Breakfast in a Hotel

Standard

Yesterday I told you all about my glam life living in a hotel (room). Well, one of those posh perks is getting complimentary breakfast. This comes in super handy since my kids have started school, while living in a hotel (room), and the already mentioned tiny fridge we have doesn’t allow for extras like milk/juice/real food.

TGILW has been a real gem this week, and has gone down to the lobby for bagel toasting duty. But today, I went.
The loung-ey area was full of business types/ morning people all did up and ready to meet the day head on after a hearty processed breakfast!

And then there was me.

DSC_0461

DSC_0461

Messy hair- don’t care. Yesterday’s mascara caked into the bags under my eyes. My pajama yogas that have lived a thousand lives (and weight changes) complete with who-knows-what-stains all over them, my Target “sports bra” that gives the false impression I’m braless with 30 year old (saggy) boobs as opposed to 41 year old (saggier) boobs, a tank top that is at least 3 duty stations ago old. Oh, and a little drool dried into the chin, for good measure.
I don’t know these people, and my kids need some breakfast, so I’m going about my mom bizness, homeless look be damned.

 

 

Then some ladies walk in. Ladies of employment. No, not that  kind of employment.

Suits. And slick and professional hair do’s. And heels. And nary a drool patch. WTF? It’s like 7 am – in the MORNING. What time did they get up?? Their skirts are wrinkle free – to match their youthful faces, their crisp white blouses were all stain free (what sorcery is this?), they didn’t walk like Frankenstein in their classy pumps, the arms of their  fitted blazer  didn’t bunch around mid-hand like normal. These ladies were straight up adulting.

 

suit

And I stood there with my plate piled with carbs (for the kids!!) and my sad yoga pants and my bra not really helping and my scrunchy morning face and my squinty why-don’t-I-wear-my-glasses-more face and my Gary Busey hair.

And this is my life. 

My Christmas Vacation, by TMMW

Standard

I’ve been working on writing about Christmas this year. It’s a  slightly  passive aggressive feel good piece , but the more I read it, the more bored I get. I think that’s why I haven’t written much lately. I’m boring. I have forgotten how to tell a story. I have forgotten how to be funny. Or  REAL. Writer’s block? A case of the Fuck-it’s? A preoccupation with who I am supposed to be vs. Who I am? I don’t want to write a this-was-what-I-did-today blog. I need to get back to being me. A little snarky. A little irreverent. A lot more honest.

xmas2015tree

 

My Christmas Vacation

My kids have had a 3 week Christmas break. Three.Weeks. Happy Birthday Jesus.

I don’t ever claim to be The World’s Best Mom. I don’t even strive for it. I have had some pretty great mom moments; little, perfect slices of time where I think to myself  “yep, I did this”. “I am doing this right”. “I deserve a medal”. Those  mom wins are fleeting, but they are mine. The balance is I have plenty – PLENTY- of mom fails. The universe keeps me humble.

My babies aren’t babies anymore, and they don’t need my constant supervision. so they don’t get it. And with that comes less attention, I suppose. This three weeks has been a ton of being plugged in. One kid is attached to her tablet at all times. All of the times. Making breakfast, plugged in. Making poop, plugged in. She just noticed a large lantern sitting in the living room. It’s been here a week. She walks past it 7148961564 times a day. The other kid is constantly in her room. You know, teenagers. She is also always plugged in, preferring to watch her own stuff and forgoing family movies. I am well aware that I can tell them to not be plugged in – and I should- but this school break I didn’t. For one reason or another, i just didn’t. And getting them to do  other stuff was a pain in the ass, because of it.

They have whozits and whatsits galore. So come Christmas time, do they really need more? Some years I look at my overloaded tree skirt and wonder if we’re all overcompensating a little bit. And if anyone would notice if I returned a few of those gifts and treated myself to a Starbucks and a massage.

It’s not just the gifts. The last few years have been a whirlwind of accommodating others; constant cooking and cleaning and cramming too many people into my house, my car,my schedule. I love having family around. I don’t love the expectation to be a tour guide and a chef and a referee. Yes, it comes with the territory of blended extended families, and for nearly 20 years we have all been accommodating. But it seems the last few years TGILW and I have found ourselves more overwhelmed, more exhausted and more just plain…I can’t even. We both have parents who have liberated themselves from the shackles of marriage, or re-shackled. That’s quite a bit of holiday obligation.  To keep things fair, and less whiney, we decided years ago that we wouldn’t travel on the holidays; our parents can come to us, and sometimes they have to share. And for years it has worked, more or less. But it has definitely gotten more difficult to arrange. I have been trying, and failing, to celebrate Christmas differently. I do love the whole Christmas season, but it has taken it’s toll. I have found myself  ready to do away with the shenanigans and festivities, but somehow I just keep getting sucked back in. Because, you know, Christmas.

