Overlooking Those We Love, Those Who Need Our Love

This isn't a typical "I'm thankful" post. No, today I am feeling very very sad. The religious like to say that God does not give us more than we can handle. I've never subscribed to that point of view, and if you do, more power to you, I'm not doubting your beliefs. I'm just saying that when I was growing up, there were times when we thought, "Hey, God, could you focus on someone else for just a little while? We're gonna have to open a window pretty soon."  But that was then and this is now, and now I'm a grown up and have lots of things to be thankful for, grateful for, and to worry about.

Life has thrown us a few curve balls over the course of the past week. Currently, we are down to one car. The car that is no longer with us saved my husband's life. There is no doubt in my mind that if he was driving our Saturn, this would be a totally different blog post. Then there is 16, who has had a fever since Friday. Doctor says it's the flu and naturally she's gotta ride it out with fluids and Ibuprofen.  And there's Thanksgiving! Who could forget Thanksgiving? I'm cooking for 10! The house needs to be cleaned, the tables need to be moved, the bedding all needs to be washed and redone. Lots going on.

Which is why I feel absolutely horrible about what transpired right under my nose and I had no clue. My beautiful 14 was supposed to play volleyball this winter with the club in which she played last year. She even received an email from the team this past Sunday (when she was out helping me with Thanksgiving grocery shopping) stating that the first team meeting would be on the same night as one of her basketball games. We laughed about it and I told her we'd figure something out. And then I forgot about it because I had to get gas and go home and make dinner and blah blah blah.....

Yesterday, 14 forwarded an email to me. I had taken the day off from work to take 16 to the doctor and then to go empty out the remains of the car that saved hubby's life. I assumed that the email was the same email that 14 had received on Sunday about the team meeting. I ignored it. I've been bitching and whining about the house and no one helping me clean. And I still hadn't checked the email.

Until now. Let me make one thing perfectly clear: 14 LOVES VOLLEYBALL. And she's pretty damn good at it too. She picked up a volleyball in 6th grade for probably the first time at tryouts. And she was good enough to be put on JV AND Varsity. She's good. No kidding. And she LOVES the game. She eats it, sleeps it and breathes it. Are you getting the picture? Good.

So I finally got around to reading the email that she forwarded to me. And my heart sank. The coach had emailed her, apologizing profusely. There wasn't enough interest, they didn't have enough girls to field a team for U15, she was not eligible to play U14. My girl sat on this information and never said anything to be because of all that has been going on around her. She kept this inside. And I know she is brokenhearted about it. The coach did make her a pretty cool offer to help as a volunteer assistant coach for younger girls. She'd get to help them at practices, but it wouldn't be the same for her. She wants to play.  And the coach paid her a very high complement, saying that 14 "is a good person with very high character for only being 14, and is a great role model for young girls just starting out." But still, she doesn't get to play. And she never told me, because of everything else that's going on in our lives at this moment. Her dad. Her sister who's sick. Thanksgiving.

The coach was right, she IS a good person, she DOES have very high character, she IS a great role model to younger girls. But she's also selfless, kind, caring, compassionate, smart, funny, sarcastic, energetic, athletic, beautiful, witty, confident and amazing. I'm so proud to be her mother that sometimes my heart feels like it will explode with pride.

And so, to my baby girl, I'm so sorry that we've overlooked your needs this week. I promise I will try very hard to be aware of your needs and I promise that if you send me an email, I WILL READ IT.

If you ask me what I'm thankful for, right at this moment, I'd tell you I'm thankful for the following:

The restraint system on the Chevy Equinox
The warmth, health and love of my family
The generosity and love of my friends
The patience and love of my daughters
The love of my husband, who I hope will be around for many many more years

Picture Books, Duran Duran and Highway Robbery

It's no secret that I'm a huge Duran Duran fan. Everyone knows it, and those who don't know it live under a rock. I've seen them live over 20 times, I've traveled far and wide to see them, and to visit my girls for Duranie weekends. Or as we like to call them, BITCHES weekends. We have a tight-knit group of about 30 of us and we all try to get together at least once a year, just to hang out. For us, the band brought us together, but our friendships now go MUCH deeper than our love for the band.

