As long as I can remember (and I am sure way before that) there have been those parents that coached from the sidelines, if you will.  Let’s use the crazy ass parents (ahem, mothers…) I see at M’s gymnastics class each week.  While M has her group lesson there are many other classes/practices going on in the same gym ranging from beginners to some real badass chics, like so badass that there could be a Mary Lou, Shawn, or Nastia in these classes.  My professional knowledge of gymnastics is crap, and, truth be known, my expectations are probably lower than most, so anyone that can do a front roll and come up on their feet is good, REALLY good.  Continuing on…. the different groups rotate through the gym, for example, M’s group will do floor, the badasses are on balance beam, and the up-and-coming badasses are on bars.  It may sound chaotic but there is a method to the madness and it all works really well.  So with all these kids come all these parents, or otherwise known as, ‘crazy-ass parents/mothers.’

In our particular gym, parents are able to view their kids performance from a second story balcony area that enables said crazy ass mothers to continually critique their daughter’s practice.  When you step into the balcony area there is a distinct area for ‘those’ mothers (their daughters are the badasses and all know one another) and then an area where the common folk, such as myself, sit.  These women sit right against the railing (truth be known they probably have assigned seats) watching their daughters practice ,as well as the other girl’s practice (their daughter’s competition, after all), all the while yelling pointers.  These pointers range from, “‘Keep it tight!’ ‘Oh, Morgan!  That was terrible!’ ‘Let me see the one with only one hand, that one is much better.”  The list goes on and on, however, it’s the snarky little comments that their daughters can’t hear (except for Morgan, clearly her mom is a bitch who shares her feelings freely…all the time), these are the comments that absolutely kill me because they are all horribly negative.  The fact that you ‘think’ so poorly of your child that you would voice those thoughts is just outright fucked up, there is no other way around that one, sorry.  Dude, if my daughter was doing some flip on the balance beam that ended with her on her feet I would be freaking elated.  As a matter of fact, M’s vault abilities have the potential to be stellar!  See what I did there?  I didn’t say that it was perfect (much like the lady who brings her digital camera, complete with a super long distance lens, to class each week), nor did I say it was shitty; I said that there was ‘potential to be stellar,’ and left it at that.  I could have continued on with the negative or jumped up and proclaimed her readiness for the next Olympics, but I didn’t, and other than making myself look as if I’m bat-shit crazy, what, pray tell, have I proved with my comments and to whom?  It proves nothing because, in all actuality, I haven’t the first clue as to what makes a good vault; I just know a badass when I see one and my M is on her way!  And, where do the snarky comments made under your breath about your daughter’s performance fit into all of this?  She can’t hear them, but your crazy-ass-mother friends can, and, despite the fact that they are doing the same exact thing, they are judging you.  Hell, we are all judging you!  Not the point here (but we really are)…  Simply put, there is no place for the snarky comments; therefore, cut your know-it-all shit out.

It is of my professional opinion (obtained from the college of Your Mother) that these women are acting like asses.  The point here is that these women sit there critiquing every little thing that goes wrong, never pointing out the good stuff (hence the previous balance beam example), all the while their daughter is being professionally coached.  Seriously, when you get super awesome at this gym you get a super awesome coach, no shit!  All of us in that viewing area are paying damn good money for someone else to teach our daughter gymnastics and far be it for me to interfere with that instruction.  Last time I checked I wasn’t a gymnast, nor am I qualified to teach gymnastics, and, all things considering, would probably break, pull, twist, or tear some really important stuff if I even attempted a forward roll.  Something tells me that these women are in the same boat as me, they couldn’t do this shit if they tried either.  The conclusion of my professional opinion is the old adage, if you can’t say anything nice then keep your f***ing trap closed.  Take this time to read a book (50 Shades of Grey, Bared to You, the Bible, Glamour, Allure, Redbook, etc. etc.) or, hell, for all I care, stalk people on Facebook, just give this time to your daughter.  Let her be the awesome gymnast and strong young woman she is striving to be at this moment.  When she looks up at you, and you happen to be looking, instead of giving the look of disdain for whatever indiscretion you yourself couldn’t even do, try something new.  Give her a wink, a smile, a thumbs up, anything that tells her you’re there for her because this is her time to shine and she has your full support regardless of the outcome.

