Tag Archives: blogging

I’m back and I’m…just like before.

I feel like an explanation is due, since I disappeared for like 500 years. (Sorry.) (HI!)

Well, some pretty awful things happened to some of the people I hold nearest and dearest, and I was very busy trying to be helpful while actually probably making things worse because that is just my nature, as you guys know. I’m pretty sure I have NEVER said the right thing at the right time. Good thing it’s the thought that counts, and that mind readers don’t exist.*

Then there’s this world we are living in and all the people in it who are just breaking my heart and then stomping on it and then maybe it gets picked back up but then it’s broken again and I just can’t understand all the HATE. It makes me feel sad and unfunny and like even trying to be funny is somehow sacrilegious.

Also, I started a new medication that turned me into a zombie, but not the flesh-eating kind. I was a much gentler and kind of a drooling zombie. It wasn’t until I quit taking it for other issues that I realized how much of myself I had lost and that was pretty scary. Especially when people were like, “Oh, but you seemed so much better, happier!” Uh, YEAH, cause LIGHTENING BUGS WERE ALL I COULD THINK ABOUT. Lightening bugs are cool, but no. Not worth it. I’d like to be a person, even if I am a seriously fucked-up one.

So, I think I said a while back that I would ease myself back into blogging by sharing some of my Facebook posts with you. That is obviously not true, because I’m about to do it again. BUT THERE’S ALWAYS HOPE, RIGHT? *waves imaginary pompoms* *wishes I had some actual pompoms*

 

July 20

My husband made dinner last night AND fixed my plate.

I’m sure it had nothing to do with seeing me holding the dish soap over the food, about to liberally douse it.

He’s just really sweet. And probably doesn’t want to eat soap.

 

July 17

I told my 14yo to do the dishes before he went to bed.

He’s been awake since 10 a.m. yesterday.

 

July 7

My 7yo finally found something to keep her busy and semi-quiet.

She’s making her Christmas list.

 

June 21

I’ve reached the point of summer vacation where I’m questioning all my reasons for not sending the kids to summer camp.

I was worried about so many of the horrible things you hear about, and I said no, no, no.

Right now, I’m considering sending them into the woods to live off the land and saying, “See you in August.”

 

June 14

WHOTHAFU–

–What I yelled at the cabinet upon realizing someone had switched a can of carrots with a can of green beans so you couldn’t even SEE the damn corn.

THE CANNED FOOD IN THIS HOUSE GOES IN THE APPROPRIATE ROW GODDAMMIT.

p.s. I know this was done on purpose, and I’ve narrowed my suspects to two.

 

June 10

Me: I can’t believe how stupid this medicine is making me.

Husband: You’re sharp as a tack.

Me:…

Husband: Okay, but you’re not stupid. I’d say… “muddled.”

Me: *laughs forever*

 

June 6

I just walked into the hall closet instead of the bathroom, but caught myself before I peed on the towels.

That means the new meds are working, right?

(I’m not sure if my friend E. meant for her comment to be funny, but I found it hilarious. She said, “We can only hope.” I feel like she was sighing and shaking her head, like omg, that girl. I love it. And her.)

 

May 31

You guys know that I’m a list-maker. I have all these lists of things that I want done, and the things never get done. (Possibly because I don’t do them. Just a guess.)

About once a week I make a NEW list, with all the things from the OLD list that didn’t happen.

Of course, the things like ‘dishes’ and ‘laundry’ are recurring and infuriating, but I usually also find rants and nonsense that I have no memory of writing.

Highlights from last week’s lists:

1. Call fucking insurance.
2. Call fucking insurance AGAIN.
3. Throw up.

(I really hate phone calls.)

4. Yard sale shit.
5. Camping shit.
6. Be calm.
7. Cry.
8. Fucking gnats.
9. Move shit.
10. *something scribbled out with the words “No, fuck that” written next to it.*

 

May 15

I accidentally grabbed a sports bra instead of underwear on my way to the bathroom.

