Guilty Pleasures

Bravo TV reality shows: I watch them all. Top Chef, Project Runway, Top Design, Shear Genius. I'm addicted. *hangs head* And after I managed to avoid American Idol AND Survivor.

America's Next Top Model: You thought the Bravo TV thing was bad....I admit it, I watch every cycle. I can't help myself. It's like a really skinny train wreck.

Judge Judy: Just when you thought it couldn't get any worse. I love to watch her tear into people. I just love it. She's this tiny little woman with a nasty temper and she gets to say things I would LOVE to say but never get the chance to. Redneck entertainment at it's best.

Little Debbie Swiss Cake Rolls: Tiny bits of chocolate heaven that go straight to my thighs. I don't care what anyone says, Hostess ain't got nothing on Little Debbie!

Diet Pepsi: I drink enough of this stuff to float the Titanic! I have a 32 oz. mug that is never empty. I carry it around the house with me. The first thing I do in the morning? Crack open a Diet Pepsi. I'm as bad as a smoker.

Romance novels: I read Amanda Quick. Not only do I read her, I read her over and over again. I also read those cheesy vampire romance novels that spring up everywhere. I keep them tucked away behind the "respectable" books. Even worse? I have several short stories that are the beginnings of promising romance novels...I'm a romance writer in the making.

Journals: I own over fifty of them. I keep buying them. I'm enamored of their soft, blank pages and their wonderful, promising covers.

I have a few others....but I'd rather hear about yours.

Well? What about you? What are your guilty pleasures?

Are college educations like electronic equipment? Can the quality of the education you get be directly correlated to the amount you paid for the education? I've been wondering about that a lot lately.

I'm paying roughly $4,000 a year for my education. When I apply for my Master's program, I will be applying to a school where I will have reciprocity and so will receive resident tuition. I will be paying about $5,000 a year. This seems to be considerably lower than many of the universities I read about other people attending.

I'm choosing to attend Utah State to complete my BA and then plan to apply to Morehead State for my MFA program. I wonder, what do you think the difference is? Why the discrepency in cost and is there really a difference in the education received? Will I learn less? I don't believe I will.

What do you think?

The Awesomeness that is My Readers!!!

Once upon a time I stumbled upon a little tool that told me how much my blog was worth. It came back with a sad, but not unexpected, $0.00. I posted this piece of information, finding it humorous.

Today, I was reading over at des's place and she had the same nifty little thing posted. I thought to my self, "Hmm...I wonder if I'm still worth $0.00?" So I popped over to check.

Guess what? I'm worth more now. Check it out:

My blog is worth $5,645.40.
How much is your blog worth?

I blame all of you that come here and read in support of my sick need to feel that someone in the world is listening to me! Thanks for that!!!!! YOU ROCK!!!!!!!!

The View Outside My Window

When I woke up this morning, it was a good day. I was happy. I felt good. I have just returned to college and feel a sense of pride about making that happen. I played with my son. I read a good book. I spoke with friends. I laughed.

It's 10:30 at night and I'm painfully aware of the regrets and unhappiness I carry inside of me. I feel a bitter sense of disappointment about the things I haven't been able to accomplish. I look around me and I see people doing and being the things I thought I would be doing and being when I was this age. It makes me sad. It makes me lonely. It makes me a little angry.

The irony here? Tomorrow morning I will wake up and I will feel fine. I will know that what happens happens for a reason and that my life is good the way it is.

I hate Bipolar Disorder.

Just Poke My Eyes Out

We have a "War Czar" now.

What the FUCK????? Does Bush think his name is Alexi? Is Rasputin whispering in his ear? Did Laura spike his Wheaties this morning?

Does the "War Czar" together with the "Drug Czar" and have lunch? Can't you just imagine that conversation?

Drug Czar: "Soooo, what'd ya do this week?"

War Czar: "Oh, not a hell of a lot of anything. Had a couple of press conferences. Have to shine the public on about how we're giving it our best effort..blah blah blah. You know the drill."

Drug Czar: "I know, they've had me spouting that same crap for YEARS now. They won't actually let me DO anything."

War Czar: "Oh hell no. But it's a good gig, if you can get it."

And the most frightening thing? Go find a picuter of this guy. Remind anyone else of Oliver North? Can you say Iran/Contra? I knew that you could.

I hate math, have I ever mentioned that?

I just downloaded the lecture notes for my statistics class. It was an 83 page document filled with graphs and charts and talk of x and y and z. My brain hurts already and I haven't even gone to class yet.

I hate math. I have always hated math. I'm going to hate this class. It doesn't help that the teacher apparently thinks he has a sense of humor and has therefore chosen a text called "Statistics for People Who THINK They Hate Statistics". Yeah...I don't THINK. I KNOW.

I need a Diet Pepsi.

Today we are wearing....

My son dressed himself this morning.

This is what he's wearing:

A Thomas the Train pajama shirt. It's bright blue.
A pair of dark blue bermuda short length swim trunks, they have red, yellow and green fish all over them.

And the crowning glory? Blue snow boots and his fathers Bronco's baseball cap!

I SERIOUSLY need to get a digital camera.

The right to be upset or expecting special treatment?

It's Monday so let's start the week out with a little healthy debate. As I trolled the web this morning I came across this little tid bit:

Becoming a mother a dilemma and victory

The article details the decision of a young woman who was a awarded a track scholarship at the University of Memphis and became pregnant to keep her baby. The decision meant she lost her scholarship.

There are a lot of people up in arms about this one. They are calling it many things: illegal, immoral and just plain wrong. I'm going to hop over to the other side of the fence though. Let's look at it from the another standpoint.

This isn't a fourteen year old girl we're talking about. This young woman is a sophomore in college. That makes her 21 at least, so I'm guessing both she and her boyfriend are conversant in the current methods of birth control and the fact that using only one method can sometimes be risky...you can double up, say a condom and the pill. There's also the fact that when she was awarded the scholarship not only was she aware that the standard good grade guideline applied, she was told and had to sign an acknowledgement that if she fought, got into verbal conflicts with the coaches or became pregnant she would lose her scholarship. It's something all the students awarded the scholarship sign. So it's not like it was a surprise.

Isn't this part of the freedom of choice? She's an adult. She got pregnant, reviewed her options and choices and made the one she thought she could live with. In a perfect world the school would say, "Well, we know we gave you an athletic scholarship and now that you're pregnant you can't perform athletically, but we'll let you keep the scholarship anyway." This isn't a perfect world. Why should the University make exceptions for pregnant women? It's not like there aren't ways to prevent becoming pregnant, chief among them, not having sex.

Now...I know someone reading this is going to jump all over me for that last statement. "But Serena, this is the 21st Century. This is an era of sexual freedom. Women should be allowed to express themselves and their sexuality and not be penalized for it." Blah blah blah.....great. You go ahead and express yourself. The reality is this: You have sex, you run the risk of getting pregnant. Period. It's that simple. Even birth control isn't one hundred percent. It says so on the back of the package for cripes sake.

Freedom of choice doesn't start after you get pregnant. It starts the moment you decide to have sex. Freedom of choice means that you are choosing to accept the responsibity for everything that comes after. It isn't the University's fault that she got pregnant. Think of it this way: If she were a man and on an athletic scholarship and that man violated the terms of the scholarship, would anyone blink when they revoked it? Nope...but this is a PREGNANT woman we're talking about and that evokes all kinds of mushy "AHHHHH" feelings in most people....

Isn't is actually kind of sexist to say that BECAUSE she's pregnant she deserves special treatment? Would she deserve less if her grades had slipped or she had slapped a coach?

Weigh in on this one folks. What do you think?

Beating the Dead Horse

And once again the breastfeeding frenzy is upon us. It seems that actress Maggie Gyllenhaal was recently photographed breastfeeding her child in public uncovered and it has sparked the contorversy anew.

I briefly entertained the idea of leaving the following comment on the Stollerderby comment board:

"Get over it. Yes, we all know they're only boobs. But you also need to know that not everyone wants to SEE your boobs. By your wonderful, if skewed, logic no one should be upset if a man wants to whip it out in public to pee. I mean, urination is a perfectly natural biological function and come on, it's ONLY a penis, right?"