I have always told myself that I will never be ‘that’ parent that yells like a loon for the coach to play her kid or pointing out how stupid the refs are or how a kid from the other team is bullying my kid and if he doesn’t cut his shit out things won’t end pretty.  You know, all those things that go along with balancing our parenting abilities with our natural competitive streaks.  It’s like Shakespeare said, “To be (an ass), or not to be (an ass).  That is the question.”  Which one will your kid respect?  Hell, which one do you respect?  I sure as hell don’t respect those parents that yell at everyone and everything; I highly doubt anyone else does either.  Just puttin’ it out there……

At then end of the day, the daughter’s, of those crazy-ass mom’s, squeeze (no ugliness intended) into cute little leotards and proceed to contort their bodies in order to defy gravity.  They’re like freaking cats and always land on their feet, fascinating!  Any hoo, continuing on….  Simply having the balls to willingly put your body in a small piece of spandex and then give proceed to give 110% like no one else is watching (even picking your butt like a lady) is commendable and makes each and every one of you my hero!!

*Feeling the need to state that I don’t know these girls or any of these parents which is making me acutely aware that I am being a judgmental bitch.  Hypocrisy at it’s finest!!

**Now I feel the need for a disclaimer…..  These girls, that I call my hero’s, could be promiscuous, drug addicted little flunkies, which I highly doubt, but one never knows.  As for their mothers, they could be really great, Christian, cookie-making women, but those attributes just aren’t shining while coaching, uh, er, watching their daughter practice.  Again with the hypocrisy but I’m just callin’ ’em like I see ’em.

Enough said….

And with love to all, I am off like a prom dress!!  I’m going to make like a tree and leaf!  I’m blowin’ this popstand!  Hasta la vista, baby!  Toodles!

(this could go on all night, see ya!)

You may have noticed by now that I have a little bit of a foul mouth.  Is it lady like?  No.  Is it appropriate?  Some would say it’s not, I say it depends on the situation.  Sometimes you just have to say a dirty word and actually saying ‘dirty word’ in place of the actual thing is kind of stupid.  Just say chosen epitaph and be done.  In my case, it could be possible that I am a little too salty.

I curse in front of my children, I’m not raising naïve children.  I curse in front of my parents, where, pray tell, do you think I learned such vocabulary?  When I was a kid parents didn’t curse like they do today.  You never heard the F-bomb from your parents when you were a kid, now days some parents drop it like it’s the only big word they know.  While my parents cussed in front of us, they also taught us that these words came with responsibility, consequences, and were only appropriate in certain scenarios.  Jennifer and I couldn’t say ‘fart’ until we were something like 10-years-old.  We got to start saying ‘crap’ around thirteen and stopped getting scolded for dropping ‘piss, damn or shit’ around the ages of seventeen and eighteen.  Because of the cursing rules and regulations in our house, I wasn’t one of those kids that dropped every dirty word I could once I was out of parental ear range.  It just wasn’t a big deal to us to rebel in such a way.  So you fully understand, these ‘rules’ were written or something M&D sat down and explained to us, I think it’s one of those things where you have to pick your battles as a parent, wing-it, and make up some rules.  My parents aren’t stupid, my mom was an educator, she knows what punky little kids like to say and do when they are away from their parents or think they have no adult supervision.  They all of a sudden think that dropping every curse word in one sentence equates to being cool.  In my opinion, J&L were just trying to stay ahead of the game.  I will never forget the first time I head my dad drop the f-bomb.  Dad and I were headed to Maw Maw’s for dinner and an 18-wheeler blew past us and clearly startled my dad so much that he yelled ‘FUCK!’  My eyes got big, his eyes got big, I started laughing uncontrollably, he started apologizing then started laughing.  The whole thing ended with his typical statement ‘if I wanted your mother to know about this I would tell her myself.’  Enough said.  As far as mom goes, I don’t remember the exact time but I do know that I was a married mother the first time I heard that word come from her mouth.  And, if memory served me right, I believe it was something regarding my dad.  Something along the lines of ‘your father and his fucking tools/golf clubs/ideas/!’  A look of utter shock crossed my face before I started laughing uncontrollably and ribbing her for dropping the F-bomb.  With this said, just because I heard my parents curse didn’t mean I had a free ticket to be a salty kid or teenager.

