News!

I feel narcissistic writing this post. It may be because it's a whole lot of words that are almost all about me. Probably, I'm still feeling guilty for having this thought since not posting in over 2 years, "My newer friends don't even know what a good writer I am!" My motives for writing this are not all self-centered, though. I genuinely believe that it's important for me to explain the change I'm making. First, though, let me tell you what's happened since I last wrote on this site. No. There is too much. Let me sum up.

• We moved to a wonderful new neighborhood that was just what we had in mind when we were house shopping. Now we have 4 times the number of bathrooms we used to. Other than having 4 times zero maids to help with the cleaning, it's all dreamy.
• The kids got bigger and smarter. 

This little Cupcake just turned 5

• 

  Our Rip Claw is in double digits! (The bike only lasted a day)

• We adopted a cat! Minerva is loved so dearly, we've even become the weirdos (I can say it because we're included) who walk their cats.
  

• I've continued to work as a substitute teacher, and I'm pretty good at it. I know being the best substitute teacher is kinda like being the best fantasy football player- great! Nobody cares!- but it means I get to work whenever I want and the schedule flexibility is excellent. 

• Running has continued with some ups and downs, some injuries, recoveries, a medal here or there, successes and failures. I still love pounding out the miles, even though I haven't achieved anything extraordinary...

  

  ...unlike these dear friends and family members who ran the Boston Marathon this year

  
  Of course, the past couple of years haven't been all sunshine and roses, but things are generally excellent 'round here. 

There, now that you're caught up and have fallen (back) in love with my blog, it's time for the reason that drove me to break out the rusty old typing fingers here: I'm going to school to become a paralegal. What's that? You're slightly taken aback but generally feel like that announcement was anticlimactic? Let me try to change your mind. See, it all started at book club. 

My (I can call it mine because I started it) book club began about 7 years ago. We take turns selecting books to read, and discuss them while stuffing ourselves with scrumptious snacks. We have a pretty amazing mix of ladies, and our book choices are diverse and (usually) excellent. "The Count of Monte Cristo" was my personal favorite novel and everyone (yes, you too) should read it. "The Omnivore's Dilemma" was my most recent choice, and reading it changed my eating habits for the better. 

If you've read "The Omnivore's Dilemma," the chocolate souffle/McDonald's fries combo makes sense.

The Count's quote made it onto my shelf of favorites.

It was this book, though, that changed not just my habits or the order of my favorite novels, but life as I live: Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson. Yes, that link takes you to Amazon so you can go ahead and buy it right now. On the website for the foundation the author started years ago, the book is described as follows: "A powerful true story about the potential for mercy to redeem us, and a clarion call to fix our broken system of justice..." (I linked the definition for that term because I couldn't have given it to you without looking it up myself.)

I don't usually consider myself to be super suggestible or gullible. I certainly can't remember any other time when a book changed the course of my life. When I watched Making a Murderer , for example, I understood that there was more to the story than viewers were shown. I know that the show was edited to be entertaining and provocative, so even though it made me lose some faith in our justice system, I made myself remember that I was really presented with just one side of the story. 

After reading "Just Mercy", though, I came to understand the brokenness of our justice system is not simply a matter of opinion. It is a matter of fact that we can choose to see or remain blind to. The truth is, justice in our country is not blind. 

Somehow, she can still see color through that blindfold.

Criminals get away with it. Innocent people go to jail. People with dark skin are treated differently than those who are white. Poor people are taken advantage of. Children live in prisons for the rest of their lives after mistakes that they would almost certainly never make as adults. People with mental illness are abused and imprisoned instead of being treated or hospitalized. At the root of our justice system we don't find balance or impartiality; we find bias, greed, and sometimes mind-blowing unfairness.  

I don't expect to become The Paralegal who Fixes Everything (Although if that is what I become, I would like a cooler, superheroish name. Princess of Justice. The Everything Fixer [who is pretty besides]. Sup-arale-Gal. We can work on it.). I don't presume that I'll ever truly fix anything that has been so broken about our legal system since its inception. I know, though, that I cannot turn away from the horror. I cannot step over the screaming, seething, hideous mess of wrongness and go on as if it's not there. Even realizing that I cannot name a single paralegal who has ever done anything memorable, I know for sure that I have to be part of the solution. I have to do everything within my power to right the wrongs.

So, at the ripe old age of closer-to-40-than-30, holding my 13-year-old, unused Bachelor's degree, driving my newish car away from the dream home that I own with my dream man, leaving my sweet, talented children in the care of others, I will go to school. I mention my age, home, etc. because when I went on campus to purchase my books ($680! Ouch!) and get my ID card, I realized how very different I am from the typical state college student. It makes me nervous to think about being the oldest in class. Or the only mom. Or the only one who has no idea how to dress like an adult who is in college and will constantly feel the need to justify her clothing choices to random strangers. Because of my previous college experience, I have met a lot of the requirements for graduating with an A.S. degree in Legal Studies, and I should be finished by this time next year. After that, I would like to work for a non-profit law office, offering help to those who can't afford to buy their way out of legal trouble. I want to assure you that I'll let you know how it goes, but in all honesty, you may have to wait for news of the crowning of Queen Paralegal after I do my world changing stuff. Want to help the cause without going the career/life change route? Donate to the Equal Justice Initiative.  Or at least, wish me luck with writing WAY more often than once every 2.5 years.

Student discounts on ice cream and tacos? Yes, please!

Seriously, though. What do grown-ups who aren't the teacher wear to school?

Holiday Overhaul

While you may know that I'm a big fan of holidays and celebrating, you may not know that certain holidays annoy me.  Or maybe I'm a grouch, too easily annoyed.  The thing is, I just don't like doing the same things everyone is supposed to do on specific days because some people decided a long time ago that we should all choose a day to do those things.  That last sentence is one of those that only makes sense in my head, isn't it?  What I mean is, I kinda hate conforming.  I don't like making resolutions on January 1st.  I don't like sharing the things for which I'm thankful on the last Thursday in November.  I don't like remembering fallen service members only on a Monday in May and November.  And I really don't like declaring my love for Charming on February 14th.  I've got a plan, though, to fix everything.  Okay, maybe not everything, but at least I can fix the "banks are closed, let's have a Bar-B-Q, drink, and send generic text messages to everyone in our phones all day" problem.