So this year, the perfect storm formed to un-do our Christmas anxiety: We moved to a dangerous third world country and no one wanted to visit us. Bam. Check that off the list. In all fairness, we didn’t want to travel back to the states, either. The expense was nuts and remember the above family tree description. Yikes. Then, or oldest, out-on-her-own kid decided to do some traveling of her own this year, and it wasn’t to come see us. Fine, you ungrateful little shit, be that way. Just kidding. While we are all super sad, she had an amazing opportunity and she needed to take it. Even it if broke her mother’s heart. Kidding again, mostly.

Have I mentioned we live in Central America? I think I’ve brought it up once or twice… anyways, winter here means hot, dry and sunny. There is no brisk fall weather to usher in the season, there is no chill in the air, no jack frost nipping anywhere. Not a pine tree to be found. I actually sweat while I drink my Starbucks to go while holiday shopping. Hot coffee when it’s 92 degrees out? Mmmmm… sounds good, I’ll have that. It’s makes it difficult to get festive.

So, no visitors, no “holiday weather” and no gumption to engage in the shenanigans of the season brought us to abandon our seasonal responsibilities and head to the beach for a week. Yes, on Christmas. Yes, I mean  we were there on Christmas Day. A few people couldn’t wrap their heads around that. As Dr. Seuss taught us, you can’t stop Christmas from coming.

We did have  Christmas; a primitive, yet perfect beach house rental. Sure, there was no toilet paper or hot water and the “full kitchen” consisted of  mismatched thrift dishes from the 1980’s, a stove/oven the size of a mini fridge and silverware that made me appreciate that painful tetanus shot I got before the big move. BUT WE WERE AT THE BEACH. We had a private pool, and an entire resort with beachfront practically to ourselves, perfect weather. It was amazing for a million reasons, but mainly because we had zero stress, no wifi, and took the time to enjoy the moments.

I was a bit of a Grinch… no Christmas baking, sparse decorating, no Christmas day feast.  We didn’t even get through all of our Christmas movies. It’s Jan 12th and I still haven’t watched Love Actually. Hmmmm… note to self: watch Love Actually today. BUT we had fun. REAL family fun. No wifi meant, very few times our faces were in phones or tablets. We played board games, we talked, we listened to music by the pool. We swam in the ocean, we sort of read books. We showered outside because the water was warmer. We shopped at the local storefronts for necessities (toilet paper!!) We even watched a few non traditional movies on the computer. We hula-hooped and juggled. We drank fancy “frozens” and pina coladas and coconut water out of an actual coconut. We had a holiday feast of dry lasagna rolls. We swam into the evening. We saw the full moon. We slept in the same bed (oye, my back!). We played in the waves of the warmest ocean water I’ve ever been in. We watched little sea snails make tracks in the sand. We layed in the sun. And the sand. We ate mountains of french fries. I wore a bikini. We got sunburned and tired. We had everything we needed, and didn’t want for anything. We did miss our families, but we didn’t miss the hustle and bustle of getting shit done.

Santa even filled our stockings.

And everything was appreciated. The kids didn’t complain about what they didn’t get. As a matter of fact, there was more happiness – genuine laughter and smiles and happiness – then we have had in quite some time.  Both kids agreed that we should do this every year. And I agree! We left that beach house with our souls recharged.

Of course, next year we won’t be in a financially inferior country to afford this type of vacation. Maybe next year we’ll bake cookies again. Maybe I’ll decorate to the nines, as usual. Maybe we’ll even have snow. I do know for sure though, that next year we’ll have this same family time, the laughter and fun and togetherness.

I can only hope it’ll come with some tan lines, but it will most definitely be soul recharging.

xmas2015beach xmas2015gifts

 

 

Thanksgiving 2015

Standard

Day 57. That’s today. I’m skipping ahead to real time. Why? Because that’s what I’m living in right now. I’ll fill in the blanks as the weeks go by.

