Maybe I’ll Think of Things Differently

At first, this blog was throwing bottled messages out into the ocean, wondering if my voice could be heard. Then it was a place to meet other parents, like-minded or not. Then it was a place to amuse people. It was a place for me to practice writing. Now I think I want it to be a scrap book of memories.

I look back and realize that I can’t come up with funny stories of the boys a year or two ago. But I can tell them all the ones I wrote about them. I can tell them first words and Penis Rules and little crazy adventures.

But now life is so hectic. Get up before the boys, get ready, get them off the computers, get them ready, help with breakfast, get to school, get freshman to learn something (ANYTHING), get home, get the boys to finish their homework, get them to eat, get them to do something (ANYTHING) other than computers, get them to bed, get the grading done, get the lunches made, get some writing done, get to bed.

That’s a lot of getting. Though that doesn’t count getting them to their practices and getting them to their clubs.

The weekends are not that much better. Now that school has started with grading to do and planning to do and homework and projects.

With Tornado E in his last year in middle school, I realize childhood is ending. Slowly. And I want to remember these moments. I desperately need to remember these moments.

And maybe I can use the blog as I did when they were toddlers. Finding the humor in their annoying antics.

And maybe one of these messages will help another parent struggling through this hectic, chaotic mess of a life.

So I’m writing for myself, even as I through the bottle into the sea.

Advertisements

I Miss This

The last few weeks I’ve been thinking about how I don’t have a place to write about my kid stories and my mom stories. I’ve been thinking about how much I missed my blog friends. Then the other day I mentioned I once ran a mommy blog for years, and the person asked me about it. After I explained, she said wow, what an amazing experience. And it was.

So I’m going to start blogging again. I can’t promise I can do it regularly. I’m hoping to do write Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays with a weekend post every now and then. You see, now I’m a full time teacher, and this is my first year teaching all Freshman under the new curriculum. Tuesday nights are karate nights… for the boys. Thursday is Cub Scout and Boy Scout nights …  for us all. But Monday is Nerd Night, and Friday is Art Night … both for me. Wednesday is Kung Fu night, but that’s only for Tornado A, and he’s done by 6:30.

This might not even work out, since I now call, email, and write my federal legislators every day. I’m looking forward to the day I can write to my state legislators. I’m working on my poetry, and I’m editing a manuscript. But who isn’t? I’m studying Spanish. Note to self, work on Spanish later. I’m also studying to take the history and government test in the summer because why wouldn’t I want to be qualified to teach more subjects? I don’t plan on giving up journaling again because that’s for me. Please, Lord, someone burn those when I die.

Beyond that, I’m raising three active, smart, funny boys, living with my parents, and fighting depression. Now you know why I keep a journal. Next stop, meditation. When I get the time.

Hopefully, I’ll see you soon.

Outted

There was a time in my life, a long time, where I didn’t give a damn about what people thought of me.  If you liked me, fine.  If you didn’t, that was your problem, not mine.  I knew my faults, loud, difficult, tactless, stubborn, independent to a fault.  In other words, I can be a real bitch.  I understood that I was going to rub some people the wrong way, and I would have to accept that.  And most of the time, I did try to get along with people.

Then I met The Husband.  And he cared what people thought.  He cared very much.  But he always insisted that he didn’t care what other people thought of me, he liked me for who I was.  But he very much cared what people thought of his girlfriend, of his wife.  So I worked diligently to gain the respect of his circle and his father.  I only succeeded with friends outside the circle.  By being me.  Once I started to give into the pressure to be liked by other people, a part of me died.  And I hated who I was when I was with those people.  And I hated them for causing that change.  And I hated the pressure I was under to be the perfect whatever.

When I started this blog, the anonymity allowed me to be who I really was.  It was a step back to being the person I was, meeting people by being who I was and not apologizing for being who I was.  (Though I’m still trying to figure out why criticizing a crappy kid show brought down the fury.)  I’ll admit that I do get a little intimidated when I start to think how many people might be reading this that actually know me. Not that any of them would be surprised that I’m crazy or a bitch.  But still.  Yet this place is often where I can lay down the mask and open the dark parts of myself to the light in hopes that someone, somewhere understands and nods back before I put the masks and the armour back on to do battle with the outside world.

But a couple of months ago. Some one outted me.

