My Luck Could Change

I SAW RED

I left the house last night feeling triumphant, and went to bed feeling empty and alone. For a second there I truly believed that there were enough people on my side. I've been writing all day. Calling people all day. Trying to share this pain. Now, I realize while I may not be truly outnumbered (if you include all the apathetic young people on my side), I'm extremely outgunned. Today is a day of true mourning for all us lefties, but there's already sparks of a renewed fire and fight.

I may have another post on the election with all the thoughts I've been spewing all day on other people's blogs whenever I was able to steal a minute. Mostly just to save for posterity for myself, although I doubt I'll be able to forget this feeling for a while. I've felt anger before. Anger at being lied to. Anger at being cheated. But never quite on such a national scale with no reprieve in site for what will feel like decades.

What the hell do we have to do to get kids my age to vote? Beyond all our rational arguments, we gave them their rock stars, their movie stars, their movies....their free clean underwear and ramen. We gave them their immediate information available 24 hours a day and wireless. We whispered about real threats of draft and depression. WHAT MORE CAN WE POSSIBLY DO?

I guess, for me, it starts with making my son excited about voting. Telling him that once every four years, on Election Day, ordinary people get to be super heros. To make him so proud of his "I voted" sticker that he had to dig in the hamper to grab it for today off yesterday's shirt. Because really, I don't know what more I can be doing.

Had to write my second of three papers for the week for my spanish class. This one was easy and short. My next one, on Orozco, will be a doozy. Research n shit. And, yes, I know, my spanish isn't that good, but remember, I'm technically only halfway through the third semester right now. So there. Er, here:

Punk Rock Mom!

You're a punk rock mommy! DIY is probably your
motto, because you're a punk mama at heart.
Your kids are getting your independent spirit
and guts, and learning to solve problems
themselves. You love it when they show their
independence, even when it's breaking your
heart.


What kind of a freaky mother are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Listening to:Youth Brigade - Punk Rock Mom

Didn't Fall Too Far From the Tree...

This morning I had Jeremy on my lap and we were pretending we were surrounded by alligators, one of our new favorite games. But this morning, the alligators were nice alligators and, for once, weren't going to eat us alive. So I asked Jeremy what the alligators eat - "sharks," he said. So I asked what sharks eat - "frogs," he said. I asked what frogs eat and he said "baby octupuses." "Really Jeremy? I thought frogs liked to eat bugs." "Oh yeah. Frogs eat bugs, too." "So what do bugs eat?" Jeremy scrunched up his face and then said, "Well, the larvae eat aphids. The flying bugs like to drink nectar."

MY SON IS 3. NOT 3 AND A HALF. THREE.

Holy crap. And here I was feeling guilty about yesterday when I was so exhausted I couldn't move, let alone be supermom. I think it's OK for me every now and again to take a few hours off (post ends here abruptly and without editing and punctuation because my son managed to spill my green tea chai latte all over my keyboard which still didn't work after a thourough drying-out. Good thing Adam has ready access to office supplies. That is not to imply in any way he took a keyboard from work, because we're not that kind of people.).

Mommy Insurance

Since tomorrow I will hopefully be uploading a bunch of pix from my show tonight, I thought I should buy myself some Good Mommy Insurance and post a picture my sister-in-law sent of Jeremy and my niece, Madison.

Can you tell which one is from California, land of sun, and which one is from Minnesota - land of eternal permafrost? ;)

Also, here's one of Jeremy and my goofy nephew Nick. There's a new pic of my other nephew, Nate, in my 'random' folder

Powdered Milk and Other Childhood Horror Stories, -or- Our Kids Are Growing Up Pussies

Went up to Joe's today for a Labor Day BBQ to see Ana and let the kids run. Turns out we all have these horror poverty stories from when we were kids. Grocery store shoes, "Peanut Butter" brand peanut butter, tinfoil-reusing moms. Remembering a day when Christmas was special because we weren't getting toys every other day anyway. And not one of our kids has (or ever will, hopefully) had to deal with anything like that. I don't know if it's our willingness to go into debt to buy into the brash commercialized culture, or simply the fact that we're doing much better than our parents financially, or both. But strange to me that every adult's mouth there tonight was scarred with the taste of generic macaroni and cheese dinner and POWDERED MILK, and that our kid's will never know such sorrows.

It's not the same as having to walk to school through 6 feet of snow, grampa, I know, but to my spoiled generation, our kids have it better than we could ever imagine.

Or at least that's what we delude ourselves into thinking so that we can believe we're good parents. Either way, our kids are growing up pussies. And that's the most a parent could ever wish for their child. ;)

Summer Clearance

Motherhood is fabulously rewarding. I think I laugh more than anyone I know. But at the same time...

