Shut Up About My Teenage Girl

It's practically a cultural norm that teenage girls are terrible.

Their tastes are insulted on the regular - think about your perceptions of "boy bands"  and other things popular with teen girls.

Heathers and Mean Girls, movies that I adore, are, in essence, movies about how cruel teenage girls are.

Chances are good that if you find a woman who hated high school, she will blame her female peers for her torment. Hell, I didn't hate high school and I've still said shitty things about teen girls, based solely on a few bad apples who are probably also terrible as adults (I don't know for sure, because I'm not friends with them on Facebook) and the stupid things I did and said as a teen. 

The first articles that popped up when I typed "Teen girls" into Google all had to do with the pressure teenage girls get to send nude pictures of themselves. The top news stories included one about a pastor who was APPLAUDED BY HIS CONGREGATION for confessing that he molested a teenage girl and one about a series of murders of teen girls that remains unsolved 50 years later. 

I had to scroll nearly to the bottom of the results page to find an article detailing what a mess the teenage brain is. (If you have a teenage girl, or a future teenage girl, I highly recommend reading the linked article). 

Couple that mess with the pressures of school, of boys you may have crushes on demanding your naked photos or other things you're not comfortable with, your dearest friends also falling apart, a society that alternately dismisses you or sexualizes everything you do and the confusion of figuring out who you are as a person. . . .

It's actually amazing that teenage girls aren't worse. 

Do you remember the Fierce Five? They were the teen girls who won gymnastics gold at the 2012 Olympics. Three of them have since come out as survivors of sexual abuse from their fucking team doctor. They were being molested at the same time as they were winning the Olympics.*

Can you imagine the kind of emotional strength it takes to do that? 

The kind of emotional strength it takes to act in a movie and be on set with your abuser. The kind of emotional strength it takes to survive and become a high school valedictorian. So many teenage girls are fighting demons we can't imagine, while maintaining their image on Instagram and their grades and their jobs/sports/hobbies and sometimes even freaking parenting. . . even though their brains are not fully developed and this is often when mental health issues first arrive. . .

and we want to call them mean or terrible or silly?

Teenage girls are amazing. Especially the ones surviving today.

I've described my teenage self as a "terrible human being" more than once. And yeah, compared to who I am now? I was pretty spoiled, thoughtless and clueless. But it's not like I was selling heroin to elementary school kids or beating up old ladies. Judging my teenage self - or any teenager - by my adult standards is unfair, to say the least.

Ironflower turned 13 last month (yeah, I can't believe it either). She likes Mean Girls and Heathers and loves to point out when she's being a stereotypical teenager. She's more Daria than Quinn, at least so far, which makes it easy to forget that when we make comments about teenagers, we're talking about her too.

But you can bet that she, and all the other teenagers and almost teenagers we love, remember our comments. They will always remember how we talked to them and about them.

*Since my first draft of this post, Simone Biles - the most amazing gymnast in the history of ever- has also come out as a survivor of that evil doctor's abuse. I am in awe of her strength. I am also horrified. If this is what happens to our most celebrated teens, what do you think is happening to regular teens?

There's No Value In This Post

That feeling when you send a blog post out into the world and there's a typo in the freaking TITLE.

This what I have not missed about blogging.

I have a bunch of automated crap for sharing my posts, because that was the accepted wisdom back  in the olden days. I have no idea if it still is, but I also have no idea anymore how to stop any of it. Which sucks, because this probably won't be the last time I have an embarrassing typo.

I'm so much better at proofreading and editing other people's stuff than I am with my own. Of course, it helps that someone ASKS me to look at their stuff, whereas I'm usually in such a hurry to get to the next task that I often hit the publish button prematurely.

Perhaps I do need to look at one of those "How to Create a Successful Blog in One Month" pins that keep showing up on my Pinterest feed. Hopefully they include a reminder to proofread before hitting publish. The last time I looked at one, the first suggestion was to make sure to "offer readers something of value in each post" and the second was to "give them the information they need".