Now that I am a mother, I have a better grasp on why it’s important to have said rules for dirty rules.  I have, if you will, passed along the rules of cursing to my kids.  I don’t like to hear them say ‘fart’ it’s just so crass and Parker, at twelve-years-old, is pushing the envelope with ‘crap and sucks.’  Yes, I cuss in front of my children, and yes, I have dropped the f-bomb in front of my kids far more often than my parents in front of me, but, times, they are a changin’.  Don’t get me wrong, I am not by any means saying it is ok or that society has forced me to be this way, I’m saying that this is my decision that I cuss in front of my kids and try to teach them about the responsibilities and consequences that go along with said words.  And, yes, this is a do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do approach, one that is not popular amongst the mother’s of today, but I really don’t care.  Also, I don’t cuss and then say, ‘Mommy shouldn’t say those words, you don’t say those words.’  That is just plain stupid.  I am going to continue to cuss, therefore, I would be making that statement quite often and not meaning a word of it thus teaching my kids that their mother is a bull-shitter and what she says can’t be trusted.  Granted, I may BS my kids here and there but not with the serious stuff such as cussing.  I’m not in the middle of all of Parker’s conversations but I do read his text messages and he knows that I read them.  He has texted choice  words to people and I have talked to him about what that makes him look like.  The rules are a little different for an adult.  They cuss and it just goes right on by, a kid cusses and they are labeled as a bad kid by the friends parent.  Let’s face it, your kid is a direct reflection of you, he cusses to girls (or anyone else for that matter) and you look like this is a behavior that is tolerated in your home.  There are quite a few no-win situations associated with cursing, however, it’s my job to make sure my kids understand the social and personal responsibilities that go along with this responsibility, uh, er, action.

In becoming an adult my saltiness has grown exponentially, much to my mom’s chagrin, but it wasn’t my parents and their choice words that made me this way, it’s all me.   There was a time in my life I audaciously cringed when hearing another person speak the ‘F-word’….so scandalous, that person, say such filth!  Even when it started leaving my mouth it was uttered as a whisper; as though I wanted to be a badass but couldn’t bring myself to embrace the whole badass lifestyle.  Could my wanting to be a badass be like a homosexual coming out of the closet?  You have to start with telling one person, someone you know won’t judge you and support your badass ways, someone that would never turn you away or tell you how your inner self is leading you astray.  Now don’t get me wrong, I will never trivialize someone coming out of the closet, a person laying their whole self on the line to be their true self is my hero, plain and simple.  I merely see the similarities in the two acts both resulting in becoming your true self.  Cursing isn’t the only thing that defines one as being a bad ass; confidence and ownership are the biggest hurdles to overcome.  Yes, I am a confident person….to an extent. when it is socially acceptable and people won’t walk away from me feeling awkward.  Heaven forbid I make anyone feel less than comfortable simply because I have different beliefs and opinions that may not fit into the WASP world.  Yes, I just used that acronym, WASP (White Anglo Saxon Prodestant), and sometimes I feel like I should be dressing like June-freaking-Cleaver in order to make others that much more comfortable in this world.  I don’t want to dress or act like June-freaking-Cleaver, I want be like Pink, Kat von Dee, Dita Von Teese, Liz Phair, who else, um, let’s see….. Ah, yes, Shannon Tweed, for arguments sake let’s throw in a little Drew Barrymore (just something about that girl I really like), who else….. 

As I write this and think about the women I want to be more like I look up to see our religious candles sitting on the breakfast bar.  (Even saying breakfast bar makes me sound so…..white.  Is that the right word?  Maybe the word I am really thinking of is average or ordinary or even middle class…certainly not badass!)  Back to the candles…..  Here I am trying to define my salty world yet I light religious candles while my children eat their breakfast and do their homework.  The June-freaking-Cleaver in me wants to be ashamed that I am discussing my saltiness; however, the badass in me doesn’t really give a shit what anyone else thinks.  As a woman in her mid- to late-thirties, I am becoming more confident in the person that I really am, a salty badass.  This is my path, my decision, and while I might still like to dress like I walked out of The Gap or J Crew, I know what I really am, a salty, badass WASP. 

Love to all who really cares!

J

It has been a little over twelve years ago (12 years, 1 month to be exact) that I became a mother.  Chris and I were married a little less than two years when I got the biggest surprise of my life, I was pregnant.  About 12 (no shit) pregnancy tests later it became real that, yes, Chris and I would be parents.  Holy shit!  Seriously?!?  At what point did God think I was capable of being a parent?  I felt…shocked, excited, nervous, scared, happy, elated, but most of all, I felt blessed.  In fact, I firmly believe that Jenn sent Parker to us to help is over come our grief from her death.  For what it’s worth, and so not the point of this post, a baby will NOT erase grief, one will be distracted from said emotion, but it will not be gone forever.  Any hoo….

