Why? on Wednesday - Celebrity Edition

I was really stressing out because I haven't really been inspired to write anything lately.  But I was determined that today I was going to post SOMETHING so I opened up the interwebs and I was blessed when THIS shit graced my home page...

"Actress and vegan diet enthusiast Alicia Silverstone has a strange way of feeding her 11-month-old son Bear Blu. In a video posted on her healthy living website thekindlife.com, Silverstone chews a bite of food and then passes it straight into her little boy's mouth mama-bird style."

When I saw the headline, I had a moment of thinking "Wow, that kid is NEVER going to live that down. Elementary school is  going to be difficult for him."

Then I saw his fucking name. 

BEAR BLU?  BEAR MOTHERFUCKING BLU, ALICIA SILVERSTONE!!! 

Clearly she hates her kid.

As if it isn't bad enough that she named him BEAR fucking BLU, she POSTS A FUCKING VIDEO of her feeding him like a fucking bird. 

I am not offended that feeding her kid her chewed up food is kind of bizarre and gross (because CLEARLY it is).  I mean, I let my kid eat chicken nuggets and hot dogs and really, when you know where that shit comes from it's kind of just as gross. 

And before you go yelling at me for my ignorance, YES! I do realize that before blenders and baby food, mothers did this shit all the time.  And that tribal mothers and mothers in less "western" parts of the world do this all the time.  But seriously, Alicia.  SERIOUSLY...Does he have to fish it out of your mouth with his tongue?  Couldn't you use your fingers or a pair of tongs or something?

What really bothers me is that celebrity parents have no concept that when they make their personal random proclivities public (and SERIOUSLY, what IS it with the ridiculous names) they give their kids just ONE MORE THING that their mean classmates will be able to dig up and torture them with.

I just don't understand what the fuck is it with celebrity parents who purposely set their kids up for a disastrous life of mental illness.  I mean, seriously.  Children of celebrity parents tend to have the deck stacked against them sanity-wise WITHOUT making out with their mothers in a video posted on the internet.

Please, Alicia Silversone.  Think about your son's future. It's fine if you want to practice "alternative parenting techniques" and emulate some !Kung bush mother.  FINE.  Keep it to yourself and your (future serial killer) son.  But for the love of GOD, change his fucking name and stop posting your freaky hippie parenting techniques all over the interwebs for his friends to usen someday as ammunition to bully him into snorting a brick of crack and killing a hooker. 

Unless, of course you are purposely trying to create a superhero (because they all haven horrible traumatic events in their childhoods), and in that case, YOU'RE DOING IT RIGHT.

It's Not Lying. It's Choosing Your Battles.

A few days ago, Ben and I took Lila out for lunch at a cute little local diner. The place was decorated for St. Pats day with the typical green sparkly shamrocks and clovers all over the place.

One large decoration caught Lila’s eye. It looked like this:

Here is the exact conversation that happened between us:

Lila: What is that called?

Me: It’s a shamrock, or a 3-leafed clover.

Lila: No it’s not.

Me: Yes. It is.

Lila: There is no such thing as a 3 leafed clover. Only 4 leafed clovers.

Me: Actually, all clovers have 3 leaves. But if you find an extremely rare one with 4, it is considered lucky. Because it’s so rare.

Lila: Clovers only have 4 leafs.

Me: Did you hear what I just told you?

Lila: Yes, but I don’t believe you. That’s not a clover.

Me: Okay. I am lying. That’s just a weird Irish Tree.

If you have ever tried to win a debate with a four-year-old, you know that you cannot win because they have no desire to know the truth and basically don't give a shit about actual facts. Their only objective is to infuriate you.

Later that same day, we had a similar conversations in the car when Prince's 1999 was playing on the radio:

Lila: Is this the song that was played at your friend’s wedding?

Me: I don’t think so.

Lila: Yes it was.

Me: They weren’t playing this kind of music at all. 

Lila: This song was played at the wedding.

Me: If you're so sure, why did you even ask me?

Lila: I think it was.

Me: Okay, it probably was.

Lila: I KNEW IT!

Most of the time, it is best not to even try to present actual facts, because they don't care.  They just want to be right.  There are usually a thousand times each day where I  find myself just letting her think that she is right even when she is CLEARLY wrong.  I will usually tell her the truth once, and if she argues I just tell her she's right.  For example:

“ You were wearing a red shirt yesterday.” I wasn’t but I guess black is close enough to red.

“50 plus 50 equals 150.” No, but I am not going to find a calculator to prove you wrong or pull out a hundred pennies to demonstrate, so whatever.

“Macaroni and cheese is good for you.” Well, it’s not, but since the only other thing you are eating this week is Junior Mints I am going to go with it.

“When I am 12, I will be old enough to have my own house.” OH, if only that were so!

This brings me to something I saw recently on the Today Show about how often parents lie to their children and how it can apparently completely ruin their lives and give them a lifetime of trust issues.   Of course, the media ran with this as a theme and took every opportunity to have “experts” come on and tell parents that if you lie to your kids, you may even turn them into crack addicted schizophrenic sociopaths (my summary, not an actual statement).

I, for one, think this is TOTAL BULLSHIT. Childhood is specifically suited for made up stories and mythologies that help to make the world make sense. I refuse to believe that Santa or Leprechauns or wishing on a star are things that are going to destory my kid's psyche.  Plus, I don’t know you, but I learned about religion at an early age and there is no one out there claiming that any of those myths are psychologically damaging.
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Ok, this kid was probably traumatized.  She looks PISSED!