Further investigation revealed that successful bloggers don't consider laughing something of value, nor do they consider learning which people are pissing me off to be information they need.

(Have you guessed who's pissing me off today yet? I promise that you won't have to click through 27 ads to find out!)

I'm not saying that I'll never give advice, or that I haven't given advice, but this idea that every post has to include valuable information. . .

that's what has gotten the blogging world to a place where people are sharing recipes for chocolate chip cookie dough HUMMUS. Which is obviously a crime against hummus, chocolate chips and humanity. No to mention an obviously desperate attempt to create something of value for readers.

I've also seen a blog post about how to organize your yogurts by date in your fridge. Anyone who needs this information is way too disorganized/uninterested to accomplish it and those of us who do stuff like this don't need a blog post to tell us how.

I blame The Pioneer Woman.

Plenty of niche blogging, including parent blogging, has been informational. Even if that information was just, "Oh my god, my 1 year old bangs his head.  And my pediatrician said not to worry about it! But I totally am!" It was relatable, not authoritative. Except for The Pioneer Women.

She did all her amazing recipes and homeschooling and whatnot fantastically, without swearing or admitting flaws or telling any funny stories. She did not have opinions on very many things - certainly not politics or even pop culture controversies.

And now it seems that so many parenting - excuse me, now they're lifestyle - bloggers have turned into aspiring Pioneer Women. And by aspiring, I mean that they copy her tone and style and habits so they too can write cookbooks and appear on The Food Network.

Or at least write sponsored posts for Ziploc.

Which would be fine, except that it feels like they believe this is the only way to blog, and the only reason to. At least, that's the impression I get from the advice they post for newbie bloggers.

And that advice? Well, I'm so glad it didn't exist when I started blogging. I never, ever would have blogged if I'd had those expectations laid out to me when I was a new, isolated, overwhelmed mom who liked writing. Their advice on not getting too personal, on not swearing and on how to "make your blog brand-friendly" is such a turn off for me. So are many of their blog posts, to be totally honest. 

But I read blogs for fun, not for directions on being the perfect homemaker, so what do I know?

Other than I've never enjoyed reading The Pioneer Woman. I did enjoy this woman, however. And this one. And this one.

Huh. It's almost like humor does have value. 

In Which I Whine

Hi, to the few of you who are still reading. I've missed you.

I'm sorry I haven't been blogging lately. I've basically had strep throat since April, with various lulls brought on by antibiotics (yay antibiotics!). Even when my throat doesn't hurt, I'm exhausted. Like, I need nine hours of sleep to function properly and even then I'm not functioning like my normal self.

I haven't worked out in ages. I miss that too.

I'm supposed to get my tonsils out on the 26th. I will feel lousy for another week (or two, my doctor said helpfully) and then I should, you know, not have strep any more. My insurance is covering only a small percentage of it, so that's a major problem.

I can't think anymore. All my emails have typos, or I send them to the wrong person. I have a hard time focusing on conversations and cannot solve even simple problems. I certainly can't make this post have a theme or make any sense at all.

I have been spending a lot of time on Pinterest.

I'm not sure if that's related to my self-esteem being in the toilet, or whether it's  just because I haven't exactly been parent, wife, friend, housekeeper or blogger of the year lately. Not to mention completely falling down on the job for Band Back Together.

At least school and activities are over for the year. Maybe if I'm not running around all the time I will finally get to write something I don't hate.

An Apology to Transsexuals: A Rant About Birth Control

I said something inadvertently offensive on Twitter the other day. Since I'm not famous, this was only a big deal to me. As in, I've been feeling completely awful about it but only one other person reacted. Fairly mildly, I might add. Still, I feel like a total asshole. It's not like I've never said anything about an entire group of people before, or that I've never offended anyone before. It's just that, if I offend you because I say everyone should have the right to marry or that The Bachelor is stupid, well, then, I don't really mind offending you.