But then I thought better of it as I'm sick and damned tired of the new and the "hip". I'm tired of all the self serving bullshit. I'm thrilled for Maggie. Great, she whipped out her boobs in public and didn't mind that some dumb ass of a photographer (who I think is a complete asshat) took a picture of her. Wonderful! Good for her! I really doubt she did it to become the new poster girl for breast feeding solidarity. She was probably thinking, "I better feed my kid."

The lack of thought given to other people here is astonishing. I would be willing to bet that if someone were to do something that made these same women uncomfortable, they would want them to stop. The basic, underlying principle here is this: When you live in a society with other people you have to be aware that you can't just do whatever you want, just because you want to. Yes, you should be able to feed your child, but that doesn't mean that other people should be asked to be uncomfortable while you do it. If that means that occasionally you are asked to cover your breast while you breastfeed...GET OVER IT!!!!! Jesus!

Oh...and before somone decides to trot out the "Men can take off their shirts in public" thing? Yeah, until men's chests are considered sexual objects? Not even close to a valid argument. You may WISH that women's breast weren't viewed as sexual objects, but they are. You know it. I know it. The guy sitting next to you on the bus knows it. Deal with it. Men look at a womans breasts and it calls up all the mystery and the "Hmmmm I wonder..." He can't help it. You can't stop it. This is not the Star Trek Universe and you are not Lt. Uhura...we are not boldly going. Got it?

You want to make social change? Great! Let's change something important. How about applying a little of that righteous indignation to oh, I don't know, fixing the health care system? Helping the seriously impoverished? Working to help young women who suffer from low self-esteem and end up using sex as a substitute for love? How about jumping on one of those causes?

Quit beating this particular dead horse, it's starting to smell bad.

The Wrong Focus

There's a story out today about a couple that was senteced to life in prison in the death of their six week old son. He died of malnutrition. The headline reads: "Vegan couple sentenced to life over baby's death
Malnourished baby was fed soy milk and apple juice, weighed 3 1/2 pounds"

The article takes the wrong focus. The death of this child had nothing to do with this couple being vegan and putting that fact first and foremost in the headline is the same as standing in the street screaming "VEGANS ARE NEGLECTFUL PARENTS!!!!"

I'm not a vegan. My son drank soy formula until he was almost two. He's fine. He's big and happy and healthy. He's above average for his age group in all his developmental markers. Now, if this couple were giving their child a food product that was intended for consumption by older children or adults against the advice of a doctor...that's just plain STUPID...and again, has nothing to do with them being vegan.

If this were a problem with them choosing to be vegan, we'd have kids dropping dead left and right and we don't. There are plenty of parents out there that choose alternative life styles and know that they have to make different choices for their children based on nutrional need.

Sadly, these two boneheads were just that...boneheads. It's sad. They have to live with what happened for the rest of their lives. It disgusts me that they sat and watched their child waste away and decided that their "principles" were worth more than his life....but let's not condem everyone that chooses that lifestyle because of it.

Today we talk about "hip" parents

You know what? I am a tragically un-hip parent. If you look at my book shelves you will not see one parenting book. Until I started reading the so called "parenting blogs" I wasn't even aware that there were things like "Attachment Parenting" or "Helicopter Parents" or even "Hip Parents". When did this start? When did parenting become a thing we need recognition for? Did I miss the memo on this?

I grew up with siblings who were younger by eight and ten years respectively. This meant that I was the default babysitter, diaper changer and entertainer for a number of years. I learned to make bottles, change cloth diapers, how to care for an umbilical stump, how to burp...all those things, before I was twelve. When I had my daughter I just took her home. The nurse asked me if I had any questions and I think I probably looked at her like she was nuts.

I never worried about the "breast or bottle" thing. I can't breastfeed. So that made that decision for me. Both of my children were lactose intolerant, so we did soy formula. Guess what? Neither one of them is damaged. They both grew up happy, healthy and smart...no mental delays here.

I never "sleep trained" my children. What is that anyway? You stand at the door to your child's room and listen to him or her scream with the idea that it "teaches" them something? Okay....you do that. My kids learned this lesson: Mommy is there if I need her. If my children need to snuggle, we snuggle. If my children need to sleep with me, fine. It's hurting who? Once they're asleep, I pick them up and move them back to their own bed.

And don't even get me started on the whole whiner ass attitude of parents that need books and support groups so they can talk about how "monotonous" it is to be a parent. Newsflash: It is not your child's job to be entertaining or to make you feel fulfilled. It is your job to make your child feel safe and loved and ensure that they never feel like you see them as a burden...you big dumb IDIOT!! Apparently there are people out there that have children and are then surprised to learn that it is, for the most part daily repetition of the same activities because, well, they're KIDS!!

Here's an idea, if you aren't prepared to give up most everything in your life (not that you actually have to, but you should be prepared to) then don't have children. Being a parent is about being able to place the well being of your child first...all the time...everytime. Once you have kids, it's not about you anymore.

I don't know when it happened, but I think sometime in the last decade I morphed into my grandmother. I find myself shaking my head and muttering about the lack of good common sense when it comes to parenting today.

Yes, I am a tragically un-hip parent. Thank God.

(I dug these out of an old journal)


Prayer


good morning

sounds like rain

random



patterns


in the dust

incomprehensible whispers of the past

like the suns rays

reaching

through the clouds



we spend our time

chasing shadows

of what we wanted to be



the children

we were



the memories

that become us

lie like naked reminders

of our pain



belligerent screams

pointed towards

your incoherent God


**********************************************

love



topless pink chocolate in a frantic symphony

beneath

delirious whispers

of screaming

love

produce languid bitter versions

of crushing

madness



(This is your brain on drugs...*laughs*)

Art on a Monday Morning

Just wanted to share some artwork my daughter left behind for us. When she was little, everything was kittens,rainbows and flowers. Oh, how things have changed.

The Big, Ugly, Gaping Hole in my Heart

My daughter left to go and spend the summer with her father in North Dakota this weekend. This means I will not see her for three months. THREE MONTHS!!!!! May I say, on a purely selfish note, that I HATE summer? I'm happy that she gets to see her dad. I'm happy that she gets to see all her friends. But now I have this huge gaping hole in my heart from missing my kid.....and she's only been gone for two days.

I found two things that cheered me up when I got home from the airport. One is a shopping list of things she wanted to get before she left. Please note item number one on the list. My daughter was trying to spell "Hagen Daz" and because I was asleep when she wrote the list, just tried to "sound it out". I don't know that I've laughed that hard in weeks.

The second is a poem I found lying on her dresser when I returned. It was tucked under a few pictures she had drawn. It illustrates perfectly one of the many reasons I love my daughter so much...she has inherited my twisted sense of humor.

Summer vacation never seemed this long before, but now three months sounds like an eternity.

Reconciliation

Suzanne left a comment recently in the post I did about the mark reading "Hiroshima" by John Hersey and "Night" by Elie Wiesel left on me. She made an excellent point, something that I had not touched on in my original post because I was, at the time, only talking about how much the books themselves had left a lasting impression that carries on even today. I want to address her comment now though, because she brought up something that is an issue I face quite often.

Here is the comment:

"I agree with you that war is vile, but I am curious how the Holocaust would have come to an end had WWII not happened. It wasn't the war that perpetrated the Holocaust. I'm pretty sure that no one would have done anything about it at all had their been no war."

The point she makes is right on the nose. In fact there is historical evidence to support the assertion that our government was aware that Hitler and his military were carrying out the systematic murder of millions and did nothing. Our government continues this type of behavior even today. You only have to look at the situation in Darfur to see what I mean.

The question then becomes, how do I reconcile, in my mind and in my soul the violence that would be necessary to stop the genocide of millions with my distaste and hatred for war and violence?

I struggled with that question and here is the answer that I arrived at. I believe that being a pacifist, just like anything else, is never an absolute. You can never say, "There is NEVER a good reason..." because, as much as we would like to say that, sometimes, stepping in to defend those less powerful than we are becomes a necessity.

