Hogwash!

Okay.

I have a confession to make.

Sometimes, I use a topic generator.

Sometimes I get home and I'm so tired- on every level- that everything that comes out of my brain is complete hogwash. The only thoughts I can muster are grunts, and that's being generous. But I know if I don't write at least a little every night, I will be worthless at my craft by the time I actually have enough free time to practice it as I desire. On these nights, I turn to a topic generator for free writing. This stuff never gets published because it's usually, as I said before, hogwash.

Google seriously has an image for everything.

America, I'm Disappointed

Dear America,

I know we've come a long way. Civil Rights, Sufferage, etc. We have cars that make it possible to live really far from where we work. One hundred and fifty years ago it took months to cross the country. Now, thanks to the miracle of flight, we can do that in a few hours.

But lets face it. We're slacking.

See this?

courtesy of Cheesecake.com

This is heaven. And right now, I have to DRIVE! All the way to the store. Now, Amazon.com recently unveiled their plan to have drones ready to deliver items to us in just 30 minutes in five years. But five years is too long. We need to get cracking on this. Can we have some volunteers help Amazon pick up the pace on this? You could put it on your resume as "Community Service". Trust me. It would be.

It would also make drones a little less scary. Instead of seeing one and thinking "Poop! I'm about to have a mistel shot at me!", people would think "Yummy!". 

I now have a new world peace plan. The whole "food not bombs" thing didn't work. Because beans aren't particularly delicious. But cheesecake... Cheesecake could change the world.

What Your Mom Wants for Christmas

It may come as a surprise to some, but your mommy is not lusting after a fat man in a red suit. And the mother of your young children probably doesn't care about a new tennis bracelet- where is she even going to wear that thing?!

So now that Thanksgiving is over and you're all rushing to trample strangers at the mall, here are five things your mom/wife wants for Christmas.

1. A loong, hot, UNINTERRUPTED bath.
Depending on the age and head count of her children, the word "bath" may be readily exchangeable for the words "meal" or "potty break".

I wasn't going to put a picture here, but I got way too excited when I saw this picture. So this picture is dedicated to YOU, fellow moms. It's bath porn.

2. A punching bag with the face of that super-self-righteous "My kids were potty trained before their second birthday and were bilingual by kindergarten and oh they just LOVE Baby Einstein things" mom "friend" printed right in the middle.
I pretty sure you can find one somewhere on the internet. You can find ANYTHING on the internet.

3. Super fluffy socks.
Because we all know she's sliding around the house pretending to be a ninja the second the kids leave the house.

4. A hidden camera.
Most of us aren't paranoid about what the babysitter's up to, but we know the fastest way to get a kid to stop doing whatever really cute thing grandma would want to see is to break out the camera.

5. A bottle of Patron.
Because REALLY- have you ever tasted a margarita made from this stuff?! And mommy needs a margarita to get through ages 2-5. And 12-wheneveryoumoveout.

See, look! It's red and green- very festive!

Thanks, World!

Please don't barf on your keyboard, but here are the things I am truly, DEEPLY thankful for this year and every year. I couldn't come up with a full 30 like everyone on Facebook, but here's the 15 I grudgingly drudged up for your enjoyment.

15. Facebook. Really. I joined it very grudgingly, but it lets me stalk keep in touch with people I wouldn't be able to otherwise.
14. Nicolas Cage. Because bad acting has never had a sillier face.
13. Wikipedia and Google. Self diagnosis is awesome, and I really feel like I know my doctor better now that I know how she feels about my chances of contracting Ebola. BTW, does anyone have a doctor who's a little more hypochondriac friendly?
12. Foster Friess. Dude, you're totally saving my marriage. Thanks for the advice, buddy!
11. The slow, gradual process of empathy development. It would really bum me out if my son figured out that it hurts when he leans all his weight onto his elbow as it's resting on my neck. These early years pass too fast!
10. The bag of Dark Chocolate M&Ms in my desk drawer.
9. Money as a reason not to purchase television service. I miss you not, Baseball playoffs.
8. YouTube Zumba videos. Because no one should have to look that ridiculous in public.
7. Stirrup pants with layered scrunch socks. I know no one else thinks of you so fondly as I do, but given the way fashion cycles, we'll be together again soon.
6. Friends that let me lick their faces.
5. My husband's uncanny ability to find me the perfect action figure to play with at my desk decorate my work space.
4. Chocolate covered potato chips. It's now been proven in the free market that people will both pay for and eat anything.
3. Sites that hide the comments on an article. That fount of wisdom burns too brightly!
2. The people of Great Britain. You know for sure where Texas and California are, gifted us with Monty Python, and still care greatly about the baby who will never actually have any useful amount of power in your government.
1. The noble Moose. I couldn't say for sure which one.

