PC Bullsit

Every night as I attempt to fall asleep, I think of these awesome blog topics. And then I sit here in the light of day and I can't remember a fucking one of them. How the fuck does that happen?

I'm going to sit here for a second and sip lukewarm coffee and try to remember.


Jeez, this is embarrassing.

Oh, here's one thing I have on my mind: political correctness. Has Valk already covered this? Probably, and definitely much more eloquently but I'll give her a stab. What the fuck is with all this PC bullshit. I seriously have to censor myself on an almost daily basis because I might offend someone. And not just some wad I don't care about, no it would be someone I love and truly value. So, I bite my tongue or keep my finger on the backspace. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't go around saying the "n" word or anything drastic like that. But I do say "gay" and an occasional "retard" slips out. I have gay friends, I believe in gay rights, truly. I understand why its hurtful and mean and derogatory, but I am a little stubborn so I want the right to call an adult female dressed in Winnie the Pooh clothes, gay.

Anyway, that wasn't the path of my original rant. I was talking to one of my friends the other day about Halloween. It NEVER even occurred to me that Halloween wasn't PC. OK, that's a lie. I know from my time in the public schools that they are shifting from Halloween parties to "harvest" parties. Fucking puke. So, this dear friend is a christian and she was saying that it irked her that they still celebrate Halloween at her kid's school and they totally downplay Christmas (it becomes "Winter Solstice" *insert eye roll*) and Easter has become "Spring Break". So fucking what? She was bothered that kids weren't allowed to pray in schools but they could still celebrate the devil holiday. Actually, I don't think she thinks of Halloween as a Devil holiday but there are definitely those who do.

Now, correct me if I'm wrong here but aren't there christian religions that actually believe in Halloween? Wait....Aren't there? Shit, now that I typed that out, I am not so sure. Huh...This post just keeps getting more and more irritating and embarrassing.

Whatever. My point (I swear I had one) is that why the hell can't kids be kids anymore? Now, they can't dress up and go door to door and ask for stupid candy. Instead, they have parties where the candy is just everywhere and they play stupid games. I remember trick or treating and the little tidge of fear and excitement. And I am freaking scaredy-cat, so if that didn't scare me then who's going to be scared?

crap, baby crying, to be continued....

Out of Sorts

That's how I'm feeling. Actually, I think that's how I've felt the last year and a half.

We've dealt with death, serious health issues, serious financial struggles, and some other stupid shit thrown in there.

I'm trying to stay fucking positive and not dwell on the negative and all that shit, but it wears on me sometimes. (Wait, is it wares or wears? Why can't I remember? Embarrassing...)

Oh, AND I'm PMSing hardcore. That usually just send me over the edge.

I just snapped at a dear frined and actually I felt like I was holding back, I wanted to be even more bitchy. I wanted to tell her to shut her trap and let her walk in my shoes for a while and then she'll really have something to bitch about. Like there was some kind of misery pissing contest. That's not really how I roll. Most of the time, I appreciate the fact that we're in the same (or similar) boat.

I think it was mainly because I felt like she hasn't acknowledging how much we have been struggling, and she's a dear friend so she's definitely on the up and up. I know that it could be soooooo much worse, I know that. And it comforts me a little. But sometimes, I want to shake this persona dn tell to quit the fucking bitching about a hangnail when there are some of us with amputated limbs, for fuck's sake. I don't really know if she is oblivious or sort of a dumbshit or what. It definitely makes me want to ignore the shit out of her problems, though. I'm super mature like that. I never do, though. I always offer comfort and support because I don't want to be that friend.

Whatever, I'm sure tomorrow I'll be laughing my ass off with her over a cup of coffee. I tend to get a little heated when I'm venting.

One other thing that has me out of sorts is the fucking ASSHOLE who thought it would be fucking funny to toss a fresh glob of dogshit on the twisty slide at the park. And then MY girl goes down the slide and smears fresh shit all over her jeans. Her ONLY pair of jeans that fit right now. They've been sitting in the garage since the incident and I'm not sure I want to deal with them. Who does that? James was with us at the park when it happened and his reaction was so fucking hilarious it actually made it slightly better for me. He was so pissed and highly grossed out.

Shit seems to be a theme in my life lately. Hell's bells and cockle shells.

