From the Mouths of Babes.....

I organized an event last night at Dante's school for the 3rd and 4th graders.  It was an Pajama party/Movie Night and lots of fun.

I am the type of mom who likes to interact and get to know the kids. Last year, I knew every one of Dante's Kindergarten classmates (and I'm well on my way to knowing all of his 1st grade mates this year) and I can still see them today and say hello to them (and strangely enough they somehow remember me) <----#sarcasmfont

Anyhow, I sat down with some of the kids and chatted with them and this is what I discovered from today's 8 and 9 year olds.

• The Lorax is good but it's boring and nothing blows up
• My dad used to be a DJ in the olden days in the 90's.
• My mom is really old.  She's 32.
• We should turn off the movie and dance because I want to show everyone my moves and maybe someone will want to be my girlfriend.
• It's weird to see my friends without their clothes on. (The kids were wearing pajamas, not the required school uniform)
• My grandpa was a warrior in the Venetian War. He's dead now.
• In the 80's there were no cell phones so people couldn't call anyone unless they were home.
• In the 80's computers were as big as your house and only rich people had them.
• Girls are weird because all they want to do is hit you
• Boys are weird because all they want to do is hit you
• My dad has tattoos like you except his are nicer
• I like your tattoos. My mom won't let me get one yet.
• Is Justin Bieber your favorite singer?
• You like Star Wars?  But you're a mom!
• How could you have seen Star Wars when you were a kid? It wasn't real back then.

And my favorite of the evening:

• I love your hair and your lipstick.  You look like a goth lady, but old and with jeans on.
  

Dear Justin Bieber: Shut Up.

Apparently, "the Beebs" has alot to say about abortion, sex, health care and other things grown ups talk about when it is past his bedtime. Here are some of my favorite quotes.

"I really don't believe in abortion," he says. "It's like killing a baby?"

- notice that he ended that phrase with a question. No Justin, it's not 'like killing a baby'. It's terminating a fetus. 'Killing a baby' is what would happen if someone were to shoot you in the face.

When asked how he feels about the procedure when it comes to victims of rape, Bieber responded, "Um. Well, I think that's really sad, but everything happens for a reason.

-everything happens for a reason. Really. Rape is somehow in "god's plan"? So I guess that if one night, a group of lunatics decide to ambush you, rape and sodomize you, that you would just shrug your shoulders and say, "Oh well! Everything happens for a reason!".

Fuckwit.

I reiterate.

Dear Justin Beiber,

Shut Up.

Harper Valley PTA, Not Really....

Well, it was inevitable in the grand progression of things. Since becoming a mother, I've watched my children achieve milestones in their development. But, I've achieved milestones of my own as well. I became a Soccer Mom; I became a Disney Mom, I sent my oldest son off on his first day of school; and now, I have reached yet another milestone: I have attended my first Parent-Teacher night at Dante's Montessori Academy.

I have to say that while everyone was really nice, I couldn't help hearing this song in the back of my head as I mingled and grazed over the hors d'oueuvre table.



Sure, it's not like I didn't expect to "stand out" from the other parents, I guess, but what caught me off guard the most was the fact that I did not feel as though I was a parent. In my mind, I was the kid. In my mind, I am still sixteen years old. In my mind, I was not the mother of two children. In my mind, one of the moms I met was forty years old and I thought she was "old" until I realized that I am 36 years old and closer to forty than to sixteen. I felt so strange because I forget that I am a grown-up. I really do. Don't get me wrong, I don't neglect my children and go out clubbing and have this delusion that I am really twenty years old. But, I tend to forget that I am a grown-up. I just think I'm sixteen and still "cool" and relevant. Something which slaps me in the face about how wrong I am when I see a group of alterna-teenagers looking at me funny as I try to "relate' with them about hair dye, tattoos, and The Smiths. Who the hell is My Morning Jacket, by the way and how come none of these kids know who The Misfits are?

True, I don't exactly look like someone who makes rice crispies treats and sends their kid to Montessori school and (soon) piano lessons, but we all knew that was going to be the case. Although secretly, I would have been thrilled beyond belief if, walking into the PTA meeting, I would have come face-to-face with a chunky 30-something alterna-mom who was stuck in the 80's and obsessed with VH-1 Classics. She wasn't there, but I did meet a very nice mom whose son and Dante seem to have "clicked".

