5 = Vagina references in my Secret Spineless Whine today. Go check it out!
Unless you are offended by cooters. In which case, don’t.
95,375 = Layers of grease I scraped off of the kitchen in one of our rentals this weekend.
2 = Fingernails I broke trying to scrape grease out of cracks (insert retching sound).
1,217 = Loads of dirty laundry waiting to be washed. Hmmm. Yup, still waiting.
462 = Times my children have yelled “MOM! SPIDER!” in recent days.
461 = Times I have discovered lint where a “spider” should be.
7 = Pairs of pajamas Blythe went through this weekend. Girlfriend shuns real clothes.
9 = Days till Alison goes back to school.
1 = Trip to the zoo planned over Spring Break.
2 = Weeks of jury duty left. Allegedly. See? My vocabulary is expanding by the day.
* Come back tomorrow for Marinka‘s guest post!
* Don’t forget to check out my Secret Spineless Whine!
* As always, click over to Good Enough Mama for more Monday Mumbers!
* I like to use exclamation points!
Category: Guest Posts
Last year at BlogHer ’08, I had the pleasure of hanging out with today’s guest: Meghan, of A Mom, Two Boys and All Mediocre. In fact, if it weren’t for Meghan, I probably would have ended up cowering in the corner, afraid of meeting new people. Instead, I got drunk and passed out cards like candy. I have a mind to repay her kindness by sending some twitter hate this dude’s way. Anyone with me?
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How I Found Myself Embroiled in Twitter Drama
When Andrea asked for guest posters, I was quick to throw my hand up in the air. Because I love Andrea and was totally willing to help her out, certainly not because there was something I *knew* I needed to write about. I was actually completely stumped about what I’d have to say.
The universe, in all it’s bitchiness, has given me plenty of topics in the past few weeks.
Or, really, the wonderful world of Twitter has given me plenty of topics in the last few weeks. But we’ll just concentrate on one today.
***Drumroll, Please***
I’m not a fan of celebrity following on Twitter. I’m probably one of the few people who doesn’t follow Diddy, Ashton & Demi, Britney Spears, or the like.
I follow John Cleese, Eddie Izzard and Chelsea Handler. I check in on Jon Favreau on occasion.
And then a few weeks ago, I somehow stumbled across the Twitter account of Rob Corddry. For those of you who don’t know who he is (which, apparently is a lot of you- HA), he’s a comedic actor who used to be a correspondent on the Daily Show. He’s had bit parts in some funny films, like Old School, and had a network sitcom that didn’t last too long.
And I was a fan. He’s funny. So, I followed him. And when I followed him I sent a tweet that said something along the lines of:
“Rob Corddry is on Twitter! I love him!”
And shortly thereafter, I got a direct message from him that said:
“Awww…you’re a nice lady.”
And ACK! OMG, how cute is he?
So I told my friend Heather , and she and I started talking about it on Twitter. That conversation went something like this:
Me: “ZOMG, Rob Corddry called me nice!”
Heather: “He must not know you very well”
Me: “True, if he DID know me, he’d call me something like Whore or Stalker” (Foreshadowing people, foreshadowing…dun dun dun)
Heather: “Or bitch”
And it went on like that for a while. And then I wrote a post* about how Rob Corddry DM’d me and how I thought it was AWESOME, but being my smart ass self, I titled it “Rob Corddry called me a Whore*”
With the * linking to a clarification at the bottom that he hadn’t actually called me a whore.
And since my posts automatically show up to Twitter, and because I thought it was funny & re-tweet’d it, Rob Corddry caught wind of the fact that he’d “called” me a whore.
And he sent me ANOTHER DM that said: “I think you’re adorable, but I have no idea what the crap you’re talking about…whore.”
And I was all “HA! Rob Corddry’s AWESOME. What a good sport.”
And the Rob Corddry joke lived on. And I’d mention him in tweets and have conversations about him with people. Because most people thought it was cool that a “celebrity” was down to earth enough to converse with the masses.
We were wrong.
Not long after, someone I’d had a twitter conversation with about him emailed me the text from a DM that Rob Corddry had sent them:
“I can’t DM her because I blocked her like Karate. Tell her she’s adorably annoying. Minus adorably.”