In addition to the lies by omission, where I refuse to spend spend 3 hours trying to convince Lila that she is NOT a hyena, there are the actual lies that I have told to make my life easier. 

When Lila was 2, we had to take her bottle away (don’t judge…it was my mothers fault as you can see for yourself HERE).  We decided that this was also the perfect time to get rid of her crib and get her a toddler bed.  So we concocted the ba-ba fairy.  The ba-ba fairy came one night whie she was over at Grandma’s and left her a note saying that she was taking all her ba-ba’s and leaving her wonderful new bed and a big pack of sippy cups.  It was just easier than attempting to explain that at 2 years old, having a bottle was damaging her teeth and that other moms were saying I was guilty of some backwards form of child abuse for allowing that to go on for so long. 

Is this going to cause resentment in her someday?  Probably not.  I actually don't even think she remembers it. 

And then there are the blatant lies I have told her to make her do what I want.

“You have to eat carrots or you will go blind. True story.”

"If you don't go to sleep then morning won't come."

“I called the doctor about that tiny scrape (link) you’ve been crying about for 2 hours. She says that if it hurts that bad, we can go in and she can take the leg off.”

"Mommy has a headache so you need to be quiet."

Let’s be honest. Our parents all lied to us too! And for the most part, I can confidently say that the fact that they lied about who left me Christmas presents or where babies came from did not cause me to need intensive psychological help. The fact that they were completely fucking crazy did. And I suspect THAT will be why my kid seeks therapy someday too.

It's not right to judge and some more questions

I am often guilty of being a pretty shitty mom.  I feed my kid mac and cheese that comes in a cardboard box (sometimes several times a week).  I allow her to wear makeup and lipstick (she's 4) and often get weird looks like I am a Toddlers in Tiara's mom.  I often don't have the energy to enforce things like manners and "no talking back" and so most of the time we spend together she is acting like a total bitch.  I even usually buy non-organic produce and feed it to her (please refrain from calling child protective services).  And yet despite all my shortcomings as a parent, she still seems to be smart, happy and well-mannered (at least in front of other people). 

Because of my secret knowledge of how I am just really lucky that my kid knows that there is a different kind of behavior for being in public than there is for home, I try to be pretty reluctant to judge.  I don't really think any worse of mothers who breast or bottle feed, or have a few drinks or take antidepressants during pregnancy, or work full time or choose to homeschool (although we all know that THOSE mothers should be locked up *wink*).  But sometimes there are mothers that you just want to kick in the vag because of their ability to overlook the completely OBVIOUS ways that they are contributing to their child's bad behavior.


Lila and I had the honor of being a flower girl and bridesmaid (I hope I don't have to tell you who the flower girl was because it would be really bizarre if it was me) at the wedding of one of my long-time friends. Lila's job was simply to prance down the aisle with a little boy who we will call "N".  Lila was not going to be a problem.  She follows direction well and is smart enough to understand what people are telling her to do. 

Not so with all children.  Before I even met him, I heard "cute" stories about him from his family at the bridal shower and from my friend.  Everyone thought it was "cute" when N purposely punched his Daddy in the nuts.  It's so adorable how he still talks like a baby and refuses to put words together into sentences, just like he did when he was 18 months old!  He's not ready for preschool yet because he's so "gifted" that he isn't interested in learning colors or shapes or counting, and there's no reason to push him. And isn't it just so grown up the way he demands what he wants and never takes "no" for an answer?  Maybe he'll be a CEO or a Diva when he grows up!  Let's just say that I wasn't expecting a victorian gentleman.

His behavior at the rehearsal dinner wasn't as bad as I had been warned to expect.  His mother held his hand and walked him through it a few times, and when the time came for he and Lila to practice alone, he simply took off running and then refused to stand anywhere near the groomsmen.  Not a big deal, since 3 year old boys tend to be overly rambunctious and it was getting close to dinner time.  But I did find it strange that his mother gave him one ring pop after another in an effort to get him to "settle down and pay attention."  And did I mention that this was about 30 minutes before the rehearsal DINNER?

We went over to a super causal restaurant/bar nearby for the rehearsal dinner.  As everyone was getting seated, I was chatting away with one of the other bridesmaids when I happened to look directly in front of me and saw something interesting.  N was licking Sweet N Low off the table.  At the restaurant.  First off, I will barely let my kid TOUCH restaurant tables if I can help it.  Because of this I immediately looked for his mother to let her know that somehow her kid had torn open a packet of aspertame and is licking it off the table, but when I realized that she was sitting next to him crumpling a little pink packet and then stroking his head my eyes nearly burst out of my head.  "He's been such a good boy today, I can't say no to him," she said warmly.

"SERIOUSLY?" I whispered to the other bridesmaid as motioned my eyes in their general direction.  She was as amazed as I was and told me she could not believe that this was okay.  I mean, it wasn't SUGAR, right?  It was only a disgusting cancer-causing artificial sweetner being tongued from a petri dish of a table in a bar/restaurant (and who are we kidding?  The word "Tavern" is in the name of this place - it was a BAR that also serves food) by a 3 year old, so no issue. 

Although pretty much everyone else in the wedding party stared in wonderment at this kid making out with the pile of sweetner on the (bar room) table, the mother and her immediate family seemed completely oblivious to fact that this might be somewhat questionable.  And I really think that this would not be blog worthy if I hadn't heard the ongoing conversation she was having. 