NEW YEAR'S DAY should be NEW DAY.  The first day of a new year is no more monumental than waking up to a new day.  Yeah, I get the whole thing about fresh calendar pages and having a starting point for your resolutions, but really, all that is just fluff.  If you really, truly want to change something in your life, you should do it right now.  Wednesday.  Saturday afternoon.  This very minute.  If you're always waiting for the right time to start exercising, stop eating junk food, quit smoking, keep in touch with friends, study your devotional, or get organized, you're really just doing one thing: procrastinating.  If you must, mark the day with stickers on your calendar, noisemakers, and fanfare.  The important thing is to realize that there's nothing about January 1st that makes you more resolute.  Resolve now, and do it now.

I saw this on Facebook, it's supposed to start June 1.  I will not wait until then. You shouldn't either.

VALENTINE'S DAY should be ABOLISHED.  Let's be serious.  I cannot think of a single February 14th in the life of anyone I know that was actually important to their relationship.  (Although, there was that one time I opened a gift from a boyfriend on Valentine's Day and found a diamond ring.  When my first words were, "This isn't an engagement ring, is it?" he replied, "Well, it isn't now!" I guess that could have been an important day.  But really, my response would have been the same any day of the year.)  If you love someone, they should know it.  If they don't love you back, paying for something "romantic" on a specific day of the year isn't going to change their heart.  Flowers die.  Chocolates get eaten.  Teddy bears are useless.  What's the worse that will happen?  Kids'll learn to cut heart shapes out of construction paper a bit later in life?  Couples will show their love for each other with gestures or gifts that are thoughtful, and on their own timeline?  We'll say goodbye to the glorious tradition of sending our kids to school with a shoe box with a slit cut in the top for all the cheaply made, generic message cards paid for by the parents and the ungodly amount of red-dyed candy?  I'm okay with that.  Plus, I'm sure we can find other uses for all the glitter and paper doilies we'll be saving.

I glitterally just gagged.

APRIL FOOL'S DAY should be APRIL FOOL'S MONTH.  A day just isn't enough.  The jokes are expected, now, and that takes the fun out of it.  I'm not the biggest fan of pranks, but that's only because so many people make them dangerous or mean.  I love a good, clean, "gotcha!"

MEMORIAL DAY should be THANKS & GIVING DAY.  For hundreds of years, men and women have sacrificed their lives for American liberty, to give us rich opportunities, a sense of justice, and the beautiful land on which we've built our lives.  Instead of celebrating our freedom with free time, parties, drinks, parades, and sand castles, I vote that we thank and give back to the families of our military service members.  On Memorial Day, I do see a lot of Facebook status updates showing appreciation to those who have served, but I wish the people who have sacrificed so much for us would receive a more tangible giving of thanks.  Imagine how wonderful it would be if we gave the money we spent on red, white, and blue decorations, food, parades, and party favors to the widows, widowers, and children of those who have lost their lives in military service!  If nothing else, we should all spend the day solemnly contemplating the cost of our freedom.

I didn't have a picture lined up for this section, but my search for thanksgiving + american flag images turned up some results that were...interesting.

I think you get the idea.

INDEPENDENCE DAY should be INDEPENDENCE DAY, except with more of a concentration on history.  As adults, we aren't usually required to remember dates and facts and important people from hundreds of years ago, but that doesn't mean the events and people are less historically significant.  We should remember, not for a U.S. History test or grade, but because the things that happened all those years ago made our country, and essentially, us, what and who we are.  Take some time next 4th of July to appreciate the fact that our temperatures come in Farenheit, and we aren't required to worship a Royal family or forced to drink tea, use the metric system, or call fries "chips."

LABOR DAY should be NAP DAY.  Is there anything else anyone wants to do to celebrate?  We should also use the sense of community developed in the working class on this holiday to petition as a group for siestas every afternoon.  We'll have to call our nap sessions something else, though, like Tea Time or Smart Zees.

COLUMBUS DAY should be FLORIDA DAY.  Florida is awesome, and totally under appreciated.  Plus, we're probably just a few sinkholes away from being  East Hawaii, all broken up into small islands, so there might not be much time for the rest of the country to show us how much they love our warm climate, wet air, giant cartoon mice, and oranges.  By the by, I do realize that Columbus didn't land in Florida.  The people that did, though, none of them have a Day.  I'm sticking with my decision.

VETERAN'S DAY should be JUST FOR VETERANS & THEIR FAMILIES.  The rest of us really need another holiday?  No.  Veterans and their families should be the only people off from work, buying things on sale, and partying.

THANKSGIVING DAY should be EVERY.SINGLE.DAY. Seriously.  One day is not even close to enough time to count our blessings.  If you're reading this, which I know you are, you should be grateful for your computer, tablet, smartphone, or good friend who has one of those things.  You should be grateful that you know how to read.  You can be thankful that I give such excellent advice.  You can appreciate the fact that you're alive now, when there is electricity and internet and microbrewed beer and blogs on every subject and that you aren't currently at the bottom of a sinkhole.

BLACK FRIDAY should be MELANCHOLY MONDAY and should be switched to the day after the Super Bowl.  The Black Friday sale papers are lies, the lines for shopping are sickening, and within 5 years, Amazon's drones will be delivering everything, anyway.  Football fans, however, need a day to recover from their sadness that the season is really over and to get rid of the vast amounts of wings and chips they consumed during the big game.

All the December holidays can stay as they are, at least for now.  People do need to stop complaining about Christmas becoming too commercialized, though.  I'm quite certain there isn't anyone alive that truly remembers celebrating an un-commercialized Christmas.  If folks don't want the true meaning of Christmas spoiled by materialism, they need to stop buying anything but absolute necessities starting in July.  Yes, July.  Have you not been to Walmart?

Ouch.

Let's change our calendars, shall we?


Favorite holiday?