It was fun being a parent at a PTA meeting. I got to ask about my child's progress, about his behavior, about him as a student. The most humbling slap back to reality was seeing Dante's "work folder" in which all of his art and writing projects are kept until they are sent home at the end of the month. Inside, I was greeted with the budding personality of my son, independent from me as his mom. I got to be "the parent", asking questions about what activity they were doing when this was made, that was made, and so on and so forth. And I got to be that parent who set aside a box here at home to put away the special art work my child produces throughout the years, so that when he is in his 30's I'll be able to give it to him to look at.

I've said it before, I'll say it again: I get it now, mom. I get it.

Driving Miss Daisy.....Sort Of

I have become that driver. You know the one I'm talking about: That driver. The one you get stuck behind when you have somewhere to go; the one who drives the speed limit, maybe even a little bit under; the one with a line of cars behind it on a single lane road; the one where all you see is the top of a head behind the wheel. Well, that's me now. I am coming clean. You can curse, yell, scream, shake your fist at me in my rear view mirror as much as you like, I'm not moving any faster.

What brought on this change? I mean, I used to be the girl who was so leaden on the accelerator pedal that I thought I was bionic in my right foot. I was the girl who could bust out the triple digits on the speedometer on I-95 and still sing all the words to "Hungry Like The Wolf" without missing a beat. Don't get me wrong, I can still never miss a beat to any Duran Duran tune, but these days I'm obeying the speed limit, using turn signals, and pissing off whoever is behind me, both with my bumper stickers and with my overly cautious driving.

So again, you may ask why. Not so obvious answer: I can't afford to pay a speeding ticket. Obvious answer: My kids are in the back seat. More obvious answer: Everyone else on the road is a jackass who could ram into us at any moment.

Seriously, every day I see an accident and they are all caused by an idiot being an asshat behind the wheel. My husband is one of these asshats. Now mind you, when he's got me and the kids in the car, he is a decent driver, but when he's alone he thinks he is Vin Diesel from "The Fast and the Furious" movies. Sure he's got the "Tuner Car" as those who soup up their cars to look and sound like spaceships say, but he doesn't have the Stunt Driver For the Movies experience needed to not kill yourself.




When he's late coming home from work (and his fingers are apparently broken since he hasn't called to let me know), my first thought is that his car has been reduced to pieces no bigger than a penny and he has gone to meet the Flying Spaghetti Monster in his noodly sauce laden ethereal palace.

So I've gone to the opposite extreme. I am sure the people passing my car expect to see an ancient driver who is a veteran of the Civil War, but much to their surprise, they are met with an aging red haired tattooed goth girl singing Duran Duran to her two kids in the back seat.

The fact of the matter is, I'm not going to drive like an idiot......anymore. Sure, I admit I used to, but I also used to go to bed at seven in the morning because I had been up all night partying at a club. Life is different now. I've got two extremely important pieces of cargo in the back seat who are worth more than any of Tutankhamen's priceless artifacts are worth. They're worth more than the Universe is infinite and if it takes me an extra five minutes to get down the road, then so be it.

So if you are stuck behind a black 2004 Toyota Corolla with an Obama sticker and Darwin fish on it, don't curse me out, shake your fist at me in the rearview, and ride up on my back bumper. Instead, pop in some "Hungry Like The Wolf", settle into the driver's seat, and relax. You'll get where you have to go, maybe five minutes later than you wanted to, but you'll get there safely and with Duran Duran in your head. You can't get any better than that.

Solitude in Aisle 3

I went grocery shopping today.

Hang on, let me clarify.

I went grocery shopping ALONE today.

I don't think anyone but a stay-at-home mom can relate to the beauty of that concept. We are with our children 24/7, from morning to night, day in and day out, 365 days a year, holidays, weekends, and leap years. They're with us when we shower. They're with us when we shave. They're with us when we go to the bathroom.

Yes, even when we go to the bathroom. There's no use in closing the door because you will have a very curious 3 1/2 year old banging on the door saying, "Mommy are you going poopy in there?" or "Mommy, what is that smell?", or "Mommy can I see your poopy? Does it look like a Transformer?". I'm not kidding here. Guys, you have such a luxury of sitting in the bathroom, with a magazine or your thoughts, with no pressure in "finishing up". How I long for the day I can go to the bathroom and "meditate".

