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Lijit Search

Making a mountain out of a middle finger

If the girls had just met me in the cul-de-sac like we’d planned, this would have never happened.

But as it was, they loitered outside the school for several minutes before they started walking. And because I still had to pick up CJ and get her to soccer practice, and I had a howling baby in the back seat, my patience was running on empty.

So I swung out of the cul-de-sac and onto the parkway, where I saw the girls strolling along. I pulled over, rolled down the passenger window and barked, “Let’s go!”

Our neighbor girl hopped in the front seat, and Tacy climbed into the third row. I took off, making a three-point turn to head back in the right direction, when I noticed the other kids - now on the opposite side of the street - waving frantically: “Tacy’s backpack! TACY’S BACKPACK!”

If Tacy hadn’t left her backpack lying on the ground, this would never have happened either.

I pulled over again and glanced in my side mirror before opening my door to get out and retrieve Tacy’s backpack. There was a woman in an SUV behind me. She threw her hands in the air and shook her head at me. I waved her ahead.

She drove by slowly and looked out her passenger window at me. She made a terrible face, threw her hands in the air again, and shouted at me. I couldn’t read her lips, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t “Have a nice day!”

So when I got out of my car and headed across the street, I flipped her the bird.

Apparently she was watching me in her rear-view mirror, because she jerked to a stop. Then she put it in park, opened her door and got out.

“Was that necessary?” she demanded indignantly.

“Was it necessary for you to give me a dirty look and yell at me when all I’m doing is getting my daughter’s backpack?” I shot back.

She kept talking, but I ignored her. I picked up the backpack, got back in my car, and put it in drive.

She grabbed her cell phone and started madly punching numbers. She turned around and looked at me, and then my license plate, as she talked.

I shrugged at her and chuckled slightly. “Call whoever you want,” I told her, even though she obviously couldn’t hear me.

At the next cross street, she pulled over, still talking into her cell phone. I kept going. Would she follow me? It didn’t really matter whether she did or not; I had places to go and no time to lead her on a wild goose chase.

She didn’t follow me.

After I dropped off our neighbor girl, I called Kyle.

“Hi. Is there anything that anyone can LEGALLY do to me for giving them the finger?”

A long pause. “No.”

“Okay, good.”

After I hung up, I told Tacy, “What I did back there? NOT a good idea. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“What did you do?” she asked.

“I showed that woman my middle finger. She made me mad, so I made her mad back. I should have just ignored her.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, so I don’t want you to do that. If you do, I’ll have to punish you. Somebody should punish me.”

“Yeah, but nobody will because you’re the boss.”

I laughed. “True. But maybe I should punish myself.”

“Yourself?”

“Yeah. How about if I ground myself from my new Nintendo DS?” I suggested. “I haven’t even gotten to play with it yet, and I really want to. But since I was bad, I won’t let myself play with it all weekend. I’ll have to wait until Monday. Does that sound like a good punishment?”

She nodded, pleased by the idea that I was getting punished.

So I didn’t get to play with my DS all weekend. My six year old - and several of her friends - saw me make a spectacle of myself in the middle of the street outside their school. And I may very well run into that woman again after school today.

Perhaps this time I’ll just wave at her. While wearing a pair of mittens.

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And here’s a middle finger for script writers who mock babywearing: both Ollie and CJ being worn by both Kyle and me.

Note the (extremely masculine and rawther dashing) dad wearing the baby.
Does he look like an “official mom”?

Published by mothergoosemouse on November 17th, 2008 tagged Bwahahaha!, Home on the range, Who me? | 17 Comments »

Gifts to my PANK

A few months ago, Jory des Jardins wrote a piece at BlogHer.com that I really loved - all about the acronym PANK.

PANK stands for Professional Auntie, No Kids. I’ve had two PANKs myself; one is Herman Anne’s mother, my Aunt Linda (who is obviously no longer a PANK, according to the strict definition of the term, but remains one in spirit), and the other is my Aunt Carol.

Aunt Carol has no children, and she married for the first time almost ten years ago. Yesterday was her twenty-ninth thirty-ninth forty-ninth never-mind-how-old-she-is birthday.