As a kid, I always thought that I would get married and have kids but it wasn’t something that I had all planned out.  Yeah, I played with dolls, dressed my cat in baby clothes, and nurtured any animal I came across (note I said ‘animal,’ not ‘kid’), but I never daydreamed about my own children or went crazy over babies and kids.  And, yes, I babysat kids that I really enjoyed but I was indifferent to them; they were fun and sweet in that moment but I didn’t think about them after I went home.  In all honesty, I didn’t babysit because I LOVED kids, I did it for money.   Don’t kid yourself, most people do it for the money, that’s why babysitters charge an assload these days.  Not that I’m putting a price on my kids or anything……  As far as my babysitting career went I watched the same kids until their parents decided they could either stay at home alone or spend the night with a friend and no longer needed someone to stay with them or, should I say, PAY to stay with them.  This change coincided with changes in my life that made me get out of the babysitting business…..the simple happenings of life (I got a part time job, a boyfriend, and started college).  Without babysitting I didn’t have much interaction with kids and it was no big deal.  When I did think about becoming a mother I hoped and prayed that the mothering instinct would find me because I was not what one would call a natural nurturer.  Fast forward a few years…….

Park was born in August of 2001 at 33 weeks, weighing 2pounds, 14 ounces, and spent one month in the NICU.  Again, I believe this was once again an intervention from up above.  Chris and I were taught how to feed, diaper, and care for our brand new baby before being thrown to the wolves and sent home with a little human.  It took many years for me to realize how fortunate we were to have the NICU experience and everything we learned from the nurses that we didn’t have to learn on our own.  The first time I saw my baby I was so overcome with love that I actually questioned my love for my husband.  I never had the great ‘falling in love’ epiphany with Chris, I just always knew I loved him, so what I felt when I first saw Parker was completely overwhelming.  Along with being overcome with love, I felt that mothering instinct kick in and I knew that, in that moment, I would do anything to protect my baby boy.

My mothering instinct was, and for the most part still is, focused on love and compassion rather than basic need.  For example, I held Parker all the time, kissed him all the time, and constantly professed my love for him.  These actions felt normal to me, natural, not forced.  As for the basic needs aspect, I fed him every 3-4 hours like clockwork, bathed him twice a day, changed his diaper before and after bottles, naps, you know, typical, appropriate diaper changing times.  These things didn’t feel like natural acts, they felt scheduled and obligatory.  I guess you could say those things are and should be scheduled and obligatory but I couldn’t tell the difference in his cries and that always scared the hell out of me.  I didn’t know the hunger cry, the gas cry, the dirty diaper cry……they all sounded the same.  It was this lack of instinct that made me feel like a poor mother, and from that moment on I always referred to my poor parenting moments to ‘mother of the year’ moments.  I made a joke of my lack of instinct and played everything off as though I really knew what I was doing and everything was no big deal.  I didn’t act like one of the typical new mom’s (except for the first visit to the pediatrician in which I packed everything but the kitchen sink) that wouldn’t let anyone touch her baby unless they washed their hands (that lasted a week), wouldn’t let anyone else feed her baby, let anyone else put her baby to sleep, etc., etc.  Because I saw Parker as our gift from Jenn, Chris and I readily shared him with my parents just as they instinctually cared for him as a precious gift.  As far as anyone else was concerned, I acted like that new pain in the ass mom.  The neonatologist said not to take him to crowded places, we dined out at odd times (dinner at 3pm, anyone?), he said not to be around cigarette smoke or people that smoked, this being the most difficult rule, we abided by those instructions.  Chris’ parents smoke and have done so for years, this meant that Parker couldn’t go to their home and had to either spend minimal time with them or they needed to be somewhat smoke free when they came to visit.  I was very adamant about the rules, as was Chris, I mean how could you not be?  They are right there in black and white.  They are there to keep your baby alive and well, these rules would never lead us astray.  The only ‘BIG’ rule we didn’t follow was putting the man to sleep on his back.  NICU babies are put in their most comfortable sleeping position, their bellies, and breaking a comfy sleeping position was something we just couldn’t mess with…..we all needed out sleep.  As the man got older I gradually removed the stick from my ass and let others enjoy him as much as we did; life is short and family should be celebrated…..it is what it is, even from someone as snarky as I.

