The Truth Shall Set You Free (or at least make you snicker a little)

I have to type this fast. I’m having company today. My stepmother is coming and I’m pretty sure I won’t have time later to post anything or even tonight. My boss just emailed me some work that he needs first thing tomorrow. I’m pretty annoyed about it as it’s an assload of work with a ridiculous deadline. I’ll have to do it after my stepmom goes to sleep. I hardly ever get to see her so I don’t want to work when I could be visiting *big irritated sigh*

I’m having withdrawals… I’ve hardly read any blogs the past couple days because I’ve been cleaning my house. Stop laughing. I’m serious! Since I knew I was going to do a big major cleaning job, I foolishly let things go for several days leading up to it, thus making my job that much harder. But, after taking all afternoon to untangle the disaster known as TQ’s room and cleaning a blue streak last night, my house is fabulously tidy now. Bring on the company!

So anyway, we all know that photos of models and celebrities are airbrushed to holy hell, right? Well, unless you work in photography, magazine publishing or some other related arena, you may not realize just how much. So, without further ado, I give you the proof. Never again will you look at a cover of Maxim or an ad for foundation again and wonder why you were so cruelly cheated in the flawless skin and sultry, luminous glow departments. Okay, maybe you have never had that thought but I know I have…

See for yourself. Be sure to scroll all the way down on these links and beware, this one is not completely work or kid safe.

Back? Pretty amazing, isn’t it?

But if you show that last one to your man, just know he probably won’t enjoy having his bubble burst…heheheh

And if that didn’t make you feel just a wee bit happy, then this definitely will.

Turns out they’re only human after all :)

ADDENDUM: But Wait! There’s more! Java Junkie just sent me this link and it’s a veritable cornucopia of airbrushing and re-touching. Look at Halle Berry in the red dress and see what they did to her torso. Actually, you really just need to look at all of them. They flattened their stomachs, enlarged their asses into full-fledged bootaaaays, removed any skin folds/rolls and gave them boobage where little previously existed.

Un-fricken-believable…

We’re Made of Dirt?

We had a huge breakthrough today with my daughter, TQ.

Let me give you a little backstory…

A few years ago, when TQ was three, another child pushed her into a swimming pool. Unable to swim yet, she sank like a stone in the shallow end. I thank God I was in the water and was able to scoop her right up. Physically, she was unharmed. I cannot, however, say the same about her poor little psyche.

The incident caused her to develop an intense fear of any water too deep to stand in, which at age three was everyplace except the bathtub. The summer before she turned four, my father insisted I take her to swim lessons and offered to pay for the best individual classes that money could buy. I signed her up and every morning for three months I took her to swim lessons. Though terrified at first, the teacher was excellent and was able to quell her fears and she learned to swim beautifully. My father was thrilled when I called to tell him of her progress. Sadly, he died unexpectedly three days later and was never able to see TQ swim fearlessly and with total confidence.

I considered those swim lessons to be my dad’s goodbye gift to my daughter; something that she would have for a lifetime.

Summer ended and all through the fall we swam in the very pool in which she was pushed into the year before. She dove into the deep end over and over and I was incredibly proud of how far she had come.

Unfortunately, after the winter, on the first warm day of spring, we met some friends at the community pool and TQ was not interested in going in the deeper water. She clung to me as she did after the “incident.” I figured it was a phase and would pass. For the whole year she refused to swim and would dig her nails into my neck hanging on for dear life. Her father and I began to lose patience. We knew she still had the skills and could not fathom why she wouldn’t use them. It seemed so illogical. We could understand her fear if she DIDN’T know how to swim but she did.

Pool party after pool party (we go to a LOT of celebratory pool parties in Florida) I would often be the only adult in the pool, either holding her or watching close by, at her behest, while she used a flotation device. She seemed not to care that all her peers swam unassisted. She didn’t care that she would miss out on swimming in the big pool with her cousins at our annual beach vacation. Her fear overrode everything else and defied anything resembling logic. We were clearly dealing with a full blown phobia.

So another summer, fall and winter passed and it is now spring of 2006. We have gone to the pool once and attended one pool party with no change at all. My husband and I had conceded that getting irritated or chiding her or bribing her or any of the 46 different approaches we’d tried were not going to work. This was a job for the professionals.

So we went to the pool today with no delusions about her swimming. In fact, my husband announced quite clearly that he had no intentions of practicing swimming with her and I concurred. I asked her once if she wanted to try and she said no and I said fine. I started to remind her that she would miss out on a lot of fun this summer but I decided to leave it alone.