And let me be clear on one thing: NONE of us are independently wealthy. NONE of us live in a mansion, NONE of us shop on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. Most of us have families, mortgages, car payments, the usual. And we have one more thing in common: we all think the band has GIGANTIC CUJONES for what they are charging for a new book out this month.

Photographer Denis O'Regan followed the band around on their Sing Blue Silver tour and took a bunch of pictures. Now he's put together a book of over 200 color and black & white photos, bound it in cloth and they have the AUDACITY to charge £250 for it (to save you the trouble, that's $403 to us here in the US. Shocked? How about the £500 (That's right, $806 US) for the 'Deluxe Edition' signed by all 5 original band members? If that doesn't get you, there's also a £2500 (you guessed it, over $4000!) edition which is described as: "containing contemporary fine art prints and 1984 vintage prints, together with handwritten lyrics of one of the band's classic hits by Simon LeBon." My guess is it's that over-done, over-played make-my-ears-bleed song Hungry Like The Wolf. YUCK.

Well let me tell YOU something, Denis O'Regan, Simon, John, Nick, Roger and Andy. There's NO way on God's green Earth that I or ANY of my Durannie girls will EVER part with that much green for a book of pictures, with or without your autographs.

You've gotten a lot of money from us over the years, but (to quote Simon LeBon) you've gone too far this time.

If you are a Duran fan and you have the extra cash to fork over for one of these coffee table books, good on ya. But if you are a normal person with a limited income, this is an exorbitant amount of money and for them to expect a fan to part with that kind of cash for this book is BEYOND the scope of fandom. It borders on extortion.

Do we love the band? Yes. Are we insane enough to part with our hard earned money for this? No. Flippin. Way.

Sorry, I just had to get that off my chest. And in the illustrious words of my girlfriend Joelle:

"For £2500 that book better be fucking hand delivered and Simon better be scrubbing my toilets, while Nick does the laundry, John runs the vacuum, and Roger does the dishes. I'll let Dom off the hook since he probably isn't included. Oh wait, Andy's included? Well then take out the trash."

Why I'm Out of Contention for Wife/Mother of the Year: A Snarkfest Confession

The amazing Frugalista Blog is healing from a football injury, and in her blogging absence, she's having some guest bloggers fill in for her until she's back in action. And one of her guests is the phenomenal Keesha from Mom's New Stage. Keesha's post is a fantastic confession of ways that she sucks.

This got me thinking that it's been a really rough week at Casa Snarkfest, and I think that it's very important that you all know that I'm NOT a very nice person sometimes (shut up, I said SOMEtimes, not 24/7). I think it's also important that you know that my family usually ends up on the receiving end of my not-so-niceness and they deserve an apology. So to that end, I'm presenting you all a list of reasons I sometimes suck at this whole wife/mother thing. The list below, in no particular order, is my way of apologizing to my family for my short-comings. I hope to improve on this soon. Until then, please don't change the locks on the front door.

A. I am a lousy housekeeper. You know it. I know it. And while I piss and moan to you all about not folding and putting laundry away, I continue to pile dirty dishes in the sink and then bitch that they are still in there days later. I'm just as much at fault as you are.

B. I let things simmer inside until I can't take it anymore, then I explode and let everything pour out, and you are on the receiving end, whether it was your fault or not. I'm talking to all of you. Instead of addressing the issue when it happens, I let it stew and fester, and then one thing sets me off and I look like Milton the Monster when he blows his top. And for that, I am sorry.

C. I am very hard on both 16 and 14. I embarrass them for missing the bus in the hopes that it will motivate them to start making the bus. And apparently, it's backfiring on me. Embarrassing them is mean. And I didn't realize just how mean it was until a 'Come to Jesus' meeting this week in which I realized just how much it has affected them. So I promise to make a concentrated effort to stop using negative reinforcement to motivate, and start using positive reinforcement. Donuts? Puppies? I'm open to suggestions.

