She Was Not Comfortable

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Am I the only one who thinks Reese Witherspoon’s recent arrest is completely adorable? I know, I know, DUIs are awful and there’s no excuse for getting arrested and being a dangerous idiot. But the way she apparently just jumped out of her car Elle Woods-style and all drunkenly defended her hubby? And even dropped the “Do you know who I am?” line? I kind of love it. I always admire a woman who can make a little bit of a scene. For example:
AllergyAppt

That’s my girl.

Don’t let the medical equipment and hospital bracelet worry you – she just had to have some follow-up allergy testing and is totally fine. But you wouldn’t know it by the way she was acting. By the time I took this picture, she had endured innumerable horrifying indignities, including: watching cartoons in the waiting room for 20 minutes; eating her favorite lollipops by the pound for most of the morning; and having a sweet, bubbly nurse draw three small purple marks on her forearm. OH THE HUMANITY.

After the nurse left us alone in the room for a few minutes, I asked my daughter how she was doing and, no hesitation, she yelled: “I am VERY UNCOMFORTABLE!” I asked her if something hurt, and she said no, she was just VERY UNCOMFORTABLE. And that became her mantra for the rest of the appointment. She told everyone she saw – the nurses, the receptionist, other little preschool patients who looked completely freaked out by her antics – that she was VERY UNCOMFORTABLE. And if she had known the words, I think she might have have followed up with “…and I’m PISSED that I’m here, and all y’all are lucky I’m only 3 feet tall because otherwise my sparkly little shoe would be up your fat ass.”

I was genuinely concerned that she wasn’t feeling great. But mostly I could not take her seriously at all because (a) her t-shirt has a picture of a dog wearing a tiara on it, and (b) …well, that’s pretty much it. I know I certainly never expected clients to take me seriously when I walked into a conference room sporting my “cat wearing stripper shoes” t-shirt.

Since my daughter was little, people have regularly commented on how “expressive” she is. When she was an infant that was clearly a euphemism for, “Holy shit, she has a lot of lungs.” But now that she’s older, I think it just means that, if you are within earshot, you will know exactly how she feels. At all times. Whether you want to or not.

I hope she is always this expressive, and that she always has a little scene-making potential in her. Probably because the only times in my life that I have made a scene were completely unintentional. For example, the first time I rode the metro in DC, I actually got on a crowded car at rush hour, made eye contact with the people standing around me, and SAID HELLO. I wish I was kidding. Coming from the Midwest, the idea of not saying hello to your fellow commuters was akin to punching them in the privates. And from my fellow commuters’ reactions that morning, I might as well have drop kicked some ball sacks. People glared at me and scooted as far away as possible, like I smelled really bad. I did not smell bad, and I was devastated. It took a solid week of commuting on the metro to scare that Midwestern politeness right out of me. Also, fuck you.

So I guess I’m saying: my wish for my daughter is may she always express herself loudly and be comfortable making a little bit of a fool of herself without worrying too much about the consequences. That is like a beautiful Hallmark card, isn’t it. And the footnote on that Hallmark card will say, “And may you also have your Hollywood A-list status and Oscar to fall back on.” Next to this cute little picture:
Reese

He Sings in Those Truck Commercials

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This is my favorite news story of the day. I have many questions:

1. What the hell did this woman’s friends and family – who I assume had been waiting patiently for her to wake up – think when her first words were, “I want to go to a Bob Seger concert.” Maybe they are all better people than me (I mean, odds are good), but I would be PISSED. “Hey, grandma, you know who came to check on you and worried about you constantly during your half-decade long coma? Let me give you a hint: it was NOT BOB SEGER. So how about a little shout out when you wake up.”

2. What the hell did Bob Seger think when a nursing home called him and said, “Bob, you’ll never believe this, a 69-year-old woman who was in a coma for five years has one request: to see you in concert.” I could see him thinking (a) “Oh my god, the only people who want to see my shows are in comas.” OR (b) “That is one bad ass grandma and I want her to be my oldest groupie.” Because all musicians think about groupies constantly, right? I would. Anyways, the correct answer: (c) “If only I still had my long, flowing hair and blunt bangs from my youth, I bet I’d be getting phone calls from ladies who are not in nursing homes and/or comas right about now.”