The Bliss of Being Selfish

I love the word 'selfish'- don't you?  For one thing, words with the -ish suffix are usually cool with me.  Plus, if you're really angry, like, spitting mad, and yell at someone for being selfish, it often comes out as 'shellfish' instead.  That's always funny.  Also, when you say it over and over in your head, the 'fish' part of the word stands out.  Then you can imagine yourself as a beautiful, colorful, terribly vain and self-centered fish.  The self fish.

Turns out, there was already a name for the self fish.  Betta fish are very keen on themselves. Thank you, Google!

There.  Now that we've had a proper digression, you know you're on the right blog.

Everyone in my fishbowl world just celebrated Mother's Day; my third-no, fourth-fifth!-favorite holiday.  (It's cool that we live in a country where we celebrate so much that people can have fifth favorite holidays, huh?) I was the substitute teacher for a 3rd grade class the Friday before Mother's Day, which meant that I was to help the kids work on gifts for their moms.  They were tasked with writing a few sentences from the prompt: "My Mom is my hero because..." Walking around the classroom and trying to keep all the students engaged, I noticed some trends.  Moms are nice.  Moms take care of their kids.  Moms are helpful.  I started asking the kids to think a little deeper.  "Does your mom have another job beside being your mom?"  "Yeah, she's a probation officer.  She has a gun that she never lets me see."  "So, your mom must be pretty tough and brave, then."  "Yeaaaahhh...Yeah.  Yeah!  She is tough!"  "How about your mom?  What is she good at?" "Um.  Cooking.  And, um.............She's not good at cartwheels."  "Ok.  Moving on. I see you wrote that your mom plays with you.  What do you guys play together?" "Well, she helps me practice baseball.  But really, it's just me practicing and her playing.  She's not even on a baseball team, and I am." "Does your mom work while you're at school?"  "Oh. Um. Yeah. She's a nurse."  "My mom is a doctor!" "My mom throws the best birthday parties!" "My mom is bad at cartwheels, too!" "My mom gave birth to me!" "My mom potty trained me!"

Available on Amazon. Yes, for real.

The thing is, it was pretty difficult for the kids to think of anything unique or special about their moms.  Later, I asked Rip Claw how he would have answered some questions about me.  "Can you think of anything about me that is different from other moms?" Long think break. "No."  Sigh.  "Do you know what I like to do?"  "Um.......no.  Wait! Yes. You like to use the computer." Siiiiiggggghhhhh.  "What about running?  Have you ever seen me run?  Read books?  Play with you and Cupcake?  Go to the park?  Do I ever make you laugh?  How about our conversations?  Our bike rides?  I like to play games.  I like to go to the beach.  I like to do crafts."  He seemed surprised, but more than that, he seemed totally disinterested.  I'm pretty sure I was about 10 years old before I ever noticed that my mom did anything other than take care of me and my siblings, so I guess I shouldn't be too upset with my 7-year-old for still thinking of himself before me.

Which led me to thinking of this post.  (We always come back around to the point eventually.)

The fact of the matter is simple: Mom is a title, not a description.  Women who have children were women way before the children came along.  Obviously, kids are going to take a while to get to the realization that their moms are actually people with thoughts and needs and wants.  Rip Claw seems genuinely shocked when I say things like, "I was so bored." or "I'm so excited about going to this concert.  (Most) moms are, in a word, selfless.  That's what their children see, and that's about all they see.  Their moms give of themselves pretty much every minute that the kids are awake.  Even for a kid as thoughtful and sweet as my son, it's difficult to see past that selflessness and realize that there is sacrifice taking place.

I'm friends with some very smart women.  We have college degrees, insight, experience, and wit.  We're driven, successful, happy, and, yes, selfless.  Well, most of the time, anyway.  We've learned that we are all better when we take some time to be selfish.  By 'better' I mean in every way.  We're better moms, better wives, better at our jobs, better at being happy.  We even look better!  Almost 5 years ago, we started talking about planning a weekend away, just us girls.  After 10 or so months of emails, travel site visiting, and conversations with our husbands preparing them for what was going to happen, the Girls' Weekend tradition was born.

I'm pretty sure moms invented the "selfie" in order to get out from behind the camera once in a while. 

Our destination qualifications are pretty simple.  We want a pool.  We want a quiet room with a full kitchen.  We don't want to have to drive very far.  We want flat surfaces on which to lie down whenever we feel so inclined (or should I say, reclined).  Last year, we found a pretty perfect spot, about an hour's drive away, but the weather was horrible.  Totally hurricaneish.  We had to stay in the room watching movies, catching up on our magazine reading, and napping for many hours.  This year, we decided to go back to the same place, and were blessed with postcard-perfect weather the entire time.

We shopped for groceries beforehand, and we each brought a typical mom amount (1-3 grocery bags full) of snacks to share.  I ate every meal on our 10th floor balcony, looking out at this view.  We spent hours in the sunshine, switching between the private beach, one of many pools on the property, and the lazy river.  We went for quiet runs in the mornings after not setting an alarm or having a child crawl into bed to wake us.  Well, some of us did.

One of our number was forced to spend her time on crutches or a wheeled knee cart.  Great conversation starter, at least!

We missed our kids.  We missed our husbands.  It's always hard, being away from our families, even though it's only for a few days.  Rip Claw was very upset before I left.  When he asked me why I would even want to go somewhere without them, though, I had what I think is a pretty good answer.  "Well, son, the job of a parent is never, never done.  You know how I'm here all the time?  I get your breakfast, pack your lunch, make your dinner, help you with your homework, wash your clothes, and give you back tickles.  I wake up if you or Cupcake cries in the middle of the night.  I bring you to football practice and teach you new things and play with you and make sure you're behaving and growing up well.  I notice if your neck is dirty or your socks are stinky.  I find your shoes.  And you know what else?  Even when you're not around, or the house is clean or the laundry is done and I'm just sitting on the computer, I am ALWAYS worrying about, thinking of, and planning to make sure you and your sister are safe and happy.  I don't get weekends off from being your mom.  I don't even get hours off.  You know how much I love you, and I am so happy that I get to be your mom, but that doesn't mean I don't need a break sometimes.  It's like when you try to figure out a difficult problem.  Sometimes, if you give your brain a break from thinking about it, even just for a few minutes, you come back refreshed and with a new view, and that helps."  Okay, so that probably isn't the exact, word-for-word transcription of what I said, but it's pretty close.  He seemed to get it.  I was worried that he would still think that I wanted a break from him, but he didn't ask again about my reasons for wanting to go.  I told him that we would be having fun, relaxing, and having lots of naps, which he seemed okay with.