I always loved going to Aunt Carol’s apartment because she would make taco salad with Doritos for dinner and feed us Yoplait yogurt for breakfast.  I have Yoplait in my refrigerator now, and I hope they never change the design of the package - that slightly tapered cylinder with the foil top always reminds me of Aunt Carol.  I’d draw pictures with Mr. Sketch scented markers, and we’d watch Sha Na Na on a tiny color TV mounted on a rolling pedestal.

Aunt Carol saves everything.  She’s not one of those crazy ladies with a houseful of cats (she’s not fond of animals, for one), nor is her house at risk of being condemned.  But it is what Herman Anne termed “fancy” when she was around eight years old - “fancy” meaning full of interesting stuff all over the place, so watch where you step, okay?

And it’s not just stacks of catalogs and piles of photo albums that Aunt Carol saves; she still has - and displays! - two of the gifts I made for her when I was a kid.

One is an ornament - a cross-stitched sleeping mouse (ostensibly the one from The Night Before Christmas) - and the other is a pillow with a mallard duck stitched on it (inspired by The Official Preppy Handbook, no doubt).

She hangs that ornament on her tree every year, and that duck pillow is always sitting on the sofa in her family room.  She doesn’t just get it out when I visit.

They’re amateurish and more than a little embarrassing now, twenty-plus years after they were given as gifts, but it means a lot to me that she saved them.

Thank you, Aunt Carol.  That goofy little ten year old self deep inside me still beams every time she sees that ornament and that pillow at your house.

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I’m betting that in the vast library of Klutz books, there’s probably at least one that gives instructions for how to make a duck pillow.  I swear, Klutz makes something for everyone.  Maybe you don’t want to make a pillow yourself, but you can definitely find some really cool gifts there for other people - especially those who are a little difficult to buy for.

Thanks to our PBN Blog Blast with Klutz, you can get free shipping and a free copy of the Activity Book when you order $50 or more via this link.  Or, if you want to be greedy, you can write your own post about handmade gifts for a chance to win a whole bunch of Klutz books - either the grand prize (15 books, $230 value) or a $50 or $100 gift certificate to Klutz.  Cool!

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Ooh baby baby…Amazing Baby is one baby book worth reading.  Or just look at the pictures.  But be warned, the pictures are so droolworthy that you’ll want to double-up on your birth control methods for a while.

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Um, hi.  Yeah, that’s just me.  Drinking wine in my pajamas. With a PB&J in my hand.  Chunky PB and strawberry J, in case you wanted to know.

(Tune in tonight around 7pm if you want to see Kyle and me over at the Greeblemonkey household with Gwen, Tara, Lemony Sarah, and other pajama-clad winos!)

Published by mothergoosemouse on November 15th, 2008 tagged Bloggy-linky-meme-y, Dirtying up other corners of the web, Who me?, Youthful indiscretions | 5 Comments »

Don’t let the mommy stay up late!

First of all, I’m not even tired.

Okay, that’s a lie. I’m really tired. Exhausted, even. Not quite as exhausted as some of my friends, but pretty wiped out nonetheless.

I probably get a good six or seven hours each night, but it’s broken up. CJ comes in somewhere between midnight and four (it’s her age, I’m convinced), Oliver joins us around five (because I’m damn sure not waking up for the day right then), and Kyle snores. I don’t care what Dr. Sears says; the family bed sucks.

Even Tacy, whom I often have to wake up on school mornings, doesn’t always sleep well. She sleepwalks (which freaks Kyle out) and still comes into our room occasionally.

Thanks to my own childhood sleep issues, I’m a softie where it comes to helping my kids sleep. I remember how hard it was to fall asleep and stay asleep. One rule my parents set for me has worked quite well with Tacy: You don’t have to go to sleep, but you do have to be quiet and stay in your room.

My problem? Getting myself to bed. By the time both kids are in bed, it’s after 8:30. I come downstairs, start working, and the next thing I know, it’s 10:30.

And I know 10:30 isn’t even that late. Some of my friends are routinely up past midnight, and then up and down throughout the night with their own kids. We’re all struggling with how to accomplish everything we need to - and still get a decent stretch of sleep.