So imagine my utter joy and excitement when I awoke this morning knowing I was going to order, I mean, ask my darling husband to take Dante to basketball at the YMCA so I could get some grocery shopping done. My husband, gotta love him, has no concept of how much "alone" time I lack and thinks that my once-a-month Book Club is sufficient, and usually when I tell him that I am going grocery shopping, he looks at me with his puppy-dog green eyes and says, "Family Outing? Can we all go?" and we usually end up trekking en masse to Publix to grocery shop.

*big sigh*

It's tough to grocery shop with children. It's impossible to grocery shop with children AND husband. Seriously, you may think you are organized with coupons, a list, a map of the store so you know what goes where and which aisle has what, and every sale flyer available from the Sunday paper. But no, you're only fooling yourself. When you are with your husband and children, you will stray from the list, find yourself in aisles you have never visited getting an earful from BOTH sides of "please can we get this? pllleeeaaaasssseeee?" or "hey, we need this gigantic bag of cheese puffs/toy cars/pepperoni slices/chocolate pretzels/$8.49 a pound prosciutto/maraschino cherries/olives".

So, moms, bask in my glory as I shipped off "the kids" to the YMCA this morning and I sat down, alone, on my couch, eating last night's Chinese food, and took my sweet ass time to get ready to be Alone in the Grocery Store. I got dressed, got into my car, put on MY music, and drove to Publix all the while screaming/singing Duran Duran's "New Moon on Monday".

And then I got there. I could almost hear the heavenly operatic songs of the highest cherubim singing "Hallelujah" as the sliding doors opened as I was blasted with that oh-so-familiar smell of Deli/Fish/Baked Bread and cleaning products mixed in with stale flowers and bleach. I had my list! I had my coupons! I began my mission.

I went grocery shopping today.

Alone.

Cheers, Mr. Bean!

We are proud to announce that The Bean will now be known as Mr. Bean (with thanks to Rowan Atkinson for use of the name). Note the crossed leg in the first picture. That's Dante's favorite way to sit as well, and his Nonno's. Runs in the family! Apparently also, Mr. Bean was "excited" as evidenced by photo number two. That also seems to run in the family.

All genetic and neurological tests were negative for defects and mommy and baby are healthy and happy.

A Bug's Life

Dante and his new friend, Jader A. Beetle

Dante and Jader became instant friends when they met as Jader was walking across a park bench. After a few minutes of walking all over D's hands and arms, and being annoyed by the bigger boy who insisted Jader was a girl, Jader expressed his wishes to be put back in the bushes so he could return to his mommy that missed him very much. Needless to say, Dante and Jader exchanged contact information and will meet up again next time we go to the park. D told Jader he looked forward to seeing him but to please not bring any SPIDER friends with him next time or else mommy would cry and pee her pants from fright. Good times, good times.

God and Flu Propaganda

I recently came across this story while stumbling around StumbleUpon:

Young flu victim's mom: 'I know Hallee's in heaven' on The Murfreesboro Post

Excuse me while I barf.  Don’t get me wrong, I am sad that this little girl died, but come on.  The religious idiocy spewing from this article made me want to rip my face off.  Oh yes, your god is so wonderful and great that he would let a little girl die. And not quickly. No, he’s so wonderful and caring that he is going to let your child suffer innumerably and then he’s going to kill her. You can’t tell me that people really believe this idiocy.  This poor kid. I guess I can be thankful that she was so heavily brainwashed that she was not frightened at the end. Something we should all be so lucky to have, but come on.  If this isn’t proof positive that god and religion are farces to keep your fear of death at bay, then what is?

I also love how this article hints that she died of some type of flu, mentioning it just enough to scare Average Joe and family and glosses over completely that her death was caused by another medical issue that was ailing her.  The flu just compounded it.

I realize I don’t blog often anymore and many of my blogs seem very cranky as of late, but there is so much junk going on in this world that I simply don’t have time to spread my cynicism this thin.  Plus, I have a 3 year old who is way more exciting and entertaining that the sad, boring news. I would much rather be discussing the merits of Chick Hicks and Lightning McQueen that crankily poring over some bullshit news story.