It’s no big news that I have been Debbie Downer lately. I’ve totally been a miserable cow, stuck in the downward spiral of my own shit attitude. It’s surprisingly easy to feel sorry for yourself. And I’ve been surprisingly good at it. I have surrounded myself with negativity. From Facebook to CNN to San Salvador traffic jams, everywhere I look I see a bummer time. I don’t like bummer times. Sure, we all have them. Life is full of bummers. But it’s becoming the status quo, these bummers. Bummers are supposed to be temporary. You don’t unpack during a bummer time.You don’t stay there.

I realize I only have myself to blame. Sure, I’d like to blame a lot of other things, but I’m going to take some responsibility for my shit attitude. I don’t want to be Debbie Downer. I don’t want to get comfy when the world  throws me a bummer. I have so much to be happy about. To be proud of. I have a good life.  A privileged life, some might say. And even if it’s 82 degrees and tropical here without a fallen leaf of seasonal color in sight,  it’s still Thanksgiving.

Here is what I’m thankful for:

bath

My Bathtub. Ain’t it sweet? Look, if you follow this blog you know I love a good bath. The vessel isn’t as important as the act, as I have taken a bath in a few places that should have required a hazmat decon shower afterwards, but a nice tub makes it just a little better. If this tub could talk it might say I’ve cried more than normal, I shed like a snow dog in the summer and I might have spent an hour in here today watching Netflix.

 

 

The Rental Car. I have a post coming about this rental car, but I thought it deserved a mention here. This car, while pricey and a bit of a POS, has allowed me sweet freedom. I can go where I want when I want. I have survived the nightmare that is city driving and traffic circles and the lawlessness of it all.

car

 

 

20151124_152121 20151124_152232

 

 

 

 

Family Pictures. We didn’t bring all of our belongings with us to El Salvador. I think we had about 100 boxes total. Mostly clothes, some knick knacks, the whole kitchen, bedding and toiletries. A few decor items for the bedrooms. Just a little bit to make it feel like home. I didn’t pack these pictures, TGILW did. Man, what a great idea. Our walls are huge and white and barren. And sad. When I unpacked these in a box with our household goods, it made me smile. When the maintenance guy hung them up for me, it changed the whole look of the house.  We actually both stood and admired them. The house seemed a little brighter. A little more ours.

 

 

20151124_153537Collection of Recipes- This ugly,soiled binder carries in it some of my favorite recipes. Some from the internet, some given to me from friends. It has torn out articles from magazines, a few recipe cards, and several pages from my original recipe book (a gift when TGILW and I married) that finally bit the dust a few years ago. Sure, I have other cookbooks, but none are as special as these. This carries  holiday traditions. Those little  handwritten notes on the sides of original recipes that tweaked the meal, making it just right for us. It even has a couple of disasters in it, for posterity. Let’s face it, my memory isn’t what it once was, and having this with me helps make my kitchen more MINE.

 

 

20151124_152323Talavera – This may seem like a silly thing to be thankful for. It’s a bit overindulgent for a list of gratitude. But that’s why I’m thankful for it. Talavera pottery is so beautiful, and I have the ability to buy it here cheaper than in the states. I have four pieces now.  Sure, I’m an elitist. I live in a huge house, with  super nice furniture. I have 5 bathrooms. But none of it is mine. The talavera brightens up my life. It makes my white walls look brighter, less institutional. It turns my boring and mundane into a little more fun. It just makes me happy. I am thankful for happy.

 

20151124_153658Skype – When you are far away (or even down the street) from the people you miss, Skype fixes that. Sure, sometimes it’s grainy and pixilated. Calls get dropped, conversations get choppy. But there just isn’t much better in life than seeing someone you miss. A few weeks ago my dad added Skype to the list of things he barely knows about technology. Seeing his face while he was telling a story was the highlight of my week! Chatting with friends and family helps keep the homesick away.  And I love that I can  still see my kid who lives out of the house when she decides not to come home for Christmas, like a jerk.