I spent about 20 minutes staring at the darkened elevator shaft, watching the bright cars zoom up and down, only to be bathed in darkness again as soon as the passengers stepped out.  It was oddly beautiful.

Less odd, more beautiful.  Midway through my beach run, I sat on a chunk of coquina like this and had myself a long Think and Stare at Water break.  Utterly blissful.

Every time I would settle in on a sunny lounge chair and take a deep breath of the fresh, salty air, I got a little choked up.  I felt such overwhelming appreciation and love for Charming, for our kids, for our lives, for the fact that despite all my imperfections and shortfalls, I have a husband who loves me and takes care of things so that I can lay in the sun and relax without worries for a few days.  It was absolutely marvelous.

I hope it's obvious that I would love and appreciate my Charming and my children even if I didn't get away from them for 52 hours a year; of course I would.  But I also think it's obvious that selflessness needs to take a holiday sometimes, and the colorful, unique, fun, exhausted person inside the Mom needs to be let loose to stare at elevators, dance, sit on rocks, try whiskey, keep the balcony doors open without concern about losing a toddler, finish a book, zoom down a water slide, paint her toenails, put on lipstick, sleep late, talk about Athleta's clothes for hours, laugh until we cry, and take a post-dinner nap.

If you don't believe me about the benefits of temporary selfishness, ask any one of these brilliant ladies.

What is your favorite way to spend your "me" time?

Pointless Points

If you've been hanging around here for a while, or if you know me at all, you surely know that I'm an expert procrastinator, I don't freak out when my house looks less-than-perfect, and I love running.  So, here I sit, procrastinating housework while writing about running (and etc.)

• Running has seemed more like a chore than usual, lately.  I have some ideas why this is the case.

1. My dear sister/MIKR (most inspiring known runner) broke her foot.  It's not that I'm trying not to love running while she is unable to do anything involving foot use, but my heart hurts for her.  It's kinda like on every sitcom, ever, when the woman is in labor and the man who loves her has sympathy pains and ends up screaming along with her.  

24 hours post-break.  People who run 50+ miles per week get their toes cropped out of pictures.  You're welcome.

2. I have some non-sympathy pain of my own.  My *expletive* right *expletive* calf hurts something fierce--but only sometimes.  Usually, it's really bad when I start running, bearable after a mile or so, and eventually forgettable.  Sometimes, though, it hurts just to walk, or just to be a leg.  New "doctor" (she's actually an RNP but I don't like using that as a title) ordered an x-ray- inconclusive, a venous ultrasound- more on that in a moment, and an MRI- to be performed tomorrow.  My left ankle also hurts a lot, ever since I *expletive* fell backwards over the *expletive* concrete step on our *expletive* carport and knocked it.  I feel like such an old woman.  The Fall was almost 2 weeks ago, I don't have a bruise, yet every time I touch or move my left ankle, it hurts.  If you couldn't tell, pain makes me *expletive* angry.

3. It's hot.  I'm not complaining.  I would much rather deal with the sweltering heat for 9-10 months a year than snow and ice for any months, but it does make running outdoors much sweatier, stinkier, and slower.

• I've been doing many more non-running workouts than ever before.  Just look at all my figures!

Cycling, yoga, dancing (that's what I call the Classical Stretch workouts I do), swimming, weights, & walking.

Swimming is fun, but I'm still terrible, and terribly slow, at it.  Cycling is also fun, but I find myself unable to push myself.  I'm always riding at an easy pace, which gets boring after not very long.  I love yoga, and I love working out with weights, and I love the 1/2 hour stretching workouts that I DVR.  I've also been keeping up with a 30-day planking challenge, using the Plank-A-Lot app.  I'm up to 90 seconds!

• Every once in a while, I come up with something that I feel is quote-worthy.  Okay, so every once in a while, in this case, means twice.  Ever.  Here are the quotes that I wish others would use and attribute to me:
"The truth is the truth regardless of who believes it."
- Know-it-all-Miss, 1995


"It's not that I'm bad at keeping my house tidy, it's that I love the challenge of a well-designed obstacle course."
-Know-it-all-Mrs, 2014


• Did you know you can make a heating pad that works just as well as a store-bought electric one?  This is money-saving advice!  Unless you already own a heating pad, then you can skip to the next bullet. 

Step 1- Dampen a cloth (I use a hand towel) and fold it so that it fits inside a quart-sized ziploc bag.

Step 2- Keep the bag open and microwave for 1-1 1/2 minutes on high power.

Step 3- Remove the bag from the microwave with tongs, zip it closed, and wrap it in a dry hand towel.  

I wouldn't have expected a zipper plastic bag to retain heat so well, but it does.  It'll stay hot for at least an hour, or until you open the bag.

The instructions I read, though, say that you shouldn't use it for more than 20 minutes at a time because of the possibility of burning yourself.  Yeah, it's that hot!  And now that I've added that disclaimer, you can't sue me if you burn yourself on your homemade hot compress.

