Motherhood Uncensored

Screw American Idol

I do my fair share of blog perusing, and let me just say, people watch a lot of American Idol. Hell, they talk about the kids (and one graying excuse for a kid - wtf?) like they know them. [Side note - would the graying be as cool if it was on a girl? I think not. I digress.]

Bucky, you can do it man! Don't let 'em bring you down, my brother.  Ace, dear, Ace. I can't take it anymore. You're killing me.

No, actually, the American Idol posts are killing me. While I admit to watching the first through third seasons on a slightly more-than-occasional basis, I have to say that I'm not impressed.

A basic tenet of music which I thought was almost an unsaid truth is SING IN TUNE. Oh and anyone, including my dog, can sing Creed.

Is it me or is Paula starting to look like Michael Jackson? And Simon's pseudo-honesty for which he saves for everyone except for hot girls is predictable. Like teleprompter and "I-have-a-writer-for-this-stuff" predictable.

Oh, and thanks for clearing up the notion that Bucky will never be an American Idol. Like a freaking 2-year old couldn't figure that one out.

So, in order to save my ears for another few years, I've started watching Deadliest Catch. HELLO? Have you seen that fucking show?

Watching a 200lb man grind 900lbs of fish into crab food is way more exciting than listening to the gray-haired dufus sing Barry Manilow (or whatever that was I heard).

How about being glued to the screen because the deckhands have to throw in 125 crab traps before a gihugic storm hits and could cause them all to DIE?

The only dying going on at AI is the art of music. Dead. Buried. Gone.

And if you don't like crabs or boats, try Survivorman. They drop a dude in the woods or the artic tundra and then let him figure out how to get out. Think a slightly more attractive, English Crocodile Hunter with a bad sweatshirt and a really dirty face.

He just cooked a rattlesnake and ate a worm. And earlier, he started a fire with his gun. He is currently eating a fish he caught with his own hands. Now he has to decide whether to sleep in a tree or on the ground.

The only big decisions you see on AI are which awful singer to vote off first. Breathtaking. Absolutely captivating. Really.

So, blogosphere, as a lover and purveyor of all things music. I beg of you. Turn it off. There are only so many ways you can murder sing "I Will Survive" or so many times you can listen to Paula try to say something nice to a contestant that just sang his song in the TOTALLY WRONG KEY.

You heard it here first. Deadliest Catch and Survivorman. The new black.

The Magical Mystery Tour of Motherhood: Second Stop - Talking Town

We have reached the exciting world of full-term toddlerdom at the MU household. Temper tantrums, a new found independence, and dissention abound. While I’m glad to not be bouncing a cranky 8-month old on one shoulder while singing “My Bonnie” at 3am, the world of the toddler is a force with which to be reckoned.

Of particular enjoyment is the new chatty Kathy that has moved in. As you might have guessed, I love me some talking. I can talk a dress off a church lady. And it seems that my daughter has taken up this same passion. But, unfortunately, about 82.6% of time, I have absolutely no idea what she is saying, and it’s getting a bit taxing on my brain.

At 20-months, I think my daughter has a decent vocabulary. She’ll copy whatever we say *ahem* and then use it at appropriate times. And while I’m excited that she masterfully uses the words “moneys” “bad babies” and “hopper” (grasshopper) quite well, I’m thinking that perhaps a simple “poopies mama” or even “I’m sitting in a big honking crap” would be a better use of her language skills.

I get green with envy when I visit Lucinda’s place – as her nearly 2-year daughter is practically reciting the Gettysburg address (okay, her actual birthdate and twinkle twinkle, but that’s pretty damn good) – and mine? She is repeating the word “ICKIES” about 25 times until we figure out that she wants her STICKERS and all is well again with the world.

Granted my daughter can do a 25-piece puzzle with her eyes closed, but sometimes it gets really frustrating. Take for example the escalating cries for a dance.

Ance? Ance? ANCE? ANCE? ANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNCCCCCCCCCCCEEE?

Look. No matter how loud and emphatic you try to say “dance” - if it’s in French, German, or Toddlerspeak for that matter, it won’t help me get it any better. We even do the "I-have-no-idea-what-you-are-saying-but-I'll-pretend-like-I-do-anyway" nod. Also "Good job, that's right" works pretty well.

Then we do the guilty parents charade game where we try to get them to say it (like that ever helps).

Babytoy. One word. Two syllables. Sounds like?

Or maybe just a good game of 20 questions.

Can you show me what it is? Is it big or small? Is it something to eat? Does it talk? Walk? Sing? Is it in this house? Is it even real?

On the really, really bad days, it’s like playing Mad Gabs. Ever heard of that game? It’s one of those adult party games that either you have to play very sober or very drunk – and either way, by the end of the it, you want to eat your own arm off.

Basically, you get a bunch of unrelated words that when said actually sound like another word or phrase. You read it to your team until they guess it. Simply put, it’s HELL IN A BOX.