Time passes, Parker grows, Madelyn comes into the family and my parenting skills continue to slip.  I didn’t care that they found the mud and rolled in it like two pigs, in their Sunday best.  Those things didn’t bother me.  Not only is he a curious boy, but they are also kids, they should be allowed to explore their surroundings without their mother being up their butt directing their attention to what I think they need to see.  The biggest change with this more laid back parenting was that I didn’t take as many pictures.  As a baby, I took 50 million pictures of Parker, but as he got older I chose to watch him explore first hand, not document his every ooh and aah with a picture.  Really, a camera and taking pictures has been the last thing on my mind since P became mobile.  No reason, just not a priority.  This always made me feel like less of a mother, it still does.  With Madelyn, I took pictures of her as a baby, but I returned to work much earlier after her birth than I did with Parker so I don’t have as many early pics of her as I do him.  Again, I chose to spend my time holding her, kissing on her, and giving her my unconditional love, taking pictures was the last thing on my mind.  But isn’t that the deal with the second kid?  Very little documentation of their childhood?  Or am I just trying to make myself feel better?  In our current world of smart phones with cameras I take tons of pics of the kids, but I’m still not one of those moms that can whip the camera out of her purse at a moment’s notice.  I’m that mother that doesn’t take the picture until the moment has just passed; I’d like to say that I’m an in the moment kind of girl and want to focus on my kids instead of a damn camera.  Any hoo…..  I get first day of school pics and generally document the big things in life but I don’t think I will ever get to the point that I will be double fisting camera’s waiting for the right shot.

As I’ve mentioned before I want my children to explore their surroundings and make their own discoveries; discoveries they come to tell me about, not ones that I have guided them to find.  One could look at my logic as lazy, I can see that and appreciate that notion.  I don’t want to chase my kids around the yard while their are right in front of me, why can’t I sit and watch them?  Does sitting and watching make me a shitty parent?  So my kid wouldn’t have the bloodied up knee if I had been up his butt when he fell and prevented the fall, where is the fun in that?  Isn’t that the purpose of ‘monkey blood’?  It was cool to have ‘monkey blood’ sprayed on your wounds when I was a kids; what has happened to our children that they don’t want monkey blood?  Of course nothing to do with the fact that I don’t think they even make monkey blood anymore, but, ……. I digress.  As a mother I try to give every other mother the benefit of the doubt, who am I to judge you and your parenting style (unless you have allowed a type of abuse then I think you should rot in the depths of hell), we are all different, have different priorities.  I’ve always had a thing about judging others but it wasn’t until I went into recovery and took true inventory of all aspects of my life did I really think twice about judging others.  My children saw me drink, saw me drunk, saw me hung over, that, my friends, is a shitty parent.  If I was to look at the glass half full or find the silver lining to my drinking problem, it would be that I was ‘fun mom,’ I was never mean to them while I was drunk; fun or indifferent-yes, mean or abusive-no.  One can say that them seeing me in that condition is abuse, I say that those people can kiss my ass.  That would be one opinion that I will argue to the death.  Again, shitty parenting…. completely and totally, but abusive…..absolutely not, and I owe no one (except maybe my children one day) any further explanation.

Today, I believe that my experiences are making me a better parent, I didn’t say perfect people, I said better.  Yes, I want to know where my kids are in the afternoons and I want to know about their friends, but I refuse to be up their butts guiding their activities, monitoring their friendships, or fighting their fights.  I don’t want to be friends with their friends, hell, I make it clear to my own kids that I am their mother, not their friend, and should be treated as such.  I want to know about your friends because I don’t like being blindsided, I don’t like secrets, and I firmly believe that who your child chooses as a friend speaks volumes about who they are and their character.  Knowing friends gives me a little insight to their good times and bad times, what they agree on and what they disagree on, and, hopefully, how I can help my child through those tough times in life.  Hovering is one of those things that has never been a thing for me and I don’t intend to start doing it now.  One of Parker’s teachers once asked the parents if they ever asked their kid if they had homework, what it was, etc., etc., because, in her experience, most just went through the backpack to find information.  She said, ‘ask your child about their homework and trust in them that they will tell you the truth.  Just put a little trust in them and I think you’ll be surprised.’  Her words resonated with me, TRUST IN THEM.  It is my job as a parent to teach them and with that, instinctually, comes trust.  Parker once told me that I didn’t trust him (after he and I got into an argument about whatever).  At the moment of his announcement I was seriously taken aback, but then it hit me, he only sees trust in black and white, not gray.  Once I explained to him that I trusted him to make good decisions while I wasn’t around, I trusted him to make smart decisions regarding behavior, school and friends and that I trusted him so much more that he could possibly understand, I felt like our relationship had been tweaked in a good way.  He knew I trusted in him, but I also knew he trusted in me to see him through the life of a tween.  Maybe I am too trusting, who knows?  Again, however, that would be judging my parenting style and I’m not interested in the judger’s opinion.  I’ve decided that I’m just going to keep rolling on, and, in the words of Gideon Cross, will ‘revisit and revise’ when needed.