She was telling Ben how he is such a delightful kid, most of the time.  She talked about how "strong willed" (code for completely out of control) and "free spirited" (does not care if it's okay) he is, all the while while telling him how he seems to want to destroy everything he gets his hands on and has caused quite a huge amount of property damage by crushing, stepping on, and in every way decimating anything that is of any value.  Of course, then she went on to say that he "doesn't mean it" and there's "no point in punishing him for it because he's just being a boy."


SERIOUSLY?  You really don't think that some of this might have to do with the fact that you have no ability to teach this kid limits or tell him that something is not okay?  Because I am pretty sure that there is no way a kid will suddenly decide that he doesn't want to set things on fire if someone doesn't let him know that FIRE WILL KILL YOU.  I'm just saying.  Breaking things is fun.  Being wild and insane is fun.  Licking sugar off a (did I mention it was a bar?) table is only a kid's version of body shots.  So why would a kid EVER potentially turn into an adult who does not want to smash and burn things or eat chocolate pudding of bathroom floors on a daily basis (which is the only logical conclusion to the sweetner incident).

I realize that I sound like one of those preachy asshole judging moms who acts disgusted at the idea of not breastfeeding until high school, but I want to murder people who are oblivious to their influence as parents or simply choose to allow to let their kids act poorly because of whatever wacked-out child-rearing philosophy they read about in the trendy parenting book of the month.

Kids definitely need room to be themselves.  They need to know it's okay when they screw up, but that they will be guided to behave properly.  They need to know that there is a world outside their homes where certain rules apply and the best way to teach them those rules is to put in the effort to show them.  As much as your kid may protest and tell you they don't want to be your friend anymore, they will know that you love them because you gave them a sense of right and wrong that applies in most situations where contrary to the wishes of Mama, people will have some basic expectations of them.

Ok.  My rant is over.
 ...................................................................................

Now on to Sunday Stealing:

Sunday Stealing: The 99'er Meme: Final Part

Cheers to all of us thieves!

76) In your opinion, what makes a great relationship?
Seperate apartments?

77) How did/could someone win your heart?
Leave me alone.  That seems to make me like you more.

78) In your world, what brings on more creativity?
booze

79) What is the single best decision you have made in your life so far?
To start my blog *wink*

80) Why did you break up with your last ex?
Wasn't this question asked last week?  I moved to AZ.

81) What would you want to be written on your tombstone?
I saw one that said "I Told You I Was Sick".  I'm a bit of a hypochondriac.

82) What is your favorite word?
FUCK. It isn't but I sure say it a lot.

83) Give me the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word: delusional.
My entire life?

84) What is a saying you use a lot?
Shut it.

85) Are you watching Idol this season? If yes, how do you like it?
No.  I don't even have a smart assed comment for that because I am so offended.

86) Were you surprised that House got canceled?
Ok.  I am done with the TV questions.  Doesn't anyone read anymore?

87) What is your current desktop picture?

88) If you could press a button and make anyone in the world instantaneously explode, who would it be?
Any of the current Republican Nominees.  Hopefully during a photo op.

89) What would be a question where you'd not tell the truth?
Is there anything you could give a shit less about?

90) One night you wake up because you heard a noise. You turn on the light to find that you are surrounded by WEEPING ANGELS. The Weeping Angles aren't really doing anything, they're just standing around your bed. What would you do?
Go to the emergency room to find out if someone put LSD in my drink.

91) You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what's even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice! What is that power?
I would be SUPER MOM.

92) You can re-live any point of time in your life. The time-span can only be a half-hour, though. What half-hour of your past would you like to experience again?
*wink* it would be dirty.

93) You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be?
My recurrent bouts of Major Depressive Episodes.  So that would be about the last 30 or so years.

94) You have the opportunity to sleep with the music-celebrity of your choice. (let's say that you are both single and available) Who might it be?
Marky Mark while he was with the Funky Bunch.  Or 65 Comeback Special Elvis.

95) You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere. You have to depart right now. Where are you gonna go?
To the town in Italy where my Grandfather came from.

96) Do you have any relatives or friends in jail?
Hahahaha.  Not anymore, but in my day I received a good amount of prison pictures in the mail.

97) Who's winning the U.S. Republican presidential nomination? Why?
Mittens is the safest bet and the only one who is moderate enough to pick up non-affiliated voters.  But it doesn't matter because they're all apeshit crazy.

98) Who's winning the next U.S. Presidential election?
It doesn't matter. Seriously. The system is so broken that no matter who wins it will be more of the same bullshit.

99) If the whole world were listening to you right now, what would you say?
Shut the fuck up and let me take my nap.

New Addition to my Shit List.

I am sure this is going to make me seem bigoted and narrow-minded, but for some reason this really infuriated me when I read it.

Listen, I am all for gender equality and all that shit, but this couple should probably have been sterilized before they had the chance to ruin this kid's life. 

Couple Finally Reveals Child's Gender, Five Years After Birth

It's a boy! And he's five. Beck Laxton, 46, and partner Kieran Cooper, 44, have spent half the decade concealing the gender of their son, Sasha.

"I wanted to avoid all that stereotyping," Laxton said in an interview with the Cambridge News. "Stereotypes seem fundamentally stupid. Why would you want to slot people into boxes?"

Laxton, a UK-based web editor, and her partner, Cooper, decided to keep Sasha's sex a secret when he was still in the womb. The birth announcement stated the name of the gender-neutral name of their child, but skipped the big reveal. Up until recently, the couple only told a few close friends and family members that Sasha was a boy and managed to keep the rest of the world in the dark. But now that he's starting school the secret's out."

(courtesy Yahoo! News)

Sasha better get used to that attitude...