Ask Rude Arrive Her. Ask Rude Arrive Her. Ask Rude Arrive Her (repeat about 40 times with various voice inflections).

By the time you figure out it’s "A SCREWDRIVER", you want to beat the person with the game box.

Our version is slightly less fun. Even the most competitive annoying drunk idiot is more entertaining than a screaming toddler.

Neekus. NEEKUS? Nnnnnnnnneeeeeeeeeeeekus. neeKUS. NEEkus. OH SNEAKERS? Right right sneakers. Of course. Who doesn't want to kiss their sneakers goodnight before bed. Totally logical. Thanks for that.

So, that is our daily routine in a nutshell. And I’m better at it than my husband. You can hear the poor guy in the other room trying to appease the savage toddler talker.

At? Do you mean Hat? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO Do you mean Pat? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO Do you mean Cat? UH-HUH. Sounds like a really fucked up Dr. Suess book.

I know this is very typical and I’m trying very hard to suppress my need to consult a speech therapist. And while it is pretty damn frustrating, it is kind of funny. Let’s face it. For all we know, she could be cursing us out right in front of our faces, and all we think is that she really really wants her [d]"uck."

*The first stop on the Tour was teething. Read it here.

**For a spin off on the False Advertising of Motherhood, click here. Awesome.

Cool Mom Picks Rejects

Applique is Back with a Vengeance

I'm pretty sure all the naysayers will change their mind after one glance at this beauty. Too cool for applique? Think again. This little number says Happy Hobbyist with just the right amount of material patches. No screaming "sewing freak" or "Member: Quilter's Anonymous" here. We're pretty sure that once you grab a hold of this, you will never set foot in another Club Monaco or Banana Republic again. The long sweatshirt ala 1982 is great for accentuating all your mom curves, and nothing says smart and sexy like a scissors and sewing machine patch. Match it with a pair of elastic waist pants for day and then pair it with a macrame tote and peasant skirt for night. Besides, no one will know you're a mom unless you own at least one applique piece - might as well make it a doozy.

I Pledge Allegiance to the Flag

Who said flags should be relegated to poles and bumpers? Celebrate the lonestar state with this beautiful understated swarovski crystal duo. Large hoop earrings and studded lariats are highly overrated. We're always on the look out for jewelry that not only looks great but supports good causes as well. Lord knows Texas needs all the help it can get, so why not show your support by wearing these pieces out and about? This set works great for a day at the rodeo or a night out at your local prison execution. We love smart and sparkly, and so should you.

The Personal Purse

Let's face it. This country is penis crazy. Lighthouses, the empire state building, bananas... All everyone can talk about is big Dick and his hunting accident. So, we here at CMP believe it's time for the whoo-ha to get some, well, whoo-ha. That's why we are so glad to have found the pussy purse. This fully functional and anatomically correct wonder is the perfect way to give the vagina the kind of play we all know it deserves. Keep all your little treasures and secrets sealed up in these lips - only you have the power to unleash them. And, if this pussy is a little to small for you, check out the larger models. Because let's face it, size really matters. 

Thanks to Kristi for the tip...

To visit the real Cool Mom Picks, featuring products and services for discerning moms, click here.

**These were not real items submitted to us.  I actually spent my free time finding them.

The False Advertising of Motherhood

You didn’t think that I could let this one slide by me did you? This whole notion of being  someone you are not and then it all coming out (or flopping out if you’ve had a child) to bite you in the ass is fascinating. This idea that physical attraction is so important to our sexual livelihood that we need to make sure our spousal units and the like are informed of any drastic changes to our person is captivating.

But other than Trim-spa helping Anna Nicole lose 400lbs, and the bowflex making that I-refuse-to-believe-you’re-50-years-old woman look like Heidi Klum, the only false advertising I’m concerned these days is this business of motherhood.

Did anyone really tell you how hard this shit is? – because I distinctly remember talking to a lot of moms in my lifetime, and no one told me how incredibly exhausting, frustrating, and stressful it would be. All the moms I knew walked around in their matching socks, showed off their recently showered selves, and made us all think it wasn’t that bad. Now THAT is false advertising.

On most days, particularly during the first year of my daughter’s life, I felt like at any given moment, I was going to lose it. Granted, I never had diagnosed PPD, and as a therapist, I was quite aware of the signs and symptoms, but I often felt like the mothers of the world had done me wrong.

I spent 2 hours every Saturday for the last 3 months of my pregnancy learning about cervical dilation and perineal support, yet I had no clue how to get my baby to sleep on a non-moving horizontal surface. I could say “no episotomy please” in 5 different languages, but I couldn’t figure out why my daughter was shitting green goo and refusing to lay on her stomach for more than ONE second.