Call me naïve, call me stupid, but don’t judge me or call me a shitty parent.  I have done plenty of that to myself and have recently found some footing on this mountain called parenting.  Since becoming a mother twelve years ago, I have grown as a mom and will continue to do so…..everything is a work in progress, is it not?  All I want is for my kids to know that I love them with every bit of my being, that I want them to be happy, healthy, and trust that I will always be there in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.

Pope Benedict has called for today to be a day of fast and prayer for peace in Syria.  I could really give a rat’s ass about what is happening in Syria but I do care about what that means for the future of my children and if the Pope wants me to pray for peace then that is what I shall do.  **Side note: I am pretty sure that it’s not ok to refer to the Pope and use the term ‘rat’s ass’ in the same conversation but it is what it is and I am who I am, deal with it and pray for peace. <3<3<3

I just did the Heimlich on my kid. Holy shit!! No one prepares you for the real thing. The most surprising thing to me is that I actually recognized she was choking and ran to her without hesitation, felt for her sternum, and pushed in and up…twice. Out it came, not in the projectile fashion that you see in the movies or TV, or, hell, maybe you’ve seen it in real life, doesn’t matter, didn’t happen that way here. Damn fatty pork steak! See what happens when one tries to feed their child a decent dinner. Again, I am surprised that I actually reacted instead of freaked, which is the normal reaction when it comes to my kids being hurt. Despite the fact that I have a nursing background and I absolutely love medicine, I freeze and my mind goes totally blank. Twas not the case this fine evening and I am ever so thankful that my head chose to come out of my ass and react. My poor M wants nothing to do with food for the moment and who could blame her, nothing is worth not being able to breathe. We will see what happens when the ice cream comes out later this evening.

After my stellar performance, Chris and I talked about the situation, as he believes you should talk these things out and, for once, I didn’t want to talk it out, I wanted to come here. It’s been a few days since my last entry and I have missed this, release of stress if you will. This is almost better than a shrink. The computer won’t tell me I’m wrong or how I could have done it differently or how I need to own my feelings (seriously?!?) or that I need to be honest with myself, etc., etc., the or’s could go on forever; however, at the time of this entry, I am the only one who knows about my little diamond in the rough thus I have no one to answer to but shitty spell check. I really shouldn’t call spell check shitty, it keeps me from sounding like a complete moron. Oh, look, a butterfly!! What was I going on about? Totally got off topic that I had to perform the hiemlich on my kid this evening. Ok, I am feeling better, feeling a little more sound and stable, ready to interact with the fam once again.

As I end my entry, the Mad-catter is back to her normal self wanting to go out and play in the backyard. She’s tough like John Wayne!

Toodles!

Why do people gossip?  To hurt people?  To make themselves feel better?  What truly is the purpose of pitting people against each other?  How does one have that much hate in themselves or such low self-worth to treat another person in such a way?  Clearly I don’t have the answers or I wouldn’t be in the situation that I am, the victim of said gossip.  Ok, victim is a strong word, it is just gossip after all.  Right???