There are about a thousand things wrong with this but I will start with some of the most obvious:

First I want to answer this asshole's question about why you would want to assign someone a gender or ("slot people into boxes").  Here it is:  Because I am pretty sure that throughout the history of the earth, this system has seemed to work pretty well for nature FOR MILLIONS OF YEARS.  There are boy bees and girl bees, and they have different tendencies.  There are even male and female parts on plants.  Who the fuck are you to thwart your little experiment in defying nature on some innocent kid who just wants to be a kid? 

Do I understand that the way we act and the things we do in life are sometimes dictated by our genders?  Yes.  Do I know that some people feel that they are not made to be the gender their sexy parts tell them to be?  Yes, and I have seen that first hand.  Do I agree that the male and female roles are something that is entirely based on a man-made construct? Well, mostly.

You see, although I know that much of gender is psychological, I also realize that men and women are physically different.  Not just because of their puzzle pieces but also because of hormones, brain construct, muscle and fat distribution and a myriad of other traits that have been more or less consistent throughout the history of the species.  It is true that there are many exceptions to this and it is true (to a point) that we are all individuals and genetically have an endless array of variations.  But I can acknowledge that perhaps the roles reflect the inherent strengths and weakness of each sex.  No matter how bad Ben wants it, he will never carry a baby (and have all the hormonal and emotional havoc associated with it) and no matter how hard I try, I will never thoughtlessly leave my socks in random places because that's where I needed to take them off at that moment.

Hey, it makes him feel beautiful, okay?

But to me, it seems there is something more questionable about this.  These parents are not celebrities.  Beck is a web editor and apparently Kiernan is a stay at home parent who likes to think of fun ways to force children into a lifetime of therapy.  That being said, who the hell is this "rest of the world" that they care enough to "conceal" his gender from?  Sasha?  The mailman?  The pedophile down the street?  It stands to reason that perhaps they were just looking for their 15 minutes (5 years) of fame because who the fuck cares about your kid and what genitals it has?  We aren't talking about simply giving a kid all the gender-neutral options here.  We are talking about purposely refusing to tell anyone (I am assuming the kid as well, because 3 year olds CANNOT keep a secret) because they have some bizarre fetish with androgeny.

But there's more to this story:

For years, Becks has been referring to her child, the youngest of three, as "the infant" on her personal blog. But guarding the public from her son's gender was only part of her quest to let her kid just be a kid.

Sasha dresses in clothes he likes -- be it a hand-me-downs from his sister or his brother. The big no-no's are hyper-masculine outfits like skull-print shirts. In one photo, sent to friends and family, Sasha's dressed in a shiny pink girl's swimsuit. "Children like sparkly things," says Beck. "And if someone thought Sasha was a girl because he was wearing a pink swimming costume, then what effect would that have? "

Ooooooh I can't WAIT to go and link over to her blog! I bet it is filled with all kinds of fun stories about the dog really wanting to play with catnip and the cat trying to fly like a bird.

Sasha can only dress in clothes he likes if those clothes are either gender-neutral or super girly.  No cargo pants (even though they make them for women) and no skulls or "masculine" things?  But sparkly skirts?  YES!  WONDERFUL!  That seems a little shady to me.  As if they are trying to force the issue that he select opposite-gender things.  What if he really LOVED skulls and lightening bolts and monsters?  I bet that would be a HUGE dissappointment to these dicks.

A big ass is not the kind of "cargo" these
pants are made for.

But there is something else. There are more kids in the house...who know what parts they have. So although little Sasha probably is too little to be aware of what ass hats his parents are, the older children have been in school and have likely been sworn to secrecy by their parents and been harrassed and teased for the he/she brother/sister they have. And kids LOVE having to lie and keep secrets from their friends. Nothing could be more fun for a kid than to have a dark secret to keep.

Sasha's also not short on dolls, though Barbie is also off limits. "She's banned because she's horrible," Laxton says in Cambridge interview.

On a macro level she hopes her son sets an example for other parents and makes them reconsider buying their sons trucks or forcing their daughters into tights. She's seen how those consumer trappings affect how and who kids play with in the sandbox.

Ohhhhhh. BARBIE is horrible. She may have porno boobs and weird feet, but at least she isn't running a social experiment on her kids.

And I believe that her dreams of setting an example is lost on me. I am pretty sure that you can just tell people "she is a girl" but still allow her to dress and play however the hell she wants.   Or you could just do what other parents do and name your kid something totally unisex like Pat or Terry or Beck or Kiernan.  

My point is that there are plenty of ways to encourage a kid to like and do non-gender specific things without sending him/her out into the world totally unprepared for the very realistic and extremely likely possibility that he WILL be put into a hundred different categories throughout his life and people WILL have different expectations of him based on those things.  Boo hoo hoo.  That's the way it is.

But the sandbox is just a precursor to the classroom. When Sasha turned five and headed to school, Laxton was forced to make her son's sex public. That meant Sasha would have to get used to being a boy in the eyes of his peers. Still, his mom is intervening. While the school requires different uniforms for boys and girls, Sasha wears a girl's blouse with his pants. (emphasis mine)


Oh Jesus Christ.  I am going to go see if anyone has set up a place to send donations for this kid's lifetime of therapy costs.

Read the full article here:

http://shine.yahoo.com/parenting/couple-finally-reveals-childs-gender-five-years-birth-180300388.html

They really do resemble the mentally ill.