The defense of one person against harm from another is a vastly different thing from the wholesale destruction of a people and culture because of some misguided attempt to inflict "democracy" on a society. I say "inflict" because when you go into a country, as we have done in Iraq, and become responsible for the destruction of their homes, businesses and lives...you are not helping anyone. The violence, in a case like that, is senseless, useless and in the end, serves no real purpose. It only serves to perpetuate the cycle of violence.

Using WWII as an example: Had our government stepped in when the war first started and they were first made aware of Hitler's genocide against the Jewish people, it would have been a humanitarian effort. The defense of a people. When we went in after the attack by Japan, it was in retaliation for that attack...and to prevent them from doing it again. The end of the Holocaust was a by-product of that. A good by-product, but a by-product none the less. The truth is that most likely our government would never have involved themselves UNLESS the war brought itself to our shores.

Compare two situations that are occuring today:

There are millions of people dying in Darfur. Millions being targeted for slaughter and our government sits and talks about "diplomatic solutions" and basically turns a blind eye, much the way it did with the Rwandan genocide. There is no gain to be had by stepping in to defend these people, and so our government doesn't. It would be for the greater moral good, outweighing even my belief that violence is a terrible way to solve things. It would be the defense of the defenseless. Yet we do nothing.

Then you have the war with Iraq. A war started and perpetuated by lies. While Saddam Hussein was a terrible man, the Iraqi people had not reached out to the world and asked for help. They had not gotten to the point of wanting to solve their internal struggles with outside military intervention. Our government presumed to step in and inflict our beliefs and our culture on a society that hadn't asked for our help. The result was what we see on the news everyday. A country now torn apart by continued violence, violence that escalates daily.

While Hussein was a dictator and a vile man in every sense, under his government the streets were not lined with burned out husks of cars. Sidewalks were not littered with the remains of buildings and covered with the blood of innocent bystanders to a war they did not start. It's true that he needed to be stopped, but that should have been up to the Iraqi people, not to us. It was a matter for them to handle, to decide when they had had enough of him. It happens all the time. China, Cuba, Romania...just a few countries where political change has been led by the people. Sometimes that change is good, sometimes it isn't, but it's the people of that country who decide what path it takes.

This is that kind of war I am talking about. This is the kind of violence. The needless, senseless destruction of a people. We will leave Iraq one day and what we will have left behind is not the image of a benevolant friend who came to the aid of someone who was defenseless, but that of a country who believed it knew what was best and then stepped in and inflicted that on a people with no regard to what that group of people wanted. In short, we started a civil war. We have also helped to perpetuate the cycle of terrorisim, a by-product that no likes to talk about.

An entire generation of Iraqi children will grow up hating this country, hating everything it stands for. That entire generation of children will be the crop the fanatics and zealots recruit from. They will use the images of dead loved ones and destroyed homes to spurn these new recruits to violence, and we played a hand in giving them that ammunition. For no real reason.

The war in Iraq has not stopped terrorism, it hasn't even made a dent. The war in Iraq has served no greater good, no humanitarian cause. The war in Iraq has brought no one peace, installed no stability to a country in turmoil. It has simply caused chaos and more violence. Meanwhile, our soldiers die and the Iraqi people die and our government buries its head in the sand to avoid admitting it made a mistake.

This is what I abhor. This is what I am opposed to.

The images in those books drove home the reality of war to a twelve year old child. They stayed with me as I grew and helped me form an opinion about the necessity of defense vs the futility of violence.

I don't have all the answers. I wish I did. I know that I see mothers, not unlike myself, watching their children suffer and die and I ache for them. I cry for the women in Darfur who will watch their children starve, or worse, be slaughtered and I am angry because I know we could stop that pain. I cry for the mother in Iraq who will rage and scream because she lost a child to another bomb and I will know that this to, is something we could help to stop.

These are two very different sides of a coin. There are no easy answers to some problems. I don't think morality was meant to be easy. I think we try to make it easy. I think we try to shape morality to fit what makes us comfortable and it's not supposed to be like that. We have become to used to turning a blind eye to the things we don't want to see.

Apparently, Resistance IS Futile, Who Knew?

I saw this picture over at Wil Wheaton's blog as I was browsing through his Flickr album. If you laugh, you're as big a Geek as I am.

I want to be THIS cool

I have discovered the level by which all future levels of cool shall be measured.

Allow me to introduce you to:

Brotherhood 2.0

This is Wil Wheaton cool with the added bonus of being video. I am full of Geek Adoration for the brothers John and Hank.

If I were a cooler person and this were a cooler blog there would be ticker tape or drum rolls or something to accompany this post. I am, however, merely a lowly bookworm and things like HTML and ActiveX make my head hurt and my eyes go all blurry so we will all have to just close our eyes and imagine the ticker tape and drum rolls.

Props to Stephanie and her Super Awesome Web Surfing Abilities for bringing us tasty treat.

Can you remember when?

Can you remember the exact moment in time when you developed a specific moral stance? Do you remember that precise instance?

For some of us, an event in our lives is so galvanizing that it shapes who we will be forever. It leaves a mark on us that can not be erased. For me that event came in the seventh grade. The two books pictured above are directly responsible for me being a pacifist. I was twelve when I read them. My mind could barely grasp the information. I could not understand how such terrible things could be done by one group of human beings to another group of human beings.

I looked to the adults in my life for answers. I asked questions. Why had these things happened? More importantly why had they been allowed to happen? No one had good answers. I read every book I could find about WWII, The Holocaust, the Japanese Internment in America, Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The more I read the more my mind turned. War is a terrible thing. I read all the words. I listened to all the explanations. None of it rang true.

All I saw in my minds eye were the dead. All I could think about was what it must have been like for the President to have to live with the knowledge that he had ordered the deaths of millions of innocent people. The hell that that must have been. Where was the "right" in that? And in that instant, that moment, a moral stance formed. It solidified in my mind, took hold of my soul and rooted itself in my character. I have carried it with me in my judgements and my decisions.

As an adult I have watched my country go to war on differnt occassions. I have listened to friends talk of patriotism and been told I'm a "bad American", like a dog who peed on the rug, but that moral conviction has stayed strong in my heart. Steadfast. When others see the nescessity I see the death and the perpetuation of violence. When others talk of having to take decisive action and promoting democracy, I cry for the mother who will bury a child to young to have died so brutally. I rage inside for the futility that the cycle of violence creates.

I watch my nightly news and see tears on the faces of mourners for the victims of a school shooting and I wonder where the tears are for the hundreds that died that day in a country an ocean away.

All because of a single instant in the seventh grade when I was handed two books.

A "super" post

Today I would like to tell you about des. I started reading des's blog a while ago after seeing her link at another blog I read. I was bored that day and the title looked promising, so I surfed over. I decided that I liked des right away. Anyone that can use the word "banality" in their banner has to be good fun.

des lives in New York with her Craig. They have been together for ten years and recently celebrated their decade. YAY!!! I feel this deserves a parade of some sort as the longest relationship I've ever managed to maintain in my entire 36 year history is eight years....she's two up on me. (And her Craig is VERY CUTE...Go check out the pictures at des's blog )

des has a Masters in Comparative Literature. I think this is extremely cool and also worthy of a parade of some sort. I may be slightly biased on this point as I am also an English major. des recently applied to grad school and was understandably upset when she did not get accepted. I turned into the mom that I am and left several pep talk messages on her comments. I hope that des feels better soon! (I am sure that her friends, family and her Craig are helping out in this particular area!)

des is also a talented artist. des makes jewlery which she posts pictures of at Jewlery By Des. I have shown this site to my thirteen year old daughter who tells all of her friends about it. She thinks des is probably one of the coolest people alive, even though she hasn't met her. I was there this morning and noticed some very cool Turtle earrings. I don't have peirced ears, but the earrings are very cool and I may request a Turtle necklace. OHHHH....a Turtle anklet. That would ROCK!!!

The Wonderful World of Des is something I look forward to every day. des makes me grin with her wit and wry humor. Some interesting facts I have learned about des : She once made a very unfortunate hair cut choice ( haven't we all?) and she once won a video game contest.