• Why is she using a homemade heating pad? you may be wondering.  Well, it just so happens that there is more evidence of my old-lady-hood in my legs.  Remember the venous ultrasound the "doctor" ordered?  They say I have "varicose vein thrombosis" in my right leg.  I was told by the nurse to use a warm compress and elevate my leg for 10 minutes every few hours, and to take an aspirin or other NSAID every day.  The problem is that the Omniscient Google doesn't agree.  OG seems to think that there is no such thing as varicose vein thrombosis.  There is deep vein thrombosis, which is a pretty serious condition, and there is superficial thrombophlebitis, which is not at all serious and not supposed to be painful.  But, it wouldn't be like me at all to argue with a health professional, so I'm going along with the recommended course of action.  For now.
• You know about that big scandal going on in the NBA right now, right?  It strikes me as odd that the last names of the two main guys being talked about are Sterling & Silver.  What do you think are the chances that I'm the only weirdo in America who has noticed that?
• I'm back on Facebook after my 40 day break.  I've learned that Facebook, for me, is like driving a vanful of my friends' kids around.   I love my friends, and I do want to help them out by driving their kids, but they're just. so. loud.  They talk about boring stuff, they're all talking over each other and trying to outdo one another with their stupid stunts, they're distracting and sometimes outright rude, and yet, I can't just ignore them.  So now, I've backed off a bit on my carpool driver responsibilities.  And I sure do appreciate the quiet when all the kids are finally dropped off (at the pool-heh heh heh).
• Rip Claw's first season of Flag Football ended last Saturday.  He is a talented, focused, and very driven player.  I think Charming and I are going to miss watching his games just as much as he is going to miss playing every weekend.  

I guess that's enough pointless drivel bullet points for now.  

Anybody want to place bets on whether or not my next MRI will reveal a stress fracture?

You got the Sterling/Silver thing, right?

Sugar, Spice, and Everything Nice

Do you ever wonder why nursery rhymes are practically eternal?  I do.  I ponder things like this a lot, actually.  I'm almost always in the thinking box shower, and I'll start thinking about "Baa, Baa, Black Sheep" or whatever, and begin analyzing it like I'm going to have to write a report.
Who is saying 'baa baa'?  Is it the sheep?  Or is the sheep saying 'yes sir, yes sir'?  Is the sheep's name BaaBaa?  Maybe shepherds used to baa at their sheep to get them to give them wool.  I always thought black sheep were bad.  Maybe black sheep got a bad reputation because they never gave enough wool.  Are there even black sheep?  Well, there are albino humans, and albino rats, and albino dolphins, so maybe black sheep are like that.  Or maybe black sheep are dirty.  I wonder who wrote this rhyme.  Probably nobody did.  Probably someone said it to their daughter, and then she changed it a little to repeat to her kids, and it got changed over and over until someone wrote it down the way that their mom taught it to them, like the way my mom's Pat-a-cake version is different from the others, and then they got credit for it.  Is there a lesson in every nursery rhyme?  Like, even if you're dirty and rejected by your flock, you can still be a productive member of society?  Who is this 'little boy who lives down the lane' anyway?  Was the black sheep being charitable? 

But that's not what this is about.  This is about little girls, and society, and how disturbing it is that sex appeal is a marketing tool for selling things to children.

Oddly enough, it was an article in Allure magazine from October 2013 that made me-- you're not going to believe this-- think.  It was the only magazine in the exam room when I went for a check-up at the doctor a few weeks ago.  I usually wouldn't pick up a magazine like that, because all the beauty and celebrity worship is annoying, but you know how it is when you're waiting in a tiny, cold room without your Kindle.

The article was written by a mom, about dressing her 7 y.o. daughter for school.  The mom had painstakingly selected the daughter's wardrobe for all 7 years of her life, until one day, the daughter asked to choose her own clothes.  Dunh dunh dunh!  The mom was sleepless with anxiety over what her kid might decide to wear to school, and had discussions with her child about the importance of a sense of style and blah blah blah blarf blarf.  Spoiler alert!  The kid had good taste in clothes, and all was well down in Allure Author Alley.  I told Charming about the article that evening, and he readily shared my annoyance. My point was simple:  I've gone my entire life without a sense of style, and I turned out just fine.  I have never lost sleep over clothes!  The thought of placing so much value in material things (har har) is just mind-blowing to me.

There is a 'but' to this story, though.  The article's author talked a lot about how clothes for girls are so very much the same: Pink.  Purple.  Sparkly.  Princess-y.  It was important to her that her daughter find her own individuality, and not buy/wear just the things that every other little girl wears.  She chose to demonstrate the importance of individuality by taking her daughter to a vintage jewelry store and letting her select a brooch within her $13 budget.  I chose to lecture my 2 y.o. under my breath in Toys 'R' Us.  "No princesses.  You don't want to be a princess.  Smart is better than pretty, anyway.  Does this toy even teach you anything?  No.  It just sings about bows.  You know, in real life, not all princesses are pretty and sweet."  When it comes to clothing and toys designed for and marketed to girls, there are two adjectives that come immediately to mind:  Pink.  Alike.

You may have heard the stories about young girls recently protesting to big companies about gender stereotypes.  There's the teenager who convinced McDonald's to stop offering "girl" or "boy" toys, and the 7 y.o. who wrote to Lego about how lame the girl toys are.  I'm no activist.  I'm not even sure I know how to contact my Congressmanorwoman.  I can't say I don't care about women's rights or gender equality, because I do care.  I just never really considered doing anything about the problems until having a daughter of my own.

When 2-yr-old Cupcake looks at pictures like this, of her 8-day-old self, she squeals and says, "Aw!  Baby!  Cute!  Hugs!" and then tries desperately to hug the picture/computer screen/photo book.

For a couple of years, Rip Claw's favorite color was pink.  Not surprisingly, other kids eventually started questioning his choice.  When he asked me whether it was okay for boys to like pink, I said, "Of course it is.  Colors are colors.  They aren't for just boys or girls."  Eventually, pink moved down his list of favorites to second, then third, and now it's pretty far down the list, but I think it was a natural progression of changing preferences rather than peer pressure making him move green up and pink down.  Cupcake loves babies, and bunnies, and butterflies, and Minnie Mouse.  She also loves playing with Rip Claw's cars, putting stickers everywhere she can think of, throwing and catching any ball or object which looks like it may or may not be a ball, fweeping, fwimming, and fwinging (sweeping, swimming, and swinging).  "Look, Mommy!  Fwings!  I'll try it!"  She is particular about her clothes, and has been since before she turned one.  She likes when I fix her hair "pretty" so she 1. doesn't have her bangs in her eyes, 2. can "Show Daddy see mirror?" and 3. might get to see the "Picture?  See girl picture?"  She loves to sing, but her favorite song is not about bows, it's "Happy Birthday" with "Driving my Car" (her version pictured below) coming in a close second.