BobSegerAlbum

3. Who the hell is Bob Seger. I am sorry, but white male musicians from the 70s and 80s kind of blur together for me. For example, when I found some pictures of Bob Seger, I thought he could be Kenny Rogers, Jerry Garcia, that Metallica dude, any of the Allman Brothers, or the Unabomber. (I know the Unabomber was probably not a musician but one of the pictures of Bob Seger looked a little angry and militant.) Because I am not exactly sure who Bob Seger is, when I first read the headline for this story I thought the woman had requested to see Bob SAGET, which I would totally get, because I was obsessed with America’s Funniest Home Videos when I was younger. Here is a clip of Bob Saget with his flowing, feathered hair and elephant-sized shoulder pads doing his best prop jokes and hosting magic:

I am not sure, but I think he could kick Bob Seger’s ass, or at least run away from him. And if I was in a coma and could choose between seeing Bob Saget host America’s Funniest Home Videos from the early ‘90s or seeing Bob Seger do…whatever he does in concert, clearly, Saget wins.

4. Also, America’s Funniest Videos still makes me fall off the couch laughing, because look at this.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4lV5ApS4BXA
Something about that girl running mummy-style in her fancy little dress and screaming her curly-haired head off just kills me. Interesting sidenote: when I showed my kids this video, they did not think it was funny. Like, at all. My son said, “Why are you laughing at that girl crying? She wants her mom! Where is her mom?” I mean, I guess that’s another way to look at it.

Anyways, I hope that woman enjoyed her Bob Seger concert and that she got her family members some awesome souvenirs. Because if she wants anyone by her bedside the next time she (heaven forbid) slips into a coma, she better start buttering them up now.

I Wonder if Enrique Likes It?

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After a few blogs about women’s issues and controversial new sort-of manifestos, my brain was tired. So I headed south to Florida with the fam, where we hung on the beach with some great friends for a super fun, grown-up style spring break. That means instead of doing body shots with strangers and drinking tequila out of test tubes, we sat in the shade and compared body aches and pains. And played a lot of Bananagrams.

Here are some things that happened within the first few minutes of arriving in Florida:
1. I heard an Enrique Iglesias song. I have not heard an Enrique Iglesias song since, um, the last time I was in Florida.
2. All of my exposed pasty white skin immediately burned and is now flaking off in large sheets around the house.
3. My son looked at the stylish, scantily clad, model-types in the airport, and asked me if we were in a foreign country. I said, yes, basically.

Other than the sunburn part (although who doesn’t love a good molting), that is why we travel – to experience tired, terrible music and to feel physically inferior. I hope we can start to take even bigger trips now that we’re through with naps and diapers. Well, at least the kids are through with that phase, who knows with my husband.

Sadly, vacation is over now. And do you know how I am SURE that vacation is over? Well, one day, I was looking at this:
Beach

And 48 hours later, I was looking at this:
Costco2
There is nothing like 4 hours of pushing a flatbed cart around Costco to snap you back to reality. On the upside, I am now the proud owner of 178 reasonably-priced rolls of toilet paper.

While I was zoning out on the beach I started to think about ways to get more people to read my blog. Obviously, porn is always a solution but I think it could embarrass my mom. Except she did send me this article out of the blue the other day with the message: “Well THIS is an interesting concept.” So maybe she wouldn’t mind.

But what are my options BESIDES porn? Most big-time bloggers have something very compelling and dramatic going on in their lives, like divorce, or mental illness, or recovery, or addiction, or cats with eyebrows. Do you know what I have going on in my life? Fascinating things such as trying not to give my family e. coli when I cook chicken; laundry stain removal; and exercising without aggravating my sciatica. I nodded off while I was writing that.

Another option to get more readers: create fake controversy. Some big-time bloggers write things with shocking headlines to hook people, like, “Why My Son is an Asshole,” or “I Only Feed My Kids Dry Kool-Aid Mix,” or “I Just Punched My Husband in the Balls Because He Deserved It,” and then surprise! The article is actually about how perfect the author is and how much they love their family, and the headline was a mean, mean trick.

Well, I can promise you, readers, that I will not play mean, mean tricks with my headlines, unless it sounds funnier or gets me more readers, in which case, I will. That leaves me with one final option: start a ridiculous hobby or vice and write about every sordid detail. Which is why this afternoon, I am pulling my clogging shoes out of the back of my closet, dusting them off, and strapping them on again for an epic comeback performance. It has been years since I’ve clogged, but I know for sure now that the soulful combination of marching and tap dancing while leaving my upper body completely still was really always my calling in life. Please stay tuned for video.

Obvs, this will be the soundtrack to my performance.

Serenity Now

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Ay dios mio, can’t we just give each other a break? I stumbled across this article last week and vomited in my mouth a little as I read it. It’s one of those mom stories that reads like it makes a non-controversial point, but at its core, is so judgy and mean. In a nutshell (for those of you who don’t want to read, which amen, sistah), the writer is calling out a mom who is sitting on a park bench and looking at her iPhone while her children play nearby. Her poor, poor children, who are desperate for their mother’s attention while they twirl around like a “beauty queen” and coo and wither away from total lack of attention.