I am also jealous because des is the kind of cute that means she can wear just about anything and get away with it. This annoys me in the tiniest of ways. I have decided to forgive des for this as she is a fellow book nerd and we have to stick together.

des is currently working at a job she hates. des is forced to sit in a cubicle all day and deal with the mundane and worse the idiots that come with....dum dum dum....Customer Service and all its Ilk....I hate its Ilk. (I'm not really sure what its Ilk is, but it sounds really cool doesn't it?) des is going to be quitting her job but is hoping she will be able to hold out until July. I think this makes des a Person of Superior Quality. I would have slapped the crap out of some of The Idiots and just left, but that's just me.

I hope that you have enjoyed this "super" post. Be sure to pop over and check out The Wonderful World of Des!!!

Fun with the scanner

This is what happens when you let the three year old help you scan stuff...



I know, it's a creepy ass image, isn't it? Well, if you ever wanted to know how to make your kids look like The Undead, now you know. Stick their little heads in the scanner.



Then he figured out that you could put just about anything you wanted to in the scanner and a picture of it would pop up on mommy's computer. So we started with the bink.....



And moved on to a hand......



Next came a toy truck he found under my bed.....



And then another toy truck he found under my desk....He's laughing hysterically by this time. Running back and forth from his room to mine with new treasures to scan...



Here we have his "fix it" goggles....



And a sad lonely little Lincoln Log. ( I love that they still make those.)



Followed quickly by this poor squished stormtrooper....



Then the shoes. These were a gift from Judy, a dear friend in New York. My son wears these shoes EVERYWHERE we go. He loves them. They have zippers on the sides and he can put them on and take them off himself. I printed this one out for him. He took the picture to bed with him tonight.

And last but not least we have.....



Okay, if you can figure out what this is you're a damn good guesser and will be hearalded as "The Best Guesser of All Time". I know what it is. The three year old knows what it is. My husband looked at this picture and said, "What the fuck is that?"

Now you know what my family does for fun on a Sunday night.

The Trouble with New Readers........

We have a new reader!! Normally I'd just drop a quick "Hey there! How are ya!" in the comments...but this reader and I have something special in common. We both dig James T. Kirk. Some of you may already know Gunfighter, everyone else, give him a big "Hey there! How are ya?"

I found this book at my local thrift store. Can you believe it? I love the local thrift store. So many cool things, just waiting to be discovered.



"The Trouble With Tribbles" is probably one of the most well known Star Trek episodes. They even revisited it during Star Trek" Deep Space Nine. Ahh....how they love to time travel.



Here we see James T. Kirk in all his glory. You know we love him.



Does anyone else notice something missing from these Kligons? Worf would later say, "It is a very embarassing part of Kligon history. We do not discuss it." (or something along those lines...) when Jadzia questions him about it in the DS9 revisit. Yes..I AM that big a geek. Now hush....



And...as always, Captain James T. Kirk and the crew of the Starship Enterprise save the day. Was there ever any doubt?

This book was a great find and I hope you've enjoyed this very special Welcome!!!!

It's 75 degrees outside right now. I've just come inside from laying out in the sun. I went out with a blanket and a bottle of baby oil and slathered myself up and just basked. I soaked up all the warmth and goodness of the day. There's a slight breeze and no clouds and the air smells beautiful. I love days like this. They're better than any anti-depressant on the market.

Now I'm this wonderful shade of pink and I'm warm and I feel wonderful. I smell like sunlight.

I love days like this.

I'm going to go take my son for a walk.

In which I rant like the lunatic I really am.....

Okay, that's it...I've had it...I've kept my mouth shut for as long as I can!!!! I'm about to over use the exclamation point! Be prepared! I'm pissed! This is one of those times I really wish I had a soapbox!

You want to know why the word "nazi" get's paired with the word "feminist" so often? I can tell you! I've been reading posts for the last week that go on and on about how women get shafted in divorce cases and how Alec Baldwin is the freakin' Anti-Christ and how breast feeding mothers should be allowed to whip their tits out in public any old time they want and the rest of the general public be damned!!! Shut the FUCK UP!!!! You all make me ashamed to be women, much less a mother! I would personally like to whack each and every one of you in the back of the head for being ignorant and setting us back twenty years!!!!!! You make my head hurt!!!! You make my eyes blur!!!!!!!! Where do I begin???!!!!?????

Oh...let's start with the whole brestfeeding thing. KEEP YOUR TITS TO YOUR SELF!!!!!!! Not everyone wants to see it! Get over it!! This is not the sixties! You are not Betty Friedan!! You are not fighting for the Right To Vote!!!!! We're talking about FREAKING BREASTFEEDING!!!!! The fucking kid doesn't care!!!!!! Sit down, put a blanket over your breast and feed your freakin kid!! The lady at the table next to you doesn't want to see it! The guy on the airplane next to you doesn't want to be obliged to have to uncomfortably look at the ceiling while you sit with your nipple out.....GET THE FUCK OVER IT!!!!!!!!!!!!

Moving on.......

Alec Baldwin is not the Anti-Christ. Kim Basinger is not the Sainted Mother Theresa. They are two parents going through a divorce. Neither one of them is a very good parent. They aren't doing their kid any favors. Get over it!!!!!!! Move on!!! Find something else to obsess over!!!!! Sweet Jesus!!!!!

Deep breath in......

Women want equal treatment...until....what a group of pansy ass whiners. "we get shafted in divorce cases...." Yeah, uh-huh....Let's review. First we'll trot out the tired old bullshit about the doctor or the lawyer or the "rich guy" who dumps his helpless little wife so he can run off with his trophy wife, leaving his "old" wife to live on welfare and support her kids on next to nothing while he never pays child support....Yes, that's happened. Not as often as the media would like you to believe, but it's happened. Deal with it. Life isn't fair. Big deal. Cry me a river!!! MOVE ON!!!!!! How about this? How about you get up, get off your butt and GET A DAMNED JOB????? I have one. I've had two...hell, I've had three...you know why? BECAUSE I'M THE CUSTODIAL PARENT!!!!! THAT'S MY DAMNED JOB!!! I support my child,NOT the STATE, NOT my EX...ME!!! If it's to hard, give custody to the other parent. ( and yes, I know...situations exist where that's not possible...please, give it a rest.)

Now, let's talk about the women who take 45% of a man's income, have full time jobs, never let the father see their kids and then bitch that they have it "hard"....shut the FUCK UP!!! I'm tired of hearing it. I'm tired of hearing women bitch about men all the time. I'm tired about hearing how oppressed women are. I'm tired of hearing about how helpless we're supposed to be. I don't know about you, but the last damned thing I am is helpless!!!!!

You want to whine...do it on your own damned time!!!!!!!!

If I have offended anyone today...GOOD!!!!!! This is my blog. This post was not meant to be politically correct. That is why is was not a comment one anyone elses. This is sheer frustration and anger. This is .... grrrrrr... that's what this is.

Get some COMMON SENSE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Grow a DAMNED BRAIN!!!!!!! GROW UP!!!!!!!

Tomorrow I will return to my normal, rational, even tempered self..I promise. Today, I'm going to go sit in the corner and bang my head against the wall.

End transmission.......

Check it out...I've been Tagged!!!

I feel all kinds of Special! I've been tagged. Okay, so I asked to be tagged, but still....

Ian sent me 5 "interview" questions. I'm going to post them here, answer them and then post the rules for the meme right behind them. If you want to play along, just let me know.

1. Your son has already showed a preference for cheese on unusual dishes - for example, strawberry pancakes. What things do you put cheese on which other people might consider odd?

I don't really put cheese on anything weird. I'm kind of boring when it comes to food, which is why my son's odd food choices make me do the Spock eyebrow thing. I do like peanut butter on my pancakes though...does that count?

2. Discuss at length the reason why Utah bothers with speed limits on the Interstate.

What? Is this a test? I don't even have a driver's license. (Yes, that's true). About all I know about Utah and the Rules of the Road is that the Governor is considering reverting to the 1970's by lowering the speed limit to 55 again, instead of getting with the times and raising it, like a lot of states have done. Oh, and I know that it's a myth that there isn't a speed limit on the Interstate in Montana. There is one. It's 75 in the daytime and 65 at night. All along the Interstate you see billboards that say stuff like, "Yes Mario, there is a speed limit." Here ends my knowledge of Utah and it's driving laws.