This jackass posted a link to my blog on a false complaint with false rumors about The Husband.  The jackass “claimed” to be doing it because he sympathized with me.  Um.  BS.

Not only is he slandering The Husband.

Not only is he trying to destroy the welfare of my family.

Not only is he using my blog to hurt the father of my children and to bring down the very entity that puts the roof over my kids’ heads and the food on our table.

He outs me as The Husband’s Wife.  Not my name.  Not who I really am.  Just His Wife. Because ever since I was a little girl I only wanted to be known as A Wife.  In fact, I would bet the jackass doesn’t even know my name, even though he has been to my house (The Orange One), I’ve cooked him dinner, I’ve taken care of his dogs for a day.

We’re not sure how this jackass found out about the blog.  It certainly wasn’t through me.  Now that the chaos is mostly over, I felt easier to talk about it.  I didn’t want to throw fuel on the fire when this BS hit the web.  I didn’t want to acknowledge the BS and give it power.  I did begin to wonder who really was lurking around the blog, waiting for me to say something that could be used against my family.  I tried to figure out how any one, ANY ONE could link this blog to my family. I debated whether to shut down the blog or not.  That debate lasted 30 seconds when I realized this was My Space and I’ll be damned if I let some jackass ruin it for me. But then I did notice how I began to censor my writing, cutting myself into pieces, editing myself.

I’ve decided not to do that any more.  So F them if they can’t take a joke.

Some advice for Spammers

Spammers seem to be getting more intelligent, or at least writing like they’re more intelligent.  Instead of writing Viagra a thousand times or talking about nude pics of some celebrity or other, they’re writing sentences, even paragraphs.  But there are a few things that are bothering me.

Take “Conceive a Baby Boy” and what s/he said, “Good Website! I wondered if I might be able to pages and use a few things for a school assignment,” referring to my post Project Womb: The Hope for Pink Booties.  I’ll give you props for actually targeting a relative post for your site because I did check it out, since you tried to post three times with different emails and IP addresses.  Of course, you wrote the same comment using the same name and website. 

But let’s just take a moment and believe you, instead of assuming you’re trying to sell books or pills or magic potions.  Let’s assume that what you meant to say was “I wonder if I might be able to copy and use a few things for a school assignment.”  First off, I’ll have to assume you’re in high school or college, but by college, students usually say a class assignment.  Either way, I doubt your teacher would be impressed that you sited some random blog that didn’t even site the actually scientific studies or papers on this statement.  You’re better off finding your helpful information for your school assignment in a scientific journal or any website that has an .edu instead of a .com.  Don’t believe me?  Go ask Ink, Evenshine, Beth or Naptime.  They’re actually professors.  I’m just a girl who graduated with Honors.

Then there’s “Blogs” who wrote “Wow! Thank you! I always wanted to write in my site something like that. Can I take part of your post to my blog?” on Wanna Laugh?  While I’m completely flattered, I know it’s not my best writing.  It was actually endorsing one of my favorite bloggers (not saying too much because I’ve got like a dozen of them) Not Drowning, Mothering on her chance to get a Bloggie.

But at least, Blogs, you asked nicely.  And the answer is NO.  I know I don’t have a fancy little sign or a clever saying about stealing my writing, but that doesn’t mean it’s out for grabs.  See one of the things they taught me at my fancy, little college (see the “with Honors” sentence) is copywrite law because, you know, it’s important for all writers to know.  Just so that you’re clear on this before I hunt you down and have some big, ugly dude serve you papers, I’ll explain a little of copywrite law, just for you.  See, I don’t need to write a disclaimer because under US law, where I’m writing, it says that the moment I write something, whether it’s in a word processor, on a blog, or on a cheap cocktail napkin in a cheap motel by the airport, that writing is MINE.  Anyone who takes it is a thief.  (The Husband would like to add that this is called “Implied copywrite” because he paid lawyers a lot of money to teach him that; while, I paid a school a lot of money to learn that.)  Most countries will support the copywrite laws of the originating country.  Except China.