So I’ll be paying close attention during the No More Bedtime Blues webcast tomorrow, sponsored by PBS Sprout Kids. If you haven’t already heard about it, and you’ve got sleep issues at your house, check it out. It’s not too late to register.

Just pick up a venti capuccino beforehand. You know, so you can stay awake long enough to ask a question.

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I may not get enough sleep, but I’m definitely a morning person. You?

Published by mothergoosemouse on November 11th, 2008 tagged Bloggy-linky-meme-y, Dirtying up other corners of the web, Who me? | 13 Comments »

The irreplaceable, inimitable mother

There are a lot of great dads out there - some are better than others - but even the greatest father will never be a mother.

There’s something innate to motherhood that makes it impossible for men to wholly embrace. And it’s that same something that makes it impossible for men to adequately appreciate what mothers do.

We never get a break because we can never give ourselves a break. It doesn’t matter if we’re upstairs in the tub or half a world away - our kids are always at the back of our mind. It doesn’t matter if we’re at work, at the grocery store, or at the gynecologist with our feet in the stirrups - we’re always thinking about how we could be or should be taking care of our kids.

We wipe up crumbs. We replace toilet paper rolls. We wash dishes, load and unload the dishwasher. We notice when underwear or jammies are running low, and we do a load of laundry. We fold the laundry and put it away only to discover a day later that it’s now unfolded thanks to careless rifling.

We know where every last item in the house is, and everyone relies on us to find what they’ve misplaced.

We make sure our kids are relatively clean, dressed more or less for the weather, and have freshly changed diapers. We do all of this with unwashed hair and while holding in our pee long enough to give ourselves bladder infections.

We keep track of how often our kids poop.

We refill sippy cups and put pasta to boil and answer the phone - all while holding a baby at our breast. We vacuum with a toddler on our hip. We enlist the help of preschoolers in raking and bagging leaves.

When we’re downstairs, we think about what we need to bring with us on our next trip upstairs. When we’re upstairs, we think about what we need to bring with us on our next trip downstairs.

It never stops. We never stop thinking about what’s next on the agenda - and we do it all for the well-being of our kids.

Fathers do some of these things. A scant few fathers may do most of these things. But by their very nature, fathers simply don’t do all of these things.

Prove me wrong; I’d love to find a father who thinks that he does everything that a mother does.

And yet, most fathers aren’t satisfied with the job their counterparts do. There’s still a load of laundry to be done, or errant crumbs on the floor, or a missing ingredient for that potluck dish they’re supposed to bring to work tomorrow.

In their eyes, we’re either too strict or too lenient with the kids. In any case, they get to come in and be the hero or the enforcer, overruling our decisions and then leaving us to handle the fallout.

They use all the toilet paper and leave us with an empty roll. They leave their dirty dishes in the sink - if they manage to even get them that far. They sit on the sofa and watch TV while chaos reigns around them, completely oblivious.

They criticize us - our looks, our weight, our contributions to the household, our rising levels of frustration. They can’t understand why we’re so unhappy.

And it’s not that we’re unhappy; we’re doing what our bodies and minds make us do. It’s automatic. But I think we wish that we could detach ourselves - at least occasionally - the way fathers can. Barring that, we wish that fathers could understand us better, could feel the way we do.

This isn’t a complete picture of all mothers or an indictment of all fathers. But I’m betting all parents see ourselves or our partners here, in one form or another.

Published by mothergoosemouse on November 9th, 2008 tagged Daring you to disagree | 58 Comments »

The second concrete poem I’ve ever created

The first one is here.

Thanks to Mrs. Chicky for the ROFL award, and to The Bloggess for the concrete poem idea.

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While we’re in the vicinity of where tampons go, you really ought to check out Mominatrix’s new project - Get Rid of [Your] Bush. It’s all happening on January 20, so Shave the Date!

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And in completely non-tampon-related news, two new reviews at Mother Knows Best.

Published by mothergoosemouse on November 8th, 2008 tagged Bloggy-linky-meme-y, Bwahahaha!, Dirtying up other corners of the web | 3 Comments »

Anybody else just relieved that this election’s over?