So, I’m sorry you died little girl. 

Reprehensible Behavior

I don't like proselytizers. I don't like them in any way shape or form, whether they be evangelical Christians, Jehovah Witnesses, Mormons, Baptists, Seventh-Day Adventists, Sixth Day Adventists, 23rd Day Adventists, whatever! I just learned that Jews are now going door to door and I don't like them either! I don't even like people coming to my door to sell me magazines or ask me how happy I am about my phone service. The religious ones are intrusive and the marketing ones are annoying and they all happen to choose to knock while I am in the middle of something and/or nap time so the dog goes crazy and wakes up D.

Bottom line, I do not like proselytizers. If you love your religion so much, go sing about it in your church and make a YouTube video about it and mail me a letter. Don't knock on my door asking me if I've "heard the good news" because unless that "good news" involves Clive Owen, being skinny without dieting, and a stable bank account, I'm not really going to listen. And, if you leave my doorstep shaking your head and feeling that I am less of a person because I don't share in your "good news", well let me just give you some advice on where to stick it.

In the past, most people that have knocked on my door, wherever I have lived, have been adults. Some are pushy, some are nice, some start praying on your doorstep when you try to be polite and not scream at them to "fuck off", but 95% of the time, they are well dressed adults who are interested in dialoguing with me about Jesus and his dad and why I should become a zombie. That's fine and dandy with me. But as of late I've noticed a new trend with the Witnesses: children.

Since moving to Florida, every time the Witnesses have knocked on my door, the ADULTS have hung back on the sidewalk about 10-15 feet away and let a SMALL CHILD walk up my driveway and knock on my door with their little hands gripping the many copies of The Watchtower. How absolutely vile is that? It horrifies me to no end. I am finding it very difficult to find the ways to describe how much that disgusts me. Children should not be used as manipulative means to push your god. Do these people think that I'm going to see a kid and say, "Oh yes! I believe in Jesus now because this little boy just knocked on my door." And how horrible can I feel closing the door in a child's face after saying, "No thanks hon!". Can you imagine what that does to a kid? I mean, it's hard enough getting a door shut in your face as an adult, but how about for a little child? Walking up to big doors, with strangers behind them , who say "No" to you. It's traumatic I'm sure.

But it doesn't end with children for these people. No, it gets worse. I thought I had seen it all when the toddler knocked on my door a few months back with his BABY sister in his arms, but today took the cake.

At about 9:30am this morning, I saw the Witness troupe coming up the block. I didn't see any children in tow and I was thankful for that. I put the dog out back, preparing myself for the inevitable knock and my, "No thank you, we are Atheists" speech, but no knock came. I saw the group standing in front of my house and for once, I thought they had seen my sign and understood it, so I moved along with getting D ready to go out. And then I heard it. A feeble knock on the door. Instantly I thought it was a child and got grumpy, but when I opened the door I was greeted with something so reprehensible that I was almost rendered speechless.

She was an older woman, maybe 60 years old. She walked with a cane and appeared to be hunched at the back. What startled me was not her appearance but the fact that she was MENTALLY HANDICAPPED. She was so severely handicapped that she could not speak, emitting small grunts as she tried to hand me her "Jesus saves" pamphlet. I was appalled. It is one thing to push small children, who will one day grow and learn and form their own opinions on what has been taught to them, but to take advantage of this woman and EXPLOIT her in this fashion infuriates me to no end. As usual, the "normal" (for lack of a better word) people sat on the sidewalk 10-15 feet away, while this poor woman, manipulated and exploited by those who purportedly work for a "loving god", sat on my doorstep with vacant eyes trying to peddle salvation.

What do I do? What could I do? I smiled, said "No thank you" (omitting the "we're Atheists" part since she wouldn't understand anyhow) and closed the door. I watched her shuffle back to her group and continue her trek in the hot sun. I wanted to cry for that woman and I wanted to kick the people in charge of her in the face repeatedly.

I still have an awful taste in my mouth from the whole experience and if there is ever cause for me to hate another person or group, I think I found it today.

Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

Dante is home sick with the flu, so we decided to fingerpaint. The beauty of fingerpainting is that it rarely goes anywhere near the paper you lay out. It should be called get-it-all-over-yourself painting or let's-paint-everything-BUT-the paper.