My Grandma

This is my Grandma reading us the "Polar Express",
a Christmas tradition.

I don't have a lot to blog about but I'm holding a sleeping baby so......

My grandma is coming to visit us today. Man, I adore her. She is not like a traditional grandma. She has a radar detector and wears $300 shoes, carries Kate Spade bags. (You know its badass when its a "bag" and not just a "purse"). Grandma still works and takes long car trips, she can shop all day or make a meal for 30 people.

She danced at my wedding to AC/DC and drank with the best of us. She did my make-up for my wedding, too. And if you know me, I am waaaaaaay particular about my make-up, but she is just that good. She can shop all day or stay in her jammies and watch Lifetime movies all morning. It takes her weeks to open all her Christmas cards (I don't know why and it kills me, I always want to do it.)

My grandma is so cool, but not in a non-grandma type of way. She's still my Gram. If we are out together, people constantly mistake her for my mom or my aunt, which she freaking LOVES. Recently, we had a family member in the hospital and a group of nurses pulled me aside to ask her age. When I proudly told them, they were all astounded, like open-mouthed, jaws dropped.

Blue is her favorite color and she wears it fabulously. She has beautiful green eyes that truly dance. People always describe eyes as "dancing" but seriously her eyes really do. Her eyes have seen her fair share of heartache, too. When she was pregnant with my mom, she lost her father-in-law. She's buried her own Daddy, a brother, a beloved aunt and a few close friends. In more recent years, she's buried her own daughter and just last year her husband, my grandpa. I don't know if she'll ever fully recover from losing my aunt, her daughter. How could you really? She told me that no matter how old she is, she was still her baby. That makes total sense to me. And when I heard her tell my grandpa goodbye after more that 50 years of marriage, I thought my heart would shatter, puncture a lung, and I would die right there. What she told him was so sweet and loving, that I won't muck it up by posting it on the internet.

She's so rad and so classy and so...AWESOME. She just really, really is. I could go on for days. And now, she is the light of my girl's eyes too. Josie adores her, follows her around and just LOVES her. The most hilarious and sweet thing is to see Josie's little brown hand in my grandma's manicured hand walking through Nordstom's looking at shoes. My heart does a dance and so very, very full.

Just the other day, I was thinking that at some point I will lose her. It was one of those thoughts that you just shove aside and remind yourself not to future-trip (right Keeks?). But there's that nagging voice that reminds me that grandparents don't live forever. Mark my words, that my world will not be the same without her in it. I've said good-bye to some pretty important people, but I do not want to think about losing her. Oh, no, no, no. My heart will splinter, for sure. And it will not be repairable.

So, Gram, be sure to grab a bottle of vino on your way over here. Let's drink it up, put or feet up and relax. I love you, love you, love you.



















My Grandma and Grandpa.

Stupid Hair

I'm in a hairstyle rut. Basically I've had the same stinkin' hair since.......Um....1998 or so? A few time, I have deviated and had some horrible fucking results. One time I had a nasty case of "bad bangs" another time I was given a 80's era, Bon Jovi, fucking MULLET. You can see why I am hesitant to be risky. That fucking mullet took years to properly grow out. My hair is naturally curly, but not sexy, cool curls. Its more like course waves, actually its really curly underneath and in the back but flat in the front. So, if I want it curly, I have to put product in it and scrunch it. If I want it straight I have to blow it out and flat iron it. And even then, its never that straight. Either way, its a lot of Goddamned work. Fuck that.

Stupid hair.

I wear it up almost everyday. Awesome.

I should just hack it all off, but I've had short hair. I look like a gay PE teacher/softball coach. And there's nothing wrong with lesbians, rock on sistas, I'm just not one. Plus, call me old fashioned, but James likes longer hair and I like to please my man. (Only some times, though.)

You know Ree, the Pioneer Woman? I'd love to have her hair. Its long and wavy and as shiny as a copper penny. Of course, that's in pictures. Maybe on a regular day, its dry and tied up in a knot. Sure, it is. But hair that looks that purty in pictures has got to be good hair in real life, right? She has just enough bangs to look modern but not too young (I hate that) or too edgy. I hate that, too. Like when I see someone my mom's age with this razored, super young looking hair. But I also hate it when they give in to that God awful helmet hair that belongs on an 70 year old from 1985. Yuck.