 

The Girls – I was blessed with three girls. Yes, it’s a nightmare sometimes. Life is rarely boring. But these ladies are my life. They are so strong; stronger than I ever was at any of their ages.They are so smart. They are so funny. They have endured a lifetime of change in their young lives. They have had to suck it up and make adult choices. They have left behind friends and family and started over more than most. Sure, they complain about it, who wouldn’t? But they take on our life adventures with hope and spirit. They are the best of me and TGILW. They are the best thing I have ever done.

color run

 

TGILW- Derek, who rarely get’s a first name shout out in this blog, is my better half. People always say that jokingly upon introductions, but I mean it. We have been together 19 years, and Lord knows they haven’t been easy. I’m a mess.  Not even a hot mess, just a regular mess. I have a tendency to be emotional. I can be mean. I have a temper. I shout. I get frustrated too easily. I haven’t aged well. He loves me in spite of these things. He is the constant in a world of  inconsistency. He is the smartest person I know. He is funny and charming and ridiculously good looking. He gets my nerdiness and encourages my goofiness. Even when I’m furious with him, he’s still the person I want to grow old with. We have an amazing life. Hard at times, absolutely, but so incredible.  He has never quit on me. He has never quit on this family. He will run out in a rainstorm to buy tampons and chocolate. He will stay up late to help solve for X after a 16 hour day. He has missed some of the best moments of his kids lives to help make the world a better place. I don’t deserve him. But I am thankful (almost) everyday that he’s stuck with me. 12187776_10208002425155795_5699665897472873595_n

For all of these ,I am Thankful.

Escuela and the Very Bad Morning.

Standard

Day 12 was the first day of school. Not for me, of course, but for my growing-up-too-fast kids. I knew this day was going to be tough on several levels, but the most important was getting my kid with social anxiety through it. Oy Vey. It wasn’t pretty, that first morning. Awake by 5:30, bus pick up before 7, a school where the social language isn’t a language they’re fluent in, along with the transition to “traditional school” and all that that comes with. Transition Is Hard. It’s been our motto for years, but this year we’re really wearing that motto out. I’m thinking of changing it to Eff This Ish, I don’t even care that it’s not kid friendly.

To dumb down our first day of school morning: R didn’t make the bus. And G had to ride the bus alone, on her first day. And I had to watch a kid suffer through a panic attack. And TGILW had to deal with all of us AND the traffic to drive R to school.

I learned that 2 minutes is the amount of hang time the bus gives us to get onto the bus. I also learned 2 minutes is not enough hang time to talk someone through anxiety. Nor is it enough time to properly deal with a situation. Transition is hard. Anxiety is hard. Change is hard. Life is hard.

I’m not going to delve into the goings on with R and her anxiety, it’s not my story to tell and also it’s not the end of the world. She’s acclimating, albeit a bit slower; but life isn’t going to stop because of it. She’s a trooper, and she has come so far already.I am incredibly proud of her.

But I will let this lead me into why I homeschooled for two years. And yes, anxiety was one of the major reasons.

Funny sidenote: I was hosting a meet up for our region. A woman I didn’t know struck up a conversation about some issues her kids were having and how hard it was for her to find a local therapist (psychologist). I chimed in that I had the number of a therapist that we loved, and I guess that opened up the invitation for a barrage of questions. Did I mention I didn’t know this lady? People, don’t talk about your kids/husbands/dogs/gardners “issues” as if that person isn’t a person; As If that person doesn’t have a right to their own stories or issues, there own success and failure. It drives me bonkers when (especially) parents don’t treat their kids as human people. But, I digress… when the woman pressed the issue of what kind of therapy I needed, I finally caved and told her that I had a child with anxiety. Her immediate response to me was -and I shit you not: “She just needs a good Christian role model to spend some one on one time with her, maybe invite her to play volleyball with a church group, or to teach her a skill”.

O-Kay…

Anxiety – one of the reasons we homeschooled. I have heard the comment from so many people that homeschooled kids are “awkward”, or “socially immature” or “weird”. I find that not be be the case 98% of the time. I think that 2% has more to do with how a child is raised than it does with homeschooling in general. And sometimes, kids are homeschooled BECAUSE they are awkward, socially immature, weird.  Or because they have anxiety.

Educational Gaps- We move around a bit. State requirements are different. Many public school systems teach a test. If you spent most of your school years in Washington State, and take a state test in Virginia, you might fail the history portion of your test, which occurred 3 months into the school year. If your state has to pass the English portion of a state test, you might not learn your multiplication facts in third grade, but be expected to have mastered those facts and to be moving on to division and fractions in 4th grade.