SAY WHAT?! Rob Corddry BLOCKED me?! And he felt the need to talk shit about me behind my back?!
And then my heart dropped. And luckily it was close enough to 5pm to justify pouring myself a glass of wine.
Because I was BUMMED. And a little pissed.
So, I did what any self-respecting 12 year old would do. I sent a Tweet about it:
“OMG! I just found out Rob Corddry has no sense of humor. Bummer, huh?”
At which point, several twitter friends picked up on it, but had no idea WHY we didn’t like Rob Corddry anymore, and started talking shit about HIM.
Which is funny. But apparently he didn’t think so, because he started re-tweeting everything they were saying.
And calling them names. And, in general, being an even bigger jerk that I had just learned he was.
It was drama. And stupid. But it all left me feeling really bummed out and I was teary all night. And eventually hungover, because I ended up drinking 3/4 of a bottle of wine. (OOPS)
Then I came to the realization that Rob Corddry needing to feel important enough to BLOCK someone has nothing to do with me as a person. It’s all about feeding his own ego.
Plus? I was annoyed he’d blocked me because I couldn’t have the satisfaction of hitting the “unfollow” button on his sorry ass.
And I started to feel better and vowed to NEVER mention his name on Twitter again.
But, yes, I realize I just typed it here a million times. But this isn’t Twitter.
And from now on, I will NEVER say his name again. You have my word.
* That post will never see the light of day again. I took it down. Because I don’t want his name on my blog. BooYah.
Categories
SAHM Envy
I hope all of you are enjoying the guest posts as much as I am! It’s almost worth sitting on this jury. Almost. One of the nicest bloggers around is filling in for me today. Kari, of I Left My Heart at Preschool confesses her feelings on a pretty hot topic: SAHM Envy. I’d love to hear your thoughts, and even better: tell us what makes you envious.
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SAHM Envy
When Andrea asked me to guest post, I thought it would be a great opportunity to blog about something that I have wanted to write about on my blog. The reason I’ve hesitate to post this, is because some of my co-workers read my blog – and this is just not something that I want to share with them. I’m proud of my blog and I enjoy knowing people read it, but the fact that my audience includes friends, family and co-workers, sometimes limits my ability to write completely freely. So thanks Andrea!
I have two girls who are 3 and 5 years old, and I work full time at a financial firm that is located about an hour away from our house. Honestly, before I had kids, I never really considered the question of whether or not I wanted to continue working after having kids. It was always seemed like a given in my mind. Maybe it’s because of the fact that, from a very young age my Mom stressed to my sister and me, the importance of getting a college degree and having a career. Although my Mom stayed home with us when we were babies, she worked after we started school. She had a degree and a career in nursing. Which was a very good thing, because after our Dad died of cancer when I was eleven years old, my Mom was able to get a better job that allowed us to live in a nice house in a nice neighborhood.
By the time my husband and I were ready to start a family, we owned our own home in a part of the San Francisco Bay Area that we love – but we were in no way set up to live as a one-income family. So, staying home or going back to work was not a decision I had to make. Choosing the right child care definitely was. After my first experience sending my baby to child care, I quickly learned that having just the right care situation for my baby, made a huge difference in my ability to focus at all at work. After a couple false starts, I thankfully found a wonderful, small, in-home care that I love. I sometimes feel like they get more out of being there, than if they were home with me all day long.
Sometimes.
Other times, I really wish I was home with my kids instead of working. Maybe if I had a job that I truly loved, I might not feel that pull to be home quite as much. I’ve worked for my firm for fifteen years, but believe it or not – I sort of fell into that career. It wasn’t at all what I aspired to do when I was in college. The best parts about my job are the people that I work with, the independence, and the paycheck. The work itself? Eh. I could take it or leave it. And often, I wish I could leave it.
When my husband travels for his job, it’s quite the juggling act. Taking both kids to two different schools, then driving back and forth to the City for work, then home to make dinner, clean everything, pick up the house, get the kids bathed and ready for bed, make lunches for the next day and usually work some more after the kids go to bed. But oh, how I love being able to actually bring them in to their classrooms in the morning and see what the teachers have planned for the day. How I love to pick them up at the end of the day, and hear all about what Scott the Storyteller read to them or what artwork they created, at the peak of their excitement. Normally, by the time I get home, they are already settled in at home and ready for dinner. When I ask what they did for the day at the dinner table, the answer is usually “nothin’”.
