Motherhood Uncensored

Twatter - The Vagina Monologues (In 100 Characters or Less)

"My Mrs. Bojangles is now completely out of my view - never good when you decide to go to the swimming pool after a long and involuntary hiatus from crotch couture."

Okay. Your turn. Feel free to twatter anonymously.

In Which I Prove That I Can Actually Read

If you happen to be in Atlanta this weekend, you know, on your weekend jaunts across the country, or you happen to live here and haven't outed yourself yet (and aren't having a baby), then please consider visiting me and Mir at the Decatur Book Festival. We'll be reading from Sleep is for the Weak as well as our blogs tomorrow from 11:15-12pm (check the schedule for exact location).

And if you plan on throwing anything, I prefer candy over tomatoes. So sue me. I'm pregnant.

Since it happens to be a family friendly event, I probably won't be offering a dramatic interpretation of Crocs of Shit, To Catch a Thief, or that post about a vibrating leather cock ring, but I will be reading a couple of my faves, perhaps edited to "Motherhood Slightly-Censored" status, but my favorites all the same.

Also, Rita, our fearless editor will be visiting me the following weekend for our official book signing party on September 6 at the Beehive Co-op (4-7pm). Again, kids are welcome and we'll have plenty of books and door prizes courtesy of Cool Mom Picks from ATL locals like Tiny Revolutionary, Blabla Kids, idbids, and Darling Mummy (you know, just to name drop). I'm not sure our humble Atlanta party will drum up as much controversy as the DC affair, but I suppose we could always try.

Where's my hedonist bully when I need her?

And finally, if you participated in the Blog the Recession by not only writing a post AND placing a button your blog, then make sure your blog name is linked in the post. If it's not that means I didn't receive your email or you did email me but I couldn't find your post and/or your button link. Best fix that and drop me an email (motherhooduncensored@yahoo[dot]com) before Monday so I can link you up and enter you in the prizes.

Have a wonderful weekend!

Hello Desperation. May We Never Meet.

At the tail end of my long drive home from ballet yesterday, I sat at a red light staring out my window at a woman holding a sign. It's not an uncommon sight here in Atlanta, even in the pretty far out suburbs where I live. What was different about her however was that along with her sign, and her flyers, she pushed a little girl in a wheelchair with her.

From what I could read from her sign, her daughter had a life threatening illness and she was raising money for treatment.

She rolled her up and down the median strip, collecting money and handing out flyers like she was at the finest charity fundraiser. Her head held high, her daughter kicking and smiling in her chair, though obviously impaired.

It instantly brought me to tears, this mother doing what I would consider a fairly desperate act to save her daughter. There's always a brief, fleeting thought of skepticism that runs through my mind -- if she's really sick, or what circumstances brought her to that place that might have been in her control or if there isn't a better way (I tend to loathe the folks who do fundraising at stoplights mainly because it's usually kids and I think it's terribly dangerous). 

But mostly, I think about how I hope to never be at that place.

I didn't have any money to give her, so instead I'm going to send some to my friend whose nephew is suffering, and bid on some items at this silent auction.

It's the only thing that I can think to do to soothe her pain, their pain, and the pain of others close to me.

Because regardless of how different we all are as people, the common bond of motherhood makes any mother's desperation just as much ours.

Domestically Challenged

The babysitter went to change Drew's poop the other day and couldn't find any wipes. Apparently we had been relying on "the other container." But then the other container ran out and I was digging through my handbag for my last resort Ziploc bag of nearly bone dry wipes for my poor son's stinky little ass.

We've done the same with diapers, even pulling a perfectly good diaper off of one of Quinlan's dolls to get us through the night.

And yesterday, we had to use leftover Chick-fil-a ketchup packets (again) because I again forgot to grab some at the supermarket.

When it comes to managing a household and a family, at least in a way that I see other people do it, I definitely fall way below the learning curve. It's not that I'm not inclined towards organization or preparedness, I'm just sorely uninformed to the ways of domesticity.

My pantry is stocked with random items, none of which could create a full meal or baked product that would be worth feeding to the dogs. My spice rack has exactly seven spices, many of which I bought for a specific recipe and I have no idea what else to use them for, except making it look like I'm cool because I own "Cardamom."

And I seriously need a Tupperware consultation or fitting or whatever they call it.   

I guess you could say that I'm like a 65-year-old woman who still writes a check for her groceries because she doesn't understand how a debit card works until someone actually sits down and shows her that's it's not really a credit card. And then the light bulb goes off and her life is changed forever.

I literally just bought a handheld vacuum a few months ago when Julie was asking for a recommendation. "Hmmm... a hand held vacuum. What an amazing invention! Maybe I should get one."

Seriously, that thing has changed my life completely.

I never really understood the power of various sizes of Ziploc bags until I accidentally bought the snack size.

Again. Total epiphany.

Magic erasers? No scrub shower spray? What did we all do without these things?

I realize that we all grew up without most of these conveniences, and my children will certainly be fine with their carrot sticks tucked into sandwich sized plastic bags and their two lonesome sippy cups that I threaten them with no television if they lose because OMG what if I had to buy MORE SIPPY CUPS?

But there are certainly items that can make life easier. And while I'm not looking for P&G or Method to knock down my door (okay, maybe I am, at least just a little bit, see I linked them...), I can definitely use all the help I can get.

Because in a few short weeks, life is about to get 8lbs or so more complicated.

[Feel free to share your favorite whatevers]

Etiquette, Bitch - The Baby on the Bar

On Saturday night, the huz and I had the good fortune of celebrating his birthday at a local fancypants restaurant -- limited menu, reservations required, and spaces so tight I could barely fit my pregnant belly behind the table for two. We'd enjoyed it once before on my own birthday back in May -- well, that was until I had the whole "Yakking of Epic Proportions" episode later that evening followed by my Mother's Day mystery illness and Drew's loving gift -- the visit to the ER and head staples.

Just as our way-too-expensive meal was ending, a couple walked in with a barely 4-month-old baby in her car seat carrier. They took a look around and decided to sit at the bar.

And without blinking, they hiked that baby right up on it.

The bar. Like next to someone's martini.

The huz and I looked at each other, unsure as to what to say, until he finally broke the silence with something like "I know I'm certainly not the model parent, seeing as I did walk our daughter directly into a ceiling fan and all, but..."

You could tell what he was implying by his facial expression. And mine.

After they got themselves settled in their bar seats, they transferred the carrier to the floor and placed the perfectly content baby on their laps and went about their eating and drinking of large glasses of wine.

The huz continued, attempting to rationalize our discomfort with being so judgy of these parents. "Well, we did take Quinlan to that crappy smoky bar in Mississippi to watch the Eagles Game..."

"Yeah, but she was in a sling," I reminded him, "under a blanket sleeping, we were sitting at a table by the door, and there was no one in the bar but us. And we didn't put her ON THE BAR NEXT TO SOMEONE'S BEER."

And there she was. The Etiquette Bitch.

Granted, we never said anything to either parent, but clearly the looks on our faces probably spoke for us, at least to the bartender who looked a little surprised to be mixing his $10 Basil Martinis while staring at the back of a carseat, let alone the person sitting next to them at the bar who was at eye level with a wee baby while sipping a hearty glass of Merlot.

I'm all for parents being able to exercise their rights to enjoy a typical human existence with their kids, but clearly the line has to be drawn somewhere.

Besides, I can't think that getting her accustomed to the view from atop the bar is the best place to start.

[Credit for Etiquette, Bitch - Mom-101]