But in this case, in reply to a person asking how a "real woman" could vote Republican, I said something about always suspecting that Ann Coulter was a pre-op transsexual. Which is offensive to transsexuals, obviously. So I want to apologize. I am sorry.

Clearly I should have said that I suspected she was a lousy drag queen, or a robot created in Karl Rove's secret laboratory. Clearly I don't mean to imply anyone who identifies a woman, regardless of what's between her legs, is not a real woman. Though honestly, I think the phrase "real woman" or "real man" is pretty stupid. Gender, like sexuality, is an identifier influenced by biology as well as culture, so who gets to judge what's "real"? I always hear the women on Wife Swap saying how "real men" go out to work in an office or "real women" wear make-up or whatever crap the producers tell them to say. Do you think those assumptions work for indigenous tribes in the Amazon? Real is in the eye of the beholder, bitches.

But what was going on in my head when I made the statement about Ann Coulter was that she doesn't have a* uterus. And so far medical science is not creating uteri for transsexuals. (Though I totally think they should). I wasn't thinking about gender constructs and womanhood, I was thinking body parts. You see, if Ann Coulter had, or had ever had, a* uterus, she wouldn't be the Republican poster girl that she is. And if you have a* uterus, or have ever had a* uterus, or respect anyone with a* uterus,  you wouldn't dream of even voting Republican.

Even if you're so anti-choice that you'd happily bear the child of your rapist or let a loved one die to save a fetus. Even if you're so Catholic that you think using contraception is evil. Even if you believe in legal protections for cells from the moment of fertilization and are against IVF and stem cell research. Even if you believe that Planned Parenthood should be destroyed because 3% of its services involve abortion and that low income women don't deserve access to birth control, cancer screenings and other basic health care.

Here's the thing. If you have a uterus, you might need the pill sometime. The pill treats conditions like endometriosis, polycystic ovarian syndrome and uterine fibroid tumors. These are things that just happen sometimes and are not caused by having sex while unmarried or liking threesomes or whatever other behaviors men fear. These conditions can happen to virgins and Christian mothers and everything. The pill can help alleviate some of the horrible symptoms so that these women can work and/or take care of their children and otherwise be productive members of society. Despite the medical necessity for these women, though,  Republicans do not want your employer sponsored health insurance to cover this pill. In fact, some Republicans (I'm looking at you, Santorum) do not want anyone to cover this pill. They don't care that it might be medically necessary. They don't understand that for some people twenty extra dollars a month really is a problem. They want to decide what's best for your uterus. And they don't even want to hear what anyone with a uterus has to say about it.

I'm guessing that they wouldn't listen to a transsexual, either.



*I think technically this word should be "an". But I also think "an uterus" sounds dumb. So there.

Thank You

Would you like to know why I'm not a famous blogger?

It is not because I didn't start doing it in 2004.

It is not because I have not survived great personal tragedy.

It is not because I'm too broke to go to networking conferences.

It is not because I don't have a dog.

It is not because I'm a horrible writer.

It's because I'm a slacker.

I mean, it's not like I'm sitting around eating bonbons when I'm not on the internet. Or ever. I actually don't like bonbons. But I don't mean that I'm a slacker in general (except about housekeeping, which totally doesn't count), it's just that I'm an internet slacker. I'm not on my smart phone at the park. If I'm up late, it's probably because I'm reading a terrific book or watching a Real Housewives marathon. Sometimes I forget to reply to comments. Or forget to blog. Or, and this is the worst crime yet, to say thank you.

A while back,  Canaan gave me an award. Canaan rocks. And I kept meaning to email her back to say thank you, to mention her in a post. Because I'm honored by the award and I appreciate the thought, even though I don't really do the award thing anymore. But instead I forgot until I was sorting my email.

And then I remembered that Diapers in the Desert  (have you read her yet?) had also given me an award. For which I also forgot to say thank you.