I have heard it joked that having a small child in your house is like living with a crazy person.  And I am here to tell you that I can confirm that it's absolutely true, although to be more accurate, it is like living with a ward full of psychiatric patients.  I know because I just left there.

As many of you know, my depression has been excruciating lately and I was not finding a lot of help from the professionals that I contacted.  Last Saturday, I had finally had enough and I checked myself into the psych ward at the hospital (you were wondering where I was, weren't you?).

I waited until Lila was out and about with her dad for the day and then called my mother and begged her to take me to the hospital (actually, she was more than willing and thought it was the best idea).  I didn't think they were actually going to check me in because I was not threatening to kill myself or anyone else (for a change).  When the doctor told me she wanted me to check in voluntarily or else she was going to check me in involuntarily with a required 72 hour stay, I signed the papers all the while crying and trying to convince the doctor that my child would never survive without me. 

Even in a state that can best be described as desperately useless, I was more worried about my kid than I was about myself.  I felt guilty for leaving her - for NEEDING to leave her.  I felt like I had been so removed and uninvolved for weeks now, and I was finally doing the inevitable.  I was leaving her.  My mother convinced me that she was in very able hands (her Dad is a fantastic father) and that this would truly be better than letting her see me in such a state of utter breakdown.  I knew she was right-in my head.  But my heart told me that I was a deserter.

The ward was a hospital ward with a long hallway with patients' rooms on one side and offices and other useful rooms on the other.  In the middle of the hall was a large open room with a TV and several tables in it.  The TV was always at full volume and the fluorescent lights and linoleum floors make the room harsh and uncomfortable. 

But it isn't the decor that I think was the important part of this story.  It was the people.  They don't separate the truly insane or disruptive patients from those who are depressed or anxious and the crazies ran the place. 

The first person I saw was a guy with a thick black beard and shaved head who just stood in the hall smiling to himself.  He just stood there.  Didn't look up.  Then he tentatively took half a step before smiling to himself again.  I was instantly afraid.  He was totally in his own head and I realized then that I was here with truly ill people. 

There was also a guy who constantly paced the length of the hallway all day and half the night.  When he sat down, he would try to talk to you or concentrate on something to no avail.  He would get frustrated and jump up to walk again. 

There was a woman who barked.  She mostly barked but also liked to repeat everything that people said when she was in the mood.  The first night I was there, they were watching some show on Telemundo that was like America's Got Talent but only showcased children.  At one point, a dance team came out enthusiastically gyrating to annoying techno music.  She heard the music, jumped up and started imitating the dance moves.  Here was a 50+ woman who barked doing some really athletic dance moves.  I was pretty sure she was going to hurt herself. 

There was a guy who was essentially catatonic in a wheelchair who would piss himself and then come to life fighting the nurses who tried to change his pants.

There was a girl who confined herself to her room most of the time except that several times a day (and often in the middle of the night) would come out into the hall screeching, howling and hooting as if she were at some fantastic dance party that only she could see. 

But my favorite memory will always be of The Yeller.  The Yeller was a 70 year old man who came in complaining and bitching but in completely nonsensical sentences.  He literally yelled utter nonsense for 4 entire days, quieting down for 3 hours here and there but mostly going on non-stop.  He just could not shut the fuck up.  He yelled all kinds of interesting gems and I was convinced that if I could just transcribe it, there would be some sense to be made of it.  But I doubt it.  He would walk up to you for no reason looking like you somehow offended him and he'd point at you and say something like (and I quote) "You can tell me abracadabra and put it in the dryer.  But you have to get the user's manual that's in the refrigerator because the sponges need a bath."  After 4 days of him yelling day and night, I decided that ready or not, I needed to go home.

Coming home was really strange for me.  My house looked weird.  Lila looked like she had grown up, and I just felt completely out of sorts.  I knew that the relief I felt from the excessive sadness and anxiety was mostly due to being away from my real life and I knew that it was going to be hard to disappoint Lila, who thought that since I was coming back from the hospital that I was going to be all better.  I am not. 



But all that being said, I found out that I have an incredibly well-behaved and well-adjusted child.  Lila missed me and asked about me often but only cried about it once, at bedtime on the second night I was gone.  In fact, I would often call her at my mother's house during the day and on more than one occasion when my mother asked if she wanted to talk to me she shrugged and said, "not right now, I'm playing."  When I told my doctor about this, she asked if that hurt my feelings and I had to be honest:  I was completely relieved that she was secure in the idea that I was coming back soon.  She wasn't traumatized by my absence and that freed me up to do some of the work I needed to do to get myself in good enough shape to get out of there. 

Like any stay in the hospital, coming home did not mean I was "cured".  It only meant that the crisis had been averted and that the hard work of really getting better was beginning.  Before I left, they made me a prompt appointment with a therapist and a psychiatrist, which boggled my mind since every shrink I had called in the last month told me they were either not taking new patients or wouldn't be able to see me until October.  I have new meds (which I already think need adjusting) and I am still having a ton of anxiety and sadness. 

But now I know that there is help out there.  And I have something that I didn't have when I went in there.  Hope.

The Ghost Mother

Sometimes I feel like a ghost. 

I have been struggling with my depression again and as always it threatens to asphyxiate me and drown out all the good that lives in me. 

But no one ever tells you that when you are a mother and you have depression, you do not get to suffer alone.  The thing you love, the thing that keeps you from being lost completely in the abyss suffers too.

Having a mother with depression is like being forced to be psychic.  You never know what is going to make her angry.  You never know who is going to greet you when you come home.  You never know if there is going to be someone to take care of you or if you are going to have to figure it out yourself again.  This was MY experience.  My mother was depressed.

