A Whole You is the Best Gift to Your Child

A good friend and I had a deep conversation around five months ago.  She mentioned that her therapist said that a whole you is the best gift to give to your child.  A whole you is the best gift to give your child. 

I've been pondering this comment ever since we had the conversation. I have several thoughts and opinions on the matter (shocking, right?), but I'm interested in reading what other people think. 

What do you think it means to be the "whole you?"  Do you think the "whole you" is the best gift you can give your child?  Why or why not?  Do you feel like you're being the "whole you?"  Why or why not?  How do you keep your self "whole?'

The Lasting Ache of Parental Rejection

A friend was lamenting recently that her child's father is a truly absentee parent.  They are divorced and, as is sadly often the case, the non-custodial parent seems to be confusing their offspring with their former spouse.  He not only doesn't contact his child, but he doesn't even appear to want any kind of relationship with his firstborn.  In his anger toward his ex-wife (I guess), he is willing to reject and hurt his own child.

Words can't express how I feel for her child.  A lasting ache is created when a parent deliberately wounds their child.  It doesn't matter why the injury occurs, though it frequently seems to be for completely selfish reasons on the part of the parent, and it doesn't matter how old the child is who has been hurt.  Physical and emotional wounds may heal, scars may fade, but the ache remains and it will always be a painful reminder for the child.  The sting of parental rejection never goes away - NEVER!  The child may move on and appear to be fine, but they are painfully aware that they were rejected and hurt by one person who should always be there for them. . .their own parent.

I can only believe that one day this individual will regret his neglect and he'll realize that he missed out on quite a lot. No, not just that he missed out; that he CHOSE to miss out.  He abdicated his position as father. If his child can somehow find the desire to forgive and try to forget this emotional abuse (and, make no mistake, that's exactly what it is), good.  If not, well, who could blame the poor soul for staying far, far away?

The good news is that one can always choose to rise above and be better than that which was modeled to us.  The most carelessly injured women can become the best mothers and the most heartlessly treated men can become the best fathers.  We can always choose to do better than was done to us.  Unfortunately, it doesn't always turn out that way and sometimes the abuse will continue to play out for generations. . .the root being one parent and their horrible decisions. 

Parenthood is a great responsibility and it's a damn shame that all parents don't realize this fact and rise to the challenge of the role that they willingly chose to accept.

Advanced Maternal Age - WTF?!

I think we all can agree that I'm somewhat vain about my age.  How vain?  I understand that about a year ago several of my friends each thought I was a different age because it's the one thing that I am consistently dishonest about.  So this blog post is a big deal to me because I'm copping to my real age rather than a sorta true-ish range because my age is central to the theme of this post.

I'm 35-years old and I will be 36-years old when this baby is born.

Oh sh*t, did you feel that?  I think Earth just spun off it's axis.  Even nature is freaked out that I put my age in print for all 19 blog Followers to discover.  Speaking of which. . .I lost one Follower recently so would you consider "following" me to make up for it??

Yeah, so I'm 35-years old and pregnant.  What does that mean?  Beyond the obvious answer (which is decreasing fertility, making it more difficult to get knocked up than when you're in your early- to mid-20s), it means that I get a special label in the medical community. 

What special label has been bestowed upon me?  Is it Best Wife & Mother of All Time?  No, though my husband and son both can feel free to think that on their own.  Am I called Super Cervix in honor of my body part that is apparently the least likely to dilate when definitely necessary?  No and I can tell you that it is the worst super power ever!  What label is found right there in my medical chart?  What label could cause me to to bristle whenever I see it?

Advanced Maternal Age. 

Advanced Maternal Age?  Seriously?  ADVANCED MATERNAL AGE?!  Advanced!  I'm 35, not fifty-freaking-five!

Perhaps I'm just sensitive, but advanced maternal age sounds like I'm a grey-haired old hag on Social Security who's going to go straight from my wheelchair to the delivery room.  It makes it sound like people aren't sure who's diapers should be checked first, the baby's or mine.  It sounds like I'm so ridiculously old to have a baby that it requires a freaking label.  Oh, wait. . .

Okay, okay, so I do have grey hair, but come on.  Surely I can't be the only one who thinks this label is a bunch of crap!  Yes, I'm serious and I'll refrain from calling you Shirley. . .why, yes, I did just shoe-horn an Airplane! reference in there.

Is there an upside to being labeled with advanced maternal age?  Uh, that depends on your definition of "upside."  I don't generally consider extra doctor visits, additional labs & ultrasounds, and an increased risk of birth defects to be upsides so I'm just not seeing the benefits to this label at this time.  Of course, I'm not saying that I don't see the benefits of the pregnancy because obviously there's a huge benefit at the end of the line.  It's just the label that aggravates me.