So, thank you so much, ladies. And thank you to everyone who reads and comments. I truly do appreciate it. And I'm sorry if I haven't read your blog lately, or left a comment or otherwise been a dedicated blogger. As the kids get older, life seems to get more hectic and I get more slacker-ish. Or more I-just-want-to-chill-out-alone - ish. Or possibly I feel like winter has in me in a choke-hold. Anyway, thank you.

Can We Blame the Parents and Teachers, Not the Victims?

I've seen a lot of articles recently about how to help your child avoid being bullied or what to do if your child is being bullied. And I'm not saying that those articles don't have value, but talk about blaming the victim. The same with Dan Savage's wonderful "It Gets Better" movement. It's great, but how sad is it that we have to convince gay teenagers to not kill themselves? What kind of country are we living in?

Well, I think we're living in a country where some parents and teachers are perfectly content to let their kids be assholes. Kids aren't born to bully, but they are born to be clique-y and distrustful of those who are in some way "different." If that goes unchecked, you get bullies.

For example, a friend's daughter recently started a new preschool and daycare. It has a good reputation and my friend was impressed with the curriculum and teachers. The daughter, let's call her G., is a sweet, friendly kid. So she went up to kids at her new school and asked them to play. They said no. Day after day, they wouldn't play with her, wouldn't share toys with her, called her a baby and wouldn't let her sit at the table with them. And the teachers did nothing. (Don't worry, G. is going somewhere else now.) Did I mention that these little darlings were 4?

I watch it on the playground at Ironflower's elementary school every day  - kids telling other kids they won't play with them, or name calling, or being unfriendly to new kids. Most of the time parents try to stop the name calling or physical aggression, but they don't seem to notice exclusionary practices at all. And I really think that bullying starts when we make it okay to view some kids as "other".

If we don't correct them, if we don't teach them to play with the new kid or include everyone, we are setting them up to be bullies some day.

On the first day of kindergarten - and yes, I remember it this clearly - a little boy's sister walked him to where we were all lined up. We had seen their progress from the house they exited next door to the school and some of the kids were quite appalled that this boy had had to be walked all the way to the line. That just wasn't done then. So he got teased.

He didn't know how to handle it - being 5 and all - and got enraged. It was exactly what the other kids were looking for. They started tormenting him then and they never stopped. I don't remember a teacher ever doing anything about it. I don't remember anyone even talking about it as a bad thing until I was in high school.

I didn't tease him myself, but I didn't befriend him. I didn't even defend him until he was in my history class in 10th grade and 2 boys that we'd both known since kindergarten started picking on him AGAIN. By then he was big and awkward and friendless and paranoid and I was totally shocked when he didn't thank me for getting those boys off of his back. He probably thought I was setting him up for worse.

I always think about him and feel bad when I hear about bullying. The teacher in our history class heard the whole thing, as I'm sure all our other teachers had. But none of them did anything about it. And neither did any of the parents who overheard - people didn't feel right saying anything unless their own child was involved.

I think we all need to get over that. And we need to stop bullying when it starts - in preschool.

The Evil Mom in the Parking Lot. . .Was Me

A long time ago, when I only had kids - who were not related to me -  for 6 hours a day and then was able to go drinking, I had a reputation for being patient. With children, anyway. I'd shake my head when I heard parents yelling at their kids. I'd shudder when my students would repeat things their parents said. I would not be like that when I had kids. I had patience. Too bad this virtue seems to have abandoned me lately, which is a damn shame since my youngest child won't even be 2 for another month.

And because my patience seems to have dropped out with my placenta, will power and love of beer, I MAY have given the woman in the shopping center parking lot today the wrong impression. Because after listening to me yell at my middle child today before letting him into the minivan she might think I'm kind of evil.