D. I have also promised to try to be less, shall we say, 'fly-off-the-handle-like' with my girls. I've never had a teenager before, and they don't come with a manual, so it's pretty much either learn from the mistakes of others, or it's on the job training. So let this be a lesson to other parents who have kids who may soon be teens: listen to them before jumping on their shit. It's a mistake I make way too often. I leap before I look and I often miss the point. And for that, 16 & 14, I'm incredibly sorry. And I'll try to do better.

E. I often phone in my interest, and that's bad. Very bad, m'kay? Phoning in your interest is not cool. So when 14 goes on about how hot Austin Mahone is or how much her You-Tubers crack her up, I promise not to phone in my interest, I promise to listen. If it's important to my kids, then it needs to be important to me too. Because I don't want them to turn to someone else who will feign interest to get them to do things they probably should not be doing. So when you tell me about someone on the team who does this or that, or you tell me that someone in your class is bothersome, or that Harry Styles is the best thing since chocolate Pop-Tarts, I promise to listen and not just nod my head and say 'yup, sure is.'

F. I don't make enough time for my husband, and that's really bad too. Not making time for your husband is bad, m'kay? Marriage is hard, yo. Really hard. But we've been at it for almost 19 years, and he's so cute! It's definitely worth working for, and I am sorry that I don't make enough time for him. I need to make a concentrated effort to make a monthly 'date night' and I'm announcing it here and now (Wolf! Right here and now!) that I'm going to try hard to do this for him and for our marriage.

I think that's enough confession for one day. So to my handsome and funny 49, to my beautiful and amazing 16 and my phenomenal and fantastic 14, I'm sorry that I'm not working hard enough and I promise that I will try harder to be a better person. You girls look to me to be a role model, and I'm going to try to be the person you need me to be. Now go clean your rooms.

Sensitivity and the teenager......

I picked 16 up from basketball practice last night and we were discussing the blog. I told her I was trying to come up with some ideas on a blog about her dad. She asked if I was going to throw him 'out of the bus' like I do with her and her sister. And I said "first of all, it's UNDER the bus, not OUT OF the bus. And B, I don't throw you guys under the bus.


Much."

She then proceeded to explain to me about how I'm always like, "Oh I'm so proud of 16, she's such an awesome kid BUT SHE MISSES THE BUS and she never listens and she does this wrong and that wrong."

I didn't think that I was being mean. I think all teenagers do a lot of the same things. Messy rooms, not doing what's asked of them, being all-consumed with the iPhone, not doing what's asked of them, no sense of urgency, then blaming everyone else when things don't go as planned. I'm not alone in this. I swear, there are other parents out there with kids who are EXACTLY like mine. I write about mine so that other moms will tell me I'm not the only one. Nothing makes me feel better than when someone else says "Oh the same thing happens in my house." Because it makes me feel like I'm NOT sucking as a parent.

These girls didn't come with any training manual, no instructions on how NOT to fuck up their lives. So it's all been trial and error for me. And after the conversation with 16 I felt like it was WAY more error than trial.

And now I'm left wondering if I'm doing more harm than good by writing about them. Blogging about stuff, writing songs when they miss the school bus. I cannot tell you how much they hate those songs. Their friends give them a hard time, their friends' parents kid them about it. I don't do it to be malicious, I do it as a release. It's frustrating to me and I turn my frustration to humor. I have to. Drinking before work is kind of frowned upon.

She says I never write about the GOOD stuff they do.

Make no mistake, I'm incredibly proud of both my daughters. You'll never meet a more proud mom. They are smart, they are beautiful, funny, caring girls. They never rob banks or kick puppies. They never make fun of hobos or break windows. They almost never steal cars. And if they hate my songs about the school bus, maybe they could try MAKING the bus more often. I've already conceded to not writing songs when they MAKE the bus (which is awesome because I'm running out of ideas), and if they never missed the bus again, I'll never have to come with another witty song, ever. Trust me, that would be just fine with me.

So let it be known here and now and henceforth that I DO love my kids, I AM proud of them, they ARE amazing girls, and I hereby apologize to them if they feel that I'm mean to them on my blog or Facebook page.