Back to my hair. I guess I should grow it out. *sigh* Stupid hair.

Some Random Shizot

I wonder what really makes a person the "black sheep" of the family? Like is it by choice or just something that happens? Is it all made up in the black sheep's mind or do the other family members feel the same way? I have often felt like the black sheep of my family. Now, is definitely one of those times. It fucking sucks and makes me want to pout like an angry adolescent.

I'm craving a Milky Way.

I stumbled onto the blog of someone who has a child with RAD. That would be beyond shitty. Whoa. It would be really helpful if I could remember exactly what RAD stands for but I can't right now. I want to say Restricted Attachment Development. Shit. I'll look it up. REACTIVE Attachment DISORDER. Effin-A, I had one word right. Here's the info from that blog:
"Reactive attachment disorder is broken into two types — inhibited and disinhibited. While some children have signs and symptoms of just one type, many children have both.

Inhibited type:
In inhibited reactive attachment disorder, children shun relationships and attachments to virtually everyone. This may happen when a baby never has the chance to develop an attachment to any caregiver.
Signs and symptoms of the inhibited type may include:
Resisting affection from parents or caregivers
Avoiding eye contact
Appearing to seek contact but then turning away
Difficulty being comforted
Preferring to play alone
Avoiding physical contact
Failing to initiate contact with others
Appearing to be on guard or wary
Engaging in self-soothing behavior

Disinhibited type:
In disinhibited reactive attachment disorder, children form inappropriate and shallow attachments to virtually everyone, including strangers. This may happen when a baby has multiple caregivers or frequent changes in caregivers.
Signs and symptoms of the disinhibited type may include:
Readily going to strangers, rather than showing stranger anxiety
Seeking comfort from strangers
Exaggerating needs for help doing tasks
Inappropriately childish behavior
Appearing anxious
A word of caution: Not all experts agree on the signs and symptoms of reactive attachment disorder. Some attachment therapists use checklists with numerous nonspecific signs and symptoms that go well beyond what the American Psychiatric Association includes in its definition of the disorder. Be cautious when trying to interpret checklists that include such symptoms as lack of eye contact, rage, aggression, lying, stealing, hoarding food, an apparent lack of a conscience, nonstop chatter, and a desire to wield control. These nonspecific symptoms are difficult to apply to any one diagnosis."

And if that were me, I would have read maybe two sentences and skipped over the rest. Oh well, my blog, my rules, right?

I watched Urban Cowboy this weekend, its so cheesy but I still love it. It cracks me up but I still appreciate the story. Should I be ashamed to admit that? I don't care. It might be just that I really love Debra Winger. What happened to her? Huh.

I want to take a photography class. It might thoroughly annoy me, though. I just want to get better and I want to know how to take better pictures. To take picture like the pictures I love to look at. I fuckin' go nuts if I was enrolled in some community college class that was all about composition and the "art" of photography. Just tell me how to work my camera and shut the fuck up.

Back in the day...

My sister, Jenny, and I would play the dumbest games as we fell asleep at night. We were a family of six in a three bedroom house, practically unheard of these days. (*groan* Did I really just say "these days? Holy fuck, old age is creeeeeeeeeeepy in.) At any rate, our house was modest but it was a super huge lot that had some rad wooded areas for us to explore.

Shit, I got off track. I do that a lot, but you girls already know that. ;)

Jenny and I shared a room, actually we shared a queen sized bed. I often tell people that we loved it but really, I just think we didn't know any different. I do think that sharing a bed with her for so long helped me be such a good co-sleeper. When people day they "couldn't" co-sleep, it perplexes me. Whatevs. I guess I grew up co-sleeping with my sister, so it was second nature.

The games. *sigh* It's nearly impossible for me to stay focused.

As we fell asleep, we played games. We talked a lot. We laughed our little asses off and when we got too loud and heard my mom or dad coming down the hall, our laughter was 100% uncontainable. We got this threat almost nightly, "If you two don't settle down and go to sleep, I'm gonna separate you!" Ah hell. That was the worst punishment for us. The worst. That meant one of us had to sleep in......mom and dad's bed. *gulp* Mom and Dad's bed was FREEZING and lonely. And dark. Oh and there was this weird branch on the tree outside their window that made a super scary shadow on the wall. Plus, the whole being separated thing. That was pure torture.