In my whole world of insecurities and my moments of poor self-confidence did it ever occur to me to talk shit about two separate ‘friends’ in order for them to like me best, or hate each other most (you decide).  As a mother of a tween boy in middle school I am starting to see the friendship dramas and all the things that go along with being an adolescent; that drama stuff sucks, big time.  It is so easy for me to tell him to shake it off, what people say don’t matter, however, I have been through and survived his current friendship woes, thus bringing me to the here and now….why would an educated adult act in this manner?  This is such a high school act, that said, I left high school a LOOONNNGGG time ago.  I don’t need any more assistance in making friendship decisions and I sure as shit don’t need anyone to facilitate a play date with another adult in order for said gossiper to be in the know of neighborhood happenings.  I am capable of forming my own thoughts and opinions.  I am a serial benefit-of-the-doubter, just like in M’s class, everyone starts out on Green but when you screw up you move your pin to yellow or red.  Once someone hits yellow with me the guard goes up and there is very little to get it back down.  Insert Snarky Bitch…..  My trust in you is lost and there is little chance of recovery.  It has nothing to do with being mad and holding a grudge or being better than someone else, it has everything to do with how I choose to handle relationships.  I consider myself a very private person, getting in my circle is hard, staying there is much harder.  No, I’m not referring to my circle of friends; I’m referring to my ‘you mean so much to me, I would drop what I’m doing for you.’  Once could say that’s judgment, I say that’s the way I am, one of my quirks….don’t fool yourself, we all have them. 

There is nothing more I would love to do than confront said Mean Girl but that just isn’t my style, neither is retaliation gossip.  It serves no purpose.  What I have to do is rise above and act like the adult of the group which is what I have been doing all along.

In the end, everyone has partaken in gossip.  I don’t care if you are the most devout Christian on the very edge of sainthood, feed the hungry, volunteer at the local animal shelter kind of good, etc., etc., you have gossiped.  When you hear the following the phrases, you are fixing to or just heard something juicy:

‘I don’t want to be ugly, but, INSERT GOSSIP’

‘Please don’t say anything to anyone, but, INSERT GOSSIP’

‘I feel so bad for saying this, but, INSERT GOSSIP’

‘I just don’t know what to do, what do you think, INSERT GOSSIP’

‘INSERT GOSSIP, poor baby!’

‘INSERT GOSSIP, bless her heart!’

‘INSERT GOSSIP, please don’t say I said anything’

The list goes on and on, the above are my trigger phrases for gossip……when I hear the above I know I am fixing to hear something I should probably stop said gossiper from continuing, but I don’t.  That makes me just as liable for gossip.  I could give a million and one excuses as to why I needed to hear something that isn’t my business, but, again, that keeps me on the level of said gossiper.  Yes, I have gossiped and I have thrived on listening to gossip.  I’ll own it…..

Are you freaking tired of reading me talk about gossip?  I am freaking tired of thinking about it and giving it the attention this drama doesn’t deserve.  As I get older and I see the cattiness of what my children face I realize that gossip doesn’t nothing but hurt, whether you are on the giving or receiving end of gossip, it doesn’t matter, you are still engaging in the hurt of another. OK, ENOUGH this time.  I’m done now let me jump off my horse.

xoxo

I have been thinking a lot about Rocky’s mom (see Grocery Store Gripes), Rocky, and his little sister who was sitting in the cart screaming at the top of her lungs.  In todays day and age so many people would give Rocky’s mom THE look (you know, the one your SIL gives your BIL silently indicating that my kids are the shit beneath her shoe? yeah, that one.) and get away as fast as they can, leaving a smoke trail.  And while they are running they are probably passing judgment on Rocky’s mom.  Mind you, when I first turned down the aisle and heard all the commotion my first thought was, “Awe shit…..all I wanted was some pencils.”  It was immediately after that thought that RM and I made eye contact and I realized that, like anyone else with or without kids, she is just trying to get through this part of her day.  Everyone does that, the day turns shitty and your immediate thoughts turn to phrases such as ‘patience is a virtue,’ ‘this too shall pass,’ ‘please, just let me get through this,’ etc, etc.  Again, we all do it.  RM was trying to get the little man’s school supplies at mock speed, a task that shouldn’t be taken lightly as those school supply lists are from the devil himself.  Our eye contact indicated a moment of understanding.  Rocky was acting like, well, I guess, Rocky and little sister was in the cart screaming her head off fixing to spew split pea soup from every orifice.  Having to have recently purchase school supplies I could feel RM’s pain.  I wanted to tell her that I know this sucks donkey balls but it’ll be ok, she didn’t need that from me, she just needed to say ‘F- it, I’ll come back another time,’ thus leading me into my biggest pet peeve, passing judgment on others.