Teaching:Overworked/Overcrowded and Underpaid , and some real stinkers. – Look, I am no teacher. I have immense respect for what those who chose teaching as a profession do. I think teachers should be paid like athletes and athletes as teachers. 32 kids in a classroom?? I do not think I can do a better job. Teacher friends – you mean the world to the children to help. You will leave a lasting impression on so many, and they will take that knowledge and experience into their future. It’s amazing, YOU are amazing. What you do for so many, with so little. But sometimes, there is that one. You all know exactly who I mean. We had a really bad ONE, and it changed my perspective on things. If you no longer LOVE what you do, don’t do it anymore.

The integration of Special Needs children – Now hear me out. I know I will catch shit for this. but I have a story here. This isn’t a one-size-fits-all issue. When I was a PTA vice, I spent quite a bit of time at the school and days that I found myself without fires to put out, I volunteered in a classroom. Sometimes I made copies, or organized folders. Sometimes I helped the teacher with an unruly kid. One of these times, I was able to encourage a kid who refused to read or participate positively in a book assignment to read the whole book (to include catching up) all within a few weeks. The first few days were tough, but I kept coming back and sitting with him twice  a week.On the days I wasn’t in class, but in school, I would ask him about the book if I saw him in the hall or cafeteria. He read the book, participated in discussion and got a good grade on the testing. He was so proud. And I’m not going to lie, I was proud too! And then I met his mother. She came up to me one day in the hall. I thought she was going to introduce herself and tell me how pleased she was with her kids small improvement. Nope. She tore me a new one. Why was I sitting with her kid during class!?( ummm, because he was super disruptive and a little violent; throwing your book isn’t OK). I was NOT qualified to teach her kid (he knew how to read, I wasn’t teaching him anything. I was basically babysitting a kid who needed more attention than the teacher could provide). I had zero special needs training (true, but I wasn’t 100% positive that all the “special”on this kids IEP was a true representation of what he wasn’t capable of AND he had zero violent outburst the weeks I was helping, even when I wasn’t in the classroom ). Because of my lack of certifications, etc, she refused to have him do the at home project. OK, what? This kid might have needed meds and to see a specialist, but what he also needed was a parent who encouraged him, spent time with him, made HIM  (not his issues) a priority. She requested that I no longer have contact with him. This meant that I could only volunteer in the classroom when he wasn’t there (like when we went to see his specialists). This also meant that I couldn’t spend the whole day with MY kid anymore. For three more years, this kid waved at me in the halls, and chatted me up when he got popcorn, He even asked once why I didn’t help out in the classroom anymore. When my husband would ask me why i spend so much time (and money) in a super stressful volunteer position (THE PTA!!!), I would say ” I do it for the kids that don’t get a hug. The kids that don’t have a parent that shows up”.

What does this have to do with integration of Special Needs kids?  Not all scenarios will make for successful integration. I think that so many children do very well in most cases. Both the child with and the children without gain so much.  But, sometimes the child needs more than what the school can give, and sometimes those situation can be dangerous for the child and those around him. Sometimes the child doesn’t need more from the school and a parent who doesn’t want to deal with it makes it an impossible situation for everyone. Like the kid who bullied my child, but was allowed to do it because of her special needs. When a child is acting out in  a manner that is violent (hitting, yanking hair,) that child is not thriving. We ALL want what is best for our children. Hopefully, we all want what is best for everyone’s children.

School Shootings – I don’t even have to explain myself.

The Chance To Reconnect – it’s true. Our lives were so busy. Either we were getting through life while TGILW was deployed or we were moving or we were gearing up for either. I was feeling disconnected from my kids. I wanted to slow time, get to know them better. I was noticing these real life teachable moments that we didn’t have time for because of homework/catching up/etc. I was noticing the self esteem changes. The stress. Life was becoming really complicated. We needed a timeout.

The two years I spent with my kids at home was HARD. But it was good for all of us.

And on day 14 when everyone got on the bus, and I was closing the front door, I absolutely threw my fist in the air and said “freedom!!” to no one in particular. On day 15, I missed them both.

 

 

 

Parenting ; Fuck This Shit.

Standard

I need a friend and a bottle of wine. But, I’m going to settle for a blog post and coffee… nope, it’s 5 o’clock and that wine isn’t gonna drink itself.
I am in mom meltdown. Parenting purgatory. The depths of raising kids despair. Full on failure mode. Being a parent is bullshit.