And against everything I swore I would never be as a parent, this is slowly becoming my daughter's experience as well.

I feel like I am depriving her.  Her mother doesn't want to play.  She doesn't want to go anywhere.  She can't muster the energy many days to leave the house.  And when she does, the rest of the day is shot, because she only has so much patience and will to burn.  She loses her cool when the kid is just being a kid. 

And the more I feel guilty about being sick, the more I want to withdraw - to not subject her to me.  And this makes me more guilty and feeds into this twisted circle that is quickly becoming something of a spiral or a whirlpool dragging me down to God knows where.

The meds have not been helping so I keep going back begging for some kind of help.  "We'll find something that works for you," the doctor said to me today.  But it's hard to watch what I am doing to my kid while the battle wears on. 

And then there's the fear.  The fear and worry that I am scarring her for life.  That I am unable to teach her some essential survival skills that will keep her from succumbing to the same pitfalls and setbacks the threw me into the pit and left me there for dead.  I don't want her to have to ever feel this way.  But if history is any indication, my fears will be realized no matter how hard I work to prevent them.

It is hard to hold out hope for a turnaround.  It is hard when most of the medications and therapies have just led to brief remissions and when substantial lifestyle changes have been sidetracked by this unbearable lethargy.  But I have no choice.  I have my little girl to look after.  She keeps me from being able to give up.  I HAVE to get out of bed.  I HAVE to face the day.  I HAVE to make dinner even when it hurts and is overwhelming just to stand at the stove and stir a pot.  Even when I suck to be around.  She still needs me.

I just hope she will forgive me for all the lost time.

DRIVING me crazy

There are hundreds of things I miss from my pre-Mommy days.  I miss my body.  I miss making spontaneous plans.  I miss being able to leave the house without 2 hours of preparation and planning.  But there is one thing that I am reminded of nearly every single day, and every day I miss it more and more.

I miss being able to zone out and think while driving. 

Have you ever tried to concentrate on the road in a construction area where there is no shoulder and cars are merging in front and behind you with a 4 year old in the back seat?  Do you have any idea how nerve racking that is?

Actual conversation that took place in heavy traffic yesterday:

Kid: Mommy, what day is it?
Me: It's Tuesday. 
Kid: Is it Tuesday?
Me: Yes.  Today is Tuesday.
Kid: I think it's Wednesday. 
Me: No.  It's Tuesday.  Trust me.
Kid: Is it going to be Thursday tomorrow? 
Me:  No.  It's going to be Wednesday because today is Tuesday.
Kid: No it isn't Tuesday, it's Wednesday.
Me:  Ok... Then you're right.
Kid: Is tomorrow Friday or Thursday. 
Me: Tomorrow will be WEDNESDAY.
Kid: No tomorrow isn't Wednesday. 
Me: Yes it is.
Kid: Today is Wednesday. 
Me: No it isn't.
Kid: It's Wednesday and tomorrow is Thursday.
Me: OK.  Let's play a game and see who can be quiet longer!
(6 seconds go by)
Kid: Mommy, what day is today?

I have begged for quiet.  I have tried to make a game of it.  I have turned up the music to drown her out (which just makes her scream that it's too loud and that she has a headache).  I have explained that Mommy needs to concentrate and just needs to not have to answer any more questions while I am driving.  Nothing works.

What makes it worse is that she also constantly critiques my driving.

Why are you going so slow? 
Why did you hit that bump? 
Are we going to crash? 
Why don't you go around that guy? 

I should be thankful that she is so curious about the world. I should be glad that she feels she can talk to me. Because I know that before I know it there will be slammed bedroom doors and refusals to listen. But JESUS CHRIST, can I just have a few quiet minutes in the car when I need it???

Mean Evil Morning Mommy

Every morning it is exactly the same thing.  Lila gets up and goes downstairs and a few minutes later I come clomping exhaustedly down the same stairs barely awake and heavy with sleep and Lila comes RUNNING to me excitedly trying to jump up onto me for a hug as if we had been apart for the length of a prison sentence or something.

Most times I barely catch her and she throws herself at one leg contentedly rubbing the side of her face against me as I struggle to keep my balance.  I pay her no mind as I limp steadily to the kitchen to make myself coffee.  I admit it - My cup of coffee is the only thing that makes me capable of putting up with the absurd amount of streaming energy that the kid has first thing in the morning.

I remember KNOWING that I was not allowed to ask my mother for ANYTHING until she had a few minutes to sit down with her cup of coffee and have a few sips in peace.  I knew it.  I understood that if I did ask for anything I would get a response like this:

That's my mother before her morning coffee.

I just KNEW this...as far back as I remember.  So why is it that MY kid, as whip smart as she is, feels the need to help me start my day with demands for 10 different cartoons, none of which are on right now and specific pieces of cereal with a certain very measured amount of milk, when I can barely function enough to remember to flush the toilet?  Have I not traumatized her enough to make her understand that Mommy needs her coffee first?  Do I have to turn into this EVERY morning:

Because no matter how many times I say nicely "just give Mommy a few minutes to wake up" I get the same whining and complaining and demanding which always turns me into the evil Mommy who won't feed her child. 

Is it wrong that I just need like 15 minutes?  Seriously.  Just long enough to brew a pot of coffee, sit down have like 5 sips so that I can be more like this:

Holy Shit! It's JUST A SCRAPE!

My kid scraped her leg yesterday.  This should not be blog worthy news but there are some things about her that you need to understand.