3. Ever been to the beach? If so, share a beach story with us. If not, make one up.

Sex on the beach is not as romantic as it looks. Have you ever seen those love scenes in the movies? They're on the beach, the sun is setting, the waves are crashing, she's lying casually on top of him...everything is perfect.

Sex on the beach is nothing like that. I know..I tried it. Oh, it starts out like that. You lay the blanket down and you get all comfortable. You lay there talking and listening to the water. The sun starts to go down and you're kissing...and then you realize that it's getting cold. You ignore that because it's romantic, dammit.

You continue snuggling and things start to get a little more intense. You're still trying not to think about the fact that it's freaking cold out and now there are mosquitoes. Shit! Were those voices? You both stop and hold your breath, you're rolled up in the blanket now and you're trying not to shiver. You wait for a moment and realize it was the wind, and not voices.

You try to get back into the mood, but it's just clumsy now. You're determined to finish it though...so you eventually forget that where you are. You get into things again. His hands on your skin, his breath in your ear.

He rolls you over and suddenly your naked. The blanket feels warm and slightly scratchy against your skin. "This is how it's supposed to be," you think. Then you feel it...the sand. It's everywhere. It's in every crack and crevice of your body. You close you're eyes and hope it will be over soon.

As soon as it's over you pull your swimsuit back on and run down to the water. You mistakenly believe that you can wash the sand off...but no, what you don't know is that you will be finding sand for days.

No, having sex on the beach is nothing like it looks in the movies. Bastards.

4. Finish this sentence and explain why you picked what you did: "This one time, in band camp, I..."

This one time, in band camp, I...I'm drawing a blank. Everything I start to write that begins with that phrase is hopelessly filthy and unfit to print here. This is NOT that kind of blog. It could be that kind of blog, but I'd have to change the banner and several of the fonts and there would be a few people that come here who would be shocked.

5. Which describes you better? "Tastes great" or "Less filling"?

This is an easy one. I am a "Tastes Great" woman all the way. The whole low fat, low carb, low taste craze is a crime against nature. Food should taste good. Food is meant to be enjoyed.

Chocolate should melt in your mouth and when your eating it.
There should be no such thing as a fat free, sugar free brownie.
Houses should smell of fresh baked bread at least once a month.
Everyone should own at least one recipe for homemade macaroni and cheese, the kind with heavy cream in it.
You should be able to sit in the sun with your eyes shut and enjoy an ice cream cone, just like you did when you were a child.

You will never find me on the Atkin's Diet, Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, or any of the other starve yourself options that permeate our culture. I will never be anything below a size twelve. I am definitely a "Tastes Great" kind of person.

DIRECTIONS FOR THE INTERVIEW MEME

1. Leave a comment saying, "Interview me."
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions (if I don't have your email address, you can email me instead). I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Teenage Angst: Remembered

Everyone has horror stories from their childhood. Everyone has a story to tell about how they got picked on by someone at sometime. Some are worse than others. Well, not everyone has those stories. Some of you reading this will have been the givers, others will have been the receivers. Even so, everyone can relate.

This is gonna be a long one folks, but stick it out. I promise this story has a moral.

I was a nerd in school. I was more than a nerd, I was an uber-nerd. I was the nose in her books, glasses wearing, never cared about fashion, always knew the right answer kind of nerd. Add to that the fact that I made friends with the weirdos, the freaks, the dummies and the outcasts...yeah, I was a beating waiting to happen. You could have just painted a big 'ole target on my ass the first day of first grade and sent me off to the playground.

As the years passed, it only got worse. I got boobs in the fourth grade. Not the "Oh, how cute" kind. The "Jesus, that kid is a freak" kind. The girls were merciless. I mean, sure, I got my revenge in high-school when I grew into them, but at the time it was hell. By seventh grade I had read all of Shakespear's collected works, in my spare time, for fun....painting a picture here? Yeah, not pretty is it?

The teachers loved me, usually....the other kids looked at me as something from a science fiction movie. My locker got stacked. They smeared Vaseline on my glasses. They shoved me in the hallways. I got called every name you could think of. They would surround me in the locker room and steal my clothes, make me beg to have them back. I got followed home everyday with threats of physical violence being hurled at me.

I took it all. I never said a word. I went silently through every single day of torture at school and never uttered a word. I never screamed or yelled. I never complained to the teachers. Not a sound. I just read more books and wrote in my journal. Except for one day in eighth grade. On that day I had had enough. On that day I had been pushed to far. On that day I decked one of the other girls. Just hauled off and slugged her in the nose. WHAM! Down she went. She tried to get up. I thumped her again. They were agog. They didn't move. They stared at me as if they had never seen me before. Then one of them screamed. Very Carrie.

I calmly walked myself to the principal's office. The secretary was confused by my appearance and asked why I was there. I told her. Then I sat down to wait for my mother. I got suspended from school for three days. I was sent to counseling to find out why I had struck out at a fellow classmate in such a violent fashion. When I responded to the counselor's questions honestly I got asked what I had done to "provoke" that kind of treatment. At that point I stopped talking to the counselor and was labeled "difficult". Okay then.

In high school I moved to a new city and ended up in a school where I wasn't the smartest kid I knew. In fact, there were a lot of kids that were much smarter than me. I fit in. I didn't even have to do anything. I just fit. My self-esteem improved. My fashion choices improved. I grew into my boobs. Right about the time my boobs and I came to terms with each other I got a boyfriend and life was good.

I found a voice in that place. I learned to stand up for myself. When I was sent home to my mother three years later, I wasn't the same quiet little nerd I had been in the eighth grade. Suddenly I was the "scary" kid. I was combat boots and safety pins in the wrong places. I was punk rock in a sea full of cowboy boots. This terrified each and everyone of my former tormentors. Not one of them opened their mouths to me. Not one. It was remarkable. Suddenly I was to be feared. I was a thing of awe inspiring gasps. I was "That Girl" and not in a Marlo Thomas kind of way. Girls talked in hushed tones when I walked by and the boys wanted me....oh how they wanted me. Combat boots and big tits will get you noticed in a school full of Wranglers and sports bras. I was sex and parties and sin on two legs. I was on fire.

I promised you a moral to this tale, so here it comes. I spent a vast majority of my life in public school as that kid everyone thought was weird. The one that you hear about in the news. I was that kid. I was quiet. I kept to myself. I never complained. I was friends with all the other weirdos. We sat in our own corner of the lunchroom. We read. We talked about politics. We played Dungeons and Dragons. We were each others shelter from the storm. We were lucky to have even that. We hadn't done anything wrong, we were just different. No one came to our aid. No one stood up for us. No one told the "popular" kids that it wasn't okay to be such complete and total bastards. Everyone just ignored it or worsed, asked us what we were doing to provoke it.

Some of you that read this post will adopt the "kids will be kids" attitude. The "suck it up, life's not fair" approach. Some of you will read it and think that I, and kids like me, could work harder to "fit in". That being different is somehow justification for being targeted. Quite a few of you will shrug it off with the classic, "High school doesn't last forever."

Would your perception of my experience change at all if I added details? How about knowing, for example, that the entire time I was being picked on by fellow students I was being abused at home. Not just garden variety spanked and yelled at abused, but the "Mommy Dearest" coat hanger on the back kind? Let's insert the additional detail that at the age of nine I was sexually molested for a number of months by a neighbor, and that upon reporting this to my mother I was called a "lying little slut"? Up the anty a bit, how about knowing that I went to school on a number of occassions with visable bruises and administrators did nothing? Top it all off with a nice helping of suicidal tendancies brought on by severe and prolonged depression which would later be diagnosed as Bipolar Disorder.

Is your perception of the person walking quietly down the hall of that junior high, absorbing all the abuse being thrown at her by fellow classmates shifting slightly?

We brush off how much the bullying that children undergo at school can impact their lives. Not just as children, but as adults. That "weird" kid in the hallway is a person. The "whiner" or the "brat" at your child's elementary school has feelings too. Those children have lives outside of the walls of those schools. None of us is born detached from society. Children don't learn to be social, they learn to be anti-social. They learn it from us. They learn it by watching how we react to situations like the bully on the playground. If we shrug and say, "Kids will be kids," our children learn to shrug and say it too.

