Parents who blog.

This entry from Mommy Wants Vodka really resonated with me.

Okay, sure, I realize I'm a nobody in blogland and trust me, I truly harbor no delusions of becoming "The Next Big Blogger".  Really, I write too poorly and too spastically and unedited and grammatically preposterous, and I sometimes* make up words (*often), to become noticed.  That's totally cool, yo'.   
And so while I'll never be keynoting at BlogHer (or even attending for that matter), I still feel like my little scratchy blog posts are good for me to keep popping out here and there.  Why?  It's sort of a connection to my peers - my "co workers" if you will.  What Becky writes about how you don't just get to pop over next door for a cup of coffee is TRUE.  I'm a total Mom's group reject!  I'm either too liberal, too NOT liberal, not Lily Pulitzered and Vera Bradleyed enough, my kids eat the other kids snacks and leave snot trails on the sofas, my hair defies all attempts at correction and my car needs washer fluid.  I'm so not a groupie.  I've tried.  I've failed.  I have zero connections anymore with anyone remotely near me.  I've moved twice in less than fifteen months and both were ACROSS THE COUNTRY (South to North, then back South again).  It easily takes a year to establish firm(ish) links with people and so, you spend a lot of time alone just talking to your children or sometimes snatch a few words with the other exasperated and likely terribly lonely mother at the play area at the mall.

Why do you do it?  Why stay home if it's a friggin' grind?  A chore!  Blast ye' woman, bitching and moaning about the luxury of staying home raising your babies!  I mean, yeah, I gave up a luxurious job as a professional archaeologist (oh wait, did I say luxurious? L.O.L.)  Not complaining about archaeology, or my former employers, yo', but seriously, working every day in an office with deadlines and stressors and budgets and looming recessions and falling housing markets is not really a fiesta everyday, either.  I mean, come on, um, isn't complaining about work while you are AT WORK, with your coworkers and often your boss, a national pastime?  But the workplace did offer something that staying home to raise children in today's cultural condition commonly lacks - adult interaction.  And it is hard to go day in and day out with nary a word to someone who can complete a sentence without putting the words "Buzz Lightyear" in it.

But for all that, the frequent loneliness, the guilt over my graduate student loans and me NOT using my graduate degree, I suppose, is nothing when I consider just how fortunate I am to be able to be home and spend these fleeting years with my little ones.  I wouldn't give this up for new snake boots and self-typing grog tempered cordmarked sherds, no ma'am.  (archaeology joke).  I want my children to look at me and think I was a success because I chose to stay home with them.  If my children go on to have children someday, I hope the world makes it so they can choose to stay home (or not) without stigma.  I'd love to, LOVE to see more mothers (and fathers!) being able to stay at home.  I believe in it.  I think it's important and I'd love live in a world that made this possible for I know that many more people would choose it if they could.  And for those who don't, that's FINE, but it should, ideally, be a choice.

So, for those of us who do happen to be in the SAHM and SAHD career path, I say, blogging has become one of the most empowering facets of this occupation.  I know that it takes a lot of heat.  A bunch of women and some men in their jammies while Jr. watches Sesame Street leisurely snacking on scones in front of their computer is often the misrepresented vision of the parenting blogger.  But that's such bullshit.  I've become emotionally attached to people I've never met; their stories, their lives, move me and inspire me.  I've wept over the loss of babies and children, feeling 1/100th of the pain that parent has felt and reached out and left a note to them, that, hey, someone hears you.  Your grief is real.  I laugh at antics of other people's toddlers, very much like my own and feel solidly connected with a shared experience, even though I've never met them.  I'm challenged daily to be a better parent, a better me and surprisingly, more empathetic each and every day to all the other parents out there doing just what I am.

Sure, we may not be the bestest writers.  Likely many of us drink too much coffee and spend too much money on Etsy.  But there is a connection between this rather enormous group of parents who blog.  And while to some it may seem cliche and unsexy, it is, I assure you, real.

On second thought

I'm sure I had a world weary blog post set to go, complete with excessive witticism and wincing truths, but alas, I am just going to leave you with this.

Not thinking about paying the plumber

What Sign are You?

Again, babble.com offers yet another topic that I hadn't really given much thought to - baby sign language.

Here's their article

Basically, I like to read these articles so I can get to the comments.  Once you skim past the SEE XXX GIRLS NUDE and ZOLFT PRESCRIPTION 4U!!! spam comments, you get to the actual discussion between parents.  And I found it interesting that there were the "I taught my children to sign and they are super awesome magnificent and why wouldn't you teach your children to do something that would help them?" and then the "Stay off my lawn!  Stop judging me for keeping my kids locked in a closet of ignorance you shrill harpy!"  I really had no idea baby sign language was such a hot topic.