Because let me tell you, it’s been a strain.

It’s tough to be stuck in the middle. Compared to my neighbors, I’m a commie pinko. Compared to my friends in the blogosphere, I’m…well, I guess I’m Sarah Palin.

Campaigns are never pretty, but this season brought with it so much ugliness. I’m not a natural politician; it’s hard for me to look past some of the hateful statements made on both sides. And having viewpoints in common with both sides, I had no clear “enemy”. Fighting a metaphorical two-front war - when I really don’t want to be fighting at all - wears me down.

Both candidates were exceptionally gracious last night. I genuinely admired many statements from both of them - statements that demonstrated their sincere respect for one another, despite their differences.

From John McCain: “I urge all Americans who supported me to join me in not just congratulating him, but offering our next president our good will and earnest effort to find ways to come together to find the necessary compromises to bridge our differences and help restore our prosperity, defend our security in a dangerous world, and leave our children and grandchildren a stronger, better country than we inherited.”

And from Barack Obama: “As Lincoln said to a nation far more divided than ours, “We are not enemies, but friends… Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection.” And, to those Americans whose support I have yet to earn, I may not have won your vote, but I hear your voices, I need your help, and I will be your president, too.”

All I want now is for the rest of us to behave as graciously as those two men did last night.

Published by mothergoosemouse on November 5th, 2008 tagged Daring you to disagree | 26 Comments »

If kids could vote…

…they’d choose the candidate whose name sounds best when repeated endlessly in a low growl. While wearing a tiger mask.

Thank god she’s not saying “Redrum!”

Get out there and vote, people.

Published by mothergoosemouse on November 4th, 2008 tagged Bwahahaha!, Dirtying up other corners of the web | 10 Comments »

Spooky little girls and a buzzy little boy

The greatest treat found in the trick or treat bags wasn’t candy, but a set of vampire teeth:

That is one tired duck.

Meanwhile, our pumpkin…overindulged:

As an aside, we GREW that pumpkin in our backyard. Here it is in its infancy:

Happy Halloween from our zoo to yours!

I knew that keeping those old uniforms around would come in handy…

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Got cute pics? Go join the PBN and Blurb Halloween Photo Contest!

Published by mothergoosemouse on November 1st, 2008 tagged Bwahahaha!, Look at me, look at me!, Miss Goosie, Miss Mousie, Olliepop | 18 Comments »

An unexpected ally in Gloria Steinem

I may not call myself a feminist, but I recognize the primal role that Gloria Steinem played in the advancement of opportunities for women. I admire her initiative and leadership in the face of great opposition. So in spite of the differences in our political philosophies, I was thrilled when my friend fruitlady (also of Inherent Passion) invited me to attend a lunch at which Ms. Steinem was speaking.

Gloria Steinem is spending this last week before the election in Colorado, making appearances around the Denver metro area. But yesterday’s lunch was a private one, held at a Denver home, and about a hundred women (and a few men) gathered in the backyard to hear Ms. Steinem.

While I was certainly excited to see this iconic woman in person, I was also a bit uncomfortable. I knew I’d be in the political minority - just as I am in the corner of the blogosphere where I spend most of my time - but I didn’t know whether the atmosphere would be welcoming and accepting, or if it would have the same “us” versus “them” feel that the Elizabeth Edwards closing keynote at BlogHer ‘07 did (for me, at least).

It didn’t help my state of mind that on the way to the lunch, I saw this truck on I-25:

Is this what the Republican party has come to? Is this what Democrats and Independents see - a truck that is literally wearing a sandwich board proclaiming the supremacy of the Second Amendment (which, by the way, Barack Obama supports) - as emblematic of the GOP?

Color me pleasantly shocked when Gloria Steinem brought up this same point in her talk - that the Republican party has been taken over by extremists. That John McCain could have selected a female running mate to draw in the moderate Republicans who feel alienated by their party; instead, he selected a running mate with the goal of solidifying the support of that extremist faction.