Monsters aren't born, they're created. As we continue to make excuses for our own bad behavior, we will continue to see it manifest itself. I was one of the lucky ones, I got out with my soul intact. Not everyone survives. Those of us that do make it out don't do so unscathed. The scars that come from long term, habitual torment at the hands of your peers last into adulthood. It effects the way you form relationships. It effects the way you treat others. Eventually, it has to come out.

Remember this the next time your tempted to pass off school bullies as no big deal: Today's children are tomorrow's adults. What lessons are they learning when you shrug it off?

Heh,heh,heh,heh,heh.......

I dare you not to laugh.

That's it. I give up. I've logged in about twenty times in the last three days. I apparently have nothing to say.

Okay, that's not exactly true. I have a lot I want to say, but I can't get it all straight in my head. Do you ever have days like that? You sit and you stare at a computer screen or a piece of paper and the thoughts your thinking, which just mere moments ago were logical and cohesive, are now muck?

I haven't been able to work on either one of my stories. The characters have turned rebellious, little bastards. Everytime I try to write they run off, I think it's a conspiracy.

A whole lot of nothing.

I hate that damned cursor. It just sits there blinking at you.

If it starts talking to me, I'm going to have myself committed.

And todays choices were.....

Today for breakfast we had:

Two pancakes
Strawberries...fresh
a glass of milk

and

Shredded Cheese???

What the hell?

Could someone please explain my son to me? Shredded cheese?

Paging Dr. Frankenstein....Dr. Frankenstein to the White Courtesy Phone...

There has been a lot of media coverage regarding the bill in Congress supporting stem cell research and President Bush's promise to veto it. Over at BlogHer Dana from The Dana Files gave us her opinion about the subject. It's sparked quite the little debate, with your's truely chiming in a time or two herself.

One of the points that has been raised is the issue of how abortion fits in (the fetuses used for stem cell research come from abortions) and when life starts. The question being asked? Are we using the byprduct of murder to further medical research?

Suzanne replied to the post and pointed out that comparing a zygote to a child is not really an accurate comparison and that to use that comparison to make an accusation of murder would be wrong. And she's right.

Life technically begins the minute an egg is fertilized. Technically. A child however, in my mind, doesn't come into being until much later. And it is at that stage, at the fetal stage, when abortions are performed. We are not discussing the interruption of zygomatic development here, we are discussing the use to aborted fetuses for the use in medical experimentation. Those fetuses have arms, legs, heads, eyes...they look like human beings. While it remains true that they would not have been mature enough to support themselves independently of their mother's body, does not make them any less human.

Now, that being said, let me make a second point. The issue of stem cell research really isn't about abortion. A woman's right to reproductive control is her own. Abortion is legal. I may not agree with it for my own reasons, but I would never belittle of denounce another for having excercised her right to have one. I will continue to work for better education, better access to birth control and better medical care in the hopes that one day the choice to have an abortion will be obsolete...but I will never call someone that chooses to have one a murderer. I have not walked that path, and so have no right to sling those barbs.

No, the issue of stem cell research is not about reproductive freedom. That stops as soon as the abortion procedure has been completed. At that point we cross into a whole seperate moral and ethical arena. I object to the use of fetal tissue for stem cell research because of the future implications it has on our society. If we make it okay to gather aborted fetuses for medical experimentation, where do we draw the line? At what point are we unable to look the other way? There are militant groups defending the rights of animals from experimentation...can you imagine what will spring up if stem cell research is allowed on aborted fetuses?

Our society will continue to evolve and change. At some point abortion will become an outdated procedure. Birth control options and post contact methods will make it obsolete...and then what. Where will the material for this miraculous research come from then? Once we open this particulay Pandora's Box, we won't be able to close it.

Once we step into that territory, where we make one exception, it will become easier to make others. Who's lives are worth what exceptions? What illnesses are worth what risks? How far would we be willing to go in the quest for perfection and the effort to cheat death?

Death and illness are a part of life. People die. Sometimes there is no reason for it. Playing God will not change that. In fact, it could make it worse. If we start screwing around with the human genetic code, there's no telling what could happen. I have children. I wouldn't want to see them suffer for any reason, but I'm also not willing to consign them to a future of scientific and ethical uncertainty to prevent it.

The Simplest Way to Protect Your Private Information From Hackers

Pencil and Paper

Mind Numbing Nothingness

I sat down with every intention of wowing you with My stunning ability to think deep and meaningful thoughts. I was going to write something profound and thought provoking.

All I could think of was:

Why is it that apples in my kitchen seem to have a damned half life and bananas go bad in like three days? What the hell is up with that?

That's it people. I got nothing. The bananas win. My brain has been taken over by the banana conundrum.

Maybe tomorrow will be better.

A memory preserved.

Suzanne over at C.U.S.S did a wonderful post about friendship this morning. It made me nostalgic.

Do you remember when being best friends meant "forever"? Even if forever was only until the end of the summer? But it felt like it streched into eternity? Like that time would never end. When it did, it always felt like something in you had died. Childhood had a tangible feeling...

I want to go running outside onto a sunwarmed playground into a group of lauging friends. I want to swing so hard and so high the chains go slack and it feels like I'm flying. I want to play kick the can in the dark, hiding behind the bushes at the neighbors house, holding my breath, listening to my heartbeat in my ears.

I want the feel the rush of joy that came with waking up on Saturday mornings, knowing I had the whole day to eat cereal out of the box, watch cartoons and play. I want peanut butter sandwiches on the grass in June.

I want camping trips in the middle of summers so hot it feels like the sun is to close to the earth. When the lake felt like heaven and we swam all day. I want to sit wrapped in a blanket on the beach and listen to my parents talk to their friends about things I don't understand. I want to lie on the cool sand and watch the stars and smell the fire and pretend we aren't ever going to go home, because here is quiet and no one yells.

I want to hold hands with my best friend and walk down the sidewalk on a cool fall day talking about what we're going to be for Halloween. I want the smell of Elmer's Glue on construction paper and the sound of the library.

I want the quiet moment before anyone woke up on Christmas morning.

I want the smell of fresh baked bread on Sunday.

I want to wrap all the wonderful things about my childhood up into a tiny little box and hang onto them forever. Unsoiled, perfect and untouched. Because that's how childhood should be.

And because it must have been a SERIOUSLY slow news day...

Apparently it was a really slow news day today. The AP reported that a Zamboni driver from New Jersey has been cleared of drunk driving charges. "Well," you might be thinking, "that's good. Drunk driving is bad." And you would be right....if the man had actually been driving a vehicle....on an actual road.

John Peragallo was charged with drunk driving in 2005 after a fellow employee at the Mennen Sports Arena "told police the machine was speeding and nearly crashed into the boards". (right now I'm trying not to laugh.) Okay, how fast can a Zamboni go. I'll wait while we all Google that.

Back? Okay...let's continue. Just in case you couldn't find it or were to lazy, let me clue you in: a Zamboni has a top speed of NINE MILES AN HOUR. NINE!!! I can run faster than that. So good ole' John was racin' around the ice at a whoppin' nine miles an hour after poundin' em back. (Apparently John likes a little Sambuca and Valium with his morning coffee.) Can't you just picture how that bust went?

"Excuse me sir? Do you have any idea how fast you were going?"

"Umm, yeah? Do you?"

"Well we clocked you at," Cop pauses to look at his radar,"almost ten miles an hour. I'm going to have to ask you to step out of the Zamboni sir."

John looks confused, "Your fucking kidding, right."

"Sir, we don't joke about things like this. Your fellow employees are concerned for their safety."

"My fellow employees are idiots."

"Sir if you fail to cooperate I'm going to have to place you under arrest."

At this point, do you think John jumped back on the Zamboni and tried to make a break for it? I'd love to see THAT on cops.

A judge ruled today that there was no crime because a Zamboni isn't actually a vehicle. The prosecutor's office is considering appealing the ruling. God, I hope their kidding. If I were the judge I would laugh so hard I would pee myself.

I want to write a book that Oprah will Hate!

A good friend suggested that I should write a self help book. I laughed at her. Then I started thinking about it. Maybe I shouldn't write a "self-help" book, maybe I should write a "self" book. Think about that for a moment. I did.