4 Mysteries of Mommyhood

Sometimes, my mommy life surprises me. There are things everyone told me- like that labor hurts and two-year-olds are terrible and teenagers are ungrateful little jerks (okay, no one told me that, it's more of a having-a-memory thing)- but whole oodles of things no one told me. And they would have been useful to know. So, as a friendly gesture to upcoming parents who are hearing the same old on repeat, here are the top four things I didn't know then but I sure know now.

1. Your baby's head is imbued with Amortentia.
Amortentia is the love potion in Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. It smells like happiness, and it's a potent drug. And your baby's head oozes this stuff. It has nothing to do with how recently they've bathed, either. One whiff and you are off the deep end, and melty and gooey and horribly disgusting to any non-parent who is unfortunate enough to witness this scene. Apparently everyone is embarrassed by how good their baby's head smells, because they never talk about it, but obsessed enough with this bonding device to do studies on it. This doesn't really ever go away, your kids just get old enough that they're not willing to hold still while you take huffs of their hair. Maybe this is why moms keep clippings from first hair cuts. I currently use this weird effect to help me remember how much I love my son when I catch him doing something awesome like coloring on the wall. I feel the rage building, walk over, sniff his head, and I am instantly calmer, and ready to deal with grown up tactics, rather than just anger. I'd like to see if this still works when he's a teenager...

WHY DO YOU KEEP SNIFFING MY HEAD?!

2.  It is almost impossible not to talk about poop.
Your baby's poop will fascinate you, disgust you, and be a constant topic of conversation. Many conversations with your partner/spouse will be stopped by the following question: "How long have we been talking about poop?". It's word vomit. The most unstoppable form of Turret's. Until you learn to master this impulse, you will find yourself discussing your child's bowl movements anywhere, with anyone who is trapped by good manners into listening. The first step is admitting you have a problem. Become aware of when you are talking about feces in public, especially when there are food or strangers involved, or when no one asked (no one ever will). If you don't learn to control this, people will stop answering your phone calls.

3.  Occasional boredom with your child is normal, and a sign of sanity.
Babies don't talk. And the first couple years of talking is more stream-of-consciousness than a give-and-take conversation. We're social animals, and the way we do parenting here (complete isolation from the adult world) in the western world is a recipe for depression for stay at home moms. If you are staying home with your baby, make sure you have grown up conversations every day. Ones that aren't about poop. You will enjoy your time with your baby more and have an easier time adjusting when they go off to school, or you go off to work. Your baby is awesome and needs all of your love, and you can't give someone all of your love if you aren't taking at least a minimum amount of care of yourself. As a side note to this, I'd like to give the finger to everyone who says you need to stay home all day so that child-free people don't have to hear your child's occasional tantrum. Public spaces exist for everyone, and moms (ESPECIALLY the stay at home moms) really need time in public, around other people. Not just because parenting can be very isolating, but because children can't learn how to behave in public without entering public. I keep seeing these blogs talking about "You should know, and just stay home, because you had to know your kid would pitch a fit, and in my day we gave those kids a whooping so they wouldn't act like that". Get over yourself.  Maybe the world would be a less violent place if we didn't use the threat of violence at every turn, and instead taught our children emotional self control.

Sorry. Excuse the hippy tirade.

4.  You will love your child unbelievably.
Which will sometimes feel weird, because it's weird to be angry with someone for pouring their corn into their milk cup and simultaneously be head over heels for them.

How to Talk to Humans

Sometimes, the people you are surrounded by aren't like you. Sometimes they like the Tea Party, donate to Green Peace, have kids, can't stand kids, love something you hate, hate something you love...

It's utterly terrifying. I mean, imagine a world where not everyone thinks the same thoughts as you! Where they raise their kids differently than you would, don't have kids, vote for people you don't like, or watch shows that don't deserve the air time. I could go on and on with the horrors, but it is time to face facts: it is real. Some people don't like cheesecake.

This is what true love looks like.

You try to reason with them:

1. It's made of cheese!

2. When you make a crust out of Graham Crackers, it is automagically delicious.

3. You can have fruit topping OR chocolate. Or both!

4. Did I mention the cheese?!

5. You're stupid.

Your logical prowess fails you. Even the last point you made failed to win them over.

Maybe if they just TASTED it? I mean, if you don't like cheesecake, it must mean you haven't found the right cheesecake, right? So you try making them eat your favorite cheesecake, and the whole time they are talking about other things they actually LIKE! So rude. As if pie could ever hold a candle up to cheesecake. (It can't. The candle breaks the crust and falls right over, thank you!) 

Hmm. Maybe you could just demand they eat the cheesecake or you will destroy their pie.