1. She has NEVER bled.  I am not kidding.  This kid has this weird inpenetrable skin and has never gotten a real cut.  Only bruises and bumps and scrapes that don't bleed.  Therefore:

2. Lila believes that a scrape is the most painful thing that can befall a person.  There is no way to convey to a kid her age that there are things like broken limbs, head gashes and period cramps that she may have to look forward to.

SO last night Lila was screaming like a banshee because her scrape was hurting her. 

I don't mean to sound insensitive, but I am serious when I say she cried for 3 fucking hours about a scrape.  I am not downplaying this.  See if you can spot the scrape on her little knee:

Yeah it's hard to see.  Here is a super enhanced version with scrape seeking technology so that you can actually find the thing that caused 3 hours of misery:

Yes.  It's there.  No, it isn't a shadow.  It's a little scrape.  Did I mention that she cried about it for
3 fucking hours?????

After the first hour and a half, it was clear that no amount of pain relief ointment or band aids were going to help.  Because she just insisted that it made it hurt more.  And finally I had to resort to the mean trick that I swore I would never do.  I told her that if it hurts that much, we should go to the hospital and have it removed.  The leg. 

It's funny how she calmed right down and suddenly it didn't hurt as much anymore.  In fact, it felt so much better that she wanted to run around and have some ice cream. 

Lila's eating disorder

"MY BELLY'S FULL!!!"

I am tired of doing dinner time with my kid. If I have her tell me her belly is full after 3 bites of lettuce one more time I am going to lose it.

I am seriously tired of it.

I am tired of telling her to stop playing and start eating.  I am tired of listening to her cry because I wouldn't make her chicken nuggets or mac and cheese because those are the only two things she is willing to eat.  I am tired of trying to get her to sit still for 5 minutes and eat and I am tired of the whining and crying about it.  I am tired of her telling me she's full and her belly hurts only to have her ask for ice cream or cake or a snack 15 minutes later.  I am tired of explaining OVER AND OVER that if she's got room for ice cream, she has room for carrots (or chicken or mashed potatoes or whatever).



Lila ALWAYS has room for dessert. 



I am tired of not being able to have a conversation with Ben at the table without Lila banging things or throwing something or getting out of her seat 200 times.

Trust me when I say that the whole "fine, go to bed without dinner" thing does not work.  She says that's fine, gets down and plays, and then cries for the next 4 hours because she is hungry. Then she is awake every 2 hours through the night.  The last time she went to school and told her teacher that I wouldn't feed her when she was starving.  I am even less willing to deal with that bullshit.

I refuse to be one of those parents who lets their kids have lax table manners and I truly believe that dinner time is important family time.  My parents say that I behaved at the table when I was her age.  I ate whatever my mother put in front of me (with a few exceptions) and I never expected dessert every night. 

I want to just stop feeding her altogether for a week.  Then see how she does when I say, "let's sit down and eat, shall we?" I bet that she'd be ready to sit and eat then.  

I don't bribe her with desserts.  She always brings it up.  I have stopped telling her "if you eat your dinner" and started saying "we don't have dessert so this is what you have to eat."  She cries EVERY SINGLE TIME.  I give her tiny portions and she still won't eat them.  In fact, I would argue that the less I put on her plate, the less she actually eats.

WHAT THE HELL DID I DO WRONG HERE???  Am I breeding a kid who is a shoe-in for an eating disorder later?  Should I just take her to the shrink now and get that inevitable process started?  And when did mothers start worrying so much about what and how much their kids ate?  I am pretty sure my mother didn't give a shit if I ate or not.

Another Confession about Motherhood

As I sit here I am sweating and hyperventilating and having all the typical fight or flight panic symptoms. 

Am I being stalked by a wild animal?  You could say that.

Am I about to be attacked by some crazed lunatic in the middle of the night?  Maybe.

Am I simply underconfident and know I am going to have my will and my patience tested to the point of breaking?  Yes.  For sure.

What is it that is causing me such distress?  I am alone all weekend with my three-year-old.

For most of you this is probably where you roll your eyes and click over to TMZ or some youtube video of a cat getting its little head stuck in a glass while trying to get a drop of milk (I saw it.  It's cute, right?).  Because I know that for many of you who are single mothers or full time stay at home moms, this is nothing you don't do all the time.

But for me, it terrifies me to no end.

Ben had to fly out to Arizona to take care of some things that were left undone when we moved back here.  IT was a last-minute thing,  so I only had a couple of days to prepare myself for the hell that would unfold when Lila got bored/annoyed/angry/her usual self with me and started to work my last nerve. I did not have ample time to work out a plan as to what I would do instead of just calling in The Big Guns (also known as "Daddy") to take over for a little while so that I didn't have a nervous breakdown.

Me after the FIRST
12 hours of continuous
whining.

I am afraid of a three year old. Not that I would ever let her in on that.  OHHHH No!  This is something I keep on the inside while I go about my day making sure we both eat and sleep and poop and keep ourselves in one piece.

Because I KNOW that I am the adult.  I know that I am in charge.  I know that we will be fine.  There is really honestly not a doubt in my mind that we will both survive this 4 day MOMMY-FEST relatively unharmed and only minimally emotionally drained.  And yet, the IDEA of not having backup around the house fills me with nothing short of complete and absolute dread.

Am I the only mother who feels this way?  Should I be committed?  Is it wrong that I depend so heavily on another person to keep the peace around here?  Do I need a body guard?

Ba-Ba Blues?

What the hell is it with the older women and their total refusal to allow modern moms to do what we think is best for our kids?