And let me also say this: being messy, missing the bus and having to be nagged are problems I am THRILLED to have. Because there are other parents out there who have to deal with their children doing drugs, drinking, teen pregnancy, health issues, behavioral problems. Trust me, if the only thing I ever have to worry about is my daughter missing the school bus, I am the luckiest mother on the face of the earth.

It's Halloween and the Assbags are Out!

My friend Joy from Evil Joy (who really is NOT all that Evil) messaged me this morning on the Book de Face telling me that she was reading an article about this chick who is giving out candy to deserving skinny children this Halloween, and letters to those children whom she deems as obese.

Yes, you did read that correctly. She is taking it upon herself to rid the world of obese children, one letter at a time.

Don't believe me? See the news report and hear it from her own mouth here. I'm flabbergasted. And you know I don't get flabbergasted over just anything. Now, don't get me wrong. I totally believe that her motives are pure. She sees a generation of obese kids being raised, she wants to do something about it. How about giving out APPLES instead of candy, you stupid assbag?? There's a novel idea!! Clementines? Raisins? Yes, you'd be considered 'that house' on Halloween, but your house is less likely to be egged if you hand out fruit than it will if you hand out letters to kids telling them that, in YOUR opinion, they are obese, and therefore, deserve to be singled out and put down. Trust me, if my kid ever received a letter stating that, in someone else's opinion, she was obese, the author of said letter would be receiving a visit from me, my attitude, and my size 8 boot up her ass.

I really do understand where she's coming from, but I think the way she's going about it is beyond ridiculous. I think back to my days as an overweight child. My self-esteem was already in the toilet, and it was bad enough that I heard from my bullying peers that my ass was too big, my stomach was fat, etc. But to be handed a letter from a grown woman telling me almost exactly the same thing is crushing. You're obese and don't deserve candy. Your parents aren't doing enough to raise you to be healthy. All in HER opinion. How is she going to make the determination? Is her front porch secretly a scale? Will she have a BMI chart inside her front door? Who is SHE to judge who should and should not receive candy on Halloween?

 I'm sorry, this bitch is just asking to have a crowd of angry parents come knocking on her door. In my opinion, she deserves what's no doubt going to be showing up on her front porch.

If she thinks this is such a big problem, then she should hand out healthy snacks to EVERYONE who comes to her door tomorrow night for trick or treat. Set the standard for EVERY child, not just those who she deems overweight or obese.

Tough Mudder, Part Two

Once again, I am a BAMF. (if you 're not sure what that means, think back to SHAFT). I, along with 5 other bad asses, ran the Tough Mudder Mid Atlantic 2013 held at what seemed like the highest point in West Virginia this past Saturday. The scenery was absolutely breathtaking and I probably would've enjoyed it much more if I wasn't bleeding, crampy, bruised, achy, tired and dying to finish this trek.

The few, the proud, the Fossils. Pre-dirt.

If you didn't know it, this wasn't my first time at this rodeo. I ran the Tough Mudder last August with an equally insane group of folks. We continued the Team Fossil tradition and made it to the finish with only one testicle being lost. (not mine, rest assured). Last year I face planted into the Dirty Ballerina, and luckily for me, we didn't have this obstacle this year. However, we DID have the Cage Crawl, which is a cold water filled muddy pit covered by fencing. You literally get into the dirty, cold pool and with your face about 6" from the fencing, you pull yourself through the mud/water without being able to see how far you've gone or how much farther you have to go. We had quite a delay here because one of the participants had her pinky impaled by the tip of the fencing as she was exiting. While we waited, our fearless photographer, West, captured this image of me.

Ew, I think I have some dirt under my nail! Wait, that's not dirt!

This picture just cracks me up. I know it's blurry but the look on my face (as I am completely covered in mud and probably cow-shit, among other things) is hilarious to me. I'm dirty, I'm smelly, I have mud caked into places NO woman should EVER have mud, and yet I'm picking something dirty off of my hand. I dunno, maybe it's just me. By this point in the race I was delirious from all the effing hills we had to climb.