If all of these tactics fail you, there is one last option out there. For the wimps who can't handle the other options. You could eat your cheesecake, and leave them to eat their pie in peace. Or sit next to them while you both eat your chosen deserts. Being only human, this may be the best way to actually enjoy your cheesecake, since cheesecake tastes better when you're happy (instead of guilty, angry, or sad that your friend went somewhere else so they could eat their pie in peace).

5 Ways to Tell if You Take Sports Too Seriously

I feel that this is something we must discuss in light on Monday's game. It is Broncos season again (we don't call it football here because the other teams don't really count) and it is looking promising. It's very early in the season, but the trash talking has already gotten serious. Every game is overhyped. The first game was a big deal because "It's the defending champions! Oh my god!". The next game was a big deal because "It's one Manning versus another! Oh my god!". Then Monday was a big deal because "It's the Raiders! Oh my god!".

I'll back off for a second. This can happen in any sport, and Americans aren't alone in going bananas over sports. Just watch the games leading up to the Soccer World Cup.

But at a certain point you need to accept that you're in too deep. If you or someone you loves exhibits any of the following symptoms, please seek professional help. Because really, you're just getting annoying to sit next to on the bus.

5. If you have ever talked so much trash about an upcoming game that you avoided public places after your team lost...
I was listening to the radio and a local DJ made a bet about a NUGGETS game that involved him getting a tattoo of his least favorite team if the Nuggets lost. The Nuggets are not a great team. He now has a really stupid tattoo. Don't be that guy.
4. If the stats of your fantasy football team dictate your mood and consequently the moods of family members...
In college I played table top RPGs. No one ever let it ruin their day, because IT'S NOT REAL! Yeah, that's right. I just put the world of Dungeons and Dragons above your maturity level.
3. If your significant other stops liking you during the playoff season of your favorite sport...
Do I need to elaborate here? Really?
Fine. Stomping around the house like a two year old who's been told he can't watch "Cars" right now is not an attractive quality in a mate. It's not an attractive quality in a two year old, and frankly a toddler has a better excuse.
2. If you own more than two actual jerseys...
I'm not talking about t-shirts meant to look like they came from training camp. Those are relatively cheap memorabilia, and being a collector of Lego figurines, I can't really complain. I don't know anyone who doesn't collect something. But a cheap jersey costs about $150 dollars, which is a lot of beer. Even if you're drinking to your team's victory at a bar. If you're into hockey and you have more than one jersey, you have  a sickness. And possibly an illegal income source.
1. If you have a professional athlete's name tattooed anywhere on your body...
I think the only people who get a pass on this are the actual spouses of said professional athletes. I can understand wanting to brag about it without having to talk about it constantly. Everyone else? You look about as cool as this guy:

courtesy of thechive.com

I'd Like You to Know I'm Very Sorry For My Recent Absence.

I'd also like you to know that I am sorry for the long title full of superfluous capitalization. And the fact that we live in a world where no one can spell without spell check. I thought I would express my remorse with the following expressionistic image:

If you cannot see my sadness, I should explain that that person is offering you a Cheeto, which is almost as good of an apology as a brownie. But not quite.

Make what you will of it. Life is your Ekphrasis.

To fill you in on the goings on:






That's pretty much it. Oh, and my son has decided he is in charge of my purse.

Awkward Encounters

Have you even locked eyes with someone as they came out of the restroom and wondered if they had been napping in there?

Me neither. Until today. I'm coming out of the bathroom, and at the same time someone comes out of the men's bathroom. Our eyes meet- a necessity in avoiding a collision in the awkwardly shaped mini-hallway the bathrooms on the third floor of my office building are in. And I just KNOW, in the same way I know that "Firefly" will never return to television, that this guy was taking a nap.

It's all over his face. Literally. One side of his hair is smashed up in the quasi-mohawk that I personally refer to as a duck-wing, and his eyes are glazed over but trying to pretend otherwise. Unknown to him, there's a small smear of drool on his chin. And most tellingly, there is a big red square from where he was leaning his face against what I can only assume was the stall wall.

I should have taken a picture. He was still groggy, and no match for the picture-taking reflexes everyone with a smartphone posses.

In my head, I can think up a lot of reasons this would happen. Maybe he got high on his lunch, went to use the restroom, and just fell asleep (this seems most plausible given I live in Colorado and this guy apparently comes to work in cargo shorts). Maybe they had a potlock in his office and he ate too much turkey, and got really sleepy, KNEW he needed a nap, but was afraid to fall asleep at his desk. Maybe the air conditioning in his office was broken and the cool temperature of the stall wall was so relaxing that he just got too comfy and fell asleep out of sheer relief. Maybe last night the boss threw an office party and he got trashed and spent the night with his cool, comforting toilet friend.