Honestly, I never realized that baby signs was considered a "good parent"/"bad parent" issue.  I mean, sure I one time found some baby sign flash cards on sale somewhere and bought them fully intending on (never) using them when Ronan was still a wee cub.   But, I never did.  (This should not come as a surprise to anyone)  I mean, not really.  Ronan signed "more" a few times, but I just taught him to actually say "more" and today, as a just turned three year old, I can communicate perfectly fine with him.  He speaks as well as many of the college freshmen I had to teach Intro Anthro while slogging through Grad School.  Why didn't I teach it?  Um, well, I guess it's because I'm too lazy.  Sure, I think it looks cute when I see some child doing it.  But, really, I'm just not going to do stress myself out over this kind of thing.  My three year old was pretty much fully verbal just before turning two.  He could communicate everything he wanted to tell us with words and some even in complete sentences.  How much sooner does a sign language speaking child speak?  Is it really worth it?  Inquiring lazy moms want to know!

These are questions I ponder as I listen my fifteen month old baby dipping her toes into the linguistic sea.  She says the usual "Mommy, Daddy, Doggie, Iwandis, Iwandat, Iwandown, ball, nummy, mine, no (or NOOOO complete with head shake)" - I mean, she has the basics covered for what you need to accomplish as a fifteen month old.  Right?  My just turned three year old told me that the "storm clouds were looming" (and they rightly were) - so I'm guessing he's doing okay in the talkie department, too.

Have I done my babies wrong?  Are their language skills going to suffer?  I'm going to go with "no" at this point and harbor no regrets regarding my laziness in this department.  Likely my non-signing children will speak just as mumbly and surly and awkwardly when they are teenagers as those children who were signing their little digits off before they turned two.  Am I wrong?

ControverSunday (Tuesday): Licensed Merchandise (Shared from twomakesfour.com)

I, like I am sure many of you, am constantly struggling with this.  Check out this blog entry from a great blog I check.  What do you guys think?

ControverSunday (Tuesday): Licensed Merchandise

I'd love to hear some opinions on this!

I know, for me, I've gone from "NO PLASTIC EVER!" to much more than I care to admit in the last three years.  My kids have a barrage of toys and other accoutrement rife with easily identified characters.  From BandAids to underpants, we've fallen.  I realize that fighting this is just not very productive for "me".

I'm not sure I get the absolute backlash against Kai Lan, Mickey, and their two dimensional peers. I mean, I completely understand not wanting to perpetuate the cycle of our disposable world and the emptiness and obsession that surrounds stuff and it's acquisition, but isn't instilling the value of experience over things the job of a parent? I'm working on that.

So, as I type this from my iPad, sipping my grande caramel macchiato while simultaneously texting on my iPhone with a woman who's dining table I would like to buy, I say, " really? What's the big deal? I've got it all under control here.".

and then it hit me.

I was trying to get the breakfast dishes cleaned up, oy, so many of them, and really, it was just a few scrambled eggs and toast so how come there are 8 bajillion dishes anyway?  As much as the stupid dishes needed me this morning, someone else needed me too.  More.  Augh, I just wanted to finish cleaning them up and get them out of the way, compartmentalize and then move onto the next thing of my day.

I promise, I told myself, that I will focus 100% on you guys as soon as this is cleaned up!   


"Isla, Isla baby, I will pick you up in ONE minute, just let me get this put away!" I sidestep the baby reaching up for me.  She cries harder and puts her arms up, trying to catch my legs.

And then, like some mystic voice from the ether of a million mothers from times long past, I have the realization:  She won't be reaching for you for long.  Soon she will be walking away from you more and more.  Soon you won't be able to simply scoop that tiny child up into your arms and feel those little hands cup your face and nestle her head under your chin.  All too soon she will be grown and you will wish you had just left the dishes.  


I picked her up.

Don't grow up too fast, my baby

Elder Amnesia

I swear to you, at dinner tonight, and we're not talking eating at the ritz here, people - laminated booths and wildly printed backboards do not, for fine dining, make - an older woman actually yelled, "STOP IT" at my kid (or in our general direction) during a minor little meltdown he was having.  Seriously, I was like, "Did she just yell that...at us?"

Oh, I'm sorry "Miss My children NEVER acted up in public for they ALWAYS sat quietly and politely and ate all their lima beans without so much as a peep because children are not really people and should be seen and never heard, and really, the world should only cater to adults and heaven forbid my precious dinner at the local family friendly, early bird special, sangria night place have a few moments of some toddler whining" - did we disturb you?

Seriously lady, if you had children, you are clearly remembering either a very FALSE recollection of your children's behavior, or you are moron.   OR, you handily beat your children into submission, and, well, that's just not how I roll.

Guess what, life isn't ALL ABOUT YOU.  Children exist.  They have feelings and are still trying to figure out how to navigate life's little social graces.  I'm going to just put it out there and suggest that, while, yes, I think a screaming totally inconsolable child in perhaps, a, oh, fine dining establishment should perhaps be taken somewhere else with a calm and considerate parent who may calm them down and offer them a sympathetic ear and a hug - a somewhat annoying whine from a three year old for maybe two minutes in a freaking beachside, local dive with a bumper car in the middle of the room that the wait staff was encouraging my children to play in is REALLY NOT THE PLACE TO GET PISSED OFF IF THEY MAKE A LITTLE NOISE.

But lady, yelling at my child over two booths almost earned you a walk over from me who was about to deliver a very well deserved "TSK - children are human beings too".  Luckily, I was restrained by my friend.

Thank you.  That is all.

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