When Lovebug started screaming as we were leaving McDonald's, I was already a bit grumpy. I had already endured humiliation at the end of his sports class (They invited parents in to race on the scooters. Would you like to know how much I lost by? The kid who never participates beat me, that's how much I lost by.) and tried to control ChunkyMonkey in several public places (never easy). So as I hurried them out the door so we could rush to school drop-offs, Lovebug's screams may have pushed me an eensy bit over the edge. Apparently his leg was damaged in some way that did not involve blood, broken bones or even bite from his brother but still made him scream.

There was no mark on the leg.

Once outside, I asked him if it hurt as much as a shot. He wailed, "Noooo!!!!!" I advised him that he didn't need to scream then. This caused more screaming.

I marched them to the car and got the other 2 in. Then I got in Lovebug's face. I asked him if it still hurt. He looked mildly confused and started to shake his head. I asked him why he was still screaming.

"Because you didn't listen to me!" he yelled. And then he started screaming again.

Somewhere a little tiny part of my brain reminded me that he was doing this for attention. Which he was getting. A much bigger part of my brain was thinking, "SHUT UP, FOR FUCK'S SAKE."

What I said wasn't better. It was something about learning how to say "Ow", not humiliating the family by screaming in public and shut up right now. I lifted the finally quiet Lovebug into the van and turned to see a woman staring at us. I was blocking the door to her car while I yelled at my kid.

So you may have guessed why she thinks I'm evil.

Which I kind of am, because I don't know what to do about Lovebug. He seems great for a while, and then something sets him off and he screams. And screams. And yells. And screams some more. The something that can set him off can be a bump or a scrape - the exact same kind of bump or scrape that he will get over quickly at other times.

The other day when I encouraged him to take a deep breath so he calmly tell me the problem, he started yelling that he couldn't take a deep breath because he was so upset. Then he took a deep breath and started screaming louder.

He doesn't do this at school, though he has had some days where he's cried over everything. Most of the time he's a sweet-natured, smiling kid who makes me complicated things out of Legos and makes up creative games with his sister.

Any ideas on how I can stop being so evil to him?

He

Having Kids Is Like Being Drunk

I am currently sporting a Cars band-aid around my thumb. It is band-aid number 4 and I have it so tightly wound that it's going to leave marks. In fact, I'm slightly concerned that my wound is going to need more than a band-aid.

It happened in the kitchen. Almost every injury I've gotten since having kids has occurred in the kitchen. I was cutting up cantaloupe while trying to block out a big kid screaming game as well as translate 20 month old gobbledy-gook. ChunkyMonkey yelled in frustration, I turned to look at him and . . .blood gushed from my thumb. I ran it under water, then returned to all the mommy duties. Soon I realized it was still bleeding.

And as I sat there at dinner, paper towels wrapped around the thumb and an inability to clearly explain to Ironflower and Lovebug what I'd done, I had an alcohol flashback.

The most fun wedding I ever went to (er, um, I'm sorry if I went to your wedding and that this wasn't it. I'm sure I had a fabulous time at your wedding too. I swear.) was my friend Mimi's. I was a bridesmaid in a cute dress who knew most of the guests, there was an open bar and lots of flirtatious men. What wasn't fun about it?

Well, there was the broken glass. Dropped near me, I quickly hopped up to get a waiter or paper towels or something. But, um, I had already taken off my strappy high heels. So apparently I stepped on some glass. It didn't hurt much, which I took to be a good sign and not a sign that I'd had more champagne than necessary. So I wrapped some paper towels around my foot and kept dancing.

When the paper towels bled through, I just asked someone to get me new ones. I was having so much fun.

It wasn't until early Sunday morning, as I practically crawled downstairs to my bathroom, that I became concerned about my foot. It throbbed, but so did my head, so I didn't worry until I saw the trail of blood. It went from the front door up the stairs to my room and was actually coming back down the stairs.

Yeah, my foot was still bleeding.

You know when a good time to go to the ER is? Early on a Sunday morning. Unless, of course, you can't adequately explain why your drunk ass didn't come into the ER the night before. The doctor actually called extra nurses in to hear my explanation of how I'd embedded the glass into my foot by continuing to dance.