Thinking back I have always worried about what people think of me, what people say about me, what others opinions of me and my actions and I have always held what someone else thinks to a much higher regard than my own thoughts and opinions.  Growing up, Jennifer and I were always so polished and good mannered that we always seemed Stepford like.  I mean, I was considered the wild child because I always have to get the last word and don’t always want to take someone else’s crap, but that is the worst that it got.  My parents never had to nurse a hangover, I NEVER tried drugs, there was a Playboy magazine incident with a friend and a sleepover but we will just gloss right over that one, past is the past……right?  At any rate, we were good kids because my mother was concerned about what others thought about her children and worked very hard to make us those good kids.  Now, at 37-years-old I am very thankful for that up bringing but I am also at the point that I am so over the judgment.  I’m tired of the hushed whispers about what I’m wearing, my weight, my kids, my hair, my house, yadda, yadda, yadda……get a F*#^ing life!!!!  When I hear the whispers or see the looks my first thought is to say, “who the hell are you?  at what point did you become better than me?”  And that’s where it all lies, the holy grail, that snarky ‘I’m better than you, because….’ attitude.  I also want to thank those people because they have helped me decrease my judgment by 90% (random #, sounds good though?); it is because of those people that when I see the Rocky’s of the world my first thoughts aren’t about lack of parenting but how cute he/she is, or any other immediately noticeable redeeming quality.  I want to pass good judgment, be the good person, because that is who I am and that is who I want to be.  Yes, I want other people to know that about me…..I’m not always a snarky bitch, I do use my powers for good some of the time it’s just that you may not always see that goodness.  Why do you have to see the good to form an opinion?  Why can’t one just keep open-minded until ACTUAL interaction?  All in all, it’s not my place to judge RM, or anyone else for that matter.  Yes, we shared eye contact and a brief smile but that was it….does she use her powers for good or evil?  Who knows?  I sure as shit don’t because I don’t know her thus I cannot pass judgment.  Are we getting my theme here people?  What I do is really none of your damn business, and, I have finally gotten to the point in my life where I do things for myself and not what others think I should do.

Not to beat a dead horse into the ground (such a horrible phrase isn’t it?), but we live in a world of freedom and goodness, so, why, pray tell, must we pass judgment upon others?  Do something else that makes you feel better about yourself.  Here is a novel thought, focus on your life and what you can do to be better rather than looking down your nose at your fellow man.  The last time I checked we all came from the same place, regardless of sex, race, religion, music choice (I could go on and on but I won’t), you are no better than me and if you need me to kick you off your high horse then I am your girl…………….so, call me, maybe?

I’m done with my judgment rant for the moment but this is something I feel so strongly about that this won’t be the last you hear about this topic.  Got to get the kids up and going!!

Toodles

xoxo

Another stupid app test. I just might pull my hair out if this doesn't work!!

Posted with Blogsy

I love how when I added the new post I got a little “Congratulations on your 2nd blog post!”  The thing is, that wasn’t my second post…..it was my third.  Shush!!  That means something to me, three posts.  All be it one of those posts was a picture I am supposed to have three damn posts.  Now where did that last one go?  I’ll look for it and get back to you but, please, what ever you do, don’t hold your breath waiting for it as there is no telling where it went.

With the above said, I have been playing around with different apps on my iPad that would allow me to update my blog without having to use my laptop.  Guess the app I used for the missing entry is a no go and I head back to the drawing board.  There is something about good old fashioned typing on a laptop that makes me love posting all the more.  I could read so much into this….. maybe that post was stupid and that was the app’s way of telling me so or maybe I should just sit my fat ass down with my laptop and give this all I’ve got.  The latter wins out!  I’ll continue to try apps out because I have a horrible case of CRS (Can’t Remember Shit) and often need something in a pinch to get my thoughts out but in the end sitting here at my laptop in my blogging world makes my heart smile.

Topic change!!  And what a random change I have made…..Christian Grey, anyone?  Don’t get too excited, I was just wondering if Christian would be buying the Tesla for Anastasia since it’s supposed to be the safest car out there (according to recent reports).  If I was in this situation, which I never see myself as being, I would stick with the SAAB convertible.  Why?  Shit, I don’t know, because I want to.  Saying I drive a Tesla makes me feel like I am driving the rock band Tesla….just doesn’t seem right.  Oh well…..

Enough of the randomness for the moment, but don’t worry, I am full of random thus I shall return.  In the meantime, Don’t Cry For Me Argentina.  xoxo