In health class, they teach you to abstain. Maybe they tell you to use some sort of prophylactic to prevent diseases, such as pregnancy.  They teach you that having a baby is hard work. Maybe you carry around an egg-baby, or flour-baby or some other completely idiotic fake- baby to teach you about responsibility. That isn’t even close to real life. Because a baby is just the first stage of parenting. And it lasts about 12 seconds in real-world time. Which is sad, really. Not that I miss having babies, because I assure you I don’t. But my kids’ baby stages were pretty awesome.

What they fail to explain in health class or sex education or abstinence science or whatever it’s called these days is that babies grow into toddlers into children into tweens into teens into young adults into adults. And you NEVER stop being a parent. Ever. And it’s tough almost every step of the way. You are responsible for another human being . You aren’t just responsible for feeding them and clothing them and keeping gum out of their hair. You’re responsible for them. You are responsible for how they see the world, how they participate in the world. You aren’t raising a child, you are raising a person to be a decent human being.  Their actions are your actions and their actions.

I am in it today. In the tough. In the heartbreaking. In the frustrated-out-of-my-gourd. I’ve got a serious case of “I-have-failed-them”. I’m grumpy and sad and anxious and irritated and not drunk enough.

Let me tell you something ,people without kids: Nothing will make you more aware of your failures and faults like being a parent. NOTHING. And nothing will humble you as much. There isn’t a job out there that will teach you more. Especially about yourself. This parenting thing may seem fun, but  that’s the trap. Kinda like tequila shooters, there is always a hangover. But the hangover is real life. The hangover pops up midday, sometimes, just to mess with you. The hangover continues for life.

And I’m not even talking the super maddening stuff like spilled milk and crushed goldfish crackers in the minivan. I’m not talking about constant toddler “why’s” or preschool tantrums. This isn’t about arguing over clothes or brushing teeth or keeping rooms tidy.

See, eventually our little kiddos turn into free thinkers. They come into emotions and issues that can’t be cured with a Sponge-Bob band-aid and a popsicle. Real shit is going to happen to your kids. They are going to feel inadequate just like YOU felt inadequate when you were starting to navigate the world. They are going to fall off the path, just like you did. Remember when you thought you were weird or different or inferior or stupid? Those little babies that once came running to you with open arms when you walked in the door will grow to have those same emotions; those same fears and troubles. And they will most likely suffer in silence like you did, too.

Your free thinkers will navigate the waters of too old but still too young. They will judge and be judged. They will try to find themselves in a world where everyone is finding themselves… on Instagram. Or Tinder. Fucking social media is ruining the old fashioned awkward years by making everybody a celebrity of nothing.

And sometimes they will be different. The will be not normal, whatever normal is disguising itself as these days. They will need help. They will need guidance. They will need things that you won’t even have the ability to give them. They will feel like they need to be fixed, and there will absolutely come a time when you won’t be able to fix it for them. And it isn’t even about you. It’s about how this thing, this little yet-so-big-already thing… person… can break you in two with just a question. With just a desire to be. With the realization that they aren’t a baby anymore.

Parenting isn’t just making a baby and first days of school and soccer practice and  driving lessons and leaving the nest. Parenting isn’t just 18 years. It’s 100 years in each year. It’s 101 moments in each minute. It’s 1001 ways you can fuck up the thing you love the most, you hold the dearest. That one thing you would fight to the death for.  And if you aren’t really truly ready to glove up and get elbows deep into that shit, then do your (or her)  eggs a favor and just don’t.

THAT’S what they should teach in health class.

 

 

 

Things You Find in a House Full of Girls

Standard

 

20141113_163858

Hair ties, rubber bands, bobby pins. EVERYWHERE.

Random socks, never matching.

Bras galore- sports bras, training bras, huge bras, black bras, beige bras, clear strap bras, padded bras.

4 different deodorants. 4 different hair brushes. 4 different lotions.

Empty conditioner bottles.

Pads and tampons and pantyliners in every bathroom.

Chocolate all the time.

Door slamming.

Towels, always on the floor.

Dolls and Polly Pockets and pastel legos. But also soccer balls and gymnastic grips and hand chalk.

Screaming as a language.

Overflowing laundry baskets… filled with yoga pants and athletic shorts.

Flip Flops.

A filthy bathroom.

Chuck Taylors.

Less pink than you would think.