Every now and then, I get to take a day off during the week, when we’re not going on any little trips or running around anywhere. I pack some snacks and take my kids to the Zoo or the Discovery Museum or maybe just to a park. I see other Moms or groups of Moms with their kids, and I think about how lucky they are to be able to spend this kind of time with their kids every day. Don’t get me wrong, I am not under any kind of false impression that staying home is “easier” than working. Both are work, and I believe that staying home with my kids would actually be a much harder job, emotionally and physically.
Here’s the thing. I would love that job so much more than the work I actually get paid for. I love grocery shopping, and attempting to find the best prices. I love planning meals and feeding my family. I love organizing my kid’s clothes, shoes and toys. I love thinking of fun crafts and activities I can do with my kids. I love creating a warm and lovely home for us to live in. In my heart, it’s a job I adore. I just wish that my other job didn’t get in the way so often.
A happy medium would be if I could reduce my hours at work, and be able to spend more time at the job I really love. I was really close to being able to do just that. Right before the economy went to crap and we couldn’t afford to reduce my paycheck. I still have hope though. Once Seesa goes to Kindergarten next year, and Milly moves full time to the Preschool in our neighborhood, which is less expensive than the in-home care she’s going to now; we may be able to find a way to afford for me to reduce my hours.
In the meantime, I’ll keep cherishing the time I do have with my girls. Even though it means that I often skip out on “Mommy Time” opportunities on the weekends, because it means time away from my girls. Even though I can’t accept volunteer opportunities that I’d like to get involved in because it cuts into my kid time. Even though I can’t write in my blog or read other’s blogs as often as I’d like.
The trade off is something that I wouldn’t give up for the world.
Categories
Sweating the Small Stuff
Stacey (er, I mean, “Anymommy”) of Is There Anymommy Out There? is someone I can’t help but read. She’s funny, smart, talented… and she’s not afraid to show us she’s human. What a package! No wonder her ham-eating husband is happy to put down his tools and listen to her vent. Oh, and speaking of… thanks for all the support on my Jury Duty whine-fest. I’m better now.
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Me: I’m closing down my blog. Also, we have to move. Preferably states.
Matt is doing something with tools in the basement. It’s quiet time and the kids are actually quiet, so I have had a solid forty-five minutes to immerse myself in neurosis.
Matt: Was it a felony?
Me: No! Not me. This is not about me. I’m fine. I’m perfect, thank God, otherwise, how could I be so irritated at the rest of the world?
Matt: Are you still stewing about the Board thing?
I stare at him in irritation. Kind of. Maybe. Do you ever have small things happen in your world that really throw you off? Mentally, I mean. They make you question yourself and feel like, perhaps, just maybe, oh the horror, not everyone you encounter likes you? Wince.
The thing is, objectively, I know that. I’m a strong-willed, fairly opinionated woman. I stick my foot in mouth a bit. I sometimes come at things from one perspective and forget to take a wider view. I try, really hard, but I know that discretion and compassion sometimes elude me, let alone perfection.
Every once in a while, though, it smacks me in the face a little and takes the wind out of my life sails. In this one week, a few things rocked my small life boat. Little things. Silly things. Things that I think I handled outwardly, somewhat maturely, but then, sadly, I stomp to Matt with my thumb in my mouth and my scowl on like a five-year-old child with a capsized boat and soggy undies.
Someone complained to the preschool board because I expressed my opinion about my own children’s education. Wah! I’m on the Board! It wasn’t inappropriate.
I happened to hear another opinion about me. Maybe even a valid opinion, but it stung.
Small. Life. Upsetting, nonetheless.
In the basement, Matt is still holding his tools. He hates this kind of conversation. I know he is dying to go back to his project, but I’ve been working up to this vent all week.
Me: No! Maybe. That wasn’t fair. There are valid complaints to make about me, but that wasn’t one of them. It didn’t require tattling to the board.
