Motherhood Uncensored

On guns, boys, and why I liked Cars 2

Upon my return from seeing Cars 2 last week, I've seen a slew of tweets and comments about how terribly, horribly, no good it is.

Torture! Violence! Booze references!

No, no - not the booze!

I'm the first to admit that I don't really like the first Cars movie. Actually, I walked out of the theater with Quinlan when it first came out because holy crap it was boring.

But in the most cliche' of circumstances, I had a son, who liked fast cars, and so we gave it another try.

Surprise, they all love it. Even the girls.

(I still don't get it. Plot? Wherefore art thou?)

So this time around, I was thrilled to see a little intrigue. A little story line that required some thinking. And a completely new movie that didn't rely on the first one.

And so was my near 5-year old son, who might just be the most anxious movie goer ever. Quite a risk when you take a kid on a 5 hour plane ride to go see a new movie.

Yes, he was a little nervous, particularly at the beginning which was a little like the opening of a James Bond movie - though the hot agent was a Fiat. And no sexy girls with names that could double as female body parts.

Just a strong, smart female character named Holly Shiftwell.

There was a questionable interrogation scene (or torture depending on who you ask) where a car ends up getting killed. You don't actually see it. Just flames.

I definitely noticed it though my son didn't at all.

And then there are guns and rockets, which is pretty common place around my house, since I gave up long ago on trying to stop my kid from making toy guns out of Legos or wanting the water gun pool toy.

Even Margot wanted the same Spiderman gun as her brother on our recent trip to Universal Studios.

So she has one too.

I distinctly remember a discussion amongst bloggers about kids and toy guns, with the seasoned moms of older boys probably giggling at us newbies who were "Oh hell no guns not ever no way uh uh mister" as they gently told us that it's nearly impossible to avoid.

And indeed, after my son showed no interest in most kids shows, my husband showed him an old episode of Transformers and I showed him the first Star Wars (or maybe it's the 4th? I can't keep up with all that prequel nonsense), and since then, he's been playing all sorts of rocket warrior robot missile pretend play.

And my girls have too.

For us, it's opened up the discussion about a lot of things - war, soldiers, yes, even gun safety. Not just because we're a military family. But because it's a part of life.

But a lot of it is just how kids play. How my husband played as I kid. How I played as a kid. How a lot of us played and didn't suffer harm, anxiety, or perhaps worse, a nonchalant view of violence and kids.

I think we often sell our kids short - not in what they can understand if we explain it, but what they already know. 

And their astute ability to separate reality from fiction.

From a robot shooting another robot with a gigantic machine gun.

Or a talking tow truck saving his friend with a couple of rockets.

We as parents have to determine what's right for our kids based on knowing them best. But I wonder if sometimes we aren't too sensitive to what we think they won't like or be able to handle because it's too hard for us. And not necessarily for them.

4 dollars

I rarely carry cash in my wallet these days, and if I do, it usually ends up in the hands of my children, who seem to think that my purse is their mystery grab bag. I've become accustomed to the kids screaming "I found money!" when in actuality, they just pulled it out of my wallet.

But when I travel, I need real money, so I actually had a few bucks in my bag that they had yet to get their grubby hands on.

I was a little distracted when I pulled up to the stop light, but even in my changing the radio station, which was blaring a medley of quite possibly the worst 90s songs ever, I saw the man asking for money. It's a frequent sight in Atlanta, and one that I'll never be able to ignore, especially with kids in the car who are all to curious as to why the man is holding out a cup on the corner.

Or the mom of 3 boys standing at a busy intersection holding a sign asking for help to feed her children.

I don't think about the reasons that put them where they are. Or how they're going to use the money. Or if they really actually need it.

I just know that you have to be in a pretty low place in your life to resort to begging.

I had my window down and as the man walked up, he said "hello." I looked over and remembered that I had cash, so I grabbed a dollar, but then realized I had four, all of which I'd be perfectly fine without. I thought of all the change my kids have gathered that just sits in boxes and drawers around my kitchen that I've had to rip out of Bridget's hand before she eats them.

And so I gave it all the cash to him.

"Go get out of the sun!" I said. "Hopefully this will help a little."

"Thank you," he replied, looking surprised. "This will feed me for the day!"

We exchanged first names, and then he walked away. Waving at the cars, saluting to the truck driver in front of me, pointing to the sky.

Returning home an hour later, I looked for him, but he was gone. Maybe on another street. But maybe sitting in the air conditioning eating lunch somewhere.

Four dollars to make someone's day. To give someone a little bit of food (I hope).