A lot of bitchiness. But a lot of laughter, too.

Farts.

Nail polish.

Smoothies.

Ace bandages.

Stacks of American Girl Doll Magazines.

Slugs of all sizes.

More hair doobobs.

Crafts. Looms and Easy Bakes and washi and sparkly markers and rainbow colors and seam rippers and DIY for days.

Giggles.

A constantly full lint trap.

A constantly empty ice cream container, still in the freezer.

Goodnight kisses.

The word “turd”.

Tiny bottles of hairspray.

Overly fragrant hand sanitizer. In sparkly/loud/silly hand sanitizer holders.

Tons of space taken up in my dayplanner.

BandAids. But rarely ever ON  them.

So much yelling.

And love. Ohhhh – SO.MUCH.LOVE.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hallo-whatthehell Costumes

Standard

The weather is getting cooler (or so I hear), the days are getting a little shorter and all things pumpkin are popping up all over the place. Yep, it’s that time of year again… time to think about what hoochie mama costume you’re going to pay big bucks for, amIright!?!?

I know it’s no secret that Halloween is my FAVORITE holiday. We love it around casa de Manic. So this year, I wasn’t going to defile the season with the shenanigans of skanksville costumes. I was going to post about cool crafts and projects and how we started decorating in SEPTEMBER and how I could easily max out a credit card with all my Halloween wants. That’s what I was gunna…. but then an ad popped up and invaded my space while I was checking out some “news” on Yahhhwhooooo, and I decided, after letting it bother me more than it should, to share it with ya’ll, ya’ll.

One thing I can’t stand is when people say things like ” this shit is disgusting”… and then post or forward or email or in any other way give out the information that they think is sooooo “disgusting”. Why give the thing that you think is wrong any more attention?!?!? But that is precisely what I am about to do here. Why am I such a hypocrite? Because it’s my blog.  Are you ready?

Sexy Frozen Costumes…

I’m going to let that hang there for a minute.

Just typing this out irks me. And grosses me out. Come on Disney. Like making a bazillion bucks off of this movie wasn’t enough? And then there was THE SONG. And then there was THE SONG covered a million different ways. Dub Step? Yep. Country? Hells yeah. Metal. Acapella. Reggae. Screeching 3 year old.  I’ve honestly walked out of stores if I heard it playing.

But this, this is a low that is too low.

 

As you can see we have SEXY ANNA, SEXY OLAF and not one but two SEXY ELSA’s.

 

What.The.Eff.

WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY would we need to sexy up characters from a childrens movie about EMBRACING WHO YOU ARE?!?!?  Damnit this pisses me off. It pisses me off more than using Halloween as a way to over-sexualize ourselves. It pisses me off more than the obvious flagrant objectification of women.

Fine, women are flagrantly objectified every day and tons of women buy slutty costumes on purpose.  Who am I to squash their fun? Be a Playboy Bunny, a Pirate… I don’t even have an issue with the “sexy nun” costumes (tacky? Yes.) But  a sexy Olaf?!?!? Ohmygawwwd if eye rolling could kill me I’d be on the floor with x’s over my eyes.  Sweet baby Jesus, who OK’d this nonsense? Come on. How did this pitch go?

What makes a college co-ed feel sexy as fuck?!? #snowman #sexy #carrotnose #itsaleotardandthighhighs. That’s right ladies … This Halloween be SEXY OLAF and turn heads at the frat kegger, Wear your SEXY OLAF costume to the holiday office party and see if your boss likes warm hugs, Or make it a family affair and be Sexy Olaf while taking the kids door to door… you may just get a few tricks of your own.

Now, this movie had it’s fair share of iffy subject matter… but Olaf was an innocent breathe of hilarious and naive air. He was kind of like a frosty Jiminy Cricket.  It breaks my heart to think that some asshole thought this sentiment would be perfect to sell sex. And why not Sven?! If you can have a sexy snowman at Halloween, why not a reindeer? Come one, the “nice rack” comments just sell themselves, right?

Why would grown ass women want to dress up as sexy versions of childrens characters? Why as a society, do we find this acceptable? And I’m not saying this from the frumpy housewife point of view. This is just a little too close to a Dateline sting. Let’s be responsible with how we subjugate women. And I seriously HOPE that you have to be 18+ to buy this costume.

If this is how we build snowmen, I’m out thankyouverymuch.  I hope this one melts.