired. But I looked at her perfectness, and started to weep. I was so grateful she was here and safe. I had this perfect child. Of course, now, I was immersed in worrying all about the things that COULD happen. Is she going to stop breathing? Is her bassinet safe? What if there’s a fire? What if we get in a car accident on the way to a pediatrician appointment? What if she gets a fever? And the worrying never stops.

Now my worries are- who is she hanging out with after school, who is she getting a ride with to the movies, is her school campus safe, is she safe in her friend’s parent’s car on the way to a camp-out… ??? and on, and on, and on….

But today is her birthday. And even while she is right this very minute making a spoof video on her new Flip camera with her brother about murdering a cereal box- she is the apple of my eye, the sun in my day, and the peach in my fruit basket.

YOUR kids make videos about murdering cereal boxes and stuffed animals too, right?

Happy Easter. Happy Birthday Emma. The world is better with you in it.

Samantha Brick can be MY friend, and I wouldn’t be jealous. I promise.

I’m a little excited over here in blogger land. I recorded my first VLOG!! Yep- you get to see my sweet mug and then some!

So here’s a little background on this ditty:

Samantha Brick is a woman in the UK who says life has been so hard being pretty. Women hate her and are backstabbing bitches because of her good looks. She has never been a bridesmaid because the brides feel threatened she will steal their groom.

She has had to dress down at work for fear of being TOO attractive. Also- she can’t wait to age when the wrinkles and gray hairs make her look more average.

Wow, this chick is a piece of work.

Here’s the articles from the original UK post-

Women hate her because she’s beautiful

Her article proves women are bitchy because of the response world wide

Here’s my response:

It’s a little rambling, a little long. But I have visual aids and wear a tiara. So it’s worth a look. Enjoy!

Dr. Doolittle’s got nothing on me.

Call me Dr. Doolittle. Or Noah from the Bible. Animals flock to me, I swear. I rescue animals- ALL. THE. TIME.

I have no special training or background in this. I’m just a housewife/PTA mom/ award winning actress movie junkie. Maybe there’s an aura around me that says, ‘I am a sucker for animals’.

The other day a dog wandered into my garage. A sweet, large shepherd type dog. Big and fluffy with blondish, beige fur. Sweet and friendly, obviously someone’s pet. There were tags and on the tags the name of the vet. I knew exactly which vet it was. So I just had the dog hop in my car and we drove over to the office. The dog was obviously used to riding in a car and very well behaved. I went inside to the front desk and asked if I could bring the dog in that I found. They were friendly and accommodating. The front desk lady grabbed a leash and followed me out to my car. She said they had some calls on a dog named Gracie that fit my description. I didn’t see a name on the tag, but when she went to read the tags, she says, ‘yep, Gracie. I knew it! Glad you found her.’

Well, then I was just overjoyed that I had done the right thing in bringing the dog to the vet. She was safe, and would be reunited with her owner. Sometimes you wonder if you should just let it be, maybe it will wander home, maybe the owner is near. It’s hard to know what to do. This time, I felt validated.

I want to save them all!

This was not the first time, nor the second time this has happened. This was probably the fifth time. Yes, fifth.

Let’s see-

There was Hope. The big brown dog that looked like a bear mixed with an ewok mixed with a chow chow. Poor Hope. Traumatized and lost with scars on her face from a life of hard knox. She had a mean dog’s expression. People thought she looked vicious. She was just scared. She wouldn’t come near me. For two weeks I fed that dog and helped with it’s rescue owner (she had recently adopted it from a rescue and she escaped from her kennel) to get Hope home. We tried and tried to gain Hope’s trust. It was the beginning of a very warm June. 90 degree heat wave- this is Seattle, 90 degrees is always a heat wave. I made sure there was water out. I noticed water bowls throughout the neighborhood. Everyone wondered who that brown dog belonged to that would sit in the shade. Once I almost got her to eat some bacon out of my hand. We had animal control come by several times to try and catch her for us. Then one day, they came with their tranquilizer guns. I figured this was a good thing because now Hope would get the care and rehabilitation she needed. They shot the first tranquilizer dart in her side. Yes, the first. She ran around the neighborhood for more than an hour with that dart hanging from her flank. She was tough. She wouldn’t slow down. So they shot her with a second dart. I was on foot tracking them. I wanted to know there would be a happy ending to this story.  It wasn’t possible, but I wanted so much to hug and pet this dog and show it love that it never knew. What was sweet about Hope was she was very happy to see other dogs. She would prick up her ears and show interest in any of the neighborhood dogs even though she shied away from people.

After the second tranquilizer dart, she still wouldn’t slow down. She kept at a steady jog through yards and cul de sacs, clearly afraid. And then, the animal control fellas that I thought were going to help her, did something shocking. They got out their tazer and tazed her. Twice. She seized on the grass of my neighbor’s yard and then they lifted her lifeless body into the truck. The owner followed them in her car to the shelter. I convinced myself she was just in shock and would be fine.

The owner called me the next day and said that Hope didn’t make it. She went into cardiac arrest at the shelter. I was so angry and heartbroken over the whole thing. I’ll never forget Hope. She was like that ASPCA Sarah Maclachlan commercial. A dog that had such a hard life, her scarred face from who knows what. She looked mean to so many, but she just needed love she never knew.

This isn't actually Hope, but the best look alike I could find. She was darker, had scars across her muzzle and was a little furrier.

The other stories are less involved. There’s been two different labradors that have strayed into our yard. One we returned to our vet to see if it was chipped. When they said they would keep it until it was claimed we put a sign on our yard that read, ‘FOUND BLACK LAB- call —–’ Sure enough, we got a call that night saying they saw our sign. We directed them to the animal hospital saying their dog was waiting for them there. They didn’t even thank us! Asshats! You lose your dog, we find it for you and not even a ‘oh thank you so much for making sure our beloved puppy is safe’. Just a ‘okay, cool’ and hung up. SERIOUSLY?

Two dogs I’ve returned in our neighborhood just by driving around and seeing people looking like they were looking for lost dogs. Then asking them if they’ve lost a dog, sure enough- it was theirs.

I drove an hour to my friend’s house to recover a kitty that was definitely a stray and needed to be looked after.  My friend couldn’t afford another cat and darling McSweetie won’t allow me to have anymore. So I drove it out to my shelter that is no-kill and lied that I found him in my neighborhood (they only take strays found within our city limits). They gladly took him and after examining him found he had two broken teeth. Good thing we saved him or those teeth would’ve caused him health issues for sure.

So there’s my story of lost pets. Seriously, if it’s lost, it will come to me. Oh, and I forgot about when I called 9-1-1 for a deer hit by a car and I watched as it rolled off the people’s car and they drove off. WHO DOES THAT? It was like watching a movie in slow motion.

Be careful out there.

“watch out Harold, that’s a deer”

“I see it Edith, don’t worry- woops, oh wait, that would be the deer on our hood. oh and there it goes- rolling over the roof of our car. Sure hope it doesn’t damage the roof rack.  Did it come out the back side?”

“Yep, just drive on Harold, it’s in the ditch, no biggy.”

Just like this, but a deer, not a person.

That’s how I picture the old couple’s dialogue that hit it. I had to pick Emma up from Kindergarten so I couldn’t stick around and wait for the animal control truck. Hopefully they didn’t taze the poor thing.