But if you’re in China, let me just write something to get me thrown off their internet servers, so we don’t have this little chat again.  China, I hope you’re listening.  First off, I don’t really care for your reasoning that “you’re developing” so you can go off and pull some horrible little tricks.  Like stealing copywrited material.  Or what the hell you’re doing to your environment.  Sure, we developed nations pulled a lot of the same crap, but we learned our lessons.  We regretted doing that stupid sh*t, so we’re warning you.  And you sound like a sniveling little brother when you say you did, why can’t we.  Besides we didn’t try to torch ourselves in the grand fashion you’re doing.  It’s like you simply don’t give a f*ck when it comes to your people or your future.  Honestly the way you’re going, the way you’re acting, you’ll never be a “First World Nation,” you’ll be a laughing stock.  The crazy part is that someone once told me that you believe that you are just underneath Heaven, that everyone must reincarnate to become Chinese before making it through the pearly gates and off the wheel of suffering.  So you’re destroying the best part of earth?  Yeah, that makes a lot of sense.  Second, if you truly believe you’re right under heaven, you obviously never been to Maui because that’s truly paradise.

So Conceive and Blogs, that’s just some helpful advice to send you on your way.  You can THANK ME LATER.

THANK ME LATER Thursdays are brought to you by Parenting by Dummies and the Letters F and U.

There was this great post . . .

It would have been brilliant.  Ok, stellar.  Ok, entertaining.  But Tornado E is shooting toward a 104, which has sent The Husband into quite a panic.  Guess where he’s been for all the other illnesses.  Any ways, I’m playing doctor mom, though The Husband is questioning my credentials after I allowed Tornado E to sleep in his “hot” bath water.  But I assured The Husband that bath water at 99 was cool to someone running a body temperature closer to a werewolf than a little boy, who reminded me to call his teacher to tell her he was sick.  Then I also assured him that I was watching Tornado E closely, but that the poor guy was finally comfortable and exhausted.

With that said, I want to tell all my readers how honored I am that you still come around even though my writing has been a little sporadic.  Yesterday was the first day I didn’t feel sick.  Today is the same.  Let’s not jinks it until we’re a week out.  But to those who are making comments, you rock my world, even if I haven’t been replying as usual.  I assure you I’m reading you all, except I’m on my phone, so I’m not commenting on any one’s blog.  I’m so lucky to have such great readers and to read so many great blogs.

Stay tuned because  . . . Tornado S knows he’s in trouble the minute he does something . . . Tornado E knows the power of his own looks and intelligence . . . I’m opening the floor to discussing parenting other parents’ bratty kids . . . . And how The Husband went insane during the pregnancy with Tornado E.  Fun times.

A Little Nostalgia

Do you know what happened last week? 

I was so excited about it two weeks ago.  Then it came and went like a shadow.  It was days later that I realized the date I had been anticipating was gone.

Last week I had my first blog anniversary!

While I love Gibby’s, at LOST in Suburban Bliss, idea of reposting a first post, I couldn’t repost my first post.  Because it sucked.  I even made fun of how much it sucked.  I decided to do what every other blogger does on an anniversary, look back and marvel.

I read an article about Heather Armstrong from Dooce.com and how she and husband can be at home because her blog brought in that much money.  I was curious.  I started reading Ms. Armstrong’s blog, and I was hooked.  She was funny, insightful and brilliant.  Not only was I hooked, but I knew I could do this.  I could write a blog.  I thought, heck, my kid id just as funny, and I have two.  After a few days of researching, I settled on WordPress.com.  I made this blog my birthday present to myself.

I missed writing.  I missed sitting down and working out a tangle dream, hunting the right words, forcing language to do my will, paint a character, a scene, a story.  With the boys, I never had enough time to sweat out a piece of work.  I hardly had time to follow a muse.  I felt something shriveling up in my soul.

But then I started writing.  I became alive.  Relying on age-old writing advice, I read more than I wrote, trolling WordPress for inspiration.  I remember falling in love for the first time with a blog.  Bad Mommy Momments had me at Pervy Mc. Perv.  And I  loved her. 

Since then I have fallen in love with so many blogs.  Slowly I had only time for the blogs I loved, mainly other mommy bloggers.  I relish the little details of those lives, hungry for those scenes, those people, always looking for another person.  I realized we were making our own web.  I came to feel like I knew these women, wanting to actually meet them one day.  I talked about them the way I talked about my friends and family, just I had to give crazier nicknames to make people understand who NDM or Ink or insider53 or Court or any of the other dozen women were. 

Often my mom would say, “Is that the mom with the two adorable girls the boys age or is she the mom with three boys?”  or “Now she has the twin girls, right?” or “This is the one in the Bay area?”  Yeah, Mom, she’s the one and . . . .