I started writing.

It's called:

"Actually, You're Mother IS to Blame."

I'll keep you posted.

Taffeta Hell

I have entered Taffeta Hell.

The Armory is dark and covered in tissue paper and balloons. There is a crappy band banging out a shitty rendition of the current popular redneck favorite in the background and everywhere I look there are taffeta covered Barbie wannabes. It makes me want to throw up. I am not amused. My date chokes back a laugh, looks at me and says, "Remember, you ASKED me to bring you here." I punch him.

We make our way through the neverending sea of pink and blue to a table where people I know are sitting. These are girls I know from class. Girls I usually have little to no problem with. Tonight they all look the same. They all look like little clones of each other. They're all wearing the same stupid grin and they are all giggling for some unknown reason. I'm at a loss for words. I simply sit down and stare at them. One of them says something and I have to ask her to repeat herself.

"Aren't you going to dance?"

My mouth drops open, "You're kidding, right?"

She actually looks stunned,"No, this band is great. We were surprised they got them to play tonight. We thought they would be booked."

My mind screeches to a halt and tries to grapple with this piece of information. Booked? For what? An In-breeders convention? I shake my head, "No, I think I'll just...No, I'm not going to be dancing."

My date is laughing at this point. I punch him again.

One of the other girls leans over and comments on my dress,"Why did you go with black? I mean, didn't they have anything less...dark?" She actually sounds like there's air leaking out of her head as she's talking. Her boyfriend spits into his soda can at that exact moment, completing the picture.

"I liked the dress. Pink isn't really my thing. To girlie for me."

She looks confused for a second and then her attention is drawn to something shiny off in the distance, "OHH...we have to go and get in line, they're going to do the processional."

"The what?" I ask.

At this point one of my classmates explains that every year, all the prom goers line up and prance down an aisle while being lit up by a spotlight so that friends and family can take pictures. Ooooookayyyyy......I'm out of here.

My date is now laughing out loud. I punch him one last time for good measure. He cringes this time.

I lasted fifteen whole minutes at my prom. Considering the amount of pink taffeta in the room, I think it's a miracle.

A Prom.....Delayed

Many of you may have come here over the last couple of days looking for my Blog Prom posts. I'm sorry they weren't here. A couple of days ago I tripped over the Damned Dog and my knee is now the size of a small tropical fruit. ( I haven't decided which fruit) As soon as I have seen the doctor and can again bend my knee for longer than three minutes without pain, I will post my Blog Prom posts.

I apologize for making you wait....I promise hilarity will ensue sometime next week.

Ahhh....the 80's....

I've been invited to the Prom.

No, you little perverts, I'm not taking some hormone amped little teenager to their prom. I'm talking about Mamma's Firts Ever Blog Prom (TM) In this part I get to regale you with the details of my pre-prom preparations.

Unfortunatley, my posts will be picture free as I lost all pictures of myself at that time when I made the move from North Dakota to Utah four years ago. I will tell you this much though. I was NOT the day-glo neon preppie girl. I WAS the safety pin through her nose, torn fish nets, bad attitude kind of girl. I was the girl that made fun of the cheerleaders, smoked pot in the back of the school, got suspended for skipping class and gave blow-jobs to my boyfriends on the first date. (Yes, I really did just admit to that.)

I went to a total of three dances in my entire high school expereince. Homecoming my Sophomore year, Prom my Junior year and Prom my Senior year. Homecoming was a good time, Junior Prom was basically something to do on a Fiday night in a town of five hundred people and well....Senior Prom, welll.....

I went to my senior prom on a dare. I was dating a guy three years younger than me and the school I was attending wouldn't allow me to bring him as a date, so his best friend said he'd take me. His best friend....the navy guy. Yeah, picture this. Me all in black, black lipstick, hair covering most of my face...him in his dress whites. It was quite the picture. He picked me up in his father's Bronco...yes, I said Bronco.

Okay, let's back this up for a minute. As part of my "pre-prom" get it togetherness, let's get some background info on Serena, shall we? From Freshman year to Junior year I went to high school in New Orleans. I hung out with what would be called the "goth" crowd today. We were the debate team kids, the drama kids, the combat boots and pot smoking kids. We all went to the preforming arts school, we all thought we were cooler than we actually were. You know us, you saw us hanging out at the edges of the football field, or sitting on the side steps of the gym...the outcasts, the weirdos, the freaks. I went to a whole school full of those kids. I felt at home. Then in the middle of my junior year, they sent me back to my mother in Wyoming of all places. I was a freak in a school full of FFA clones, it was hell. In 1988, at the beginning of my senior year, I moved in with a cousin in North Dakota, just to get away from my mother...and that's how I ended up at Williston Senior High and how I met my future ex-husband, the boyfriend with the Navy buddy...my prom date.

So.....all my friends dare me to go to this dance. Tell me I wouldn't ever think about going. So I get Cory to agree to take me. I spring for half the ticket cost (this wasn't a real date) and we're off and running. Now, anyone remember the hair from the 80's? OH MY GOD!!! What in the hell were we thinking? It was like having a fucking garden weasel attached to your forehead. I had the infamous "wall of bangs". I'm sure many of you reading this either had them, or had sisters that had them. You know, the wall of hair on the front of the head that was imprevious to wind, rain or nuclear explosion? I owned a curling iron with a sort of orange coating on it from all the Aussie Spray Gel that had been caked onto it. I'm not even sure how I managed to make it into my twenties with hair left.

I got all dressed, black dress, black pantyhose (line up the back), red five inch heels, black nails, black lipstick, black hair ( hanging in my face, parted so that only one eye showed)and the best part? You guessed it...black rose corsage! I looked like Morticia Adamms' cousin.

Cory picks me up and we get our picture taken. A lovely Polaroid that comes out looking like some fucked up Mix-n-Match picture out a children's book Tim Burton wrote. It was bizarre. By the time we got into the truck we were both laughing so hard I thought I was going to pee myself. We stop off at a friends to smoke a little before we actually go to the dance itself, because honestly, I couldn't face a room full of dancing taffeta Princesses without some chemical help. We get to the Armory and .....

A Challenge...

Okay, so after I posted my "Real Mom" thing, I came across a post at mr. nice guy about a recent study on child care and it's effects on children. No big news that the media got it wrong, but that fact wasn't discovered before it ticked off a WHOLE bunch of stay at home fathers. And they had every right to be pissed. Dad's are just as important to a child's development as mom's are.

And so....the challenge. To all you dad's who surf past or who are regular readers here. Either in the comments here, or on your own site, with a link in my comments section of course, give us a run down:

What makes a "real dad"?

Let's hear from the other side of the parenting fence.

Real Moms....

I was reading a new blog today and found a post about what it means to be a "Real Mom" , go check it out. It got me thinking, what is a "real mom"?

A real mom isn't afraid of that green thing hanging off her child's finger, even if she isn't sure what it is.

A real mom will eat the soggy, half eaten grahm cracker when it's offered to her, because it makes her child smile.

A real mom will cheerfully agree that, yes, blue eyeshadow does make the dog look better.

A real mom will bake three dozen cookies at eleven o'clock on a Thursday night because her daughter forgot to tell her there's a bake sale Friday morning.

A real mom will wear a bra that pokes her for six months because it means her child gets to have that toy/pair of jeans/game that they just have to have.

A real mome will smile through her tears as she watches her baby turn into a grown-up, right in front of her eyes.

A real mom will always accept you....no matter what mistakes you make.

A real mom will make the really hard decisions, so you don't have to.

A real mom will always make sure that the lights come on, the house is warm, the refrigerator is full and you never think about why that is.

A real mom is all the things you need her to be, when you need her to be them....and she never asks you to say thank you.

Kids will be kids...If we let them.

I have been reading quite a few "parenting" blogs recently. You know, blogs written by parents that want to share what they feel are their unique insights or ideas, their thoughts, on this lovely adventure we call parenting.

Most of the time I find information, I find funny stories or I find things I can relate to. Sometimes, however, I find things that make me shake my head and snort in that unladylike fashion that my husband loves so much. One such post showed up today at Motherhood Uncensored. The author of this particular blog is funny and smart and I love to read her stuff, but this post points out, very eloquently, one of the things I think is wrong with parents today. They worry to much. About every little freaking thing.