Rather than walk the 10 steps back to get actual underwear, I stared at the bra from different angles, wondering if I could make it work.

It not only worked, but there is a handy strap left free that I’m sure could be utilized for something.

Patent pending.

 

May 6

This morning I caught my cat drinking my coffee. I pushed him off the table and said a not nice thing.

I debated going to get a new cup, but I am lazy and was tired so I decided to risk it.

Also I heard somewhere that a dog’s mouth is cleaner than a human’s. Dogs and cats are both pets. This makes perfect sense.

So I took a sip of the coffee. It tasted okay until I looked over at the cat, who was diligently licking his asshole while staring right at me.

I haven’t come up with a suitable revenge, mainly because I’m not very flexible and I would never lick my asshole, even to prove a point.

 

Guys, this is silly, but I have tears in my eyes. I just basically regurgitated my fb posts into a blog post, but IT FEELS SO GOOD TO BE HERE. Thanks for being here too. xoxox

*If you happen to be a mind reader: There’s nothing to see here. Move along.


Lost in Translation

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This picture makes about as much sense as the post itself.

There are some unwritten rules in the blogging/writing world. One that I continually break is not to read the comments left on sites other than my own. I can’t seem to help it. I want to know what people think.

When I Am Not That Mom was first published here, I was amazed at the response. Then Scary Mommy wanted it. Then Huffington Post. Then All4Women. I was blown away by the comments, and I read as many as I could find. Mostly they said “Thank you” or “Me too” or “Now I don’t feel so alone.” How could I just let those beautiful words languish in internet purgatory, never noticed, never acknowledged? The people that left these comments praised me, for being brave, for being vulnerable, and most often, for letting them know that they were NOT alone. But what they didn’t know was that those comments helped me, probably much more than my post helped them.

When Huffington Post shared that piece again last week, I received two emails. One in Italian (which I initially thought was French because I am Very Smart) and one in German. I had to use Google Translate to understand what was happening. I guess U.S. Huffington Post submitted the article to their Italian and German counterparts.

HOW COULD I RESIST?!

I couldn’t. When I clicked on the link, Google asked me if I wanted it translated to English. Sure. Cause I can’t fucking read Italian. Or German. Or French, for that matter.

This is where things started getting HYSTERICAL. Now, I’m no linguist, as surely you’ve realized by now, and I have no idea how accurate Google Translate is, but holy shit, my word babies were torn to pieces and put back together until I didn’t even recognize myself.

I was laughing so hard last night, I almost couldn’t breathe. I ran around the house shoving my phone in any face that would hold still and yelling, “THEY SAID I KISSED AN OX!” “OMG!” and “CHRIST ON A CRUTCH, THE WHOLE WORLD THINKS I’M A FUCKING MORON!”

Seriously, I sound like a lazy, and possibly insane, asshole.

I wonder if an Italian-speaking person read it, would it make more sense and come across the way it was meant?

Anyway. For your reading pleasure, I present to you excerpts from I Am Not That Mom, in English, Italian, and German. I hope you enjoy it as much as I have.

 

ME: I Am Not That Mom

ITALY: I Am Not One of Those Mothers

GERMANY: I’m Not a Mother

Wow, Germany, that’s a little harsh.

 

ME: I am well aware of my failure in this aspect of parenting.

ITALY: I am well aware that you have failed as a parent from this point of view.

Yeah, you fucked up big time. Wait, what?

 

ME: I’m just not that mom.

GERMANY: But as a mom, I am not easy.

I can’t really argue with this.

 

ME: When I first saw you, I knew that you would hold my heart forever.

ITALY: The first time I saw you, my son, I realized that I’d captured her heart forever.

I’m so confused.

 

ME: I can still feel you, so tiny, snuggled on my chest. When I see you asleep now, I still picture you curled up in footie pajamas, all wispy hair and dark lashes against perfect skin.

ITALY:  I can still hear each of you, curled up on my chest. Even today, when I look at you sleep, I imagine squatting in your swimsuit, with thinning hair, dark lashes and face immaculate.