Despite laughing at me, though, they gave me something that erased my hangover while they cleaned  and put seven stitches in my foot.

When I looked at my children at dinner and tried to explain how I cut my thumb, I felt exactly like I did in the ER. It was like the drunken instinct to hop right up - of course I'd keep chopping, even though I'd moved my thumb! And of course I'd just wrap some paper towels around it and keep going. Because just like I couldn't pass up fun back in the day, I couldn't pass up mommy duty last night.

I could totally pass up having stitches on the bottom of my foot again, though. That sucked. I hated the thought of crutches, so I spent weeks hobbling in flip flops and actually pulled a muscle in my foot as well.

Anyone else ever noticed parallels between having young kids and being drunk?

Bitten . . .in the Ass.

And not in the hot vampire way.

A child was bitten in Lovebug's class last week (on my birthday, no less).

By Lovebug.

His teacher - who repeatedly pointed out that she'd had him for 2 years and he'd never done anything like this - handled it so amazingly well. Except, well, she talked to the bitten kid's mom and me at the same time.

I apologized, of course. I explained that ChunkyMonkey has recently started biting and that's what had probably inspired Lovebug to bite another kid hard enough to leave a mark. But there is nothing like trying to apologize for your kid's vampire tendencies to make you feel mortified. Especially when your kid is well over 4.

The bitten kid was relatively unfazed, thank God. Possibly he felt guilty for blocking Lovebug from the play house so much that Lovebug flipped out. Possibly he's just a mellow kid and didn't realize how easy it is to drive Lovebug over the edge. I'm just glad he doesn't seem to emotionally damaged too.

Anyway, the teachers talked to Lovebug, the school director talked to him, I talked to him and his father talked to him. We've reviewed things he can do when he's angry and when some kid won't let him in the play house.

Sometimes I am afraid that there is something wrong, because there are so many times when Lovebug over-reacts to normal occurrences. Then I think about how he doesn't sleep and wonder if he is just over-tired all of the time. And I try to remember that he is only 4 and until Friday, the entire school staff thought he was an angel.

Then I remember my reaction when Ironflower's classmate bit her a few weeks ago. Sure, I said all the right things to Ironflower but what I was thinking was, "What's a 5 year old doing biting? Her parents really need to discipline her more." And I realize that payback is a total pain in the ass.

The kid is in Lovebug's group this week too. His mother often gives me pitying looks at pick-up, but so far there have been no problems. Is it wrong that I wish Lovebug had bitten a boy he'd never see again? Or at least a kid whose mom I was friends with?

Has your kid ever bitten anyone? Or been bitten?

Now With More Suckage

I think have crossed the line from "imperfect parent" to "maybe-someone-should-call-social-services".

This morning something happened to ChunkyMonkey. This something gave him a bump and a cut on his forehead. But I have no idea what the something was.

We were getting ready to take Ironflower to school. Putting on shoes and jackets, finding Ironflower's school bag, grabbing my sunglasses and whatnot. ChunkyMonkey wandered into the bathroom. Since I could still see most of him and I just wanted 30 seconds to put on my own freaking shoes, I let him stay in there. Just as leaned in to get him, he dropped and began crying. I assumed I'd bumped his behind with the door, because I'm kind of uncoordinated like that.

I scooped him up, hugged him and deposited him on the step. I put on his shoes and jacket. I ran to get Ironflower's lunch bag and told the big kids to stand still for just one freaking second so I could make sure I had everything.

Then Ironflower noticed that ChunkyMonkey's head was bleeding.

That's right. SHE noticed. I, who had put on his shoes and coat (and was annoyed that he was STILL crying), had not noticed.

What kind of mother doesn't notice a bleeding head wound? With a bump to match? What kind of mother did not see this happen when she was 3 feet away?

