Jen Mann's Blog, page 35
May 5, 2013
Weekly Wrap Up 5.5.13
This week has been crazy busy. In fact, I think this is just going to be my life for the next several months. If you didn't read my BIG news from last week, let me fill you in. I signed a publishing contract with Random House and I have two books coming out in a year and a half. That means it's time for Jen to get cracking. I've got my kids in school for about four more weeks so I need to hit it hard while they're gone all day and my house is empty and sort of silent (the Hubs is still here and I can hear him breathing). That means I'll probably be a bit quiet around here for a little while. Don't despair, though. I say I'll be quiet, but you know you can't shut me up even if you wanted to.
Speaking of shutting me up, I will be performing live and on stage (oh shit) next Saturday at the Unity Temple on the Plaza. That's right, it's finally time for Listen to Your Mother. We practiced today and it's going to be a great show. I can't tell you what I'm going to read, but I can promise you that you will laugh at mine. And then you'll cry a little and laugh some more and nod along in agreement and you might even shout "Amen!" (we will be in a church after all ) when my fellow cast mates get up there to read their fantastic pieces. Tickets are $12 in advance and $15 at the door. I hope you'll come and support us. It's going to be a great night.
Top Read Posts This Week:
Douchey Dads - This was an oldie, but goody. I know that DDs can be found in just about every town, city, suburb across the land, so I know you all can relate this one.
Adolpha Gives Me Advice on Love - My daughter the sage. For a girl who never wants to get married or have kids, this girl sure pays a lot of attention to relationships. (Maybe this is why she never wants to get married or have kids!) Thanks to her, I've stepped up my game.
Rebecca Martinson - The Crazy Delta Gamma - Rebecca blew her fucking top and it will probably haunt her for many years. This is a fucking cautionary tale to the youth.
Some BIG News - Yeah, I told you the news already at the beginning of this post. Still worth a read though. Thanks to everyone for their kind comments!
Book News:
I Just Want to Pee Alone is doing grrrrrreat. My co-authors and I are thrilled with the response. Thanks to everyone who has bought a copy - or two - or ten! If you haven't left us a review on Amazon yet, please do so. We need them so we can feel pretty. If you haven't bought the book yet, you really need to. This is a great book for Mother's Day. Especially if your mother has a sense of humor. This is also a perfect baby shower gift. I'm going to a shower next weekend and you can bet she's going to get a copy.
My Favorite Comments of the Week (and My Replies if Necessary):
Words have meanings. Rebecca Martinson knew what she was saying, and she also thought she was entitled enough to say them without experiencing a negative response. But I can't think of a person alive who would LIKE to be viciously scolded in front of and along with a house full of twenty or thirty roommates (or howevermany), and find it even less of a probability that one of those scolded wouldn't take some kind of retributive action. I do kind of feel bad for her, but not because she's been kicked out of her house and has become an internet pariah. I think she's earned that. I feel bad for her because she's got a lot of unresolved crazy-making rage issues (just read the screen shots of her (now defunct) Twitter feed), and that can't be an easy way to live. But don't worry about her! Surely in a year or so she'll be a reality TV star, happily demonstrating her knack for the cunt-punt on a national basic cable network (I'm looking at you, TLC; maybe a road show with her and Honey on Rebecca Martinson - The Crazy Delta Gamma
As sad as it sounds, I'd probably watch that show. Damn it, I'm such an idiot!
Congratufuckinglations! haha! Way to go! One question: did you have that same mouth at five? on Some BIG News
You know I did, motherclucker. Don't forget to bring the cock 'n candy next week to Listen to Your Mother!
As someone who knew you back when you were just my funny as shit wisecracking IRL friend I am couldn't be more excited and a bit proud! As women we need to support each other in our post-motherhood goals and I am happy to have been an original fan of the blog who helped get the word out! on Some BIG News
May 2, 2013
Rebecca Martinson - The Crazy Delta Gamma
I've been kind of busy, so I'm a little
late to the party about the sorority girl from Maryland who wrote
this scathing
email to her sorority sisters. WARNING! Her email makes me sound like a sweet mouthed angel. If you can't fucking handle some adult fuckity fuck fucking fuck language then you can't read her email.
OK, so have you read it? Had you heard about this one yet?
Well, in case you've been on a deserted island for the past two weeks
I'll bring you up to speed. So, this girl was pissed off at her fellow Delta Gamma sisters because she'd heard through the Greek grapevine they were being “so fucking boring”
when they hung out with the (allegedly) amazeballs Sigma Nu so she wrote them an email that would
make me blush and basically told them to stop being so fucking boring
or else she'd “cunt punt” them (her words, not mine, but they're
kind of brilliant, no?) across campus as well as assault them or something like that.
It was a big brouhaha, because one of
her dear sisters leaked the email to the media and everyone went wild and wanted this chick's blood.
Now, I have to say when I first read
the email, I laughed my ass off. It's actually kind of funny. Her
rage is so out of control it's comical. Also, you can almost feel her spittle on
your face when she says stuff like:
She is like a rabid toddler with a trucker's vocabulary! She probably was like this when she was a toddler, "SHARING SUCKS AND I WILL CUT THE NEXT MOTHERFUCKER WHO TRIES TO TAKE MY SNACK!! FUCK YOU, GET YOUR OWN COOKIES."
Everyone was so freaked out by this girl and her fucking craziness, but I was kind of torn on
the email initially. I didn't mind the language (duh - or should I say durr) and I kind of
understood where she was coming from. I've been in charge of many a
group of apathetic people and there have been so many times I would
have loved to send an email in a similar vein. Can you imagine being in
charge of the school carnival and no one wants to work at it, because
they're all “too busy” or better yet, they “want to enjoy the
carnival with their kids” and meanwhile you haven't seen your family in weeks, because you've been planning the fucking thing so that they can go and have fun with their kids?? Yeah, my
guess is the school carnival organizer would like to send an email
much like this one and tell parents to get off their asses and help
her or else the fucking carnival will be cancelled and they can call Krustee the Clown and tell him he won't be making his rent this month.
BUT, the carnival organizer never sends
that email, because she realizes that as much as she'd love to go scorched earth on everyone, that is never going to accomplish anything. So instead, she just sits home and dreams of writing emails like this while she works the phones looking for more suckers to work the Dunk Tank.
Now, what I didn't like was the fact
that this girl was yelling at her sisters, because a bunch of douche
bag frat boys complained that they were “boring.” Uh … fuck
you, frat boy, go entertain yourself. I've never been in a sorority
(I know, surprise, surprise) for many reasons, but if I knew that one
of the job descriptions was to keep douche bags "entertained" then I'm
glad I never joined one, because I would have failed miserably. This
is 2013, right? Because this complaint sounds like something
right out of Mad Men. Actually,
I know it's 2013,
because these asshats issues their complaints via text message.
So, basically, this
girl yelled at her sorority sisters, because a bunch of d-bags texted her and said her sisters were boring and then she turned
around and wrote an email that ripped them all new ones, stitched
them back up, and then ripped them again. Um, yeah, haven't you
heard, Rebecca? Chicks before dicks. You don't ream your girls because they
didn't adequately entertain a bunch of fucking morons. And the more I
think about it “boring” is probably fucking douche code for “she wouldn't suck
my dick, man.”
But, what sealed
the deal for me and made me despise this girl, was my friend Rantsfrom Mommyland's post where she included racist and hateful text messages from our sweet sorority girl. Whoa.This shit just got real. This isn't funny anymore. This girl really IS nuts.
I just need to ask this girl: ARE YOU FUCKING RACIST AND INSANE, REBECCA?? Are you? This isn't a rhetorical question, you dumb fucking cunt. What is wrong with you? Were you dropped on your head as a baby? Were you? Because I think you might have been. You should probably make an appointment with a fucking neurologist get your fucking brain checked, because you are a complete and total twat waffle.
This bitch has offended just
about every one you can. She's a spoiled, arrogant little piece of
shit who really deserves all of the hate that she's received these last
couple of weeks over the internet (and hopefully in person). No wonder one of her sisters
leaked the email! Reading Rants from Mommyland and the girl's text messages made me realize that
this bitch wasn't just some tired, overworked, and under appreciated
girl like my imaginary carnival organizer. Nope, this a cunt who needs a punt.
If you want to see a hilarious reading of the post, check out Michael Shannon doing his reading.
Michael Shannon Reads the Insane Delta Gamma Sorority Letter from Michael Shannon
late to the party about the sorority girl from Maryland who wrote
this scathing
email to her sorority sisters. WARNING! Her email makes me sound like a sweet mouthed angel. If you can't fucking handle some adult fuckity fuck fucking fuck language then you can't read her email.
OK, so have you read it? Had you heard about this one yet?
Well, in case you've been on a deserted island for the past two weeks
I'll bring you up to speed. So, this girl was pissed off at her fellow Delta Gamma sisters because she'd heard through the Greek grapevine they were being “so fucking boring”
when they hung out with the (allegedly) amazeballs Sigma Nu so she wrote them an email that would
make me blush and basically told them to stop being so fucking boring
or else she'd “cunt punt” them (her words, not mine, but they're
kind of brilliant, no?) across campus as well as assault them or something like that.
It was a big brouhaha, because one of
her dear sisters leaked the email to the media and everyone went wild and wanted this chick's blood.
Now, I have to say when I first read
the email, I laughed my ass off. It's actually kind of funny. Her
rage is so out of control it's comical. Also, you can almost feel her spittle on
your face when she says stuff like:
"I've not only gotten texts about people being fucking WEIRD at sports (for example, being stupid shits and saying stuff like "durr what's kickball?" is not fucking funny), but I've gotten texts about people actually cheering for the opposing team. The opposing. Fucking. Team. ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID?!! I don't give a SHIT about sportsmanship, YOU CHEER FOR OUR GODDAMN TEAM AND NOT THE OTHER ONE, HAVE YOU NEVER BEEN TO A SPORTS GAME? ARE YOU FUCKING BLIND?"
She is like a rabid toddler with a trucker's vocabulary! She probably was like this when she was a toddler, "SHARING SUCKS AND I WILL CUT THE NEXT MOTHERFUCKER WHO TRIES TO TAKE MY SNACK!! FUCK YOU, GET YOUR OWN COOKIES."