By the time I got out of the house for the first time, all I wanted to do was burn all my baby books, and toilet paper all the houses of those mothers who made it look so easy. But let’s face it. You’re stuck with what you got. There’s no money back guarantee for motherhood. There’s no comment box for disgruntled customers.

So now, I proudly stroll in 10 minutes late to mommy and me wearing the same jeans I’ve worn all week. I scoff at the moms who spend 15 minutes on their make-up; lipstick is all anyone really needs. And I happily share my struggles with anyone who asks, knowing that while I might scare the shit out of them, at least they’ll know what to expect.

And when they’re changing a rancid poopy at 2am or suctioning nose snot with all the gusto they can muster, I bet they’ll be somewhat comforted that at least someone (be it ONE person) never said it was going to be easy.

The Blogging Mommy Wars - Part 2

It seems that the word on the blogging mommy wars has spread and other fabulous moms, mommies, mamas, bitches with babies, and dads too are taking on the topic. I'm not taking credit for starting the discussion as I'm certain other moms, etc. (how's that term suit you?) have discussed it in one way or another. But, I do think it's a very interesting and pertinent topic. (More links added today...)

After reading through the comments from my original post, and perusing the other great posts on the topic, I have more to discuss and share. You'll have to bear with me, however, as I'm feeling somewhat intellectual and not-so-mommyish *gasp.* So put on your big brain hat kids and let's dive in.

My rethinking of this concept of marginalization and separation amongst folks of the same culture (i.e. motherhood) started after reading Chag's post asking readers whether they would use a male babysitter. Not surprisingly but somewhat understandably, many said NO. I commented that while we are subjected to mass amounts of societal norms saying that women are better caretakers than men, and men who like children are pedofiles, I would hope that we could step above that, and consider it on a person by person basis - because, when you write-off an entire group of people based on culture (including gender) it's sexist.

Yikes. Did she just say that?

Yes, I did. And don't get me wrong. I have my sexist tendencies. If you live in this country, chances are that you do too. Mine are related to women's health. I prefer women doctors looking at my whoo-ha. Quite frankly, I don't quite understand why men would want to be a gyno. And that, is pretty damn sexist. The scholarly thinker in me, however, challenges this notion, and I will see a male doctor if mine is not available. But, this notion of writing off people based on your own negative experiences or preconceived notions is quite a strong part of this whole mom'my' blogger issue. Just because I have kids and write a blog doesn't make me a mommy blog - aka something you don't want to read.

Still with me? Good.

Continuing on.

I was mugged by two black kids during my post-college internship in Cleveland. It was traumatic and awful. And after that, I jumped about 2 feet back anytime a black person got off the elevator or came towards me. That was even worse - and seriously, quite embarrassing. Sure, I knew that not all black people are criminals BUT I was still reeling from the incident and couldn't differentiate. I'm happy to report I'm past the jumping. Phew.

Similar, in my mind, is this notion that one bad (or not-so-great) egg ruins the whole bunch. You think, please, just because you've had ONE bad experience with a black person doesn't mean you'd become a racist? Right. Not me. But some people. It happens all the time - gay folks, Asian folks, women folks. Our experiences (good and bad) have a strong role in shaping our values and beliefs.

So, here's my point (on a way smaller and reasonably unimportant scale - as compared to race relations, that is). People read mommy-type blogs. They don't find any entertainment in them. Then they see them as stupid, annoying, and frivolous. And so then they see a blog, book, whatever written by a *gulp* mom (or female with child), they instantly write it off like it's crap. Won't even give it a chance.  Sound familiar?

Perhaps the reasoning behind this movement to find a separate voice for the MOMs as opposed to the MOMMIES is so that we don't get the negative backlash that's being perpetuated. You see folks lashing out (in both positive and negative ways) within their own cultural group all the time. "Just because I'm gay doesn't mean I like young boys." or "Just because I'm Asian doesn't mean my mother owns a nail shop."

And, just because I have kids doesn't mean I write a "mommy" blog.

The other angle I'd like to take with this is that when we say we write a mommy blog, it means that we have allowed ourselves to get sucked into the mommy vacuum. The one that we never said we would go near. The one that makes us talk about our kids all the time and put them on the phone for them to say "aaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiooooooooo" to our friends. Essentially, we fear becoming "that mom."

And so, if we maintain our role as MOM as opposed to MOMMY, we are reminding ourselves that we are still our old stylish, intellectual selves, who care about the little and big things that life has to offer, and not just want our kids want for dinner. We are holding on to something we said we would never let disappear, no matter how hard it got and how overwhelmed we get.

Do I still think it would be great to be unified? Absolutely. But there is something to be said about making the differentiation if folks refuse to accept that there are a variety of styles within the mom blog genre.

Discuss.

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If your brain isn't too fried, I suggest you hop over to mamazine.com, where you'll find fabulous, thought-provoking features and columns on all-things-mama, including my new column Misplaced Mommy. I know. Mom just didn't have as nice a ring. Fancy that?