If you notice, we did a pretty good job of securing the area by laying down newspaper AND electrical tape. Needless to say, I just finished washing the floor while Daddy gave Mr. D a bath.

Prioritizing the News

I've discovered that a combination of getting older and being a "mommy" has changed the way I look at the news and the way different news stories affect me. I was talking to my friend via email earlier about how I used to be this "never say die" bad ass chick with no thought of the outside world other than who, what, where I was seeing, doing or going that night at whatever club I ended up. Sure, I had my mini political outbreaks here and there; expressing outrage at the closing down of a local Planned Parenthood; volunteering at a local clinic helping women enter the doors past the throngs of mindless idiots praying; writing letters to a senator telling him to keep church and state separate. I had my activist moments, but I was mostly focused on the nightlife, Manhattan at midnight, walking down Houston street to The Bank or over to Avenue A to dance the night away at The Pyramid. How incredible were those days.

But I'm here now. NYC is 5 long years gone from underfoot and my life has changed a thousand fold. I'm over 30 (34 to be exact), I'm married for the second time (the first one was a practice run), and I am a mother to an incredible, intelligent, insightful, 2 year old boy. We're even attempting to get pregnant again; a feat that is more difficult than it sounds (and extremely more tiring). Had you told me this back in 2003, I would half laughed hysterically in your face and then probably drop kicked you to the ground. Funny how the wheel of fortune spins?

Anyhow, back to my original intent of this post: The News. I read the news differently now and stories that I once would never read or just gloss over seem to affect me deeply now. For example, I read the other day that dissident author Alexander Solzhenitsyn died. Normally, I would have pored over the details and mourned the loss of this man, but instead another story caught my eye: Christina Applegate is battling Breast Cancer. Now, I know what you're saying, "You're prioritizing some blonde actress' cancer troubles over the author who exposed Russian cruelty in the gulag?!?!?"

Yes. I am . You see, Christina Applegate is me. Rather I am just like her. She's in her mid-30s, is a mom, and is a woman. I glossed over Mr. Solzhenitsyn's obituary because I don't relate to him. I grew up with Christina Applegate as Kelly Bundy on Married with Children, have loved watching her in her cheesy movies and TV shows, and now I feel like one of my friends is sick. Why her? Why anyone, for that matter? See, this is where that whole issue comes up with me. The whole "god" issue. How can someone justify the existence of this being after seeing a loved one diagnosed with a horrible disease or maimed or killed or just plain ol' fucked up? "He's testing us", they'll tell you. I say, "If your god wanted to test someone, why not just send down some math problems and be done with it?". Seriously.

But I digress. This is not a post about how silly I think the concept of a god is, nor is it a rant about my atheism. I'll be sure to post one of those sooner or later.

Ask me about the Olympics. Who cares. Seriously, with what is going on in the world do I give two cents if some 40 year old female swimmer can outswim a 20 year old? Do I care if the US wins gold medals? How can people care about these things when a little boy named Rakan Hassan is murdered? As a mom, I wept for this child. As a human being, I wept for this child. Who gives a crap about the olympics or Paris Hilton or Britney Spears or that John McCain is running ads with Obama being compared to them? Honestly, are the American people this stupid that they are distracted so easily?

These are the stories that affect me; that hit close to home. Rakan was 12, innocent in the turmoils of the world, yet he suffered at the hands of the most terrible of evils; one that would kill children. Sure, the right wingers will tell you that a casualty count of over 1 million Iraqi dead is trivial and unimportant, but if we single it down to one death and count Rakan as that one, that is still one death too many. Listening to Air America the other day on the Stephanie Miller show, a right winger named Tom (I think) called in and commented that it "wasn't 1 million deaths, it was closer to 700,000" and that "liberals are always exaggerating". 1 million vs. 700,000. What's the difference?

So that's the news from where I stand. Film at 11.

The Three Amigos

I have a sneaking suspicion that in 15 years or so, we will be bailing these three out of jail for some sort of mischief!

Castles in the Sand

Today we went to a sand castle/sand education workshop sponsored by the Anne Kolb Nature Center at North Hollywood Beach. Dante had a blast deconstructing sand castles, learning about sand creatures, and eating turkey sandwiches with sand in them.