Everyone was so freaked out by this girl and her fucking craziness, but I was kind of torn on
the email initially. I didn't mind the language (duh - or should I say durr) and I kind of
understood where she was coming from. I've been in charge of many a
group of apathetic people and there have been so many times I would
have loved to send an email in a similar vein. Can you imagine being in
charge of the school carnival and no one wants to work at it, because
they're all “too busy” or better yet, they “want to enjoy the
carnival with their kids” and meanwhile you haven't seen your family in weeks, because you've been planning the fucking thing so that they can go and have fun with their kids?? Yeah, my
guess is the school carnival organizer would like to send an email
much like this one and tell parents to get off their asses and help
her or else the fucking carnival will be cancelled and they can call Krustee the Clown and tell him he won't be making his rent this month.
BUT, the carnival organizer never sends
that email, because she realizes that as much as she'd love to go scorched earth on everyone, that is never going to accomplish anything. So instead, she just sits home and dreams of writing emails like this while she works the phones looking for more suckers to work the Dunk Tank.
Now, what I didn't like was the fact
that this girl was yelling at her sisters, because a bunch of douche
bag frat boys complained that they were “boring.” Uh … fuck
you, frat boy, go entertain yourself. I've never been in a sorority
(I know, surprise, surprise) for many reasons, but if I knew that one
of the job descriptions was to keep douche bags "entertained" then I'm
glad I never joined one, because I would have failed miserably. This
is 2013, right? Because this complaint sounds like something
right out of Mad Men. Actually,
I know it's 2013,
because these asshats issues their complaints via text message.
So, basically, this
girl yelled at her sorority sisters, because a bunch of d-bags texted her and said her sisters were boring and then she turned
around and wrote an email that ripped them all new ones, stitched
them back up, and then ripped them again. Um, yeah, haven't you
heard, Rebecca? Chicks before dicks. You don't ream your girls because they
didn't adequately entertain a bunch of fucking morons. And the more I
think about it “boring” is probably fucking douche code for “she wouldn't suck
my dick, man.”
But, what sealed
the deal for me and made me despise this girl, was my friend Rantsfrom Mommyland's post where she included racist and hateful text messages from our sweet sorority girl. Whoa.This shit just got real. This isn't funny anymore. This girl really IS nuts.
I just need to ask this girl: ARE YOU FUCKING RACIST AND INSANE, REBECCA?? Are you? This isn't a rhetorical question, you dumb fucking cunt. What is wrong with you? Were you dropped on your head as a baby? Were you? Because I think you might have been. You should probably make an appointment with a fucking neurologist get your fucking brain checked, because you are a complete and total twat waffle.
This bitch has offended just
about every one you can. She's a spoiled, arrogant little piece of
shit who really deserves all of the hate that she's received these last
couple of weeks over the internet (and hopefully in person). No wonder one of her sisters
leaked the email! Reading Rants from Mommyland and the girl's text messages made me realize that
this bitch wasn't just some tired, overworked, and under appreciated
girl like my imaginary carnival organizer. Nope, this a cunt who needs a punt.
If you want to see a hilarious reading of the post, check out Michael Shannon doing his reading.
Michael Shannon Reads the Insane Delta Gamma Sorority Letter from Michael Shannon
April 30, 2013
Some BIG News
So, remember when I told you it was a big week last week? I appeared on TV for the first time and I had my first book signing ever. Well, guess what? I have even BIGGER news for today. HUGE, I tell ya. HUGE.
I sold two books to Random House! Like, for real money! Not free Swiffers or a coffee mug (which is usually the currency I am offered for my writing). They are giving me American dollars! (I would have even accepted British pounds.) Crazy, right??
The first one: People I Want to Punch in the Throat: Telling It Like It Is (yeah, that's probably not what the publisher will let me call it, but a girl can dream) will be out in Spring 2014 and then, hold onto your knickers, because Spending the Holidays with People I Want to Punch in the Throat will be released in December 2014!!
Yep. They're re-releasing the Holidays book. But this time it's going to be bigger, better, faster (OK, not faster). I've got new chapters that I'm adding along with some new pictures.
Just think. If you have the current edition it's almost like having a collector's item. It could be worth fifty cents at your garage sale now instead of a quarter!
I've taken down the Holidays book from Amazon, et al. because I would feel like shit if someone bought it today and then read this and was like, "Well, I just wasted my money."
At 41 years old, the dreams and goals of a five-year-old girl are finally coming true. (Yep, I've wanted to see my book in a book store since I was five.) It took a long time, but it's finally here and I'm over the moon with excitement, joy, and gratitude. Thank you to all of YOU who have supported me, read me, left me comments, bought my books, left me reviews, referred a friend to me, shared me on Facebook, blogs, Twitter, message boards, Pinterest, and anywhere else you can share.
http://www.emilymcdowell.com
I sold two books to Random House! Like, for real money! Not free Swiffers or a coffee mug (which is usually the currency I am offered for my writing). They are giving me American dollars! (I would have even accepted British pounds.) Crazy, right??
The first one: People I Want to Punch in the Throat: Telling It Like It Is (yeah, that's probably not what the publisher will let me call it, but a girl can dream) will be out in Spring 2014 and then, hold onto your knickers, because Spending the Holidays with People I Want to Punch in the Throat will be released in December 2014!!
Yep. They're re-releasing the Holidays book. But this time it's going to be bigger, better, faster (OK, not faster). I've got new chapters that I'm adding along with some new pictures.
Just think. If you have the current edition it's almost like having a collector's item. It could be worth fifty cents at your garage sale now instead of a quarter!
I've taken down the Holidays book from Amazon, et al. because I would feel like shit if someone bought it today and then read this and was like, "Well, I just wasted my money."
At 41 years old, the dreams and goals of a five-year-old girl are finally coming true. (Yep, I've wanted to see my book in a book store since I was five.) It took a long time, but it's finally here and I'm over the moon with excitement, joy, and gratitude. Thank you to all of YOU who have supported me, read me, left me comments, bought my books, left me reviews, referred a friend to me, shared me on Facebook, blogs, Twitter, message boards, Pinterest, and anywhere else you can share.
http://www.emilymcdowell.com
April 28, 2013
Weekly Wrap Up 4.28.13
Whoa. What a week, you guys! I just finally got through all of the comments from this week. You guys are on fire!! Between Gwyneth and whether or not kids should have privacy, you had a lot to say!
I was a bit busy too. I made my television debut Friday to promote I Just Want to Pee Alone. Ack!!! Stacey from Nurse Mommy Laughs arranged for us to be on a local morning show this week. I was terrified. There is a reason why I write and I don't act. I was reading through all of the information about appearing on the show and they gave some helpful tips about what and what not to do. For instance, they recommended you wear bright colors. I just couldn't do that. Instead I chose to go with black and white, EVEN after their suggestion that black and white do not do well on TV. I'm not afraid to live on the edge like that. And when you watch the segment, you'll see that Stacey follows directions really well. She was in turquoise. Our host was in purple. Can you imagine if I'd thrown a pink in there? We would have looked like a basket of Easter eggs. I did wear a little sparkle though. I was wild!
Another suggestion that was made was to wear more makeup than usual. Well, since I don't wear much at all, I knew that meant A LOT more than usual. I was worried that I'd end up looking like a river boat madame or an escapee from clown college if I didn't get some professional help. On Thursday I spent two hours (and a hundred bucks) at the makeup counter in Macy's. The wonderfully patient and kind Karem taught me to apply just enough makeup to look a bit like a whore in person, but just right on television. It's a delicate balance, yo.
My daughter was mesmerized by my new look and couldn't get over how many products it took to look this good (not to mention the HOUR it took me to apply it). I think I've convinced her that lipgloss is good enough. My job is done.
Karem had to pull out all the stops and went for the BIG tray of eyeshadows.
When we arrived at the studio, we found out that Cindy Williams AKA "Shirley Feeney" was going to be on the show. Oh. My. God. Schlemiel schlimazel hasenpfeffer incorporated!! To a little girl of the 70s those zany broads were awesome! They empowered a whole generation with their theme song. I dare you not to sing it now. "We're gonna do it!!"
When she arrived I went all fan girl and goofy and said something like "Thank you for being funny and for empowering little girls." Basically, I just vomited sunshine and rainbows all over her, because I am an idiot. I am such an idiot that when we gave her a copy of I Just Want to Pee Alone and she asked us to sign it for her, I signed it to "Shirley." Yeah. I did that. Annnnd, it wasn't until that night when I finally watched the show and I saw the title bar come up under her picture saying "Cindy Williams" that I screamed, "Cindy???? Cindy???? Her name is is Cindy?!!! I did NOT write Cindy in that book. Oh shit. I signed it to 'Shirley'."
Soooo ... on the off chance you're reading this Ms. Williams, all I can say is, "Whoops. Sorry about that."
On Saturday (I told you it was a busy week!) I saw Stacey yet again (Are you sick of me yet, Stacey?) for my very first book signing. We were joined by Tara of You Know it Happens at Your House Too who found people kind enough and crazy enough to take her five kids for the weekend so she and Farmer Bob could trek it up to the Big City for a long weekend. It was a blast. We had a great turnout and we drank way too many mimosas.
I even bought new Lady Bic pens, because I thought they would help me come up with something more intelligent to write than, "Good stuff in here!"
GIVEAWAY WINNER!!!
I wrote a review for Moms Who Drink and Swear, Scary Mommy, and Crappy Pictures. I also promised I'd give a copy of each of their books to one lucky winner.
The winner is ::drum roll::
Shauna BApril 22, 2013 at 6:32 PM
Who wants to teach their kids how to have a stick stuck up their a$$ all their lives? Not me! You have to have a healthy sense of humor to parent because it's over in the blink of an eye and you'll be the a-hole parent who was more concerned with "proper" parenting than letting the kids have ice cream for dinner when it's 95 degrees and laughing at their arm fart noises. Besides, parenting is more fun when you laugh.
P.S. I love to read. I love moms with snarky humor and non stepford children. I love PIWTPITT. (Did that earn me enough points or should I keep going?)
Congratulations, Shauna B!!! Please email me at sweetsadiecreations@gmail.com to claim your prizes.
Top Read Posts This Week:
Why My Children Have No Right to Privacy - Parenting is hard and this right here is one of the reasons why. It's so difficult to know what is the right answer. We can just do our best.
Gwyneth Paltrow - Remember those commercials where that model would say, "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful" ? I feel like this is what Gwyneth keeps saying. I don't hate Gwyneth because she's beautiful, I can't stand her because she is an overachieving mother on crack. She raises the bar so high that NO ONE can reach it.
Ryan Lochte and his Mom - Jeah, this d-bag got his own television show this week. I haven't seen it yet, but once I do, you know there will be a review.
Lotus Birth Bags - One more way to out mom each other is to carry around your placenta in a stylish, yet functional bag!