What the…someone, please, explain this before I laugh so hard I pee my pants. Again.

Too late.

 

ME:  I was the mom who kissed boo boos.

ITALY:  I was one of those moms who kissed your ox.

Oh, Italy, you’re killing me here.

 

ME: (safety scissors, my ass.)

ITALY: (scissors with safety, a horn.)

Scissors. Useful in any language. Asses and horns, not so much.

 

ME: But most times I feel like I am also the mom who is failing.

GERMANY: But mostly I feel that I am the mom who refused.

This is hurtful, Germany. Very hurtful.

 

ME: I was that mom who rocked you all night, patting and bouncing and shh, shh, shhing when you cried.

GERMANY: I was the mom that you all night has gently rocked, patted your Po, up on the exercise ball…

I think you and I might bounce babies differently, Translator Person.

 

ME: …although there have been a few notes from the Tooth Fairy instead of cash.

ITALY: …although the Tooth Fairy, instead of giving me some money, I did deliver the message of warning.

THIS TOOTH IS NO GOOD. NEXT TIME LEAVE ONE WITH FILLINGS, OR ELSE.

XOXO,

The Tooth Fairy

 

ME: I’m also the mom who too often hurts too much to cook dinner. I’m the mom who lets you eat an unhealthy amount of macaroni and pizza rolls.

ITALY: They are also the mother who often do not want to make dinner. I am the mother who lets you eat a huge amount and unhealthy pasta and pizza.

Translation: This woman is lazy and wants you to be fat and hungry.

 

So yesterday was a good, good day, because I got to read all these wonderful comments from wonderful moms, dads, grandmas, future moms, people with no intention of having children, just so many amazingly considerate people, and then I got to laugh my ass off at this. I needed a good day.


News Flash: I’m An Idiot.

I got nominated for the One Lovely Blog award and although it has taken me far longer than it should’ve, I’m finally getting around to following the rules.  (But it’s a No Strings Attached Award, so they aren’t really rules.)

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The “rules” of this award are:

  1.  Thank the person who nominated you.
  2.  Share 7 things about yourself.
  3.  Nominate 15 bloggers.  (If someone does not accept awards, it still stands, even if you cannot fulfill the requirements because this is a no strings attached nomination; only fulfill the award if you have time and are inspired.)
  4.  Notify the nominees.
  5.  Put the logo of the award on your blog.

First, I would like to thank the Academy  inevertoldher for nominating me.   Over at thegirlz you will find some heart-wrenching and heart-warming pieces, all told in a very unique format.  Check them out.

Seven things about me:

  1. I have a terrible memory.  If I don’t write it down, it’s like it never happened.
  2. I absolutely love to color.
  3. I write something every day but only post about once a week.  Most of what I write is nonsense, but I guess you probably already knew that.
  4. If I had bunches of money to spend on myself I would buy books, plants, and markers.  Lots of them.
  5. Being a mom is the hardest and best thing I’ve ever done.
  6. I am married to a musician who is also an artist, has a job, is hilarious, and has a rocking beard.  Crazy, right?
  7. I make lists all the time, but I’m running out of ideas for this one.

Nominations:  *This was really hard.  I tried to pick blogs with not too many followers.  Of course, I love ALL the blogs I follow, but that’s way too many.

  1.  http://thehopefulherbalist.wordpress.com/
  2. http://vampiremaman.com/
  3. http://mymutedvoice.com/
  4. http://itsajennthing.wordpress.com/
  5. http://cursitivity.wordpress.com/
  6. http://karalamb.wordpress.com/
  7. http://leahwould.com/
  8. http://butthatsforanotherblog.wordpress.com/
  9. http://shecall.wordpress.com/
  10. http://stopmeifitoldyou.com/
  11. http://shedrivesavegetablecar.com/
  12. http://writerthereseoneill.com/
  13. http://www.cheeseblarg.com/
  14. http://itwentawry.wordpress.com/
  15. http://simtasia.wordpress.com/

Edited to add:  The lovely maurnas at http://cursitivity.wordpress.com/ and The Farmer’s Daughter at http://melmpf1973.wordpress.com/ both nominated me for the Liebster award.  Lots of love in the blogosphere lately!  Thank you, dears!