But you know what? There are plenty of totally reasonable things that mom could be doing on her phone while her children play. For example, she could be:
1. Researching some awful diagnosis a sick family member just received.
2. Checking work emails on her phone so her kids can play in the park in the middle of the day.
3. Planning an amazing party or trip for her family.
4. Looking at porn.
5. Taking a goddamn break so she doesn’t spontaneously combust from exhaustion and stress.
6. Totally faking interest in her phone so she doesn’t have to talk to you about how beautiful it is to raise children.

Whatever she is doing, here is what I think: who the f cares. Unless her kids are attacking your kids, or hurting themselves, or peeing on the slide, then just calm yourself.

It seems like the god-awful, media-perpetuated “mommy wars” have cooled off a bit but I still hear moms talk smack about each other almost as much as I hear them support each other. Let’s all just be honest: we really have no idea what we are doing at any given moment. Right? We’re all just making our best guesses throughout the day, and are totally unsure about so many of our decisions, and deep down know that there is a massive amount of luck in raising well-adjusted, good kids. Instead of saying that, though, we bash each other’s choices to try to make ourselves comfortable with our own.

I try to be conscious about not judging other moms, but I have been so harsh on myself about my own choices. I tortured myself when I was a working mom, feeling constantly guilty about not spending enough time with my kids and imagining all the beautiful, thoughtful things I would do with them if only I was home. So now that I’m on the other side and have been a SAHM for a few months, I want to assure my working mom friends who feel conflicted: the way you parent probably isn’t going to change just because you stop working. For example, I used to see projects and recipes on Pinterest and other similarly evil websites when I was working, and think that if only I were home more, I would do them all. With a huge smile on my face, while wearing a lovely apron. And also, my kids would listen to me and seek out my wisdom and guidance, and I would suddenly be good at math.

But really, what has changed is that I do more stuff around the house (and I’m talking about the stuff that needs to get done, not optional stuff like baking holiday-themed after school snacks or ironing). I do some fun projects with the kids, but probably not much more than I used to, and I get to pick them up a little earlier from school. Also, I add flax seed to meals because in my head that seems like something a thoughtful SAHM does.

I think my kids are mostly happy to have me around for a few more hours every day, but it really hasn’t been a monumental change for them. For example, my son asked me the other day how my work was going. I asked him what he was talking about, and he said, “You know, your work, at the office I went to that one time, where I played on your computer and wrote FART really big on the screen.” Um. My normally very aware son, who can tell you exactly how many Thin Mints I have stashed in the freezer right now, had forgotten that I haven’t been working for the past seven months.

So my point is: let’s all calm down and give each other a break. The kids are fine and we’re doing OK. Working, not working, leaning in, reclining back, falling over – we’re all just trying our best to do a really hard job that doesn’t have any guidelines or guarantees, and the least the adults can do is be cool to each other.

And if you’re reading this post on your iPhone while your kids are playing nearby, and some woman is giving you the evil eye, it is not me. And you have my permission to totally ignore her and go right back to looking at porn reading about current events.

Superstaaaaaar

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In honor of the last few days of winter and the Snowquester (are we really calling it that, guys? I heart you, DC, but oh lord we are geeky), I thought of this song by Wintersleep called Weighty Ghost.

Kind of like another song I posted, the lyrics are totally dark and sad but the song is upbeat and makes me want to jog. If I jogged. Also, because I have not been up to date on any cool things since I had kids, please note that this song came out in 2007.

In other news, something disturbing happened to me this week, and it was not finding out that Justin Bieber had a really bad birthday. I was driving to pick up the kids for the four thousandth time when I found myself alone in the car, and this song came on. It is one of my favorite ever sing-along songs.

I turned it up full blast, cleared my throat, and started singing along with all of my might. At intersections I held my phone up to my ear so the people in the cars next to me would think that I was talking on the phone. OMG, what is wrong with me. So I’m right in the middle of the “STAAAA-AAAAA-AAAAAARS!” part when Sirius goes out for a second. I am left alone in the silent car, just me and my voice, which only moments before I was convinced sounded way better than Grace Potter’s. In reality, though, it sounded like I was screaming for help and trying to yodel while someone was punching me in the throat.

Some secret part of me always thought that if all else fails, at least I have my singing voice. No one else in my life has ever thought that (particularly people who have heard me sing), but still. And just like that, in that moment of satellite interference with my car radio, the universe told me that I would never be a singer, and that if I had any hope of my kids not being tone deaf I should probably stop singing to them. Sigh.

But it’s probably for the best. Now I can really focus my energy on becoming a stage mom, I mean, helping my kids pursue their dreams. Which hopefully involve sold out stadiums, concert merch, and thousands of screaming fans.