Don't ask me for the link to the song she's singing.  You'll be sorry if you do.

My point, which might be muddled by all the cute pictures and anecdotes, is simple.  I'm really sick of feeling forced to like/buy specific things for my girl and my boy.  I want options, and I want my kids to know that they have options.  Rip Claw doesn't have to look for toys in the "boy" section, and Cupcake shouldn't have to look just in the "girl" section.  Which brings me to another point, that "girl" stuff is. so. awful.  I mean, it's awful from a logical, realistic perspective, obviously.  It's cute stuff.  I remember loving the sound of dress-up plastic high-heeled princess shoes on the terrazzo floors of my childhood home, and I'm sure Cupcake would love it, too.  But why do we as a society think that we can tell our girls all their lives that they can be a Cheerleader- Popular! or a Princess- Pretty! or a Mom/Cleaning Lady- Look at how well this pooping, crying doll prepares you for real life!  Have a pink, practice vacuum cleaner! and then expect them to do well in science and math and go on to solve the world's problems?

I'm not the type to go looking for scapegoats, or to yell and shake my fist about Society!!! and expect things to change.  But give this a think, please.  Airplanes and cars are "boy" toys.  Only ~ 5% of pilots are females, and we all know how terrible I am women are at driving.  Female drivers are involved in over 68% of crashes and only, like 4 of those involved yours truly.  Boys are encouraged to build, perform experiments, save helpless girls, and fight for any or no reason with or without weapons.  Girls are encouraged to wear pink, look cute, get a boy, and rock out while wearing various hairpieces and tiny clothes.  Girls' creative toys are used to make jewelry or make-up.  Boys' creative toys are used to make other, useful, fun toys.  I can't be the only one who thinks this is a big problem.

Oh, and remember up there where I said this post was about sex appeal being used as a marketing tool?  Yeah.  Check out these then and now pictures of Strawberry Shortcake.

That isn't even the worst of it!  Have you seen these impossibly beautiful, completely unrealistically thin, large-breasted dolls that our girls are supposed to be able to dress for every situation?  I think they're called Barbara...no Barbie dolls.  What is this world coming to?

It's been happening for many years.  It's getting worse.  If we want anything to change, then we have to start doing things differently.  Don't buy anything pink or blue, ever.  Okay, maybe that's a bit too extreme.  If your son loves cars and construction trucks and making volcanoes, great!  But if he wants to make rubber band jewelry, play house in the kiddie kitchen, read Beverly Cleary's books about Ramona and Beezus, and watch "Cinderella," please support him in the same way.  There's nothing wrong with looking pretty, and there's nothing wrong with wanting your daughter to look pretty.  There is a problem when pretty trumps all, or anything else.  It isn't my place to tell you what toys or clothes to buy for your kids, but I would ask that you be aware of the advertisements, especially when they send the clear message that looks/sex appeal are so important, and why you're buying what you buy.  I, for one, don't want my daughter to dream of being a princess in a shining castle.  I want her to dream of ways she can change the world, and I want her to know that she doesn't need a Ken or a Kristoff (I'm telling you, I've been watching a lot of "Frozen" lately) or a unique fashion sense in order to fulfill her potential.  Girls can be rock stars without getting naked in public (seriously, Taylor Momsen) and girls can be pilots, architects, or builders while remaining sugary and nice.

If you decide not to buy a particular product because it reinforces restrictive gender stereotypes or is marketed in a way that you think is inappropriate, I hope you'll consider letting the manufacturer know why you chose to spend your money elsewhere.  With Twitter and Facebook, it's really easy to make your voice heard.  Plus, you can almost always find an email address on a company's website.  Send a short message saying, "I thought you should know that I decided not to buy xxxx for my daughter because I disagree with the limiting gender stereotype this product promotes.  I would like to see more products from your company that can be enjoyed by, and are marketed to, all children."  Or whatever.



What was your favorite childhood toy?

If I make up a nursery rhyme, can I count on you to repeat it to your kids and grandkids until it goes on until the end of time?

War. Huunh. What Is It Good For?

Perhaps the most useful advice I have ever offered is going to be in this post.  Brace yourselves, boys and girls, this is a goody.

You don't need to fight.  Be patient.  Think about your words.  Let go of your anger.  With few exceptions (which I will share in just a moment), I am a stellar example of peace and calm, so you can trust my experience with this.

First, the exceptions to my lover-not-a-fighter-ness.

• The Wet Willie-  You know it.  Someone disgusting, immature, and usually male licks his finger and sticks it in your ear when your back is turned.  Spit= Gross.  Surprises in your ear= Gross.  The word 'earworm' makes me shudder.  For real, I just shuddered when I typed it.  The phrase, "I just want to put a bug in your ear about this" makes me want to barf.  I worked with a guy years ago who thought it was hilarious to give me wet willies at every opportunity.  After the first couple of times, I realized he thought I was just regular grossed out by it, so I took him aside and very calmly informed him that if he ever did it again, I would punch him in the face.  About a week later, at our company Christmas party, he licked his filthy finger with his putrescent tongue and shoved it in my ear.  I turned around and punched him in the face.  My only regret is that I didn't hit him harder.  He didn't speak to me much after that, but he also stopped the wet willieing.  Violence was the answer.

I'm not ruling out the possibility that "Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan" made me disturbingly phobic about things in my ears. 