Favorite Comments (and My Replies if Necessary):
Well... I think she's pretty, and I think she does a good job acting usually. That's about where my thinking of her ends. If she was my friend and did all that is claimed, I would force margaritas down her throat until she snapped out it. How bout the earrings on goop for $1250? One is a safety pin and one is the word "love"-they're both 18k - you'd think for $1250 they could've manage to eek out 2 "love" earrings. on Gwyneth Paltrow
I finally stopped reading those magazines because they are horseshit. I only like that one section they all have - "Stars: Just Like Us". It makes me laugh. Because apparently giving the nanny the day off and taking their own kid to the park makes them just like us peasants. I feel like it's worth noting that my husband doesn't think Gwynnie is pretty. But he tells me that I am all the time. So, he's pretty awesome. Or blind. I'm kind of torn on this one. on Gwyneth Paltrow
Exactly! I hate those sections! "Look at Halle Berry. She chews gum! She is just like us!" or "Look at Hugh Jackman. He swims in the ocean with his kids sometimes! Wow, what a fantastic dad! Just like us!"
I am sorry, but I have a total soft spot for Sliding Doors. John Hannah is adorable in that movie and I love the whole premise. In fact, my junior and senior years in college, it was on near constantly in my dorm. That being said, she does sound like a total douche, but she grew up in the biz, so I'm sure that contributed to it. on Gwyneth Paltrow
I do too! I think this is why I feel so betrayed by crazy Gwyneth. Between Sliding Doors and Emma I was a fan big time. I loved those two movies and I loved her in them.
This actually just reads as a jealous, close-minded, ignorant asshole. You many pass judgement but God forbid anyone point that mirror back to you. In reality this is just one step above mean girl status; actually it is mean girl status. You are downing someone who lives differently from you solely because you don't understand their lifestyle? Does it make you feel better about your life? I hope you're proud. And no, I'm not a GP fan. on Gwyneth Paltrow
Meow. Saucer of milk, table for two? You just devoted so much anger and bitterness towards a decision People magazine made. Don't call someone out for their pathetic "first world problems" without admitting you've got them, too. I do love reading your blog, but this one seems unnecessarily...something. I'm not a huge Gwen fan, but speculating on her when I don't have any idea about who she really, truly is feels like a waste of time. on Gwyneth Paltrow
These were two of my favorite negative comments. I'm always "jealous." It can never be anything but jealousy. I'm just a jealous, jealous harpy of a woman. I sit around all day just being jealous.
That's bullshit. I am not jealous of Gwyneth's life. I do not have any desire to work out for two hours a day with nothing for sustenance except a muffin made from tree bark and gravel. I have no desire to be married to a rock star who constantly tours and has panties thrown at him. I do not want to hang out with Beyonce and Jay-Z. I will admit, to a TINY twinge of jealousy when she gets to kiss Robert Downey, Jr. That little hunky fella has been on my list since middle school!
I didn't even need to address these comments, because I have awesome readers who "get" me and always defend me so much better than I could defend myself:
Of course Jen is happy to hear alternating viewpoints. But you don't seem to have one. Your viewpoint appears to be that b/c Jen wrote the article disagreeing with the pick and explaining her reasons why, in true PIWTPITT fashion, she is bitter and angry. She is angry, I guess, that People would choose someone who seems out of touch with the readership of the magazine. Jen very clearly makes fun of herself throughout this article (in fact, in most of her posts), she never acts like she doesn't have 'first-world problems.' By all means, disagree. But at least offer up an opinion on the topic, as opposed to just being upset or offended that a snarky blog is actually snarky. on Gwyneth Paltrow
I don't know why people think your blog is so funny. I find it just downright mean and very judgemental. Guess it's not for everyone. on Douchey Dads
It certainly isn't. Glad you figured that out before you wasted any more of your precious time on me and my blog. Thanks for letting me know too that I'm mean and judgmental. It was really kind of you. Not at ALL mean and/or judgmental. Just, y'know, friendly and helpful. Thanks. I needed that honest and open communication from you so that I can go ahead and tell you to go fuck yourself.
Bra-vo, Jen, bra-vo! This is so right on. What if the Columbine parents had gone into their sons' rooms? Would all of those kids have died? I am raising four boys. Boys give you a one word answer which is usually "fine" or "nothing." You better believe if I feel more information is needed I will seek it myself. I am not their friend - I am their mom. It is my job to raise them as decent human beings and to keep them safe. I will go to any means necessary to do that. As a person who struggled with depression in high school and who would never open up to my parents, I WISH my mom would have read my diary. Then I could have gotten the help I was too afraid to ask for. on Why My Children Have No Right to Privacy
While I normally come to this blog for your sarcastic sense of humor. This entry was very serious, but also the best one I have read yet. I am single full time Dad of 3 and I agree with EVERY WORD you wrote. on Why My Children Have No Right to Privacy
I don't agree at all that by monitoring your kids' internet and cell phone usage or by reading their diaries that you're teaching them to snoop. There's a hell of a big difference between a parent checking up on their kids, and a kid just being nosy. Part of teaching your kid respect is teaching them what behavior is acceptable of what people and under what circumstances. As a kid I heard my parents swearing, and my dad would have the occasional after-work beer. That in no way meant that I, a child, felt that I should be knocking back a beer after a rough day on the playground, cussing, or digging through my mom's dresser drawers (not that I wanted to do that...bras, terrifying!). As long as I'm fully liable for the actions of the small person living in my home, guess what kid? Your shit, which is actually MY shit that I let you use, is all fair game. Deal with it. on Why My Children Have No Right to Privacy
Well this is a tough one indeed. I think the reality is that most people will find a balance for their families. A person's thoughts are their own and I would not be able to express myself honestly if I knew I was being monitored and I wouldn't want to take that creative impulse away from someone else. However, online communication changes things and situations can get out of hand quickly. The final question remains for me - what happens when we are no longer watching the children? We can't monitor their behavior forever. Are they only good because they fear we will find out? on Why My Children Have No Right to Privacy
Yours are the types of questions that keep me up at night. I'm just trying to do this right and not screw it up. Thanks for your comment.
I completely understand and respect where you're coming from, but I have to disagree with you -- at least partially. I'm 17, and I have a very good relationship with my parents. They let me have a great deal of privacy, and trust me to come to them if I need help with something. I trust both of my parents, and they trust me. And because they trust me, I am very open with them -- I have nothing to hide. And I actually ENJOY coming to them with stuff, they give good advice! :P What I'm trying to say is this: there's something to be said about raising your kids to be comfortable sharing things with you, the parent. A child/parent relationship built on mutual respect and trust is a pretty great thing -- and it's something that never would have developed if I caught my mom reading my text messages or journal. And take it from me, being super nosey and controlling won't get you anywhere; your kids will just get sneakier. on Why My Children Have No Right to Privacy
I love that I have so many young, articulate, and amazing young women who read this blog and who love to disagree with me. This is the second comment from a teenager I've featured this month who told me they thought I was wrong. These girls are badass! It sounds like you have your shit together and you've got a great relationship with your parents. Good for you! I want to meet your mom and dad!
The one time my husband peeped my stepdaughter's diary, she was about 7. She had written a whole entry about how much she looked up to her stepmom, the liar. She said she might want to be a liar herself one day, because of my example. My husband about pissed himself laughing. Gratified as I was that she thought so highly of me, we did find a way to subtly let her know that it is l-a-w-y-e-r. onWhy My Children Have No Right to Privacy
This made me laugh so hard. I just had to include it this week. What a great story to tell her someday.
I was a bit busy too. I made my television debut Friday to promote I Just Want to Pee Alone. Ack!!! Stacey from Nurse Mommy Laughs arranged for us to be on a local morning show this week. I was terrified. There is a reason why I write and I don't act. I was reading through all of the information about appearing on the show and they gave some helpful tips about what and what not to do. For instance, they recommended you wear bright colors. I just couldn't do that. Instead I chose to go with black and white, EVEN after their suggestion that black and white do not do well on TV. I'm not afraid to live on the edge like that. And when you watch the segment, you'll see that Stacey follows directions really well. She was in turquoise. Our host was in purple. Can you imagine if I'd thrown a pink in there? We would have looked like a basket of Easter eggs. I did wear a little sparkle though. I was wild!
Another suggestion that was made was to wear more makeup than usual. Well, since I don't wear much at all, I knew that meant A LOT more than usual. I was worried that I'd end up looking like a river boat madame or an escapee from clown college if I didn't get some professional help. On Thursday I spent two hours (and a hundred bucks) at the makeup counter in Macy's. The wonderfully patient and kind Karem taught me to apply just enough makeup to look a bit like a whore in person, but just right on television. It's a delicate balance, yo.
My daughter was mesmerized by my new look and couldn't get over how many products it took to look this good (not to mention the HOUR it took me to apply it). I think I've convinced her that lipgloss is good enough. My job is done.
Karem had to pull out all the stops and went for the BIG tray of eyeshadows.
When we arrived at the studio, we found out that Cindy Williams AKA "Shirley Feeney" was going to be on the show. Oh. My. God. Schlemiel schlimazel hasenpfeffer incorporated!! To a little girl of the 70s those zany broads were awesome! They empowered a whole generation with their theme song. I dare you not to sing it now. "We're gonna do it!!"
When she arrived I went all fan girl and goofy and said something like "Thank you for being funny and for empowering little girls." Basically, I just vomited sunshine and rainbows all over her, because I am an idiot. I am such an idiot that when we gave her a copy of I Just Want to Pee Alone and she asked us to sign it for her, I signed it to "Shirley." Yeah. I did that. Annnnd, it wasn't until that night when I finally watched the show and I saw the title bar come up under her picture saying "Cindy Williams" that I screamed, "Cindy???? Cindy???? Her name is is Cindy?!!! I did NOT write Cindy in that book. Oh shit. I signed it to 'Shirley'."
Soooo ... on the off chance you're reading this Ms. Williams, all I can say is, "Whoops. Sorry about that."
On Saturday (I told you it was a busy week!) I saw Stacey yet again (Are you sick of me yet, Stacey?) for my very first book signing. We were joined by Tara of You Know it Happens at Your House Too who found people kind enough and crazy enough to take her five kids for the weekend so she and Farmer Bob could trek it up to the Big City for a long weekend. It was a blast. We had a great turnout and we drank way too many mimosas.
I even bought new Lady Bic pens, because I thought they would help me come up with something more intelligent to write than, "Good stuff in here!"
GIVEAWAY WINNER!!!