Jesus, Old Navy today. I never ever shop during the day with my son. Ever. But today was different....it was 90 degrees outside and I haven't been able to find my bikini all summer. I needed the pool. So I was lured to Old Navy by their promise of 50% off summer clearance. And:

-He hid in the clothing racks, under shelves, etc etc so even if he was 3 feet away I suffered a mild heart attack each time thinking some serial killer had made off with him
-He found a soccer ball and launched it at some little girl's head. Twice.
-Countless clothing items were torn down and left on the floor after he walked all over them
-and the kicker, He opened the door of the dressing room WHILE I WAS WEARING NOTHING BUT MY UNDERWEAR AND THE BIKINI BOTTOMS I WAS TRYING ON.

I'm sure I'm leaving multiple points out, but after having some 17 year old attendant see my titties, all else was lost.

And it's not that I have some monster of a child. It's not that I don't discipline him well or enough. It's that he's 3. And if you've never had a 3 year old to call your own, you can quit your judging right now. You don't understand.

The woman ahead of me in the fitting rooms had 2 insane children kicking, crying, screaming, trying to usher them into a dressing room...I suggested the roomier handicapped room since she was obviously the most handicapped person in the store. The attendant agreed. The woman in front of me in the check out line had the LOUDEST fit-throwing toddler I have ever heard in my life. People several lanes over were having to yell to be heard. And I don't know if I just tuned into the station or what, but all I heard above the bad Old Navy music was mothers yelling at their kids.

I'm telling ya. I don't know how the hell I do it some days. Please know, that no matter how cool, sweet, loveable, loving you are today, you were a tyrannical little shit for at least the first 4 years of your life. Send your mother flowers. It's the least you can do.

But I did get a cute bikini out of the deal and spend over an hour today in the pool with my boy. He's being super brave and didn't want to wear his floatie jacket for much of today, instead insisting on me just letting him go, him kicking and flailing under water until, if he didn't make it up himself, I felt I had to pull him up for air, which he'd gasp for, and then hold his breath again, wiggling in anticipation of me letting go and him being under water again.

First, it's crawling, then it's asking me to let him go by himself in 6 feet water. I'm off to cry now.

Potty Training Sucks -or- "But I Don't Want Bones!"

I'm breaking out of rockstar mode to write about my frustrations during the other part of my day:

I've tried nearly every approach...hard core, totally relaxed, treats, gushing praise, completely laying off for weeks at a time, yet my son is still not potty trained. I hadn't needed to change a poopy diaper in weeks, and then >BOOM!< here comes the earthquake and now he'd rather hide in the corner. So today I'm trying the hardcore approach again. Underwear all day today, talking him through every step, having him teach one of his stuffed animals the ropes, making him take his clothes on and off, making him change himself if he has an accident, a nearly completely candy diet for all of his accomplishments. I'm f'n exhausted. Neither of us will be able to keep this up. If anyone out there has any advice it would be much appreciated. Most books focus on whether your child is ready or not which does me little good. My son is extremely bright (not just cuz I'm his mama), very advanced in everything so far except for drawing and not crapping himself.

He's still my sweetheart, though, no matter how frustrating this is for the both of us. Right now he's laying on the floor, whining because he doesn't want bones in his body. He wants me to take them all out and gave me this really evil look when I laughed at him. Should have pressed harder for naptime today I guess.

Rocketman

Ever since I finished my finals my relationship with Jeremy has changed dramatically. Before, no matter what I told myself, I felt so insanely guilty if he asked for my attention and didn't get it. I have this memory of being tiny, probably not even 3, and asking my mom to play with me. She said no, and I still remember exactly how painful that was to me, how unloved and unwanted I felt. But now I'm realizing that I would have gone off and sulked, and then figured out something to do. And it's in those moments when you're alone that figure out who you are, see how far your imagination will take you. So now, I'm ok with telling Jeremy 'no.' And for this last week, I've barely had to tell him no at all. He knows when I'm busy, and does his own thing. That way, when I'm not busy, I'm even more interested in playing with him. It may have only been 20 minutes in the other room, but I still miss him when he's not bugging me for every minute of it. Yesterday, I got to do yoga while he was awake for the second time since he was born. I read a book last week during the day! All these things that other moms got to do during nap time - which has been inexistant in my house since he was a year and a half old. But now because I absolutely had to study and had to learn to tell him no and mean it, he's perfectly content talking to the air conditioner right now, pretending he's a spaceman. I'm so glad I'm not interfering with those moments anymore.