Money well spent.

Congratulations! It's a... Period!

For the last few weeks, I've been feeling, well, pregnant.

Don't freak out. That's how I describe any bodily ailment that cannot be explained by a cold, flu, stomach virus, or weird rash.

"God, I'm feeling like shit I must be pregnant!"

Then you think to yourself that if you're not pregnant then what the hell is wrong because however you're feeling sucks.

And that's exactly where I'm at.

Not pregnant. Feeling like I'm pregnant. Which can only mean one thing:

My period is coming back.

[I'll pause here to let all my male readers head to HomeDepot.com]

I should expect it since about 7-8 months after I have a kid I think I'm pregnant when really I'm just getting my period. But every time it takes me off guard and I spend way too much money on a fucking pregnancy test when I should really be buying a few pounds of dark chocolate and some Midol.

Next time...Okay, no. There will be no next time. But let's focus on the issue at hand which is that I feel like crap, which is a short way of saying ridiculously emotional, exhausted, sensitive, anxious, snippy, snappy, and plain old bla.

Add a little "woe is me" on there for an added bonus.

It only takes something small and generally quite bearable to turn me into the Incredible Hulk, made worse by the fact that I can actually see it happening and sort of can't control it which is not so good for a control freak. Or a mom with kids who are looking like their mom just turned into a huge green muscular guy on steroids.

And even though current life has its stressors, there's nothing out of the ordinary, or at least that I don't generally handle on a daily basis without the Incredible Hulk impression.

I've always been able to manage somehow. Giving myself a firm self-talking to, treating myself to a few pretty things to make it through, and surrounding myself with positivity, or at least, a bunch of people who won't be offended when I uncharacteristically snip at them.

And I'm totally, 100% all for giving it a try this time too, but on the other hand, I feel like maybe I should cut myself a little break. And put a hand out to the medical community that I pay for on a monthly basis to be there just in case I need to be told that I just have a cold. Or that my home scale is wrong.

Or that I might need some mood drugs.

So, for those of you hormone experts out there, what say you? Will this resolve once my period actually comes back? (If my memory serves me well, I do believe it does, though my pre-period week is hell).

Or is this how I'm going to be every week or oh-god-no 3 weeks before my period? And will taking the pill (or something with hormones) make it worse, better, the same? (I typically do pretty terribly with hormones so I've always avoided them since before I was pregnant with Quinlan).

Bridget - 8 months

God Bless the HOA

Every other month or so I get a nastygram from our neighborhood Homeowner Association aka the HOA.

This month, it was five.

I'd take them a little more seriously if they hadn't sent us one when we first moved in telling us that the fence in our backyard that the builders put in as part of our closing was a violation.

Or if they actually did something.

Oh, I stand corrected. They do turn off your Internet if you forget to pay your monthly dues.

I did that when my husband was deployed and my head was up my ass and they told me to go pay my bill online and it would get turned back on.

"With what Internet service shall I pay my online bill?" I asked. I finally called and paid over the phone.

It only took three full days to get my service back. Longer than I had been overdue on my payment.

They're notorious throughout our neighborhood for sending letters for everything from a barely overgrown lawn or *pine straw that needs to be replaced, to your garbage can being visible or your satellite dish being positioned just slightly too far north.

Ha, okay. Not quite. But close enough.

No basketball hoops, non-patriotic flags, or any of that sort of nonsense.

I pledge allegiance to the flag, of The University of Georgia. GO BULLDOGS!

Not without permission from the HOA, Motherfuckers.

My favorite was when a neighbor of mine got a letter about the decorative stones in her yard. She had not received permission to put said decorative stones on her yard so therefore she was in violation of code 813: DON'T PUT DECORATIVE STONES IN YOUR YARD, BITCH, BECAUSE THEY MIGHT OFFEND SOMEONE.

Makes perfect sense to me. Decorative stones are the devil's eggs.

Of course, our neighborhood is speckled with dead trees, piles of dog shit, and jungled lawns on all the model homes.

Exemption #4718 of the HOA Handbook you will never read: Dead foilage and animal excrement

I'm beginning to wonder what exactly my near car payment sized dues are going to every month.

Oh right. The home phone. The cable bill. The sort of clean pool.

And the postage and paper they waste sending the damn letters which I am always careful to put away in my filing cabinet, aka the recycling bin.

Which, I was just told, I need to keep in my garage.

*Here in the South, it is common to use pine needles as mulch. Don't ask. I still can't quite figure it out myself. They even make the plastic kind. I'm in the wrong freaking business.