I wrote a review for Moms Who Drink and Swear, Scary Mommy, and Crappy Pictures. I also promised I'd give a copy of each of their books to one lucky winner.
The winner is ::drum roll::
Shauna BApril 22, 2013 at 6:32 PM
Who wants to teach their kids how to have a stick stuck up their a$$ all their lives? Not me! You have to have a healthy sense of humor to parent because it's over in the blink of an eye and you'll be the a-hole parent who was more concerned with "proper" parenting than letting the kids have ice cream for dinner when it's 95 degrees and laughing at their arm fart noises. Besides, parenting is more fun when you laugh.
P.S. I love to read. I love moms with snarky humor and non stepford children. I love PIWTPITT. (Did that earn me enough points or should I keep going?)
Congratulations, Shauna B!!! Please email me at sweetsadiecreations@gmail.com to claim your prizes.
Top Read Posts This Week:
Why My Children Have No Right to Privacy - Parenting is hard and this right here is one of the reasons why. It's so difficult to know what is the right answer. We can just do our best.
Gwyneth Paltrow - Remember those commercials where that model would say, "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful" ? I feel like this is what Gwyneth keeps saying. I don't hate Gwyneth because she's beautiful, I can't stand her because she is an overachieving mother on crack. She raises the bar so high that NO ONE can reach it.
Ryan Lochte and his Mom - Jeah, this d-bag got his own television show this week. I haven't seen it yet, but once I do, you know there will be a review.
Lotus Birth Bags - One more way to out mom each other is to carry around your placenta in a stylish, yet functional bag!
Favorite Comments (and My Replies if Necessary):
Well... I think she's pretty, and I think she does a good job acting usually. That's about where my thinking of her ends. If she was my friend and did all that is claimed, I would force margaritas down her throat until she snapped out it. How bout the earrings on goop for $1250? One is a safety pin and one is the word "love"-they're both 18k - you'd think for $1250 they could've manage to eek out 2 "love" earrings. on Gwyneth Paltrow
I finally stopped reading those magazines because they are horseshit. I only like that one section they all have - "Stars: Just Like Us". It makes me laugh. Because apparently giving the nanny the day off and taking their own kid to the park makes them just like us peasants. I feel like it's worth noting that my husband doesn't think Gwynnie is pretty. But he tells me that I am all the time. So, he's pretty awesome. Or blind. I'm kind of torn on this one. on Gwyneth Paltrow
Exactly! I hate those sections! "Look at Halle Berry. She chews gum! She is just like us!" or "Look at Hugh Jackman. He swims in the ocean with his kids sometimes! Wow, what a fantastic dad! Just like us!"
I am sorry, but I have a total soft spot for Sliding Doors. John Hannah is adorable in that movie and I love the whole premise. In fact, my junior and senior years in college, it was on near constantly in my dorm. That being said, she does sound like a total douche, but she grew up in the biz, so I'm sure that contributed to it. on Gwyneth Paltrow
I do too! I think this is why I feel so betrayed by crazy Gwyneth. Between Sliding Doors and Emma I was a fan big time. I loved those two movies and I loved her in them.
This actually just reads as a jealous, close-minded, ignorant asshole. You many pass judgement but God forbid anyone point that mirror back to you. In reality this is just one step above mean girl status; actually it is mean girl status. You are downing someone who lives differently from you solely because you don't understand their lifestyle? Does it make you feel better about your life? I hope you're proud. And no, I'm not a GP fan. on Gwyneth Paltrow
Meow. Saucer of milk, table for two? You just devoted so much anger and bitterness towards a decision People magazine made. Don't call someone out for their pathetic "first world problems" without admitting you've got them, too. I do love reading your blog, but this one seems unnecessarily...something. I'm not a huge Gwen fan, but speculating on her when I don't have any idea about who she really, truly is feels like a waste of time. on Gwyneth Paltrow
These were two of my favorite negative comments. I'm always "jealous." It can never be anything but jealousy. I'm just a jealous, jealous harpy of a woman. I sit around all day just being jealous.
That's bullshit. I am not jealous of Gwyneth's life. I do not have any desire to work out for two hours a day with nothing for sustenance except a muffin made from tree bark and gravel. I have no desire to be married to a rock star who constantly tours and has panties thrown at him. I do not want to hang out with Beyonce and Jay-Z. I will admit, to a TINY twinge of jealousy when she gets to kiss Robert Downey, Jr. That little hunky fella has been on my list since middle school!
I didn't even need to address these comments, because I have awesome readers who "get" me and always defend me so much better than I could defend myself:
Of course Jen is happy to hear alternating viewpoints. But you don't seem to have one. Your viewpoint appears to be that b/c Jen wrote the article disagreeing with the pick and explaining her reasons why, in true PIWTPITT fashion, she is bitter and angry. She is angry, I guess, that People would choose someone who seems out of touch with the readership of the magazine. Jen very clearly makes fun of herself throughout this article (in fact, in most of her posts), she never acts like she doesn't have 'first-world problems.' By all means, disagree. But at least offer up an opinion on the topic, as opposed to just being upset or offended that a snarky blog is actually snarky. on Gwyneth Paltrow
I don't know why people think your blog is so funny. I find it just downright mean and very judgemental. Guess it's not for everyone. on Douchey Dads
It certainly isn't. Glad you figured that out before you wasted any more of your precious time on me and my blog. Thanks for letting me know too that I'm mean and judgmental. It was really kind of you. Not at ALL mean and/or judgmental. Just, y'know, friendly and helpful. Thanks. I needed that honest and open communication from you so that I can go ahead and tell you to go fuck yourself.
Bra-vo, Jen, bra-vo! This is so right on. What if the Columbine parents had gone into their sons' rooms? Would all of those kids have died? I am raising four boys. Boys give you a one word answer which is usually "fine" or "nothing." You better believe if I feel more information is needed I will seek it myself. I am not their friend - I am their mom. It is my job to raise them as decent human beings and to keep them safe. I will go to any means necessary to do that. As a person who struggled with depression in high school and who would never open up to my parents, I WISH my mom would have read my diary. Then I could have gotten the help I was too afraid to ask for. on Why My Children Have No Right to Privacy
While I normally come to this blog for your sarcastic sense of humor. This entry was very serious, but also the best one I have read yet. I am single full time Dad of 3 and I agree with EVERY WORD you wrote. on Why My Children Have No Right to Privacy
I don't agree at all that by monitoring your kids' internet and cell phone usage or by reading their diaries that you're teaching them to snoop. There's a hell of a big difference between a parent checking up on their kids, and a kid just being nosy. Part of teaching your kid respect is teaching them what behavior is acceptable of what people and under what circumstances. As a kid I heard my parents swearing, and my dad would have the occasional after-work beer. That in no way meant that I, a child, felt that I should be knocking back a beer after a rough day on the playground, cussing, or digging through my mom's dresser drawers (not that I wanted to do that...bras, terrifying!). As long as I'm fully liable for the actions of the small person living in my home, guess what kid? Your shit, which is actually MY shit that I let you use, is all fair game. Deal with it. on Why My Children Have No Right to Privacy
Well this is a tough one indeed. I think the reality is that most people will find a balance for their families. A person's thoughts are their own and I would not be able to express myself honestly if I knew I was being monitored and I wouldn't want to take that creative impulse away from someone else. However, online communication changes things and situations can get out of hand quickly. The final question remains for me - what happens when we are no longer watching the children? We can't monitor their behavior forever. Are they only good because they fear we will find out? on Why My Children Have No Right to Privacy
Yours are the types of questions that keep me up at night. I'm just trying to do this right and not screw it up. Thanks for your comment.
I completely understand and respect where you're coming from, but I have to disagree with you -- at least partially. I'm 17, and I have a very good relationship with my parents. They let me have a great deal of privacy, and trust me to come to them if I need help with something. I trust both of my parents, and they trust me. And because they trust me, I am very open with them -- I have nothing to hide. And I actually ENJOY coming to them with stuff, they give good advice! :P What I'm trying to say is this: there's something to be said about raising your kids to be comfortable sharing things with you, the parent. A child/parent relationship built on mutual respect and trust is a pretty great thing -- and it's something that never would have developed if I caught my mom reading my text messages or journal. And take it from me, being super nosey and controlling won't get you anywhere; your kids will just get sneakier. on Why My Children Have No Right to Privacy
I love that I have so many young, articulate, and amazing young women who read this blog and who love to disagree with me. This is the second comment from a teenager I've featured this month who told me they thought I was wrong. These girls are badass! It sounds like you have your shit together and you've got a great relationship with your parents. Good for you! I want to meet your mom and dad!
The one time my husband peeped my stepdaughter's diary, she was about 7. She had written a whole entry about how much she looked up to her stepmom, the liar. She said she might want to be a liar herself one day, because of my example. My husband about pissed himself laughing. Gratified as I was that she thought so highly of me, we did find a way to subtly let her know that it is l-a-w-y-e-r. onWhy My Children Have No Right to Privacy
This made me laugh so hard. I just had to include it this week. What a great story to tell her someday.
April 25, 2013
Gwyneth Paltrow
Did you hear the news? Gwyneth Paltrow has been named People magazine's Most Beautiful Woman in All the Land or something like that. Ugh, please. Anyone but her.
First, let me get the obvious out of the way. Yes, yes, yes, she's gorgeous. It is nearly impossible to believe that we are the same age. I swear she's got a portrait in a closet somewhere that looks like a dried out fish monger's wife. (Dorian Gray, anyone?? Or is the only gray you read 50 Shades ??)
Let's just compare me and Gwyneth: her skin is ah-may-zing compared to my skin which defies nature as it is both chalky and sun damaged. Gwyneth's (presumably, since she's never let me get close enough to touch it) soft and wrinkle-free face actually gives me a visual aid for when magazines describe "glowing" and "dewy" complexions. I understand what those words means now. Gwyneth's long, silken tresses beg to be touched, while my mousy graying hair actually looks sharp to the touch and is currently so short, my daughter accused me of being a man the other day. Gwyneth's body. Do I even have to say it? When you're 5'9" like Gwynnie, you're already leaps and bounds ahead of the average woman. Her legs are as long as my entire body.
I suppose we could all look like Gwyneth if we bought her number one selling cookbook (who the hell is buying this thing??) that dishes up recipes completely devoid of: meat, soy, wheat, gluten, coffee, dairy, alcohol, sugar, shellfish, potatoes, tomatoes, bell peppers, eggplant, corn, or anything processed. I'm not sure what that leaves? Raw leafy greens washed down with coconut water (she didn't expressly forbid tap water, but I'm assuming that's a big no no when you're on a "clean diet")? Actually, in her cookbook she mentions a salad she enjoys: arugula with maple syrup because the syrup adds an "another layer of autumnal yum!"