I want all of you who are reading this to think back to when you were children. Are you there? Okay...now....who had parents that stuck you in every friggin activity you can imagine? Music lessons? Scouting? Dance? Sports? And how many of you secretly yearned to be at home, hanging out with your friends, doing nothing much at all? Again, show of hands, how many of you, as adults tend to be perfectionists or overacheivers? Uh-huh.....okay then...moving on.

My mother ( and I think we all know how I feel about her) never stuck me in a bunch of activities. Oh, that's not to say she didn't try. There was the failed attempt at Bluebirds and the Misery of Girl Scouts. Oh, and let's not forget The Horror of Religious Summer Camp 1982. Ah...and last, but certainly not least, my favorite, Torture by Volleyball. That was the last one. After that she figured out that she was wasting money, I wasn't going to actually participate and she wasn't getting refunds...the insanity stopped, thank god.

Here's my point folks. I was much happier when The Mother just let me run out the front door and spend my days happily roaming the neighborhood with my friends. I wanted to be out in the fresh air, in the sunshine. I wanted to stick my hands in the dirt and see what was there. I wanted to climb trees and hide and ride my bike until my legs hurt. I hated the "joiner" activites she wanted so badly to force me into.

Parents today seem to feel that if they don't sign their children up for every conceivable activity from birth that they are somehow neglecting them or harming them. They have classes for everything now...and starting at an age when the child really isn't getting anything out of it, but the parents feel better about themselves and whoever is putting on the class if making a ton of money off the guilt factor.

Children don't get to be children anymore. They don't even have Saturday morning cartoons anymore. That makes me sad. Everything has to be "educational" now. Why? Whatever happened to just letting kids be kids? Isn't there enough time to be a grown-up when you actually have to? Let your children just be children. Buy them some Playdough. Fingerpaint with them. Sing stupid songs at the top of your voices in the supermarket because it makes your child laugh. Watch dumbass cartoons and spin until your dizzy in the middle of the living room. Send your children out to play in the afternoon sun. Let them BE.

Is there a place for piano lessons and scouting? Sure...but quit obsessing about it. It should be something your child comes home from school and asks you to do, not something you tell them they have to do. My daughter takes art lessons...because she wants to. She doesn't take dance lessons, because she hated them...we tried it though.

Letting your children be children isn't going to land them on Dr. Phil when they're twenty telling the whole world that if you had only put them in voice lessons they would have gotten into Harvard and wouldn't be working at McDonald's now. Ease up. Let it go. You can not control everything, but you can make sure your children get to actually be children. Let them hang on to that joy for as long as they can, huh?

My three year old had Doritos, Hershey Kisses, Yoplait Yougurt, Orange Juice and two pancakes for breakfast this morning. In that order. Does that make me a bad parent?

And Baby make Three.....

As many of you may have noticed, I haven't been around for the past week. That's because on Tuesday, March 13th, 2007 I gave birth to a 7lb 3oz baby boy. We named him Galen Michael Sorensen. He was beautiful and perfect and two weeks early.

Just like his sister before him, we placed him for adoption...with the same family that adopted his sister. They named him Archibald James. He is still perfect and beautiful, but he is gone today. They got the official okay from the state of Utah to go home this morning and I'm feeling a little numb.

I know that it was the best decision for my son. I know that he will be loved and cherished. I know that I will see him and that he will know I made this decision out of love for him. But on the inside I ache a little. This is the third child I have had to say good-bye to in my life time and part of me wants to be selfish and ask why. Part of me wants to cry and scream and be angry.

And then there's the part of me that rejoices knowing that all three of those children are living the lives they were meant to live. All three of those precious gifts are being cherished and snuggled and loved. They will always have the warmth and safety of a family and they will always be part of something beautiful. People say they don't understand how I could give my children away. I don't look at it like that. I didn't give my children away. The adoption didn't make them any less my children, it just made them my children in a different way. I did the one thing I could for them as their mother, I made a good choice for them. Being a good parent isn't always about the easy choice.

To all my children: You mommy loves you.

And the survey says....

We have become a society of what I like to call "celebrity causes". Angelina Jolie is in Newsweek this week, talking about her "causes". International adoption, AIDS assitance in Africa, poverty in third world countries. All important and worthy causes and all causes that come and go from our sight line like the proverbial flash in the pan.

Anyone here remember the "One" campaign? When's the last time it got any media play? Anyone believe that poverty in third world countries just suddenly stopped being a problem? Nope? Me either.

The big one now is Bono and his Powe(red)campaign. It's everywhere. And in a month or two, the media will have moved on to the next trendy issue and no one will remember why it is they have four pairs of red sunglasses.

The thing that disturbs me the most about this trend is that none of it focuses on issues here at home. Poverty, hunger and humanitarian aid to war torn countries are all noble and valid things to get behind. The suffering outside of this country is as immense as you can imagine, sometimes to large a thing to fully grasp. It doesn't change the fact that we have children dying right here at home.

There was a story in the news last week about a twelve year old boy that died from a brain infection. He got the infection because he was denied dental treatment for a simple cavity, which turned into an abcess, which eventually spread to his brain. Why didn't he get treatment? His mother was to poor to afford medical insurance and because she was homeless, the state had "a hard time" getting her approved for Medicaid. So this little boy died.

I'm a frequent reader of a blog called C.U.S.S written by a very funny, very intelligent woman named Suzanne. Suzanne lives in New York and is a member of a group called the Haven Coalition. This is a group that ensures that young women who have made the legal choice to have an abortion have a safe and healthy place to stay after the procedure. Groups like this are necessary because while people are screaming and ranting on both sides of the fence, someone forgot that there are real people involved. Real people that are making life altering decisions and need the support of caring compassionate people, even in small ways.

There are children living in shelters all across this country because their parents can't afford the high cost of rent or can't find employment that will allow them to support their families. Sometimes, the only real meal these children get is the one they receive at school.

This is happening here. Right here. This is one of the wealthiest nations on the planet and we have children dying from a lack of decent health care and starving to death in rundown homes.

Each time you donate to the latest "celebrity cause" remember that there are a lot of things that need tending here in our own backyard. Don't forget the people around the world that need our care and compassion, but don't sweep the suffering of our own under the rug.

Get involved. Write a letter. Commit a post on your blog to bringing attention to issues like these. Make a noise.

You Say It's Your Birthday......

My son turned three yesterday. When he got up in the morning, the first thing his father and I did was start singing to him. He got this very serious look on his face, crossed his arms over his chest, shook his head and said, "No, no birthday." This cracked me up.

Later we gave him his presents and he stood on the kitchen chair while we tried to sing to him again. Apparently the addition of gifts made my singing acceptable because this time he danced a little dance and nodded his head along with us. The PlayDough was a big hit. Shortly after we finished playing with the new PlayDough there was a knock at our door. It was the FedEx guy. (I love my Fedex guy, he is always bringing me cool things.) He had a package for my son. Our friends James and Judy sent him this AWESOME set of magnatized balls and tubes that you build stuff from. He hasn't quit playing with them since we opened it. He slept with them last night. It is officially his favorite thing. I have to admit, they're damn cool blocks.

After dinner it was time for cake. My son stood at the kitchen table and looked at his birthday cake as if he had never seen anything so beautiful in his life. He smiled, he clapped and then he stuck his fingers in the frosting.

Even though his birthday is now officially passed for the year, all day long he has been walking around saying "Happy Birthday" to everyone. I have a feeling that we will all be hearing "Happy Birthday" from him for about a week.

I love being a mom. My kids remind me that it's okay to sing even if you can't carry a tune, dance when you feel like it, sleep with your toys and just generally have a damn good time. Even if you don't have children, take that lesson to heart. Never forget that it's okay to live like you mean it. (I know most of you who read this already do!!!)

Have a good Sunday everyone!

What's on your reading list?

I read. Well, okay, I don't just read. I read A LOT. More than the average person I think.

Now I want to know what you've been reading. Recommend a book to me. Give me a new list to start on, something I've never picked up before.

I'll post about each of the books I read and give credit to the person that suggested it...cause this is my blog, and I can.