Yesterday I was at a family barbeque (and I won't even get into the thrilling experience that I had) and was talking to my aunt, whose first grandchild has just turned one.  She and her son were discussing the bottle and the aunt was APPALLED at the idea that he would even THINK of taking the bottle away from her at a mere 1 year old.  She defended her stance saying that the pediatrician said "15 months at the latest for a bottle, 18 months for a pacifier."  She acted like it was flat-out child abuse to even consider depriving a kid of a ba-ba so "young".

"Once you pop you can't stop," says Grandma.

This is not the first time I have encountered this kind of outrage from an older woman in my family.  My mother completely lost her shit when I suggested that Lila was not supposed to have a bottle to go to sleep since that is what parents had done for 50 years previous.  She told me that this was basically the cause of all the problems I had with Lila's infancy and that if I just gave in all those problems would disappear. 

I finally DID give in.  And guess what, a year later when Lila was 2 and still wanting a bottle to go to sleep my mother acted like I was talking about murder when I suggested that it was time to stop.  Even though the doctor had told me to do it a year before.  Even though every parenting book ON EARTH says that they shouldn't have a bottle to go to sleep, my mother thought it was simply cruel. 

Believe me when I say that it was one of the worst transitions I have ever had to make.  Lila was never a good sleeper to begin with and this just made her worse.

All that being said, why do these women think that we modern mothers are so mean and cruel for trying to do exactly what all the pros tell us we need to do?  Are they offended that their way may have been wrong? Or is it actually mean to take a comfort item from a baby?  Are we no good at going with our guts or is it just a matter of them trying to keep the babies as babies for as long as possible?

What do you guys think?

Yes...It DOES.

I have a problem of feeling very alone sometimes, surrounded by women who LOVE being moms.  So every now and then I google "motherhood sucks".  I am rarely disappointed.  Today I found this blog and wanted to share it with you.


The worst mother

Motherhood Sucks. And then you DON’T die.

By the WORST mother


Yeah, you heard me.

MOTHERHOOD SUCKS!

With a capital M-O-T-H-E-R-H-O-O-D-S-U-C-K-S

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Why are moms so afraid to admit this? Oh, that’s right, I know….

BECAUSE REAL MOMS LOVE EVERY SINGLE MOMENT OF BEING A MOTHER.

EVERY.

SINGLE.

WAKING.

MOMENT.

So, does that mean there is something wrong with ME?

You all know I disagree totally with this whole thing.  NO!  There's NOTHING wrong with you!  IT FUCKING SUCKS 90% of the time. 

I love this:

Luckily she does come to a new and better conclusion:

Seriously.  Go check her out.  Mention you found her through me and I will be forever thankful.

CLICK HERE
or go to:
http://theworstmother.wordpress.com/ 

-Selena

My Mother's Daughter?

I know you are going to be shocked to hear this, but I really didn't turn out so great.

I dropped out of high school even though I was taking college-level classes simply because I refused to participate in gym class.  I hated high school so much that I never bothered to apply to college.  When I did go, I went to community college and only took classes I was interested in rather than actually attempting to follow some kind of curriculum.  I dropped out of college too when I realized someone was going to have to pay for all those classes I enjoyed so much and then managed to throw my student loan into default during what can only be described as "one of my insane periods".  This has ruined my chances of going back to school to get a degree so that I can make real money to actually pay back the loan so that I can go back to school to make real money...you get the idea.

And I blame the entire spiral on one person..MY MOTHER.

My life after about 10th grade.
(Image thanks to wired.com)

Yes, yes...I know.  I am an adult and was when I went to college so how can I blame my mother for decisions I've made since that magical age when I should have been living alone and being responsible for myself?

Well, simple.  Her parenting sucked. 

And I am reminded of it every time I show up to pick up my kid and she is having a Hershey Bar at 5:00 pm (perfect for an appetizer I suppose) or when she demands that she IS NOT putting her shoes/coat/clothes on to leave because she doesn't have to do what my mother says.  I am reminded when Lila comes home and tells me she played with the hose all day in March "because Grandma doesn't like it when I cry".  I am reminded of it when I try to explain the concept of "time out" to my mother and she tells me it isn't nice to let Lila cry like that, even for a few minutes and that it "hurts Lila's feelings" when I yell at her.

My mother is a woman of no boundaries and fewer limits.  It was her lack of limits that allowed me to have a 17 year old abusive boyfriend when I was 13 and allowed me to skip school and sleep in because everyone knew I could pass the test.  It was her lack of limits which was the forerunner of my inability to delay gratification for ANYTHING until I was about 25 years old.  And by then it was too late.

She never pushed me to do anything I didn't want to do, assuming that I was a strong kid and I would figure it out and she criticizes the way I refuse to allow Lila to do insane things (like take everything out of the refrigerator to keep her busy for 2 and a half minutes) even though it would "make Lila SOOO happy."

I parent NOTHING like my mother.  I set rules and limits.  Lila cannot stand up on the dining room table.  She cannot act like an animal in Wal-Mart.  She will not get Pepsi no matter how much she cries for it and I don't care if she wants a toy.  I said no.

I am hoping that with a little guidance and direction, I will succeed where my mother failed me.  I want Lila to find a life that suits her but also that is not full of missed opportunities and hurts that were totally unavoidable.

Oh, and I hope to spare her the 10 + years worth of therapy I have accumulated throughout the years.

Inspired by one of Mama Kat's weekly writing prompts:


Not your mother's daughter...how do you parent differently than your mother did? Is it a good thing or a bad thing?