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Sit Down, Charlie Sheen, I’ll Take It From Here.

As I’ve displayed my Freshly Pressed badge so prominently (to the right, if you hadn’t noticed) I’m sure you’re all aware that My Grandma’s Room was an editor’s pick this week.

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Normally, I’d make a self-deprecating joke here, but unlike the majority of my posts, that one was really heartfelt and I’ve been crying all day wishing I could tell my Pop that I Won The Internet, so that he in turn could regale everyone he met with stories of my Writing Prowess, Innate Wisdom, and General Success At Life.  All of these tales would be highly embellished, and neither of us would care.

Instead, I will tell you how I became all Writerly and Such.  It’s an inspiring story, I’m sure. *insert hysterical laughter*

I’ve been a huge reader all my life, and last year I started re-collecting all my childhood favorites, like Anne of Green Gables, Little House on the Prairie, and Nancy Drew.

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Much like Anne Shirley, I was a pain in the ass as a child.  I was overly dramatic, I sometimes lied (confession:  It was me that cut the hair off all my Barbie dolls.  I cannot and could not ever play the banjo and I never wrote a song called Eagle.  Also, I’m ashamed that I didn’t come up with a better name for my song which didn’t exist.), I liked to read more than play, and I was bossy as all hell.

I haven’t changed much.

Anyway.  In the third grade I started a newspaper for the kids on my block and sold copies for 5 cents a piece.  It wasn’t a particularly long-running endeavor, mainly because as Head Writer, Editor, Copy Maker, and Boss Lady, I was too good to hawk my own wares on the corner and my friends grew tired of it quickly once they realized they weren’t getting paid.  Nine year olds have no work ethic anymore.  Especially for unpaid labor.

My next brush with fame came in the fifth grade.  On the same day that I opened a package of gum and won ten dollars, I also won 3rd place in a statewide essay contest.  Best. Day. Ever!

I don’t remember what the essay was about, but I do remember that I got to meet Bill Clinton (just the Governor then, not the President, although I’m sure I probably had something to do with his election).

You're welcome, dude.

You’re welcome, dude.

Also, they served really disgusting food at the banquet.

Not too long after that I tried my hand at fiction, penning The Big Black Bucket, which was a story about chickens living on a farm and plotting their escape.

Yeah.  Let that sink in for a minute.

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Those Chicken Run assholes.  I wrote it first, dicks.

Fast forward through years of bad poetry, bad decisions, and one too many people saying, rather accusingly, “But you’re so funny on Facebook…” and here I am, reading lots of awesome blogs, writing nonsense, and enjoying myself immensely.  THANK YOU!!

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Please stop me if I start referencing tiger blood, in any way, shape, or form.  Thanks, guys.


Conversation regarding blogging, drug use, and the importance of a good alias.

Initially I had decided not to tell my husband I was starting a blog.  But since we have an open relationship (not that kind of open, ohmygod) I decided I had to.  Also, since I’m going to be talking (shit) about him frequently I guess it’s only fair.
Gus:  A blog?  Cool.
Me:  Yeah, I thought I should tell you because some things are going to change around here.   I’m not going to have time for a lot of things.  Like cleaning the house and my real job.
Gus:  We’ll hire someone.  (He’s so supportive.)
Me:  Also, I may have to start doing drugs.  You know, so my life is more interesting.
Gus:  You’re not going to use my name are you?
Me:  Yeah. But not your whole name.   Did you hear me say I’m going to have to get a habit?  For work.
Gus:  I want you to refer to me as Gus.
Me:  No, you are not a Gus.  Come up with something better.   Now, about the drugs.
Gus:  No.  Call me Gus. You can even explain that I’m not really a Gus.
Me:  No.
Gus:   Then I don’t want to be in it.
Me:  Too bad.
Gus:  I’m killing you off in my book.

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