I swear that he was facing away from the door when I opened it wider. I swear there were no sharp objects in his hands or anywhere in the bathroom. I may be lax about cabinet locks and the like, but we don't have spikes sticking out of the walls, either.

I'm not sure what's worse; that I don't know what hurt him or that I didn't notice it for a good 3 minutes.

Ironflower once did the same thing to her head on the side corner of the coffee table (under where we had the bumpers, of course), but at least I noticed it immediately. I saw it happen. Lovebug never cut his head open, but he bruised it plenty of times. And I noticed it immediately, every time (especially during the 2 year phase where his response to frustration was to bang his head on the nearest hard material).

My poor ChunkyMonkey. He's got such an inattentive mom.

How do people handle having more than 3 children? Is there a higher accident rate for children who are third or fourth in the birth order? And what dangerous object is skulking around my bathroom?

More Reasons My Kids Will Need Therapy

I swear to the Goddess that this post was going to be happy. I was going to list things I like. Or something. I really wanted to write a post that didn't involve bitching. Possibly that's too much to ask when I'm on the rag, the kids have spring break and my allergies are trying to kill me, I don't know.

I do know that I was a shitty mother this morning and I feel the need to confess. I had this plan in my head. I would take my kids to the indoor play area and grab some fast food lunch (sorry Jamie Oliver, I really am trying to do better {more on that later} but I've got 48 hours of solo time, killer cramps AND a headache). It would be fun. They would be happy. And cramps like french fries.

There were a few other people there, one family with two boys and a pair of women with their 2 girls. Lovebug and Ironflower rushed to make friends. The older boy didn't want to befriend Lovebug at first, which Lovebug took on the chin and moved on. Eventually, the boy changed his mind. Ironflower seemed fine with the younger girls. I spent my time chasing ChunkyMonkey and preventing him from getting trapped in the play area.

Until I saw the 2 girls, but no Ironflower. The place isn't very big, so I found this surprising. Eventually I found her crying in the corner. The girls didn't want to play with her anymore. Now, I try to be reasonable. I know my daughter can be bossy. The girls were younger and already knew each other. I said as much (well, I substituted "decisive" for "bossy"). She kept crying. I asked if they said anything mean. She shook her head. She rejected playing with her brother. And me.

And then. . .well, I got mad.

I told my daughter that she needed to get over it and not let those girls ruin our good time. Or we would have to leave. She got up and climbed slowly around. She bit my head off when I checked on her and then she cried some more.

Even after the girls left, she didn't want to play. She was too sad about them not wanting to be friends with her. I hugged her and held her on my lap. And then I sort of went off about the whole situation.

It's not that I wasn't sad for her. But if this kind of thing is going to devastate her so much. . .how will she ever handle elementary school? How will I?

I pointed out that she was ruining our family fun time over 2 little girls that we would never see again and obviously weren't very nice. I pointed out that she loves to play with Lovebug. I pointed out that I had gotten dressed  and paid money and dealt with 85 ChunkyMonkey tantrums so they could have fun, dammit, and why couldn't she just have fun for the love of God??????????????? (I left out the dammit, but I'm not sure about the "for the love of God)

I am not a nice person.

The mood lifted as we left. We got McDonald's. We read stories. We had quiet time. Now they are watching a DVD. Under calm questioning, Ironflower still cannot articulate (and if you know Ironflower, you know that's very very strange. . . . Ironflower is nothing if not articulate) why she was so upset.

But I'm so afraid of the next time someone doesn't want to play with her. We've always encouraged our kids to be friendly and to include all kids in their games. But maybe that's not the best thing for Ironflower emotionally. I just don't know.

Advice, internets? Also, feel free to tell me how to handle this without turning into an evil cow.

The Bitch Is Back

So yesterday I had an epiphany. Not the kind that will solve the healthcare crisis or even make the Jersey shore cast return to their natural selves (no steroids! no tanners! no saline!), but hey, it made me feel better.