But whatever his reason, THERE IS NO FREAKING EXCUSE FOR NAPPING IN THE BATHROOM.

There is a part of me that wishes I had caught him in the act, and that he had been Joss Whedon, because knowing I had a way to blackmail someone into returning "Firefly" to television would have made my day most excellent. I guess I'll just have to settle for the awesome mental image of an anonymous serial-napper.

A Love Letter to my Car

Dear Car,

I know, as you are getting older and gas gets more expensive, that you must be worried I will give up on loving you. Everyone gets insecure from time to time, and you recently let me know that our relationship is going to require some maintenance, so here goes:

I love you. You are a great car.

You always start for me, even when it's so cold outside it hurts to breathe. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your selflessness in this regard, because when it gets that cold I know it requires extreme will to wake up. You also are willing to get going when it's so hot I feel like that Furian guy walking into the sunshine in The Chronicles of Riddick. Again, thank you.

I'd so much rather drive you to work than have to row a metal people boat.

Also, in spite of extreme temperatures, your AC and heat work effortlessly, within moments of starting. It's amazing. Like a little slice of climate controlled heaven, where I can eat my M&Ms without fear of them liquefying.

But in every healthy relationship, there are two sides to the story. There is something you have been doing lately that I feel must be addressed.

I know that you are feeling insecure, and that all the cars I've been with before had standard transmissions. However, this insecurity over my past car relationships is no reason to start trying to pretend to be a standard. Specifically, it's very unnerving when you allow me to turn off your engine and remove the key in drive, but then scold me for trying to start you afterwards. It's a mixed message, and not appreciated. I occasionally forget, and I am willing to work on this, but you need to work on being happy with who you are. Truly, no amount of gentle reassurances that your transmission is just as appealing as  my former cars' transmissions will make up for your self confidence.

Thank you so much for all you have given me.

Love,

Alicia

Right of Kangaroo Passage

Being a mom is not always awesome. I have actually saved this article in my favorites bar because sometimes I really need it. I really need to believe that I will survive this without punching the next childless person who gives me parenting advice or the next person who tells me I must love every moment of parenthood. I try to embrace my new, curvier body but still struggle with the kangaroo pouch that once housed an entirely manageable little person and now hangs loosely from my waist in despair over the tyrant it has unleashed on the world.

The Offspring: 50% Adorable Cuteness, 50% Merciless Tyrant

Mostly, though, I am caught off guard by how much I love being someone's super-hero/magician/personal comedian ("mom" in layman terms). The amount of joy you experience as a parent could probably be considered insanity. Every day I discover new sources of joy, and you should know that (in case you're worried about it) your life does not get boring or crappy when you become a parent. It's different- you watch new movies in the daytime, when it's easier to get a sitter, and alcohol (hopefully) loses any serious relevance in your social life, but you learn some interesting things. Here's the short-list of my most important discoveries:

1. I don't know crap.

This is a recent one, based on the discovery by The Offspring of the word "why". I really don't know. I try to give real answers, but sometimes I'm left with "Because Mommy said so".

Think about this for a second. Ten years ago I knew EVERYTHING. Hell, five years ago I was still pretty sure I would someday rule the world. Now I know I'm lucky if bath-time goes off without a hitch, and I have no idea "why" spicy things feel hot.

It's kind of liberating.

2. Every idea is better when presented in the Cookie Monster voice.

Self explanatory. Try it. Say "Time to trim the toenails!". Now say it like you're Cookie Monster.

You're more excited about routine hygiene now, and you know it.

3. Running is more fun when you're screaming.

Another one I don't know the "why" of, but I think it may have to do with giving your social inhibitions "the finger". Next time you go for a run, wave your arms around frantically and scream. Not only will you be inexplicably exhilarated, but any child nearby will be drawn to you, because you are obviously awesome. Be careful only to admire your trail of screaming followers though- parents might get weirded out if you turned around and started talking to your new-found minions. In fact, you may want to reserve this experiment for your favorite jogging trail, not your local park. This one is how I convince The Offspring that he really DOES want to get his booty out of the stroller and walk with me, and it has the added bonus of being a great time.

4. Every parent blogger is a liar.

Every parent has tough days. Every one of us yells sometimes, lets our kids watch TV because we're super tired, and makes the mistake of taking our kids out when they're just too tired and should be at home. Every parent blogger puffs their account up with stories of this or that cute thing that happened today, and makes lies of omission. These lies make parents who are scared and stressed and dealing with a challenging child, or a normal child in a challenging phase, feel really crappy for that stress. I learned this by asking other parents- my mom, my friends that I trust to be honest- about their difficult moments. Knowing I wasn't the only person who occasionally locks myself in the closet and cries while eating Teddy Grahams the second reinforcements arrive- whew. Huge relief.