Mmm .. autumnal yum! Just needs a little more maple syrup!
When you break down her daily menus in her book, it's been estimated that a day's worth of "Gwynnie Food" will cost you $300 and you'll still go to bed hungry. A small price to pay, I guess, to be named Most Beautiful.
OK, so she's beautiful and if we're just judging on looks alone, then I guess she wins. BUT, come on, People. She's so faux, her behavior actually forced me to write the word "faux." She used to be normal back in the day and then it's like the lack the of sugar and alcohol drained her of all her normal human personality traits and now she's some bizarro vegan Stepford Wife who spouts nonsense like, "I am who I am. I can't pretend to be somebody who makes $25,000 a year" when she doesn't even behave like somebody who makes $250,000 a year. She brags about making films that "... will be interesting and that have integrity. I hate those tacky, pointless, big, fluffy, unimportant movies" and then she makes movies like Iron Man 1, 2, and 3 and The Avengers. (All super important movies.)
How could you choose her, People? Do you know your audience? Your audience is people like me: wrinkled people with easy hairdos who have barely heard of Veganaise, let alone eaten it. I'm never going to drink Gwyneth's green morning energy drink. I just read a review that described it as tasting like "the water from your salad spinner" and that was the kindest review I could find. A quick glance at her asinine website Goop, proves that she is so out of touch with reality she is like a modern day Marie Antoinette living in her palatial London spread saying ridiculous things like everyone should have a wood burning pizza oven in their garden. (BTW, what sort of pizza is she making without wheat, tomatoes, or peppers? Answer: Pizza that tastes like ass.) She lives in such a bubble where she she really believes she is just a normal "mum" who would "die" if she let her kids eat Cup-a-Soup. She is a normal mum who is married to a rock star, who eats nothing but tree bark and salad spinner water while living in her multi, multi, multi-million dollar properties and selling shit online like a like a must-have $298 robe that she touts is perfect for "lazy days."
Of course she does. This is someone who has been besties with Madonna (who also fancies herself a Brit and was once caught on tape saying she "absolutely loathes hydrangeas" just after a devoted fan gave her hydrangeas) and now Beyonce ("Queen B" as I'm sure Bey prefers Gwynnie call her) has assumed the BFF role. Poor Gwyneth doesn't have a chance to be normal when she surrounds herself with people like Beyonce who is so upset about the unflattering, snarling photos taken of her fierce performance at the Super Bowl that now all professional photographers except for the one she's hired are banned from her current tour. Gwyneth is a woman whose first world problems include asshole concierges in Paris hotels who don't give her the real skinny on the good organic wine bars and the best place to get a Brazilian. (Who is in Paris long enough to need a Brazilian while you are still on vacation???)
No, People magazine, I think you missed the mark on this one. You've actually created a monster. The humble bragging has already begun. Gwyneth said, "I honestly thought someone was playing a joke on me."
Yes, Gwyneth, I thought the same thing when I heard the news.
First, let me get the obvious out of the way. Yes, yes, yes, she's gorgeous. It is nearly impossible to believe that we are the same age. I swear she's got a portrait in a closet somewhere that looks like a dried out fish monger's wife. (Dorian Gray, anyone?? Or is the only gray you read 50 Shades ??)
Let's just compare me and Gwyneth: her skin is ah-may-zing compared to my skin which defies nature as it is both chalky and sun damaged. Gwyneth's (presumably, since she's never let me get close enough to touch it) soft and wrinkle-free face actually gives me a visual aid for when magazines describe "glowing" and "dewy" complexions. I understand what those words means now. Gwyneth's long, silken tresses beg to be touched, while my mousy graying hair actually looks sharp to the touch and is currently so short, my daughter accused me of being a man the other day. Gwyneth's body. Do I even have to say it? When you're 5'9" like Gwynnie, you're already leaps and bounds ahead of the average woman. Her legs are as long as my entire body.
I suppose we could all look like Gwyneth if we bought her number one selling cookbook (who the hell is buying this thing??) that dishes up recipes completely devoid of: meat, soy, wheat, gluten, coffee, dairy, alcohol, sugar, shellfish, potatoes, tomatoes, bell peppers, eggplant, corn, or anything processed. I'm not sure what that leaves? Raw leafy greens washed down with coconut water (she didn't expressly forbid tap water, but I'm assuming that's a big no no when you're on a "clean diet")? Actually, in her cookbook she mentions a salad she enjoys: arugula with maple syrup because the syrup adds an "another layer of autumnal yum!"
Mmm .. autumnal yum! Just needs a little more maple syrup!
When you break down her daily menus in her book, it's been estimated that a day's worth of "Gwynnie Food" will cost you $300 and you'll still go to bed hungry. A small price to pay, I guess, to be named Most Beautiful.
OK, so she's beautiful and if we're just judging on looks alone, then I guess she wins. BUT, come on, People. She's so faux, her behavior actually forced me to write the word "faux." She used to be normal back in the day and then it's like the lack the of sugar and alcohol drained her of all her normal human personality traits and now she's some bizarro vegan Stepford Wife who spouts nonsense like, "I am who I am. I can't pretend to be somebody who makes $25,000 a year" when she doesn't even behave like somebody who makes $250,000 a year. She brags about making films that "... will be interesting and that have integrity. I hate those tacky, pointless, big, fluffy, unimportant movies" and then she makes movies like Iron Man 1, 2, and 3 and The Avengers. (All super important movies.)
How could you choose her, People? Do you know your audience? Your audience is people like me: wrinkled people with easy hairdos who have barely heard of Veganaise, let alone eaten it. I'm never going to drink Gwyneth's green morning energy drink. I just read a review that described it as tasting like "the water from your salad spinner" and that was the kindest review I could find. A quick glance at her asinine website Goop, proves that she is so out of touch with reality she is like a modern day Marie Antoinette living in her palatial London spread saying ridiculous things like everyone should have a wood burning pizza oven in their garden. (BTW, what sort of pizza is she making without wheat, tomatoes, or peppers? Answer: Pizza that tastes like ass.) She lives in such a bubble where she she really believes she is just a normal "mum" who would "die" if she let her kids eat Cup-a-Soup. She is a normal mum who is married to a rock star, who eats nothing but tree bark and salad spinner water while living in her multi, multi, multi-million dollar properties and selling shit online like a like a must-have $298 robe that she touts is perfect for "lazy days."
Of course she does. This is someone who has been besties with Madonna (who also fancies herself a Brit and was once caught on tape saying she "absolutely loathes hydrangeas" just after a devoted fan gave her hydrangeas) and now Beyonce ("Queen B" as I'm sure Bey prefers Gwynnie call her) has assumed the BFF role. Poor Gwyneth doesn't have a chance to be normal when she surrounds herself with people like Beyonce who is so upset about the unflattering, snarling photos taken of her fierce performance at the Super Bowl that now all professional photographers except for the one she's hired are banned from her current tour. Gwyneth is a woman whose first world problems include asshole concierges in Paris hotels who don't give her the real skinny on the good organic wine bars and the best place to get a Brazilian. (Who is in Paris long enough to need a Brazilian while you are still on vacation???)
No, People magazine, I think you missed the mark on this one. You've actually created a monster. The humble bragging has already begun. Gwyneth said, "I honestly thought someone was playing a joke on me."
Yes, Gwyneth, I thought the same thing when I heard the news.
April 23, 2013
Why My Children Have No Right to Privacy
A few days ago, my friend Kim at Let Me Start By Saying wrote an essay that was featured on the Huffington Post. It was about reading her five-year-old daughter's diary. Kim knew her daughter had been writing in her diary and Kim wondered what was going on in her daughter's head. She took the key and opened the book. She was apprehensive. She was worried she might find out that her daughter was sad or angry or hiding something. Instead, she found that her daughter was happy and loved her life. Kim wrote a sweet and endearing post about this experience and her relief to find her daughter happy and healthy.
Now, it's known that the Huffington Post has some of the meanest, angriest, trolliest commenters around. I always imagine many of them living in vans down by the river or licking Cheetos residue from their fingers while typing their raging opus in their mother's dark basements. Well, Kim struck a nerve with her post and got those vans and basements rattling with anger.
So many people came out screaming at Kim for "violating her daughter's privacy," for "betraying her trust," and flat out calling Kim a terrible mother.
All of the comments got me thinking.
If they thought Kim was a terrible mother, then I must be a HORRIBLE mother. I saw nothing wrong with what Kim did. A few people made the distinction that her daughter is only five, but if she were 15 then it would a be a violation, blah, blah. But I disagree.
I have been very clear in making sure my children have never even gotten the idea that they have a right to privacy in my home. Sure, my kids can bathe in private or close the doors to their bedrooms, but they cannot keep diaries locked away or drawers in their dressers off limits from me and the Hubs.
Why do we think that children deserve privacy? Why do we think that some how we're betraying our precious snowflake's trust by reading her text messages or his emails? I'm not betraying their trust, I'm parenting. They don't get to keep secrets from me. They don't get to leave this house without telling me where they're going, who they're going with, and when they will be back.
They can have an opinion and they can tell me my rules suck, but I really don't care. I have a job to do. My job is to raise them and to keep them safe and to make sure they're not entitled assholes.
Only entitled assholes demand a right to privacy. They're kids. They're not adults. Not even adults have complete freedom. I know I've had to pee in many a cup to get a job and I know that my emails were read and my phone conversations were monitored. That's just life.
My children will never have privacy. I am their mother. This is my house. I am determined to know everything that goes on under this roof. I'm not stupid enough to think that I will always know what's happening, there will be secrets they'll manage to keep, but I'm also not stupid enough to think my kids will just tell me everything that's going on in their lives. I have to be an active parent. I can't be lazy or complacent and just think my kids are good kids because they have decent grades and their friends seem OK.
You know why not? Because kids lie. All the time.
When my kids are teenagers, they will know that at any moment I can ask them to hand over their cell phones, laptops, whatever equipment they'll be carrying by then, so that I can see who they're talking to and what they're talking about. Can you imagine if those boys in Steubenville had parents who enforced this rule? Can you imagine getting your son's phone and seeing pictures of a girl being violated by him and his friends? Do you think those boys would have taken those pictures if they suspected their parents might see them? Do you think they would have uploaded videos to Youtube laughing at the victim and calling her names if they thought for a second their parents would access their Youtube accounts? I don't think they would. But I'm not surprised the Steubenville boys didn't have rules like these. Those kids were dicks and they had parents who enabled them and let them be dicks. My guess is, those kids had privacy. Those kids had parents who didn't want to betray their trust or invade their personal space. That's bullshit.