For the longest time, I've been really slacking in the blog arena. Not keeping up with my favorite bloggers, not posting as much, not posting as well. I blamed it on writing for Demand Media and on not having as much time in general.

And that, dear readers, is bullshit.

I have been depressed and I haven't wanted to post about it. I've had a lot of excellent reasons to be depressed, but I haven't wanted to post about them either. In fact, I've been afraid to post about a lot of things, for fear of insulting or over-sharing with the people I know in real life who read this blog.

And it occurred to me yesterday that the more I worry about not living up to other people's expectations of me, the less I feel like myself. You're probably thinking, "Duh, it's so sad that you didn't figure that out when you were 20."

I did. But motherhood - and all the inherent expectations of "good" motherhood - made me forget. Then we moved back here to Stuck-Up (where not everyone is Stuck-Up, but you all know what I'm talking about) and I completely lost it.

I started imagining other people's expectations of me. It was like in my head I went back to the last time I lived here. In high school.  Do you have any idea what it's like to have a high school mentality and adult problems?

My head has been like a really bizarre episode of 16 and Pregnant.

And I am SO over it. If one of my posts offends you, I'm sorry. Feel free to write a nasty comment or ignore me at the grocery store. If you don't like me and you take it out on my kids (my greatest fear), I will kick your ass.

And if I've been ignoring your blog, I'm sorry. I'm back now.

So, What Do You Think?

Seriously, I don't know what I'm doing here. At all. But I've missed blogging while I've been writing boring web content (actual article topic: What should I do with clothes that won't get clean in the washer). So I've decided to take it a bit more seriously. Which seemed like a good idea when I decided to get my own domain and all.

But I've been working on this all day (when not attending preschool parent meetings, reading Green Eggs and Ham and changing diapers) and now I'm a little nervous. Things are much more complicated than I'd expected.

Somehow I thought all this time on the computer would have turned me into someone who understands all this crap. But no, acting like a computer geek (eating junk food, spending too much time online) has not magically turned me into one.

Shit.

PS: I'm trying to update and organize my links. Email me at jen@jerseygirl89.com if you want to be added or you have a cause you want me to link to.

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder

No one would ever accuse me of having OCD. I do things like let my children wear their shoes on the wrong feet and forget to mop the kitchen floor. I'm organized, but I only flinch a little bit when someone messes with my system. And I'm way too lazy to run back into the house to check anything once I've gotten all the kids strapped into the car. So I know that I don't have a traditional version of OCD.

But let me screw something up and boy, can I obsess about it. If pressed, I can probably list all the times I've lost my temper with my kids - in chronological order. I can tell you all the things I need to do around the house (and haven't). I can tell you all the times I've been thoughtless and/or rude to people.

And I can tell you about the time I didn't help the woman at Wal-Mart.

She had food stamps and some cash. I looked at her purchases, mostly food and diapers. She had a few baby barrettes and a baby dress, too. She was in line in front of me and for most of her purchase I was busy adding up my items, hoping I'd have enough money to pay for them. It was one of those right before payday trips when we lived in Kansas City. We had $50 in the checking account until we got paid in two days. I had $47 in purchases in my cart. Anyway, it turned out that she didn't have enough for her purchases. She looked so sad as the clerk took the baby stuff back. I wished I could give her some cash, though I was surprised that she didn't have enough.

But now I know why she didn't have enough. Did you know that food stamps don't cover personal health items like diapers or soap? I didn't back then. And I didn't want to give up what I was buying to help the woman out. And I still feel bad about it.

So in the interests of alleviating my guilt, I thought I would mention thediaperbank.org. Because diapers are expensive for most of us, but especially for people on food stamps. I mean, I get that food stamps are supposed to be about food but. . .as any parent knows, diapers rank right up there with food when you've got poopy little ones running around. And soap. Also a necessity. Shouldn't food stamps include these things?

Maybe Obama can fix this problem too.

Anyway, to that woman at Wal-Mart three years ago? I'm sorry. I wish I could have helped.