• The Drunk Friend-  Sometimes, it is possible to reason patiently with a wasted friend trying to drive home.  Sometimes, it isn't, and you have to take the car keys.  Sometimes, when you take the car keys, it makes the drunk friend angry.  When the drunk friend is angry, she might try to knock you down and wrestle the keys out of your hand.  On such occasions, it is then acceptable to fight back.  In my experience, the alcohol will numb the minor physical pain inflicted by (me) the sober friend, and by the next morning, only the hungover friend's pride will hurt.
• The Deserved-It-  I was out with a guy I was dating.  He said something that I'm not going to share here, and I knocked him out of his chair and onto his back.  Trust me, he deserved it.  I was much younger then, and hadn't quite mastered the skills I'm about to describe, but even now, when I think about his words and my reaction, I know that I did the right thing.  
• The Big Liar-  The year was 2004.  I was about to graduate from the University of Central Florida with my B.A. in Psychology.  It should go without saying that I had worked hard, for years, to obtain my degree.  A couple of other people at the restaurant where I worked were also graduating from college, and our manager was kind enough to buy us cards and congratulatory gifts.  The Big Liar asked where her gift was.  She claimed she was also graduating from UCF, earning a Civil Engineering degree.  My goodness.  I could write an entire post, just on this one story.  Short version is that she was lying, and it made me furious.  I didn't punch her or knock her down, physically, but I used my words to make sure everyone knew she was a big effing liar, and to make her sorry for her idiocy.  It's possible that I gave her nightmares.  I do kind-of regret a few of the mean things I said to her.  I'm sure her pathology ran deep and she had little control over her stupid, ridiculous lies, and I could have handled the situation better.
• The Justifiably Annoyed- There are certainly times that I'm irritated by other drivers' actions, but I'm not a road rager, yeller, or even a horn honker.  Cupcake made me laugh a couple of times recently when we were in the car, and made me glad that I am careful with my words, even when I get cut off in traffic.  Each time I brake suddenly or sharply, she gets this (familiar) annoyed tone and says, "Really?  Really?  Uggghhh."  Could be so much worse!

While we're on that subject, here's another super cute thing our little Cupcake did recently to make me laugh:  As I was cleaning up the dinner dishes, she was playing in her little kitchen, banging around her mini pots and pans, making tea, etc.  She came up and handed me this

with the words, "Here guys.  Dinner time."

Anyway... Now that I've confessed, let's move on.  I feel that I am really quite good at conflict resolution, and many people I know are not, so it seems important that I give a little how-to.  When someone does or says something that makes you angry, you should follow these steps in order to calmly and peacefully manage the situation.

• Step 1- Stop.  Emphasis on stop.  Seriously.  STOP.  Don't say anything, don't do anything.  Except breathe, of course.  Actually, breathe deeply.
• Step 2- Think.  Think about what the other person is thinking.  No, don't say aloud, "What are you thinking?!?!?"  Think about whether or not the other person is actually an idiot.  I'm so serious about that.  If the answer is yes, your next step is different than if the answer is no.  
• Step 3 (Yes, idiot)- Be the bigger person.  You don't need to prove how smart you are, or how angry you are, or how stupid the other person is.  Solve the problem if you can, if not, move on with your life.
• Step 3 (No, not an idiot)-  Continue thinking.  Think about something the other person did that showed how smart, sensitive, cool, nice, non-idiotic he/she is.  Think about why that person is in your life.  Think about how you will wish you had handled the situation when you look back on it.  Think about your own flaws, as a reminder that nobody is perfect.  Force yourself to think about something else, for a while, and then think fresh, new thoughts.  Think about what you would want the other person to say to you, if your roles were reversed and you were the upset-er instead of the upset-ee.  This step may take a while.  Sometimes, it takes hours.  Also helpful during this step is to do some exercise.  Running helps me to think, but so does practicing yoga.  
• Step 4- Talk to the person who made you angry.  Sometimes, it will be tempting after all those calming thoughts to skip straight to step 5, but in the long run, you'll be happy you addressed the issue.  Even if you're no longer seeing red, it will be beneficial for you to get all your thoughts out in the open, and it will help the other person to realize, recognize, or defend their words or actions that upset you.
• Step 5- Let it go.  Come on, did you really think that wasn't going to be one of the steps?  I have never found pleasure, happiness, joy, or peace in stewing over a wrong that's been done.  Once you've explored the problem thoughtfully, and addressed it with the offender, drop it.  Think about it this way:  After I punched the wet willier, and he stopped delivering wet willies, would there have been any benefit if I had punched his face every time I saw him?  No.  Probably by the second time, and definitely by the third time I punched him, he would have hit me back.  I had gotten my point across to him, solved the problem, and if I hadn't then let it go, I likely would have gotten fist willied in my ear.

A couple of years ago, Charming and I were having trouble dealing with Rip Claw's tantrums.  He was 4 years old, and he would go off like a complete and utter maniac sometimes, usually when Charming wasn't around.  Something small would upset him, and he would react badly.  I would dole out a punishment, or yell at him for his bad behavior, and then it would spiral downward until he was screaming and flailing and hitting.  Not good.  

A day or so after one particularly bad episode, I sat him down and talked to him about why he thought he would get so out of control when he was upset.  His words struck me like an Ice Queen's magical icicle to the heart (sorry, just watched "Frozen").  

"I'm not mad at first, but then when you get mad at me, I have to get mad back at you.  It's like you want me to be more mad than you.  So I try to show you that I'm the maddest one."

Oof.  I think what he was trying to articulate, in his late toddler-hood way, was the truth that anger breeds anger.  Yelling leads to more yelling, not less.  Since that conversation, I've made a conscious effort to be calm, even when he or his sister is making me feel absolutely crazy.  It has definitely worked.  He hasn't had a maniac tantrum in over two years.  

So, there you go.  You're welcome.  Feel free to share with the United Nations and/or any warmongers you happen to know.

Ever been in a fight?  Regret it?

Living The Life

Hm.  Haven't done an a.k.a. for a while!

Alternate post title: If I Had A Billion Dollars...

It has been hard to avoid hearing about the billion dollar bracket challenge that started recently, so I'll assume that you already know about it, or have clicked on the link I provided just there.  I entered, and lost almost immediately.  However, it is also hard to keep from thinking thoughts that start with, "but if I did win a billion dollars..." even now, that my chance of winning has been reduced from 1/920,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 (That might be too many zeros.  It might be too few.  I know I'm tired of typing them, is all.) to zero.  Rip Claw knew about the challenge, and helped me make my picks.  The day after my bracket was submitted, I saw this article about Patriot's Quarterback Tom Brady and his wife, model Gisele Bundchen, putting their home on the market for $50 million.  Rip Claw has lately been thoroughly obsessed with football, so I called him over to look at the pictures with me of Tom Brady's house.  It is jaw-dropping.  Beautiful.  Magnificent.  Eco-friendly!  Enormous.  Palatial.  And, nauseating.  