So when she said “Mom, I’m going to swim to you”, I thought I must be hallucinating. But there she was, wiggling through the water like a fish. And she did it over and over until she was exhausted. I know we still have a long road ahead of us, like swimming in the deep end, but this is more progress than we’ve had in well over a year and I couldn’t be happier.

I know Poppy is proud of her, too.

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My stepmom sent me this. It’s pretty funny and those of you with children old enough to talk will totally relate because if your kids are anything like mine, they probably say some crazy sh!t.

(If the use of the word God bothers you, insert the name of your preferred divine creator or even the Flying Spaghetti Monster and it will read more or less the same)

The following are answers given by elementary school age children to the following questions:

Why did God make mothers?

1. She’s the only one who knows where the scotch tape is.
2. To clean the house.
3. To help us out of there when we were getting born.

How did God make mothers?

1. He used dirt, just like for the rest of us.
2. Magic plus super powers and a lot of stirring.
3. God made my Mom just the same like he made me. He just used bigger parts.

What ingredients are mothers made of?

1. God makes mothers out of clouds and angel hair and everything nice in the world and one dab of mean.
2. They had to get their start from men’s bones, then they mostly use string, I think.

Why did God give you your mother and not some other Mom?

1. We’re related.
2. God knew she likes me a lot more than other people’s moms like me.

What kind of little girl was your Mom?

1. My Mom has always been my Mom and none of that other stuff.
2. I don’t know because I wasn’t there, but I bet she was pretty bossy.
3. They say she used to be nice.

What did Mom need to know about dad before she married him?

1. His last name.
2. She had to know his background. Like is he a crook? Does he get drunk on beer?
3. Does he make at least $100 a month? Did he say NO to drugs and YES to chores?

Why did your Mom marry your dad?

1. My dad makes the best spaghetti in the world. And my Mom eats a lot.
2. She got too old to do anything else with him.
3. My grandma says that Mom didn’t have her thinking cap on.

Who’s the boss at your house?

1. Mom doesn’t want to be boss, but she has to because dad’s such a goofball.
2. Mom. You can tell by room inspection. She sees the stuff under the bed.
3. I guess Mom is, but only because she has a lot more stuff to do than dad.

What’s the difference between moms and dads?

1. Moms work at work & work at home, & dads just go to work at work.
2. Moms know how to talk to teachers
3. Dads are taller & stronger, but moms are the boss cause that’s who you got to ask if you want to sleep over at your friend’s.
4. Moms have magic, they make you feel better without medicine.

What does your Mom do in her spare time?

1. Mothers don’t get spare time.
2. She pays bills all day long.

What would it take to make your Mom perfect?

1. On the inside she’s already perfect. Outside, I think some kind of plastic surgery.
2. A diet. You know, her hair. I’d diet, maybe blue.

If you could change one thing about your Mom, what would it be?

1. She has this weird thing about me keeping my room clean. I’d get rid of that.
2. I’d make my Mom smarter. Then she would know it was my sister who did it and not me.
3. I would like for her to get rid of those invisible eyes on her back.

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That one about knowing where the scotch tape is? Totally true in this family. I have to hide it from my daughter because left to her own devices, she uses about a roll of tape a week. I also seem to be the only one who knows where the scissors, thermometer and lightbulbs are.

And for a while, I totally had my daughter convinced that I have eyes in the back of my head…lol

It’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s BlunderMom!

We all know the media exaggerates stuff, especially when it comes to celebrities, but there probably IS a kernel of truth to everything that’s been said about Britney Spears and her less-than-stellar parenting skills. Hell….there’s probably an entire cornfield of truth to all of it. I have to admit, however, after the week I’ve had, that I actually feel a little sorry for her.

I know. I know. She’s an idiot. And poor Sean Preston… (why does everyone call him by both names? Am I the only one that thinks that’s weird?) But now that I’m bunking with parenting blunders hall-of-famer Spears, I’ve had to stop and consider whether I’m in any position to to say anything about Britney (slutty videos, orange jumpsuits and numerous other fashion-don’ts notwithstanding)

Now, in my own defense, 2/3 of what I’m about to confess to is really not my fault. I had no control over the circumstances but in typical sacrificial mom fashion, I blame myself anyway. Somewhere

between conception and birth I solemnly swore to protect my children from everything bad, including circumstances beyond my control. So even though they’re not my fault, I’m still guilty.