He shrugs. I consider adding husbandcide and burying evidence in the backyard to my to do list beside moving and quitting blogging.
Matt: I agree. It didn’t. So…
Another shrug. There are some sharp tools in the basement and the man already has eight stitches in his head. He’s pushing it.
Me: I just feel unliked. A blogger called me out anonymously on a blog I really like because I stated my opinion in comments elsewhere.
Matt: Can you call someone out anonymously? Seems oxymoronish.
Me: I don’t know. Yes, you can. I knew it was me. I was nice. I just disagreed! On the actual issue! I didn’t say a single word about the people involved. I like them. I think. As much as you can like people you’ve never met. She called me the one person who ‘actually’ felt the need to say something.
Matt shrugs.
Matt: Were you?
Murderous rage rises in my chest. Okay, maybe.
The deeper problem is that I have never before committed to being me as strongly as I have in the last five years. In my first thirtyish years of life, I moved almost every two years. I bounced around the world and left most places behind before things got particularly difficult. I didn’t serve on boards or state my opinions for lots of people to read or get to know many people well enough to care, particularly, one way or another whether they liked me. Did it matter? I was gone. That freedom is also a curse. I never had to decide if I liked certain parts of me all that much either.
Now here we are. Kids. Boards. Preschools. Blogs. Wonderful friends. Acquaintances who one day could be on boards with me, or teach my children, or be – surprise! – the best dentist in town, or the manager where my kids want to work. Whatever. Hello frightening long term relationships of all kinds. I don’t do this kind of pressure. We clearly need to move before this gets more serious. People are starting to know who I am here.
I also love it. It’s home. I just finished up a major bounce, half way across the world, and I missed my life and my acquaintances and my boards and my lovely, ancient house on its tree-lined boulevard. I love blogging too, connecting and sharing opinions and stretching my views as I awaken to others’ views.
But, couldn’t everyone just always agree with me and never misunderstand me?
Meanwhile, I am still pouting in the basement.
Me: Don’t you ever get your feeling hurt? Don’t you ever feel like you just don’t want to…be out there any more?
Matt: Not really.
Me: (Fuming black smoke.)
Matt: You have such good friends. Here. Saipan. D.C. All over.
Me: I know.
Matt: People who really love you, so much so that they don’t hurt your feelings, even when they disagree with you, or when you discuss tough things, because you just know they love you. Right? They know where you are coming from. They know the whole you. You aren’t going to rub them the wrong way because they always understand the whole story about you. They are never looking at you from one specific angle.
Me: (grudging affirmative grunt)
Matt: It’s not possible for everyone to see you that way. You wouldn’t let them all in, even if you could. You’re pretty closed. It’s too much, anyway, there’s only so many close friends people can have.
Me: Right.
Matt: So, these other people don’t know you. They are judging one small piece, one aspect. Whatever. They aren’t judging you. So….
Matt shrugs.
Me: Soooo?
Matt: Who cares? (Huge shrug.)
Me: I get what you’re saying with the shrug thing – but I swear on my life, if you shrug again, I am going to make like a praying mantis and bite off your head and leave your bleeding, twitching carcass on the floor. And, I will not call 911. We already used our quota this year. I care, a little. It still hurts my feelings. It leaves me feeling adrift, somehow. Vulnerable. I feel vulnerable. But, I have to let it go, I get it.
Matt: You don’t have to let it go. You can vent. Just remember, it’s got nothing to do with who you are. It doesn’t have to shake you to the core.
I ponder a moment. Sometimes, it does. Sometimes, it has something to do with who I want to be. Not always.
Me: We may not have to move. I might be able to tough it out.
Matt: Great. Jobs are tight.
Me: Thanks. For listening.
Matt: Anything for you, my perfect darling. Want to make like a rabbit and thank me properly?
Me: Not a chance, Confucius.
I start back up the stairs. Matt calls after my retreating back.
Matt: You could thank me by really shutting down the blog!
Me: I wasn’t ever really considering it.
Matt: How about giving up twitter!?
Me: I’m feeling much better. I’m good actually. Thanks.