(Of course I'm not saying that every kid who is allowed privacy is going to be a rapist or an asshole, but your chances are pretty high. Good for you if you've raised a good kid who was also afforded privacy!)
A few weeks ago I had lunch with a friend who has a teenage daughter. My friend was upset because her freshman daughter had been caught sending inappropriate photos to a senior boy. The mother of the boy was doing her usual random search through her son's phone and came across the photos of a scantily clad young girl. She demanded to know who the girl was and her son told her. She tracked down my friend and told her about the photos of her daughter. The mothers agreed to delete the photos and punish the kids.
Can you imagine if the boy's mom didn't find that photo? Can you imagine if the boy decided for some reason to share the picture with the rest of their school? Girls are killing themselves because of photos like these.
Kids make dumb choices. They are not equipped to think about consequences. That's why we need to parent them. We need to be there guiding them and helping them and supervising them. And to me, that means no privacy.
What about their diaries? I will read their diaries and their journals and anything else they write. Too many kids struggle with depression, addiction, low self esteem, and more and a good place to find out about it is through their writings. I would rather violate their trust and read my child's journal and get them help than stand by with my head in the clouds hoping they'll tell me what's bothering them while they're contemplating their suicide.
Too many kids are hurting themselves and others because they're in pain and they need help. I can't stand by and just hope my kids will tell me what's bothering them.
So, their journals and texts and emails will be ours to read. Their drawers will be ours to search.
I do this, not because I'm running a police state or because I wrote the Patriot Act (as a brilliant HP commenter accused me of), but because I am responsible for them and I love them and I want guide them and help them.
I am all for kids learning through their mistakes, but I want those mistakes to be flunking a math test or getting a detention for too many tardies. I don't want the mistake to be sending a text message while driving and accidentally killing a child walking home from school. I don't want the mistake to be emailing naked photos to the captain of the football team and hoping he keeps those to himself. I don't want the mistake to be a child who is so depressed he hurts himself and/or his classmates. I love my children fiercely and I don't want to be that parent who says, "We had no idea she felt this way."
Maybe you think I am a terrible mother, but I really don't care.
Now, it's known that the Huffington Post has some of the meanest, angriest, trolliest commenters around. I always imagine many of them living in vans down by the river or licking Cheetos residue from their fingers while typing their raging opus in their mother's dark basements. Well, Kim struck a nerve with her post and got those vans and basements rattling with anger.
So many people came out screaming at Kim for "violating her daughter's privacy," for "betraying her trust," and flat out calling Kim a terrible mother.
All of the comments got me thinking.
If they thought Kim was a terrible mother, then I must be a HORRIBLE mother. I saw nothing wrong with what Kim did. A few people made the distinction that her daughter is only five, but if she were 15 then it would a be a violation, blah, blah. But I disagree.
I have been very clear in making sure my children have never even gotten the idea that they have a right to privacy in my home. Sure, my kids can bathe in private or close the doors to their bedrooms, but they cannot keep diaries locked away or drawers in their dressers off limits from me and the Hubs.
Why do we think that children deserve privacy? Why do we think that some how we're betraying our precious snowflake's trust by reading her text messages or his emails? I'm not betraying their trust, I'm parenting. They don't get to keep secrets from me. They don't get to leave this house without telling me where they're going, who they're going with, and when they will be back.
They can have an opinion and they can tell me my rules suck, but I really don't care. I have a job to do. My job is to raise them and to keep them safe and to make sure they're not entitled assholes.
Only entitled assholes demand a right to privacy. They're kids. They're not adults. Not even adults have complete freedom. I know I've had to pee in many a cup to get a job and I know that my emails were read and my phone conversations were monitored. That's just life.
My children will never have privacy. I am their mother. This is my house. I am determined to know everything that goes on under this roof. I'm not stupid enough to think that I will always know what's happening, there will be secrets they'll manage to keep, but I'm also not stupid enough to think my kids will just tell me everything that's going on in their lives. I have to be an active parent. I can't be lazy or complacent and just think my kids are good kids because they have decent grades and their friends seem OK.
You know why not? Because kids lie. All the time.
When my kids are teenagers, they will know that at any moment I can ask them to hand over their cell phones, laptops, whatever equipment they'll be carrying by then, so that I can see who they're talking to and what they're talking about. Can you imagine if those boys in Steubenville had parents who enforced this rule? Can you imagine getting your son's phone and seeing pictures of a girl being violated by him and his friends? Do you think those boys would have taken those pictures if they suspected their parents might see them? Do you think they would have uploaded videos to Youtube laughing at the victim and calling her names if they thought for a second their parents would access their Youtube accounts? I don't think they would. But I'm not surprised the Steubenville boys didn't have rules like these. Those kids were dicks and they had parents who enabled them and let them be dicks. My guess is, those kids had privacy. Those kids had parents who didn't want to betray their trust or invade their personal space. That's bullshit.
(Of course I'm not saying that every kid who is allowed privacy is going to be a rapist or an asshole, but your chances are pretty high. Good for you if you've raised a good kid who was also afforded privacy!)
A few weeks ago I had lunch with a friend who has a teenage daughter. My friend was upset because her freshman daughter had been caught sending inappropriate photos to a senior boy. The mother of the boy was doing her usual random search through her son's phone and came across the photos of a scantily clad young girl. She demanded to know who the girl was and her son told her. She tracked down my friend and told her about the photos of her daughter. The mothers agreed to delete the photos and punish the kids.
Can you imagine if the boy's mom didn't find that photo? Can you imagine if the boy decided for some reason to share the picture with the rest of their school? Girls are killing themselves because of photos like these.
Kids make dumb choices. They are not equipped to think about consequences. That's why we need to parent them. We need to be there guiding them and helping them and supervising them. And to me, that means no privacy.
What about their diaries? I will read their diaries and their journals and anything else they write. Too many kids struggle with depression, addiction, low self esteem, and more and a good place to find out about it is through their writings. I would rather violate their trust and read my child's journal and get them help than stand by with my head in the clouds hoping they'll tell me what's bothering them while they're contemplating their suicide.
Too many kids are hurting themselves and others because they're in pain and they need help. I can't stand by and just hope my kids will tell me what's bothering them.
So, their journals and texts and emails will be ours to read. Their drawers will be ours to search.
I do this, not because I'm running a police state or because I wrote the Patriot Act (as a brilliant HP commenter accused me of), but because I am responsible for them and I love them and I want guide them and help them.
I am all for kids learning through their mistakes, but I want those mistakes to be flunking a math test or getting a detention for too many tardies. I don't want the mistake to be sending a text message while driving and accidentally killing a child walking home from school. I don't want the mistake to be emailing naked photos to the captain of the football team and hoping he keeps those to himself. I don't want the mistake to be a child who is so depressed he hurts himself and/or his classmates. I love my children fiercely and I don't want to be that parent who says, "We had no idea she felt this way."
Maybe you think I am a terrible mother, but I really don't care.
April 22, 2013
A (Good) PIWTPITT Book Review
Did you notice that April was new book release month? I noticed this last year when it seemed like everyone and their mother had a new book coming out. Last year I was kind of bummed because I didn't have my book ready. I wasn't even sure what my book would be about. Wah wah (that's my sad trombone sound).
This year I'm not bummed, I'm so excited, because several of the new April best seller's are my friends! (OK, so I've never actually sat down and had a cup of coffee with any of these women, but that's only because Kansas isn't close to anyone! Wah wah. The beauty of the internet is I don't need to have coffee once a week with these girls to feel like we're friends.) I'm so excited for all of them and I just know their books are going to be big successes!
Have you read these books yet? NO? What are you waiting for? My review? OK, well, here's a quick look at them:
Moms Who Drink and Swear by Nicole Knepper - If you ever thought you were the only mom who drops the f-bomb while making a new friend in the McDonald's Playland in your pajamas, you'd be wrong. I'm going to start hanging out in my local McDonald's in my pajamas hoping Nikki will pick me up. This funny and heartwarming book will make you feel like you're not alone in this crazy world.
Nikki may have a fierce sounding name and she might like to call her kids "crotchfruit," but let me tell you a secret: Nikki is a big ole' softy. This girl loves those crotchfruit like no one else. She adores her husband and idolizes her parents. She can be funny and witty and then turn around and make you cry with her honesty and her poignancy! This book is a love story to her family and we're so lucky that she's letting us read it.
Parenting: Illustrated with Crappy Pictures by Amber Dusick - Have you ever seen a crappy drawing of chewed up bubble gum stuck in a little girl's undies or a disgusting public toilet where you're trying to potty train little boys or a harried woman mesmerized by the Target "eye"? No? Well, then you're missing out.
Amber is one of my favorite artists. I would frame some of her crappy pictures and put them on my wall if I had a color printer. This book is full of hilarious and adorable stories about Amber and her kids. Yes, her kids are cute and funny, no she does not think they're ah-may-zing. Amber is real and has no qualms telling you that her kids won't eat their veggies because they're "too fucking hot" or give her some time on the throne.
Motherhood Comes Naturally and Other Vicious Lies by Jill Smokler - I don't know about you, but I have noooo trouble being a mother. I love what pregnancy did to my body (let's face it, it wasn't that great to start with), I enjoy bathing with an audience of two, I live for middle of the night wake ups when kids are crying, and I plan to get tons of sleep once they go off to college. Sleep is over rated. (Says the woman writing this at 4:30 in the morning.) You disagree with me? Good! Then this is the book for you. Jill shares the biggest lies you'll ever hear like going from two kids to three kids is a breeze and Mother's Day is all about you.
Do these books sound like your cup of tea? Want to win a copy of them? I've got a free copy with your name on it. All you have to do is leave me a comment on the blog between now and April 26th telling me why you think it's important to have a sense of humor when you're parenting. I'll pick a winner and announce it Friday on my Facebook page, so make sure you're following me there if you want to win.
Psst .. Hey husbands, if you don't win these would all make great gifts for Mother's Day. You know what else would? I Just Want to Pee Alone!
Disclaimer: Yeah, I got these books for free. See? I told you guys I was friends with these writers. They didn't even make me pay or anything. That's like 50 bucks worth of free books! You know me well enough by now that if I didn't like these books I'd tell you, so you can trust me when I say these books are awesome.
April 18, 2013
Lotus Birth Bags
Alright, so I thought the placenta pills were horrible and the placenta bear revolting, but now there is something worse.