Painful Blunder Number 1

Earlier this week, after spiking a very high fever and projectile vomiting all over me twice, I decided to take my 11 month old son (Peebs) to the evening pediatrician. I got him dressed and as I was exiting the bedroom with him on my hip, I turned to my left to pull the door closed behind me, not knowing, because I don’t have lizard eyes on the sides of my head, that he was turned to the right, sticking his chubby little hand into the crack of the door jamb. Yes. I crunched his little hand in the door, leaving a crease and a matching purple bruise. We won’t even discuss the crying.

There’s no way I could have known he would do that BUT…I still should have prevented it. For what it’s worth, the pediatrician said it was fine. But did that make me feel better? Hardly.

Painful Blunder Number 2

Once we’re at the pediatrician’s office, in the exam room, Peebs decided to open the cabinet under the sink. I look and there’s nothing in there so I let him open and close the cabinet doors. He loves doing this and has never sustained an injury from doing it at home so what’s the harm? Well…apparently the doctor’s office has those newfangled hinges that are on the inside. They have a little gap in them perfect for crushing small fingers and he managed to find it. Squish goes the finger. More screaming and crying. Lather, rinse, repeat.

I could have prevented that. It was stupid of me to let him play with the cabinet doors. I just didn’t want to hear his inevitable cries of protest when I tried to stop him. I was exhausted and lazy and I took the easy way. Totally. My. Fault. His finger is fine. Me? I’m fine if you don’t count being mired in mommy guilt.

(and the vomiting and fever appears to be viral)

Embarrassing but Painless Blunder Number Three

AKA The piece de resistance…

Yesterday, Peebs got locked in the car with it running.

I know.

Shut up.

Here’s how it happened. I stopped at a friend’s house to drop something off. My daughter wanted to go to the door with me so she could say hi to her pal so with the engine still running, I got out, opened the sliding door and let her out. I closed it and when I tried to open the driver’s side door to grab the item I was dropping off, it was locked. I checked every door and the back window and they were ALL LOCKED.

But I didn’t lock the doors. The car is possessed. It has always done weird stuff like lock automatically but it never locks the driver’s door. Never. Until Now.

I called the auto club and for the 20 minutes until they arrived, I paced furiously, talking a mile a minute, repeatedly stating that I have no idea how this happened and checking on the baby every 11 seconds while waving and smiling at him through the glass like some kind of crazy person.

He never stopped grinning and waving back at me. He was perfectly fine. I was a wreck. And even though it wasn’t my fault, I am still guilty. I should never trust any stupid car to act properly and even though I was just going to the front door for 30 seconds, I probably should have unloaded him despite the aggravation of having to put him right back in. I shouldn’t have been lazy.

So now you see why maybe I can’t feel superior to Britney anymore…

Even worse for her, though, is that she’s preggers which is already tough. When I imagine being pregnant with a BABY to care for, well, I can’t imagine it, really. It’s just too icky.

It was really dumb to allow herself to get knocked up again but I can’t help feeling bad for her, despite all her poor choices. I have to believe even though she’s a complete dunce, that she does love her son and that the media frenzy resulting from those poor choices might be adversely affecting her unborn baby with a shitload of undue stress.

Yes, she’s a celeb and she’s supposed to be fair game for the media. I’m just not sure it’s fair for her children. Surely they don’t deserve to have their lives, one before it’s even born, to be such spectacle.

I know I’m in the minority here but I’m a big sap when it comes to babies and pregnant women. You guys KNOW I watch A Baby Story at least three times a week.

So, feel free to disagree with me or flog me for being a blunderously bad mom if you must.

Just don’t be unkind. I’m very sensitive, you know :)

Nothing to See Here

A couple times a month, I get these horrid, straight-from-hell headaches. It’s not a migraine, though. I feel lucky to have never had one of those.

No, these are tension headaches. But it doesn’t come from life tension, per se. It’s actually caused by this inexplicable muscle tension in my neck that comes from nowhere, like a freak storm. I spent about 5 weeks, around Christmas, going to physical therapy to build up my muscle strength and learn exercises that relax those muscle groups.

I guess I need to start doing them again because I have one of those unholy deathbringer of puppies/ruiner of all things good* kind of headaches today, pounding away on the left side of my head. I’m fairly confident, however, that this giant cup of coffee will help get rid of it because, rather oddly, caffeine plus Tylenol helps dull a tension headache.