Someday, your Offspring will sit at the bottom of a staircase screaming because they want to be carried and your arms are full of groceries. Just know you aren't the first person to be pissed off about it and you'll probably be okay. Put the groceries down, tell off those childless college brats who stopped to watch the spectacle, and carry your kid inside. No one will steal your groceries, and you'll be able to deal a little better once you're not apologizing for blocking the staircase. Learning this lesson is a right of Kangaroo Passage.

PS- I know I wrote this for future parents, but I also know lots of current parents may be ready to tear their hair out and not sure what to do about behavioral problems. Here's some reputable organizations with solid, research based resources. You can also go to your local state or country website for information on support or counseling. Be the super-hero your kid thinks you are.

Parenting.com
WebMD
The Center for Parenting Education
Parenting.org

Enough Egg McMuffins to Feed a Very Small Village

Image courtesy of mcdonalds.com

I have a problem.

Some people have a drinking problem. Some people have a problem with sweets. Some people have more serious problems, life threatening ones like heroin or Pinterest. I have an Egg McMuffin problem.

I try not to think about it, because sometimes thinking about it makes it worse. Just like when you are lying in bed at night, and just as you begin to feel drowsy you feel a tickle between your shoulder blades. You try to ignore it for a moment and then give in. Just one quick little scratch... Your hand creeps up, trying to sneak up on the itch. This is obviously impossible. You dig in, and the itch fights back. First, it runs deeper under your skin- so you scratch harder. Then it flits away to your shoulder, then down to the small of your back.

Before you know it you're looking up at the ceiling in agony as you squirm on your scratchy carpet, trying to eradicate the itch by magically scratching your entire back at once. This enterprise was doomed from the start.

This is what happens to me. I wake up in the morning wanting warm cheddar cheese on a muffin. With egg and ham. It shouldn't be good- I don't really like eggs at all outside of this context. I whisper my mantra: "I do not like eggs". I pour myself a bowl of cereal, thinking this will stop the itch. But it just digs in. My stomach rebels. It asked for protein, not breakfast cereal!

Before I know it, I am stopping on my way to work filled with the odd mixture of delightful anticipation and self-loathing.

I am not terrible. I usually only give in about twice a week. Then again, in the turn of one year, that IS one hundred and four muffins. Enough to feed a small village breakfast.

UPDATE: I had an Egg White McMuffin this morning. It is even better. I don't even feel bad.

Awesomeness. In its most Pure Form.

Okay, I don't advertise on here. But I am tonight.

I like good theatre. I like seeing people succeed at their dreams. But sometimes, everyone needs a little boost. My good friend Aaron is trying to get funding to start up his first live theatre production (college excluded). He has 20 hours to go and needs less than $1,200 to meet his fundraising goal and lock in the space for his show.

You don't need to like live theatre. But if you've ever had dream, you know sometimes everyone needs a hand getting their's started. Every dollar counts. I will make up for this egregious breach of blog etiquette with Egg McMuffins.

Enough Egg McMuffins to feed a village. Just click on the link below. If you are broke as a joke, you can donate as little as $1. It will still help.

It's like Six Degrees From Kevin Bacon, but with Talent.

YOU SCROLLED TOO FAR!! ^^THAT IS THE LINK!^^

Sugar Buzz

We gave The Offspring too much juice. Or maybe he was just feeling awesome. I don't remember. It was at least 24 hours ago.

I am submitting this video as evidence for the following hypothesis: Nothing runs "cuter" than a toddler. Really. Watch their arms when they run- they stick out in this weird way, because the kid KNOWS the likelihood of falling is large. And they kind of bounce and wobble, like a bobble-head on a boat. It's so cute they made the Muppets run like that. Puppies try to run this cutely. They make a good effort with their way-too-big ears, but they fail, because their head isn't its own center of gravity.

Your Costume Party Is Giving Me an Identity Crisis

I need to say, before I go any further, that I have the BEST friends in the world. They let me go months without seeing them and still invite me to their birthday parties without ever calling me out on my social-lameness.

So an old friend (hereby referred to as Freckled Goddess) invited me to her birthday party- which is tonight! I'm so excited! People! And a goat! Whooopee!

Wait. The Freckled Goddess updated the Facebook event? Probably no big deal, right?

WRONG. The Freckled Goddess created hell. Right here. Because she made it a costume party based on "What you wanted to be when you grew up".  Crap.

It wouldn't have mattered if I had paid attention when she updated the event on Facebook a month ago.  I thought and thought and thought and COULD NOT, FOR THE LIFE OF ME, recall what I wanted to be when I grew up. I really don't know. I thought my brother was super-cool, but that's not a career goal as much as it is an envy of being allowed to wear pants to church and the super-natural ability to scare away monsters at bedtime.