We once again faced the Arctic Enema, only this year I was better prepared. This year I KNEW how shocked my body was going to be. It didn't make it any easier to get through, but it DID make it easier for my fake husband who was once again behind me. Last year, I froze, literally, in front of him. When I turned to express my shock to him, in slow motion I saw him mouth the word: "MOOOOOVVVEEE!!!!" This year, I moved without prompting from him. I swam under the board in the middle of the pool of ice water, and swam to the end. And bless you sweet baby Jesus there was a ladder at the end this year. Last year, Joseph had to literally catapult me out of the pool and thankfully my teammate Keith was there to save my life. This year I very easily (and pretty damned quickly) climbed out by myself.

We faced several of the same obstacles as last year, and some new obstacles that kicked our asses, just as climbing the hills did. There were giant  hills to climb, and once we scaled the hills, we had to descend them and do pushups. We ascended the next hill, ascended that one and had to do lunges. What the hell kind of sick, torturous mind comes UP with these things??  I should make my KIDS do these things when they miss the bus!

Or subject them to Electroshock Therapy, which is the last obstacle we faced before running up YET ANOTHER damned hill to get to the finish line. This is probably one of my favorite pics that West took, because we made it to the end, no one died, no one lost any limbs (other than that testicle one of us left back at the Berlin Wall) and we all just uttered a gutteral scream of relief.

Crazy shocked Fossils.

 At the finish line, sporting our Tough Mudder headbands (you get this instead of a medal. Go ahead, be jealous) and heading for the free beer, we once again leaned on one another as we did through the 11 miles of dirt, hills, hell, ice water and dirt.

Bring on the beer!

Below is probably, by far, my favorite group picture in the lot. This is what Tough Mudder is all about. You help your team, you help others, others help you. Here is a shot of the 6 of us. I'm in the middle struggling to get my fat ass up that damned hill, my teammates are above me and below me helping, as is another nameless Mudder there grabbing my hand, pulling me to the top of the hill.

Dear God, please get me up this damned hill.

This is what it's all about. And I've completed this thing twice. Next year, I'm going to volunteer. I may not get as dirty or as bruised, but I'll be able to help give to those other Mudders who have gotten me through the past two Tough Mudders I've run.

Things that make me shake my head.....

I can always count on Huffington Post's 'Weird News' page to make me say "Say what???" and this morning is no different. For those who invite potty humor to the dinner table, I give you the Magic Restroom Cafe. I shit you not (sorry, bad pun) this is a real restaurant in L.A. that has toilets for seats, toilet bowls for dishes and some really gross-out names for its signature dishes. My personal least favorite is the "Bloody Number Two".

Another story that made me pretty furious was the AOL story about the woman who was walking with her boyfriend near the Ala Wai Boat Harbor in Waikiki, HI when she heard the sounds of dogs (a LOT of dogs) barking from a car. She called 911 and opened an unlocked door to a Honda Fit (trust me, Matchbox cars look like Hummers compared to these little cars). Inside the Fit were 21 dogs. Let that sink in for a second. Picture a Matchbox car, now picture 21 dogs inside, now imagine all this in the Hawaiian tropical heat. Some of the Pomeranian-Poodle mixed dogs were crammed into crates and some were running around the car free. The story is that the owner of the Fit was the mother of the breeder of the dogs, and the mother took the dogs without permission. BOTH of these folks should be slapped upside the head with a bat. Absolutely disgusting.

If this doesn't make you say "What the what???" I don't know what will. Wine for Cats. That's right, I said Wine.........for your cat. I've got some bad news for my Dumbass. Momma doesn't share her wine. It's bad enough sometime she gets her disgusting cat hair IN my wine. Now from Japan, there's wine for your cat. I. Don't. Think. So.

Back off, kitty, that's MY Cabernet!!!
Photo courtesy: 123RF.com

And to finish up your Wednesday morning, this one made me smile. It's one for my friend Toby's site, Dumbass News.  He's always got great stories of really smart people, like this Einstein, who called the cops because he got stiffed on a drug deal. Seriously. Apparently he was selling prescription drugs for $1.25 each, not realizing that this was, in fact, illegal to sell prescription drugs, and when the buyer stiffed him, he called the police to report it. When they didn't show up right away, he called them three more times to see what was taking them so long. Apparently he was in a hurry to get locked in the pokey. I love stupid people.