I hope that's a secret passageway above all the shoes.  Otherwise, I don't want it.

I told Rip Claw that, sure, we could buy Tom Brady's house if we won the billion.  He understood, though, that we weren't going to win it, so he quickly informed Charming that it was time for him to start playing in the NFL.  I guess he thought that our telling him that Daddy didn't play tackle football because it was too dangerous meant that Daddy's fear was the only thing holding him back from an NFL career.  Awwww, right?

Later, once we had explained the statistical improbability of Charming going from his desk job in the communication industry, and taking his English degree to the gridiron to start making millions of dollars, Rip Claw asked me about other ways we could afford to buy Tom Brady's house.  

RC: "Well, what other jobs make a lot of money?"

Me: "Other than professional athletes?  People who make smart business decisions usually make a lot of money.  People who invent things, people who make things that almost everyone needs or uses every day, they have enough money to buy Tom Brady's house."

RC: "Ooh!  What can I invent that nobody else has thought of?"

Me: "Um.  If I knew that, I probably would have already invented it.  The point is to think of something that nobody else has thought of or been able to make before.  Like, the guy who started Facebook.  He has way more money than any football player."

RC: "Hm.  Are you sure that Dad won't play football?"

Me:  "Yup.  You know, Tom Brady's wife also has a lot of money.  Her job is to be a model."

RC: "What's a model?"

Me: "A model is someone who wears clothes for pictures or shows in order to make people want to buy the clothes."

RC: "What?!  So, she just gets paid to wear clothes?  How did she get to be a model?"

Me: "Models are usually very good looking.  They make people think that they'll also look good in the clothes they're modeling, so the companies that made the clothes get a lot of money from people buying their products."

RC: "Why don't you be a model?"

My first thought at this point in the conversation was to use the following visual aid:

Your mom, modeling her clothes. "Look how many shades of pink I can wear at once!"

Yeaaahhh.... That just ain't me.

Me: "You have to be really good looking to be a model.  They're pretty much all a lot taller than me, a lot skinnier, and they don't eat nearly so many chips as I do.  Plus, I never really wanted to be a model."

RC: "You're really pretty!  Sometimes you even smell pretty!"

Me, thinking: "Coincidence that the times I smell pretty I am wearing Victoria's Secret Halo perfume and Gisele is a Victoria's Secret model?"

Me: "Thanks, son!  But really.  I don't want to be a model."

RC: "Can boys be models?"

Me: "Oh, yeah.  There are lots of boy models.  You're definitely good looking enough to be one, too, but that's not really something Daddy and I want for you.  We like to focus more on your character and your actions and teaching you to be honest, kind, friendly, generous, and, you know, to make good choices."

RC: "Yeah.  You want me to do the right things and not worry about how I look."
Me: "Exactly!"
RC: "So, why do you think they're selling that house, anyway?"
Me: "It's hard to say.  Maybe they want a bigger house.  Maybe they want to live somewhere other than California.  Maybe they want a smaller house!"
RC: "OOH!  Like our house?  Do you think they want to trade houses with us?
Me: "It's possible.  About as likely as us winning the billion dollars

Why wouldn't they want to trade?  

Because of all the talk about becoming billionaires, I came to a few conclusions about riches.

• You know how they say money can't buy happiness?  I believe it.  Not to say that the Brady-Bundchens aren't happy because they have so much money, but I cannot imagine that they're happier than my family.  
• The next bullet point is going to sound like a lie.  It's not.
• ~$2 million would go toward buying a few nice houses in a few nice locations.  ~$1 million would go toward traveling, with the family.  We might have to do it all on land and sea, though, as Charming hates to fly.  I would hire a financial planner and make some investments.  Charming and I would play in the World Series of Poker.  Then, I would donate the rest to causes I feel are important.  

I think that the best part of having a lot of money would be the ability to give a lot of money away.  I would love to have a house with a spiral staircase and more than one bathroom, but I don't need 14,000 square feet, a crystal chandelier in my closet, or pictures of my home in Architectural Digest.  My favorite wine costs $10/bottle.  I mean, I'm sure there are better wines out there.  Otherwise, why would Sommelier be a job? But I just can't see myself suddenly finding a gaping hole in my life that only fine wine or expensive shoes or extra cars could fill.  You know where I do find myself lacking?  I'm lazy about housework.  I waste time on social media sites and on playing games I will never win (which you should totally start playing right now, by the by).  I certainly wouldn't become a better person by having the money to pay people to clean and organize my house(s).  I don't need extra time until I learn to discipline myself to use the free time I do have in wise ways.  If I could buy a migraine cure or the ability to never procrastinate, show up late, or snap at my kids, I might spend more millions.

The bottom line is that I really, truly can't see how anyone with gobs of money can possibly justify spending it on themselves.  Now, I do realize that my buying a couple million dollars worth of houses and spending so much on travel and poker qualifies as spending gobs on myself.  However, I feel I'm being realistic.  It would be thrilling to not ever have to worry about having enough money, to live comfortably, and to not worry about a job schedule, retirement, or my family's well-being.  I would love to be able to go with Charming and the kids to see different places and experience different cultures all around the world.

"Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow mindedness,

and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts..."

                                                    -Mark Twain

I also feel I'm being realistic about how much money I would share.  Enough to make a difference, that's for sure.  I'm not the smartest brick in the tower (or however the saying goes) but I can give money away to worthy causes like nobody's biz.  I have no desire to go to fancy parties with other rich people, I have fun friends already.  I couldn't care less about fashion designers or expensive clothing/shoes/accessories.  It's the poor people, the sick people, and the parents from my son's school who are unable to afford $50/year for their kids to join a running group that make my heart hurt.  Come to think of it, I got the same sick feeling from looking at all those scholarship applications as I did when I looked at the pictures of Gisele's closet.

For once, I'll let you solicit advice.  I shouldn't tell others what to do with their money...unless they ask.  Just remember this: "rich" is totally subjective.