Did I not have any goals as a child? What's wrong with me? I didn't want to be a doctor or a nurse or a teacher or a firefighter. I didn't even have the awesomeness to want to be a hip-hop ballerina! Why didn't I think of that?

I told myself- don't panic. You can just make something up and no-one will know. But I didn't believe myself. The scene in my head was dramatic: I come to the Freckled Goddess's party dressed as a librarian (which, in retrospect, would have been a really good career for me). Everyone who ever saw me get yelled at for being too loud and weird sends me laser-beams of eyeball scorn. The Freckled Goddess comes up and says "No Goat for YOU! This is not even mediocre effort. Go home!"

Really, this is how I imagine social interactions in my head. I wish I was kidding. Please don't be sad for me, I'm not looking for pity, because afterwards, when it doesn't happen like that, I not only get more happiness than I was anticipating but also the added benefit of having a good-natured laugh at myself.

I think I could also consider making awesome
masks as an alternate career path,
but I'm starting so worry about my lack of focus here.

So I thought, okay, sarcasm has always won the day for me. I've always wanted a really cool mask. What if I made a mask, and said "When I was little, I always wanted to be a person with an awesome mask." Then, not only would I have a costume to wear, but I would have a cool mask.

I didn't have a mask, though, so I skipped dinner, went to Hobby Lobby, and bought a whole mess of crafty stuff. Glitter, feathers, a mask. I went home, put The Offspring to bed, and ignored the eye-rolling of The Husband. I was on a mission. And I succeeded! I got a little hot glue on the carpet, but all in all it is a super cool mask. I'm pretty proud of this effort, and I think it exceeds the minimum requirement of mediocrity set by the Freckled Goddess. I put the mask on the shelf and went to bed feeling very satisfied with myself.

I woke up at three o'clock in the morning. I was worrying that people would not believe my excuse for wearing a mask. Maybe I should consider getting help.

So I will not be wearing my mask tonight (but I will put up pictures tomorrow, because I need the world to see its awesomeness). Instead you will have to bear witness to my pun-tastic sense of humor. I will show you, you will see. You may even believe that I had a career goal as a child, and let me have some goat. Unless you're even cooler than I think you are, and you read this blog.

I have full faith in your ability to tell what I am. If you can figure out  WHICH one I am. Because my costume is so awesome it is a COMPLETE disguise.

I'm Attempting to Finally Answer a STRANGE Question

The reason this question is strange is that it's an implied question. Sometimes, if I forget none of my high school friends have kids yet, I talk about my son around them a lot. This is not because there is nothing else to talk about or I think he's all that interesting to people who don't know him. It's just because he's the majority of my social life. It's a very one-sided social life that reminds me of middle school, when even my one and only best friend felt it necessary to remind me that corduroys will never be cool.

Anyone who knows why this picture is sideways and helps me fix it wins half the Powerball jackpot I am destined to win and use to fund my dream of staying home and writing all day even if no one thinks I'm any good.

Anyways, when I go off on these tangents, they are inevitably cut off with a remark to the effect of "Wow, aren't you supposed to be selling me on the whole procreating thing?" (and here I thought I was telling you something FUNNY!), and this look like you want me to tell you to get to making babies right now so you can valiantly defend not having any.

There's two reasons I never do that. One: I'm not a sales person. I've tried it a few times and I'm just not good at it, so I am certainly not going to suck at something for free. I don't like being bad at things, it brings me great misery, and I feel no one should suffer in vain. Two: You want me to wear down and eventually to tell you that I made a mistake, or that I should have waited, or that your life is so much more fun and cool than mine, or say things that would make my son really sad to hear if he were old enough to understand. I'm not gonna do it. I'm not even going to apologize for not doing it.

Lets address a few of those things you want me to say from reason number two.

I didn't make a mistake. I barely made a decision. The second you see your baby on the ultrasound you become a mom, and it's not really a decision any more. The Offspring did lots of good things, like make me barf every time I smoked until I finally gave up on the whole thing. Mistakes don't usually change your life for the better like that.

What should I have waited for? I'm asking you that, because I don't get it. I want to be young enough to enjoy life when the nest is empty.

Your life looks fun and cool on Facebook, but I did that. My body doesn't tolerate it well, and I hated dating. I really hated dating. Being married is cool. It's a license to be yourself all the time. I went four months straight this winter without shaving my legs, and felt not one iota of shame. I also save lots of money on clothes, because I don't have to impress potential boyfriends. And don't get me started on the weird cosmetic things that some single ladies I know do. Here's my advice on the whole "Brazilian" front: do unto others... Get my point? It should always be an even trade, or it is SO not worth it.