I’m amazed at what I have found.  I have found my voice, and I find myself using my Thesaurus more and more like a real writer.  I have found heroes, teachers, and friends.  I have found wisdom and laughter.  I have found a place where I know that no matter how much I doubt, no matter how stupid I act, no matter how nerdy I am, there are other people that understand.

So Thank You for reading.

Vote for my post on Mom Blog Network

I’m Leaving on a Jet Plane

This Saturday my brother is strapping on the ball and chain and repeating sacred words outside in 40% chance thunderstorms at a place that he is paying too much to be at.  (Lady K, if you read this, I’m not judging; I was just more laid back and uncaring about my wedding.)  Where is this blessed event taking place?  I’m glad you asked.  It’s in New Hampshire.  It’s a four hour plane ride, which starts at 11am, stays in Dallas two hours, and then gets us into Boston at 9:30 pm.  Then we have an hour and a half drive to our hotel.  I’m going on the record to say The Husband is responsible for the flight arrangements, or really his admin assistant is.

The admin assistant is also responsible for the seating arrangements as well.  The first leg will be The Husband and Tornado E and Tornado S and me.  From then on it will be the boys and I; while, The Husband will be a row in front or behind or two rows away.  I wonder how much it would cost for me to upgrade.

Not that I’m worried.  I used to fly with Tornado E all the time before Tornado S was born.  I’ve got a portable DVD player, DVDs, and earphones.  I have books, coloring books, sketch pads, crayons, pencils, food, toys, prizes.  Yup, I’m one prepared Mama.  Woe to the flight attendant that tries to separate my bag from me.  So if you here about a plane doing an emergency landing because of a mom beating the crap out of a flight attendant, that’ll be me.  I’ll totally do a shout out when I’m interviewed on the morning news.

“Well, Diane, I had everything I needed to keep my boys occupied when the flight attendant told me she would stash it to the rear of the plane.  I was reading a couple of my favorite blogs at the time like Bad Mommy Moments, Lost in Suburban Bliss, Inktopia, Parenting by Dummies when the flight attendant took it when I told her no, thank you.  I had to stop reading The World According to Me to tell the woman my kids will tear this plane up if you don’t give me that bag. “

Hmm, I have a REALLY LONG favorite blog list.  Maybe I’ll just repeat my blog roll.

Apparently I can also take as much juice, water, and milk with me because I’m taking a toddler.  Or at least, that’s what the FTA website says.  I wonder if they’re going to be real hardasses like they are at the OC airport or the Maui airport.  (Maui, four security checks; like anyone flying out of Maui wants to die.)  So if you here about a mom arrested in Boston or Tucson airport for security reasons, that’ll be me.

“Well, Chris, I told the security officer that I was allowed to bring juice.  I showed him the guidelines that I printed out from the FTA website (not to self, totally print out those guidelines).  Then I told them that there was no way it was anything explosive because it would have eaten through the cardboard.  I should have been more polite, but I was trying to get through so I could read Mothering, Not Drowning, Naptime Writing, Unruly Helpmeet, and The Momoplex before I got on the plane.  In hindsight I wouldn’t have screamed ‘Do you really think if I wanted to bomb a plane I would do it with my own kids on it especially since I have medic-crap I forgot to take it today.’”

I really have to work on my shout outs.

Because we’re lugging two car seats, two boys, a huge diaper bag, a wimpy umbrella stroller, a backpack Tornado E’s suppose to carry, two monkey leashes, I figured I should leave the laptop behind, since The Husband is bringing his.  Unfortunately, he’ll be working on his when I would normally be blogging.  I have my Blackberry Storm, which I will use to read you all, but I probably won’t be able to comment unless I drug his tea with sleeping pills.  Just think of me as a guardian angel watching you or maybe more like one of the fifty readers who never comments.  Since I’m totally anal about my responsibilities (or I just can’t bare to see my stats drop), I plan on scheduling posts.  My problem is I’ll miss you all.  I’ll miss you so much I’m debating on taking up Twitter just to hear you all talk.  My bff is begging me not to go to the dark side.

Now I’m off to read before I have to pack and clean and run and get the Lunchables I left in my parents’ fridge.  If you have any advice, please leave it.  I’m totally planning on checking my blog Just One Last Time before we leave for the airport tomorrow.

Vote for my post on Mom Blog Network