I couldn’t agree more. I was so hopeful at the outset of McCain’s candidacy. Huckabee and Romney had been cast aside by primary voters in favor of a man who wasn’t part of that so-called base. Rush Limbaugh and Sean Hannity were incensed. Perhaps the party would start moving away from the Religious Right and the extreme social conservatism that had caused me to change my party affiliation.

But McCain let me down. He started pandering, and he hasn’t stopped. I don’t recognize him anymore.

I’ve been seriously considering voting for Bob Barr, the Libertarian party candidate, even though I can’t get the image of his appearance in “Borat” out of my head. I’d vote for him not because I think he has a chance in hell of ever becoming President, but because I want to send a message that two choices is not enough.

Perhaps they could be though, if the Republican party could overcome the narrow cross-section of views that have come to represent the party as a whole.

I have many friends with whom I have philosophical differences. Those differences don’t preclude friendship. But I do sometimes feel as if they are waiting for me to come to my senses. I wonder sometimes if their respect for me isn’t lessened because I don’t share their priorities.

But Ms. Steinem spoke so kindly and even-handedly, with respect and optimism, regarding the Republican party and its members - people like Kyle and me. For once, I didn’t get the message that “Republican = Evil” - a sentiment I hear daily on cable news and Twitter, even from people I like and who like me.

I went to this lunch for the opportunity to hear people speak from another perspective - one that I may not agree with fully, but which is worth consideration. I expected to feel like an outsider, especially in the presence of a liberal feminist icon. Instead, I felt compassion and understanding.

She likes babies too. She said so.

Ms. Steinem, thank you. For spending time here in Denver, for the opportunity to hear you speak, and for being an unexpectedly kind and understanding voice in a sea where I continue to swim against the currents.

Published by mothergoosemouse on October 30th, 2008 tagged Daring you to disagree, Home on the range, Look at me, look at me! | 33 Comments »

Yes sir, that’s my baby

Saturday afternoon, I took Tacy and CJ to a birthday party. It was a party for Tacy’s friend, and yet I left both girls.

I thought about it as I drove, wondering if I was overstepping the bounds of friendship and overestimating CJ’s ability to behave herself. The mother of Tacy’s friend is a friend of mine too, and she’s always liked CJ. CJ thinks birthday parties are the greatest thing going, whether they’re for her or for someone else, and Tacy is exceptionally good at caring for CJ in social settings.

Okay, and I had a ton of work to do.

I told the birthday girl’s mother to call me at the first sign of CJ-induced insanity, and I’d come right back. I wasn’t even going all the way home; I’d be at Panera with my laptop.

She never called, so I stayed at Panera for an hour and a half before returning. When I came in, the first thing the birthday girl’s father said was, “CJ is so funny!”

Oh, thank god, I thought. Nobody says that if they don’t really mean it.

I found her on the deck, threading a jump rope through the knot holes in the boards. “Hi Mommy!” she chirped.

Apparently both girls behaved beautifully, which children tend to do when their parents aren’t around. And while my friend certainly doesn’t want me to drop the girls off for a long weekend, at least the birthday party drop-off wasn’t the imposition I’d feared.

I may be her adoring mother, but I realize that CJ isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. Some people think she is absolutely wonderful, and other people…well, not so much.

I’m the first to admit that she can be difficult and demanding, even apart from the speech delay. She has a mercurial temperament. She goes from zero to sixty in 4.2 seconds. Once she gets wound up, it takes a while for her to unwind. I have to give her time and space; she doesn’t respond to the standard under-the-breath-growl: “You’d better shape up, or ELSE.”

But she’s unexpectedly sweet and unbelievably affectionate, not just with us, but with anyone whom she senses likes her too. The girl’s got a great built-in bullshit detector; it seems that she instinctually knows who her friends are.

I know there are people - even friends of ours - who don’t like her. I understand that, and it’s okay. Not everyone will like my children, just like not everyone likes me. You can’t please all the people all the time.

But CJ does please most of the people most of the time. That’s more than enough for me.

Yes sir, that’s my baby.

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What, did you come here for cynicism? Find that over at The Parental is Political today.

Published by mothergoosemouse on October 28th, 2008 tagged Miss Mousie | 12 Comments »