And even if I did have regrets, I'd never say them out loud. So stop fishing for them, and making posts about how the whole world is judging you for not procreating, and complaining about everyone posting pictures of their kids all over the place and telling you everything about everything their kid does. Because you do the same thing with pictures of you at the bar and tales of your hangover, and with your super-overcompensating statements about how smug you think pregnant women are. And no one worth knowing is judging you for waiting, or not having kids, or for having seven kids right in a row.

See? This one is normal. If someone doesn't help me I may have to go back to floral design, and as you can see my talents there are pretty limited. But I don't want to be that, so it's not the life I built.

I love you. Please don't hate me for not saying your life is awesomer than mine. It's just that everyone's life is perfect for them, because we create our own realities. We build the life that is best suited to what we want (or need). So my life rocks for me, but that doesn't mean it rocks less than yours, and visa-verse. Even when parts of my life are difficult and enraging, I wouldn't trade it away, because it's the best version of what I want that I know how to create.

Stay tuned: I plan to attempt salesmanship about being a parent, to convince you that even though I look like a kangaroo in skinny jeans my life is actually fun in really weird silly ways.

Dear Mormon Missionaries:

Image Source: mormonbeliefs.org

Dear Mormon Missionaries,

I miss you. Why have you forsaken me? I used to get some love from young Mormon men at least once a year. And it was very brotherly love, so you can't accuse me of that!

The first missionary I encountered in college was so very persistent he even agreed to an awful trade. He would read "The Spiral Dance" by Starhawk if I would read "The Book of Mormon". If he had asked, I may have told him I'd already read it (having grown up with Mormon friends), but he didn't and I wanted a more spirited debate. NOT MY FAULT.

In Grand Junction, I learned that Mormons won't enter my home without The Husband being there. I was nice enough to point out that it's hardly polite to question someone's ethics to such a degree when you're trying to convert them- to no avail. They made me sit outside and smoke while debating them. Those ones thought they might make more headway if they spoke to The Husband instead (since I was clearly only in it for a good conversation), and he told them something less polite than I did. NOT MY FAULT.

Then, today, as I was taking a walk with The Offspring and The Husband, I saw two Mormons headed my way. It's been so long since I've had a good Mormon visitor! I was practically jumping with joy when they approached us! But what did they do? Ask if I knew anyone who wanted to receive the Good News, and decline to encroach on our walk! My sad face did not dissuade them.

Mormons, I agree with almost nothing you say, but I was raised in an evangelical home so I am a perfect training person for your new missionary. I know how to debate weird things like Utah-voodoo, and I really like doing it! I enjoy it so much I don't even take it personally that you think I am less of a human than you by virtue of having a uterus, or that you think The Husband ought to keep me in line better. Please forgive me for offering refreshments and extra-curricular reading to your missionaries. I only meant to return the favor they sought to offer me.

Best Regards,

Dirty Heathen.

Who Are You Testing?

My original major in college was education. I really enjoyed all the ideals it fulfilled in my imagination. I moved along through the program easily and happily until we began learning about standardized testing, how it is implemented and written, and how No Child Left Behind uses test scores to measure the efficacy of a teacher's curriculum, and therefor which schools get how much funding.

It's a logical idea on the surface. All professionals have standards they must meet in order to continue their career, and any institution taking money from the government should prove that that money is going to good use, right? You can't have teachers and schools letting kids slide by who need help and thereby perpetuating socio-economic disadvantage (and we all know education is the only factor here).

It's not the testing that bothers me. These tests are pretty well written by people who know how to test. They aren't perfect, and they are beginning to lean too much towards computer literacy, which places a serious disadvantage on lower-income school districts, but if administered correctly they could provide valuable information.

What bothers me is who is ultimately responsible, because it causes a lot of problems. Low performing schools receive budget cuts and run the risk of losing experienced teachers, whose jobs are directly on the line. The fate of the school and every student in it is being decided by students.

Think back to when you were a teenager. Did you think much about the future, especially the part that was seemingly unconnected to you? Did you make sound, logical decisions? Most of you, if you're in the habit of being honest with yourself, know the answer is "no".

More importantly, this testing is high stakes to the school, but not to the students. In high school, I tutored a class designed to help students who had failed the math portion of CSAP remaster basic mathematical principles. There was, predictably, a lot of grumbling. Some of the students genuinely needed the help, as some basic skills had been missed somewhere along the line. But most cruised through the class effortlessly for one simple reason: they knew the material. They didn't fail the CSAP because it was too difficult, or their teachers had failed to teach them how to take a test. They failed because to them, the CSAP was a day free from lectures, and could best be enjoyed by making up silly answers, doodling in the margins, and making patterns in the multiple choice section, and they admitted it with laughter. This was not a small percentage of the class, and there a large amount of students taking it. Instead of tying the test to a student's ability to move on to the next grade, the state and federal governments tied the test to a school's ability to get funding. The state then incentivized success instead of using the tests to pinpoint which schools and specific students needed help, and endless amounts of money and tutoring efforts went to waste.