Categories
Finding the Magic
It didn’t take long for my sunny optimism to find a cloud to hide behind. It’s a good thing the fabulous Sophie, of Our Life, Inzaburbs offered to write a guest post for me today or I’d be whining again about being on a jury. Nearly half way through! See, I found a silver lining.
I begged Sophie to write a post about homeschooling, a subject I find fascinating in a rubber-necking-as-I-drive-past-an-accident sort of way. As in, I’m glad it’s not me over there, but I still want to know all the gory details. Read on, and have your assumptions about homeschooling challenged!
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I like Andrea. I always read her blog.
So, I was very pleased when she asked for guest posters. And I suddenly felt the call to submit something. Which I have never done before because let’s face it, most people guest post so that they can put something out there which they hope their loved ones will never see. You know, write about their heiney without involving great-grandma.
I can’t do that. As in the case of Andrea’s Anonymous Bitch Fest Guest Poster, my extended family knows how to google. They really do. For example, my sister-in-law found my blog back when I had three readers and those three readers were all my parents checking me out three times a day . She is either an amazing Googler or she was very very desperate to read what I had to say.
That means you won’t find anything about my heiney on these pages. But I wasn’t really sure what to write. Andrea’s family runs a plumbing business and I was going to talk about how I once seriously thought about becoming a plumber.
It’s true! I did! I am good at fixing toilets. I have fixed every toilet in this house at least twice!
… I am good at fixing toilets temporarily.
So what? I would get a lot of repeat customers.
But then Andrea asked me to talk about homeschooling.
Groan. Way to kill the fun, Andrea! Here we go then.
Homeschooling.
(Disclaimer: I had a lot of trouble writing this. I was trying to keep it general but kept finding myself veering off into the personal. So, if you are curious about anything at all, ask away!)
Many people (actually all the Moms I know) tell me they could never home school. It seems like an enormous, monstrous thing to do to yourself as a parent. Right when you finally get the opportunity to outsource your childcare to the state, for free! (and feel virtuous doing it!) you decide instead to devote yourself to a life of servitude and lesson plans. And anyway, isn’t home schooling for hippies and the religious right?
I know this, because this is how I thought too. I came to home schooling very, very reluctantly.
It’s true, it is a lifestyle which can be frustrating. But do you know what is even harder? The daily stress of dealing with a child who is just not getting on with school. In the end, it came down to me or him. As a parent, which would you choose?
Yes, I have lost some freedom. I don’t get to go on extended shopping trips, have lunch with the girls, or work uninterrupted for hours. My time is no longer fully my own. On a bad day, I like to wail to my husband that I am a Mom 24/7 and it is ne-e-ever going to e-e-end!
But then, let’s look at the flipside. The whole family has gained freedom. Freedom from stress in the morning of dragging a reluctant child to the school bus, harrassed siblings in tow (you know how when you start yelling at one you somehow end up yelling at the others?). Freedom from forced homework sessions, and from distressing, frustrating meetings and phone calls with teachers. Freedom from early bedtimes and early rising and packing school bags and remembering library books and this weeks fundraising money and …
(Also, freedom to take swimming lessons in an empty pool and go to museums without having to push through hordes of day campers in their multicolored t-shirts, and park right next to the store instead of at the other end of the carpark. Ah. Those are the best freedoms 
).
So, here we are, at home. The woman who, had we had a high school yearbook, might have been voted “Least Likely to Become a Teacher” and the child no teacher could apparently teach.
It’s lucky I am not a teacher then.
Our homeschooling style is what is often called “relaxed”. We do not work in a classroom environment, with lesson plans and schedules and tests. In fact, we don’t even use a curriculum, although I do consult books such as “What Your First Grader Should Know” to ensure we are covering all the bases. We work for an hour or two every morning, on spelling and math. Sometimes I teach a concept, using the whiteboard. Sometimes we work with manipulatives, like legos and coins and clocks. Sometimes we make charts. Often we use worksheets. They are not fancy worksheets, the books from the supermarket or drugstore do the trick.
And all the other stuff – the reading and history and geography and art and music and sport? We were doing all that anyway, thanks to books and educational TV and Google Earth and those big rolls of paper from IKEA. And maybe, so are you.
School isn’t necessarily a magical place where miracles happen.
Magic can also happen at home.