Sorry it took that whole long preamble to basically say “I’ve got nothing for you today.” I don’t write anything in advance usually. Whatever I post is what I wrote ten minutes prior. Not terribly efficient, I know, especially on days like this, but the fact is… I’m just not that efficient. And if I was, I would hope to be applying it to my poor housewifing skills before applying it to blogging.

I truly do feel bad for my husband. He deserves better than me. Conversely, I never claimed to be good at any of that homemaking stuff so it’s not like I engaged in false advertising or anything. Shit…when we decided to get married we lived in a house with three other people and had a non-working stove and a washing machine but no dryer, so you see…it’s not really my fault. He was denied the opportunity to see me in action. Or lack thereof.

To be honest, I’m pretty lucky. Hubz helps out a lot around here and we each do the jobs the other cannot abide. For me, that’s dishes and dishwashing of any kind. I HATE wet food like bread. Ugh. Makes my toes curl. It’s just so gross. Really, I hate all nasty, half-eaten food so he handles the kitchen along with yardwork and trash and I do the bathroom, laundry and grocery shopping. We share sweeping, mopping, picking up and cooking.

Sounds pretty good, doesn’t it? Except I’m just not all that timely in the execution of MY chores and I’d HATE to be the other person because I can always fall back on the old “I work and care for the kids and all this other crap can wait. What’s more important? Our children? Or clean underwear?”

Heheheh… rubbing hands together in evil mastermind fashion

I must run now. It’s time to take my throbbing head and pick up my daughter from her friend’s house.

* I lifted this from a comment here written by this person. I thought it was kind of funny and it’s been lodged in my brain ever since. Hope she doesn’t mind my borrowing it.

PS: I now have threaded comments, which means you (and I) can reply to other people’s comments if so desired. It’s very cool. Give it a whirl.

And big ups to all of you that were or are now using Firefox. And to those of you (Nancy) stuck with IE at work, my deepest sympathies :)

A Pearl of Wisdom from SatC

As I brushed my teeth this morning, I found myself thinking, of all things, about an episode of Sex in the City. You may recall the “He’s just not that into you” episode.

For the uninitiated, that expression is supposed to help decode certain male behaviors exhibited when dating. Namely, behaviors that really mean “he’s just not that into you.”

I, however, wasn’t thinking about dating but rather about how that phrase applies to blogging. And if you stop and consider it for a moment, it totally works.

I mean how many times have you found another blogger and thought they were right up your alley; a fellow bird of a feather, a blogging soul-sister (or brother) and left them a comment (or two or three if you reallllly like them!).

They make you laugh, and cry and think and smile and you both hate “Law and Order” It’s meant to be.

When they commented back you were quite pleased. It must be mutual.

You like them. They like you. It’s a done deal.

Or is it?

As you continue to visit and share the love, you start to notice they really don’t seem to be reciprocating oir visiting very much. Or maybe not at all.

You may find yourself wondering…is it something you said? Do you smell? Did they find out you secretly love “Dancing with the Stars?” What happened?

Don’t feel bad. It’s not you. Or your blog. Or your questionable taste in television entertainment.

It’s entirely possible that they’re just not that into you.

And if that’s the case, it’s nothing personal. You’re really nice. Your blog is great and they don’t even know that you spent an hour hitting speed dial over and over to vote on Dancing with the Stars.

Isn’t that a relief?

My true questionable, guilty-pleasure TV choice isn’t really “Dancing with the Stars”. I’ve never even seen it. It just thought it sounded funnier. You know, artistic license and all that…

To be honest, I love “Blow Out.”

A heterosexual diva hairdresser guy with serious delusions of grandeur…it’s good stuff.

Edited to Add: I think I may have been misunderstood by some of you. This post is about me and it was supposed to be funny and light…as if to say we’ve all been there and it’s no big deal if someone doesn’t return my admiration because it’s JUST BLOGGING. It is in no way a commentary on anyone elses blogging habits or a suggestion on how anyone should conduct themselves while blogging so please don’t take it that way.

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I know you probably don’t care or anything but this is what I did this weekend. I think it turned out rather nicely! If you have a moment, be sure to tell the lovely Mrs. Davis hello.

And I’m reminded that while I have you here, I have to say this, because I love and care about you…GET FIREFOX, dammit! I promise you WILL LOVE IT.

Don’t make me resort to saying such things as IE is evil or IE is the devil’s handmaiden. I hate playing the Satan card.

But seriously, designing for an inferior browser makes my head hurt. A lot.

Please? I’m begging :)