I heard a woman on NPR complaining about the student's being the ones who suffer when their teachers cheat. I don't think it has to be this way. Maybe it's time to acknowledge that students are people who make decisions and make better ones when there is a reason to do so. Stop pretending your children are victims. If your child needs help, and you pay any attention at all, you don't need a test to tell you that. Maybe we should tie test scores to the ability to move to the next grade, so the students who need help are held back to get it and the ones who don't need help put the effort in to stay with their friends. I recognize my evidence is anecdotal,  but I don't think my school was unusual in having this problem.

Meanwhile, we are lining up teachers in jail for cheating in an effort to save their jobs and get a too-tempting bonus, and wonder why we don't have enough new teachers joining the workforce. My exit from the education program wasn't just about standardized testing, but I'd be lying if I claimed it wasn't a factor.

I am not condoning the actions of the teachers and administrators in Georgia. I'm just asking- if the student takes the test, but bears no responsibility for the score, how effective is that test? Who are you testing? It's not the one's who can tell you what they know.

Pedantic Thought of the Day

Fathers I know: You are not a Poppa Bear. I'm so glad you're not.

A Poppa Bear will kill a cub (even his own) for the opportunity to mate. Other than acts of aggression, he's a pretty indifferent dad. Look across the entire world of bears. Dad's there to start the process, not see it through to its finish.

Now look at Momma Bear. Except don't, 'cause she'll freaking kill you for being close enough to her cub to catch a glimpse of her.

Male primates protect their offspring. Male bears kill their offspring. Important difference.

Maybe it's just that we couldn't get "Poppa Gorilla" to catch on?

Cowboys

Sometimes, having a day job is a good thing.

I don’t just mean on the first of the month when I pay rent and revel in the thought that I’m not raising my son in my dad’s basement where Jeff and I would need to hang sheets to get a little privacy. I’ve seen any number of people forced to move back in with their parents and remember why being a teenager really does suck. How on earth can you feel like a competent adult in a job interview when your mom lectured you about picking up your dirty socks on your way out the door? You can’t- because you’re not a real grownup. Sorry. I know, I’m old and boring because I’m married and have a kid, but at least no one is lecturing me about what they were doing “back in MY day” while I watch sitcom reruns.

No, when I most appreciate my day job is when I encounter what you might call a “character”. I work in ecommerce, and ecommerce brings out the character in every one. When you call a customer service center, you can’t see the facial expressions of the people you’re talking to, so you say whatever you want. I’m guilty of this, too. Once, when I was living in Grand Junction and was feeling particularly bored and anxious, I called Amazon.com and told my life story to a clerk on the false pretense of asking for help picking an exercise machine. I think that woman has a future in show biz, because I hung up feeling socially satisfied and uncertain about where that stupid elliptical could be hidden from Jeff.

We get the lonely, the eternally enraged, and the confused- but we get one other character I love beyond reason. The drunk. The person who sits down after a few too many, notices how bright the sun is in the daytime, and decides he is going to COVER that window, dammit! So he picks up the phone and calls us.

The blinds people.

I grew up in a small town, and our neighbor represented every stereotype of that town. We’ll call him Cowboy Bob. Cowboy Bob didn’t like English saddles, prairie dogs, and beer that stayed in his cup. I know this because he spilled it on me with a natural talent whenever he got the chance, and always in the same spot- my lap. I guess it helped him to articulate a point that might have otherwise been lost in the slurring of his tongue over unbrushed teeth. My dad always laughed at him and said he was harmless, but he worked all day when Cowboy Bob was shooting from his back porch.

One thing he complained most about was the sun. How it was ALWAYS, ya know, raat der! Een yer ahs! Lahk eet were spitefull er sumthin’.

This was my first call of the day today. Not Cowboy Bob- just someone else perpetuating his stereotype. I did my best not to laugh, but you can be sure I recorded the call to cheer up anyone who looked droopy at the office that day. He had ordered the other day, and now, being sober, was not happy that his beer money had been spent on blinds. He needed to cancel, dammit! Didn’t we have a satisfaction guarantee?! No matter how purdy those blinds were, he weren’t goin to be satisfied!

By the end of it, it was one of the most rewarding phone calls possible. Sure, I got his order canceled and that’s never awesome- but it was like be yelled at by the tow truck from Cars, and kept me laughing until lunch.

And then I remembered it would probably be the best part of my day.