Apparently, it's a thing to carry your days old placenta around in an adorable sack. WTF, placenta lovers?? Can't you people just discard it as medical waste like the rest of us??? Actually, I don't know if this is a placenta lover thing ("The placenta is special and should be kept for all time!") or if this is just one more way to accessorize and/or decorate everything in our lives ("Oh my God, how cute! An ah-may-zing bag for our placenta, honey!!") or if this is a competimom thing:
"I gave birth in a bath tub in my living room surrounded by friends, family, neighbors, three midwives, a Druid Priest, and an astrologer, during a full moon. I delivered in complete silence except for the sounds of the musicians we'd hired to play the pan flute while using only acupuncture to control my pain."
"Yes, I did all of those things too, but then I carried Azriella's placenta for 10 days in a hand made bag we got from an old woman we met and bonded with on our cross country journey through Guatemala when I was seven months pregnant with her."
"Son of a bitch!"
Look, I get the whole waiting a few extra minutes before cutting the cord so the baby can get those last drops of cord blood, but once you reach the one hour mark, you are just carrying around a rotting organ.
And once again a Ziploc bag or a Tupperware bowl just will not do! Apparently that plastic shit makes your placenta smell and rot. Yeah, that's what's doing it. So instead, if you've got some money left over after buying your ah-dor-able birth wreath, you need to fork over some dough and get yourself a Lotus Bag.
A Lotus Bag is a gorgeous cotton-lined bag with drawstrings and usually some sort of I Am Earth Mother Hear Me Roar picture on the front like a hearty oak tree or a dove or something like that. So instead of cutting the cord, you wrap your placenta in absorbent cloths and place it in the bag. Oh, did I mention that it's a good idea to bathe your placenta in a salt bath too? It helps cut down on odor and it speeds up the drying process. Within a few days (around 3 to 10!!!) the cord will naturally detach from your baby and then you use the included herbs and salt to dry out the placenta (still in your gorj Lotus Bag) and then you save it for all eternity to pass down to family members or something like that. Just what you want to show his first girlfriend some day. "Would you like to see Gomer's dried out placenta?"
Oh, and let me just say something to those who say the placenta only smells a bit "musky." Bullshit. I got up close and personal with Gomer's placenta and let me tell you, that was one of the funkiest things I've ever smelled. And I have smelled a lot of funky things, including but not limited to: a hole in the floor where the entire female population of a university does its business, a freezer that quit working in the dead of summer loaded with beef, and a house that had a water leak that no one discovered for a week. All of those were better than the placenta!
OK, let me just wrap my head around this for a minute. I give birth to my baby. My doctor says, "Do you have your bag?" Of course! She wraps the placenta in absorbent cloths and drops it in the bag. Plop. I get home with my newborn that I'm trying to carry around and I have to sling his placenta over my shoulder everywhere I go. (Luckily, the makers of the Lotus Bag got smarter as they went along and made longer handles. The first ones were a nightmare!) Now it's time to bathe my baby. Careful, Hubs! You almost kneeled on his placenta! Baby's done, but what is that smell?? Right. The placenta. It hasn't been bathed in a day or so. Here, Hubs, hold the baby while I bathe our placenta, because I didn't want a shower today, I'd rather spend my extra 10 minutes on this shit. Meanwhile, it seems like the placenta has been hanging around a long time. What day are we on? Day seven?? I thought this was only supposed to be a three day thing. Of course, I really need to get to Target, but I can't go with my baby's cord swinging. What is that smell?? Shit, I think I need to bathe the placenta again!!
picture source
Apparently, it's a thing to carry your days old placenta around in an adorable sack. WTF, placenta lovers?? Can't you people just discard it as medical waste like the rest of us??? Actually, I don't know if this is a placenta lover thing ("The placenta is special and should be kept for all time!") or if this is just one more way to accessorize and/or decorate everything in our lives ("Oh my God, how cute! An ah-may-zing bag for our placenta, honey!!") or if this is a competimom thing:
"I gave birth in a bath tub in my living room surrounded by friends, family, neighbors, three midwives, a Druid Priest, and an astrologer, during a full moon. I delivered in complete silence except for the sounds of the musicians we'd hired to play the pan flute while using only acupuncture to control my pain."
"Yes, I did all of those things too, but then I carried Azriella's placenta for 10 days in a hand made bag we got from an old woman we met and bonded with on our cross country journey through Guatemala when I was seven months pregnant with her."
"Son of a bitch!"
Look, I get the whole waiting a few extra minutes before cutting the cord so the baby can get those last drops of cord blood, but once you reach the one hour mark, you are just carrying around a rotting organ.
And once again a Ziploc bag or a Tupperware bowl just will not do! Apparently that plastic shit makes your placenta smell and rot. Yeah, that's what's doing it. So instead, if you've got some money left over after buying your ah-dor-able birth wreath, you need to fork over some dough and get yourself a Lotus Bag.
A Lotus Bag is a gorgeous cotton-lined bag with drawstrings and usually some sort of I Am Earth Mother Hear Me Roar picture on the front like a hearty oak tree or a dove or something like that. So instead of cutting the cord, you wrap your placenta in absorbent cloths and place it in the bag. Oh, did I mention that it's a good idea to bathe your placenta in a salt bath too? It helps cut down on odor and it speeds up the drying process. Within a few days (around 3 to 10!!!) the cord will naturally detach from your baby and then you use the included herbs and salt to dry out the placenta (still in your gorj Lotus Bag) and then you save it for all eternity to pass down to family members or something like that. Just what you want to show his first girlfriend some day. "Would you like to see Gomer's dried out placenta?"
Oh, and let me just say something to those who say the placenta only smells a bit "musky." Bullshit. I got up close and personal with Gomer's placenta and let me tell you, that was one of the funkiest things I've ever smelled. And I have smelled a lot of funky things, including but not limited to: a hole in the floor where the entire female population of a university does its business, a freezer that quit working in the dead of summer loaded with beef, and a house that had a water leak that no one discovered for a week. All of those were better than the placenta!
OK, let me just wrap my head around this for a minute. I give birth to my baby. My doctor says, "Do you have your bag?" Of course! She wraps the placenta in absorbent cloths and drops it in the bag. Plop. I get home with my newborn that I'm trying to carry around and I have to sling his placenta over my shoulder everywhere I go. (Luckily, the makers of the Lotus Bag got smarter as they went along and made longer handles. The first ones were a nightmare!) Now it's time to bathe my baby. Careful, Hubs! You almost kneeled on his placenta! Baby's done, but what is that smell?? Right. The placenta. It hasn't been bathed in a day or so. Here, Hubs, hold the baby while I bathe our placenta, because I didn't want a shower today, I'd rather spend my extra 10 minutes on this shit. Meanwhile, it seems like the placenta has been hanging around a long time. What day are we on? Day seven?? I thought this was only supposed to be a three day thing. Of course, I really need to get to Target, but I can't go with my baby's cord swinging. What is that smell?? Shit, I think I need to bathe the placenta again!!
picture source
April 15, 2013
Anyone Who Would Try and Give Me a Birth Wreath
It was recently brought to my attention that there is yet another event that needs to be memorialized and decorated to the nth degree: giving birth.
I know what you're thinking. But Jen, when I gave birth I got flowers and cards and balloons and some meals. What more could I need?
Well, girl, you missed out. Your birth experience wasn't perfect enough, because your ugly, drab hospital room door was completely and totally unadorned without a Birth Wreath. (I would have put a picture of a birth wreath in here, but shocker, no one would give me permission to use their pic. It was like they thought I might make fun of them or something. Click the link above and you'll see a picture there.) Yup. You needed some bling on that brown, (probably faux) wood thing that just stood there sneering at your guests when they arrived to see your little miracle. How embarrassing for you! Is that how you want your friends, family, and hospital staff to remember your birth experience? What about you? Do you want to remember your friends and family turning up their noses at your horrible hospital-issue (probably handwritten - the horror!!) signage? Baby Boy Jones. Ugh. You should be ashamed!
Now, I'm done having kids. My baby factory has shuttered the doors and locked all of the windows, but there is still some hope for those of you who are still in the baby making business. Lucky for you, birth wreaths have been invented.
You won't have to suffer through hours of seeing that dreary door opening and closing. Now you can order your own handmade birth wreath to announce the blessed event.
Here's how the birth wreath works: you order one in your favorite traditional gender color, or match the baby's nursery palette so that everyone around you can see the horrific color scheme you chose (peach and lime green), or go that extra douchebag step and get your favorite college team colors (Go Big Yellow!). Blech. There is a plaque on the wreath where you fill in all of the vitals once your bundle of joy is dropped off by the stork. The best part of this wreath though, is the personalization with your future child's name.
Names like:
Tensli - I'm so glad they went with the traditional spelling, instead of the weird ones: Tenzlee, Tensly, Tenzlie.
Rhealynn - Alternate spellings? No clue, because I don't even know how to pronounce this name.
Eden Alivia - I see what you did there to a perfectly good name like Olivia. You're so original!
Brantley - This would be the best if that was his middle name and his first name was "Lord."
Britten - Britten? As in the place? I bet her sister's name is Londyn.
Bodey - Surely this is a dog name?
Emersyn Bailee - Pat, I'd like to buy a proper vowel.
Carsyn Adelle - The "y" clearly feminizes the name Carson.
Maverick - Goose and Ice Man called. They think your parents are douches.
Slayde - This kid should hang out with Maverick.
Gracen Alene - We can never be friends again if you name your daughter Gracen.
Izabelle - I feel like this is the text message version of this name. It should have just been Izabl.
Full disclosure - I found these ACTUAL names on a birth wreath site on Etsy. It's days like these that I am thankful I am not a substitute teacher five years in the future trying to call roll. WTF? Apparently birth wreaths are only purchased by people who think it's OK to spend $75 on tulle and ribbon and think vowels in names are interchangeable and/or they can't spell.
Tell me, did you have one of these on your hospital room door?
I know what you're thinking. But Jen, when I gave birth I got flowers and cards and balloons and some meals. What more could I need?
Well, girl, you missed out. Your birth experience wasn't perfect enough, because your ugly, drab hospital room door was completely and totally unadorned without a Birth Wreath. (I would have put a picture of a birth wreath in here, but shocker, no one would give me permission to use their pic. It was like they thought I might make fun of them or something. Click the link above and you'll see a picture there.) Yup. You needed some bling on that brown, (probably faux) wood thing that just stood there sneering at your guests when they arrived to see your little miracle. How embarrassing for you! Is that how you want your friends, family, and hospital staff to remember your birth experience? What about you? Do you want to remember your friends and family turning up their noses at your horrible hospital-issue (probably handwritten - the horror!!) signage? Baby Boy Jones. Ugh. You should be ashamed!