We had this wallpaper. Dudes, remember when wallpaper was the shit? Or was that just my house? Huh....I think I can remember it being in other people's houses.....Oh well. Our wall paper had these little, sweet flowers and a ribbon-like stripes. The ribbons looked like they were threaded through lace, so if you looked close enough they were individual squares. We would pretend that the little squares were actually a huge switchboard-type, console thingy like on Star Trek. (The original Star Trek, with William Shatner not that new crap.) The button pushing was an important part and the only thing I really remember was when we got tired enough, one of us would push the "sleep button".

I think my original point (let's pretend for a minute that I really had a point, mmmmkay?) was that I hate how times have changed. I hear some of my friends insisting that they have a 4 bedroom house. I'm like, "What the fuck for? You have two kids?" They look at me like I'm a fucking dildo and say, "Welllllllllll, we need a room for Bailey and a room for Skylar and we need a guest room/craft room/office." Uh no you don't. I mean its cool to want that crap but you don't really need it.

I want my girls to share a room and they will. Maybe they won't be as close as Jenny and I, but I'm going to do my damnedest to at least give them the opportunity. Another thing that way cool about us sharing a bed: we had a queen sized bed to use a guest bed when we had company. I think it gave us such a good foundation for how to compromise and work some shit out. You are not going to live in discord for long when you have to share a bed with someone. No sirree. That isn't fun for a millisecond. I think it helped to learn to let shit go, talk about what needed to be talked about and shut the fuck up about the shit that didn't need discussing.

Plus, you never got cold. Or scared.

Um. OK

So, here goes. This whole blogging thing makes me sorta nervous, but then I realized that the only people who will see it already know most of my shit anyway. I have NO CLUE how this all works so bear with me. Or is it "bare" with me? I never know.

I'm a mom. Sometimes, that still surprises the shit out of me. I love my babies. I love them with every thread of my soul, I even love them in my dreams. But there are times when I totally am astounded that I am a mother. I mean it was always my dream and all that jazz, but sometimes I am still caught up in being a young girl in my 20's. I wanna slap myself and go, "Dude, you're somebody's MOM."

Last night I was looking at my hands and I was thinking,"weird. These are the hands of a freakin' mom." I have held my babies when they were fresh out of my own body. I have burped, tickled, and even scolded with these hands. I've cleaned shit off these hands without gagging and throwing up. I've even scraped said shit out from under my fingernails. That was fucking sick. But as a mom, you are forced to do it cheerfully, or at least without complaining too much. These hands have wiped my babies noses barehanded and then wiped them on my jeans. These hands have dried my own tears when I am so worried about my babies I think I might puke. The same hands that have dialed my mom, or my sister of one of my BFF's to beg for advice or to rant and rave.

Last week while we were at my mom's, I watched her hands wipe my three year old's bottom and help her get re-dressed. I also grimaced and watched as my mom used her hands to clean and bandage a minor wound on my three year old, Josie. I've always been fascinated with her hands. They are large and really strong. Uh, some Seinfeld fans might even call them man-hands. She won't argue. I have my mom's fingernails and most likely her hands.

I was just stroking Katherine's teeny, little 8 month old fingers while she sleeps in my arms. Her nails are no bigger than a half a corn kernel. I could kiss and hold those little fingers all day. They are so delicate and feminine. These little fingers that tug and pull on me as I nurse her. The little fingernails that will leave minuscule little scratches on my boobs during the night if I don't routinely cut them. HAnds that have just recently learned to clap. How can she be clapping already? I thought she was just born on Tuesday!

And Josie's hands, oh Lawsie do not get me started on those chubbers. Her fingers still have that little carrot look. You know, where the base is so much bigger than the little tip. And she points with her middle finger, which completely cracks me up. Her hands are growing up along with the rest of her. I hate it and I love it at the same time. Thankfully, her hands seem to growing a bit slower than the rest of her. And her hands are the pretty shade of light brown. Her skin is so lovely. Oh, AND she now bites her fingernails, EW. It totally makes me cringe. Sometimes we paint her fingernails, she loves it. And now her hands have started to ever so slightly become a help to me.

Heaven help me, my chilluns are growin' up.