Now, I'm done having kids. My baby factory has shuttered the doors and locked all of the windows, but there is still some hope for those of you who are still in the baby making business. Lucky for you, birth wreaths have been invented.
You won't have to suffer through hours of seeing that dreary door opening and closing. Now you can order your own handmade birth wreath to announce the blessed event.
Here's how the birth wreath works: you order one in your favorite traditional gender color, or match the baby's nursery palette so that everyone around you can see the horrific color scheme you chose (peach and lime green), or go that extra douchebag step and get your favorite college team colors (Go Big Yellow!). Blech. There is a plaque on the wreath where you fill in all of the vitals once your bundle of joy is dropped off by the stork. The best part of this wreath though, is the personalization with your future child's name.
Names like:
Tensli - I'm so glad they went with the traditional spelling, instead of the weird ones: Tenzlee, Tensly, Tenzlie.
Rhealynn - Alternate spellings? No clue, because I don't even know how to pronounce this name.
Eden Alivia - I see what you did there to a perfectly good name like Olivia. You're so original!
Brantley - This would be the best if that was his middle name and his first name was "Lord."
Britten - Britten? As in the place? I bet her sister's name is Londyn.
Bodey - Surely this is a dog name?
Emersyn Bailee - Pat, I'd like to buy a proper vowel.
Carsyn Adelle - The "y" clearly feminizes the name Carson.
Maverick - Goose and Ice Man called. They think your parents are douches.
Slayde - This kid should hang out with Maverick.
Gracen Alene - We can never be friends again if you name your daughter Gracen.
Izabelle - I feel like this is the text message version of this name. It should have just been Izabl.
Full disclosure - I found these ACTUAL names on a birth wreath site on Etsy. It's days like these that I am thankful I am not a substitute teacher five years in the future trying to call roll. WTF? Apparently birth wreaths are only purchased by people who think it's OK to spend $75 on tulle and ribbon and think vowels in names are interchangeable and/or they can't spell.
Tell me, did you have one of these on your hospital room door?
April 9, 2013
Big Bags of Crap
On Sunday afternoon I went crazy.
I went in my walk in closet to find a particular shirt and I couldn't even find my hand. My closet has become the Bermuda Triangle of our house. Twice a month the cleaning lady comes to our house and twice a month I shove laundry baskets of crap into my closet. I shove bags of shit (OK, not real shit, but you get my drift) into my closet: art projects from school, dirty clothes, clean clothes that I haven't had time to put away, books, sheets and towels. Stuff goes in there and never comes back out. Besides all of this crap that really doesn't belong in a closet I have clothes in there that haven't been worn outside since 1990.
I tried to push into my closet and when I couldn't get the door open all the way, something inside of me snapped. "That's it!" I screamed. I stomped into the kitchen and grabbed the box of garbage bags and stomped back to my room. I logged into my computer (Yes, I wanted to check Facebook just one more time before I started my journey. This was going to be hard and I needed some virtual ((hugs)) to keep me going!) and scheduled an appointment with my favorite donation center to come and pick up the good stuff I was bound to find in there. (Plus, I needed a deadline to work towards if this was gonna get done!) Someone will be there on Tuesday! the donation center's site told me. Shit. That's quick. Better log off Facebook. One more look ... Yum! Trisha's lunch looks delicious!
I started pulling piles of junk out of my closet and organizing it into two piles: TOSS/RAGS (Q: How many t-shirts can a person own that are misshapen and pit-stained? A: 30. Upside: New Rags!) and DONATE.
It was quickly apparent that I have a problem. Remember a while ago when I thought Adolpha might be a hoarder? If she is, it's my fault.
I had a pile of jeans on my bed ready to donate. Jeans that haven't been worn since 1990. Light denim jeans with high waists and no stretch in them. I don't know about you, but I haven't worn jeans without a bit of stretch in them for at least 10 years. Plus, do you remember how HEAVY jeans used to be? I bet this pile of jeans weighed 25 pounds. Despite all of these drawbacks, this pile of jeans kept calling me back. Maybe you'll need to do some messy yardwork, I told myself. You won't want to wreck your good stretchy jeans. You should keep some of those for messy yardwork days. Yeah. Guess how many times I've done "messy yardwork" since 1990? If you guessed "none" you'd be right.
I took a deep breath, said a quick goodbye to my old friends, jammed the jeans into a garbage bag, and turned my attention to a pile of power suits circa 1994. The shoulder pads! The pin stripes (yeah, I had a real affinity for pin striped jackets)! The modest, knee skimming skirts! The matching sensible pumps!
The suits were easier to bag up than the jeans. I hope there is never an instance in my life that I am required to wear a suit. Or if there is I'll just buy a new one that isn't so ... what's the word I'm looking for? Matronly. Seriously, who wears a matronly suit at 25? This girl did.
The final piles were more Eddie Bauer, Lands End, and J. Crew sweaters than a person should be allowed to own. I think at one point in my life I must have thought every day was a catalog shoot for these brands. It didn't matter what the occasion, I had the perfect sweater for it!
Going boating? Let me just grab my cable knit fisherman sweater!
I ended up keeping this one. I might go boating again and it will come in handy.
Berry picking? How about this jaunty, cozy fall cardigan?
Yeah, I guess I never went berry picking, because this one still has a tag on it. According to the tag I bought this on clearance for $40. Ahh, the days before I had kids and I could spend money willy-nilly!
Christmas party? At a cabin? In the woods? No worries, I got it covered.
Really funny story about this sweater. I'm writing it right now for my new book, but let's just say imagine me going to lunch at Le Cirque in Manhattan wearing this sweater paired with a prairie skirt and meeting Ivana Trump.
I worked tirelessly all day yesterday finishing up before my deadline and I am ready for the pick up this morning. I have 16 trash bags full of clothes, shoes, and accessories.
I am rarely embarrassed, but this morning I am embarrassed by my front hall. No one should have over two decades worth of clothing sitting in their front hall.
No one should have ever bought half of this stuff to begin with. Did you see that Christmas sweater? Believe it or not, it was a favorite!! Let's just say, Ivana was not impressed.
I've been told that the 90s styles are coming back. Ugh. Well, I have some good news for any short, plus-sized hipster who will be shopping at my local thrift store in the next week or so. Go get it, girl!
I went in my walk in closet to find a particular shirt and I couldn't even find my hand. My closet has become the Bermuda Triangle of our house. Twice a month the cleaning lady comes to our house and twice a month I shove laundry baskets of crap into my closet. I shove bags of shit (OK, not real shit, but you get my drift) into my closet: art projects from school, dirty clothes, clean clothes that I haven't had time to put away, books, sheets and towels. Stuff goes in there and never comes back out. Besides all of this crap that really doesn't belong in a closet I have clothes in there that haven't been worn outside since 1990.
I tried to push into my closet and when I couldn't get the door open all the way, something inside of me snapped. "That's it!" I screamed. I stomped into the kitchen and grabbed the box of garbage bags and stomped back to my room. I logged into my computer (Yes, I wanted to check Facebook just one more time before I started my journey. This was going to be hard and I needed some virtual ((hugs)) to keep me going!) and scheduled an appointment with my favorite donation center to come and pick up the good stuff I was bound to find in there. (Plus, I needed a deadline to work towards if this was gonna get done!) Someone will be there on Tuesday! the donation center's site told me. Shit. That's quick. Better log off Facebook. One more look ... Yum! Trisha's lunch looks delicious!
I started pulling piles of junk out of my closet and organizing it into two piles: TOSS/RAGS (Q: How many t-shirts can a person own that are misshapen and pit-stained? A: 30. Upside: New Rags!) and DONATE.
It was quickly apparent that I have a problem. Remember a while ago when I thought Adolpha might be a hoarder? If she is, it's my fault.
I had a pile of jeans on my bed ready to donate. Jeans that haven't been worn since 1990. Light denim jeans with high waists and no stretch in them. I don't know about you, but I haven't worn jeans without a bit of stretch in them for at least 10 years. Plus, do you remember how HEAVY jeans used to be? I bet this pile of jeans weighed 25 pounds. Despite all of these drawbacks, this pile of jeans kept calling me back. Maybe you'll need to do some messy yardwork, I told myself. You won't want to wreck your good stretchy jeans. You should keep some of those for messy yardwork days. Yeah. Guess how many times I've done "messy yardwork" since 1990? If you guessed "none" you'd be right.
I took a deep breath, said a quick goodbye to my old friends, jammed the jeans into a garbage bag, and turned my attention to a pile of power suits circa 1994. The shoulder pads! The pin stripes (yeah, I had a real affinity for pin striped jackets)! The modest, knee skimming skirts! The matching sensible pumps!
The suits were easier to bag up than the jeans. I hope there is never an instance in my life that I am required to wear a suit. Or if there is I'll just buy a new one that isn't so ... what's the word I'm looking for? Matronly. Seriously, who wears a matronly suit at 25? This girl did.
The final piles were more Eddie Bauer, Lands End, and J. Crew sweaters than a person should be allowed to own. I think at one point in my life I must have thought every day was a catalog shoot for these brands. It didn't matter what the occasion, I had the perfect sweater for it!
Going boating? Let me just grab my cable knit fisherman sweater!
I ended up keeping this one. I might go boating again and it will come in handy.
Berry picking? How about this jaunty, cozy fall cardigan?
Yeah, I guess I never went berry picking, because this one still has a tag on it. According to the tag I bought this on clearance for $40. Ahh, the days before I had kids and I could spend money willy-nilly!
Christmas party? At a cabin? In the woods? No worries, I got it covered.
Really funny story about this sweater. I'm writing it right now for my new book, but let's just say imagine me going to lunch at Le Cirque in Manhattan wearing this sweater paired with a prairie skirt and meeting Ivana Trump.
I worked tirelessly all day yesterday finishing up before my deadline and I am ready for the pick up this morning. I have 16 trash bags full of clothes, shoes, and accessories.
I am rarely embarrassed, but this morning I am embarrassed by my front hall. No one should have over two decades worth of clothing sitting in their front hall.
No one should have ever bought half of this stuff to begin with. Did you see that Christmas sweater? Believe it or not, it was a favorite!! Let's just say, Ivana was not impressed.
I've been told that the 90s styles are coming back. Ugh. Well, I have some good news for any short, plus-sized hipster who will be shopping at my local thrift store in the next week or so. Go get it, girl!