Thanks to my advanced maternal age, I had seven or eight vials of blood drawn today.  It's not so bad (as I told my little boy who was in tow) and it's kinda nice that there's a good, better, & best of diagnostics so it's not just a choice between amniocentesis and getting a surprise at the end of the 40-weeks.  I will have another set of blood work done in the second trimester and I'm scheduled for a nuchal translucency ultrasound (also called an NT scan) next Friday.  This screening doesn't definitively say anything, it just indicates if there is a tendency toward certain abnormalities.  The results will be helpful in deciding if I want to have any further diagnostics performed.

I didn't go with chorionic villus sampling (CVS) because it's an invasive test (like amnio) and it's not like I'm going to abort this baby anyway so I didn't see the point in doing an in-depth and invasive test in the first trimester.  I think that choosing amniocentesis right off the bat is overkill at age 35, considering the risk of miscarriage associated with amnio is about the same as the risk of having a child with genetic defect at this age.  I do see a value in being prepared and doing research if it's revealed that there is a possibility that my baby has certain defects so I'm not saying that I wouldn't choose to have further testing performed if the screening I'm having performed indicates that my baby may have certain defects.  I'm just saying that there's no big rush since it's not like I'm going to go abort my baby if a defect is revealed.

As a weird side note, someone told me that they thought getting the most in-depth diagnostics performed is the way to go because it's so sad that babies are born with defects like Down Syndrome so getting the information beforehand could allow for termination.  I was stunned at the statement because it basically was saying that people with genetic defects are better off dead.  That sounds suspiciously like Nazi talk to me and I forced myself to remain calm while I responded that I found it so sad that a mother would voluntarily stop her child's beating heart simply because the child didn't fit some definition of perfection. 

I used to think that people took out their brains when talking with pregnant women, but now I'm sure of it.  Hey, looks like increased wisdom has come with my advanced maternal age!

Up Next - An Ear Horn!

I detailed my disgust with my lousy eyesight around two months ago in this post.  I'm barreling toward middle age and it's about time that I face that fact.  Vanity is great and all, but there reaches a point where it's just more important to see than it is to pathetically cling to the last remaining shreds of early adulthood. 

I reached that point tonight.  I finally bought readers this evening and I'm amazed at how much I already love them!  It seems that my memory is also suffering from my rapidly advancing age because I'd quite forgotten just how much I enjoy being able to read anything even remotely resembling fine print.

I find that I often can't hear what my husband says when he's in the living room and I'm in the kitchen so this begs the following question:  Is an ear horn next?

Bitter Old B*tches

My husband is just shy of twenty-years older than me.  That might seem weird to some (and society in general), but we get along very well and it's really not an issue with us.  I asked him once why he was interested in dating me instead of someone his own age and he replied that most of the women over 40-years of age were bitter old b*ches.  I thought that was a rather harsh assessment, but nodded and filed that information away in my brain's filing system.

He may have been correct!

I can't count the number of times that we've been out to dinner or out with our son and some menopausal old bag is glaring daggers in our direction.  I'll ask him if he knows the witch in question and he inevitably does not.  So he does not know this woman and she feels the need to be so up in our business that she can feel offended by our very relationship?  What a bitter old b*tch!

Seriously, what gets up in some women's twats that they get so pissy and b*tchy as they age?  Sure young women aren't exempt from the bitchiness, but they don't have the stink of bitterness on them and that bitterness is so unappealing and unattractive.  And, damn, some woman are just bitter old b*tches!

My hubs and I were at the grocery store last night.  I spotted a woman who looked remarkably like his ex-wife (well, as she looked when I saw her last - around five years ago or so) as we walked in and I mentioned it as I was feeling up the produce.  I say feeling up because he asked if I was planning to mouth the zucchini that I was inspecting prior to bagging it.  Whatever - some of us don't want to purchase sub-par produce and we thoroughly inspect every single vegetable and fruit that we purchase.  (I note that this could be the reason why the produce boys pop boners whenever I show up in their department!  haha)

Anyway, I said that I thought I'd seen his ex-wife.  He replied that I must have been mistaken because we don't exactly live around the corner from her and her husband.  I laughed and agreed that it would have been hella weird if it had been his ex-wife since we were so far from where they live.  That's pretty much it. 

I didn't talk any sh*t.  I didn't carry on about me being twenty-years younger than her.  I didn't say that I stole my husband from his first wife (I did not, by the way!)  I really don't have anything negative to say about her at all because she was somewhat hospitable toward me when we visited her home (it was a weird visit to make, BTW) and her mother is simply delightful!  Actually, I rather like my husband's former mother-in-law and my son likes her very much too!  We really are a weird family, right?

And this was it.  I wasn't an arrogant younger woman, lording her youth over an older woman.  I wasn't being a jerk.  I wasn't doing or saying anything that I'd be ashamed to say in front of my entire church congregation.

But for some reason, for some freaking bullsh*t reason, a woman gave me the stink eye over this convo. . .this convo that she was eavesdropping on.  I didn't realize at first that this cow was glaring daggers at us, but I did eventually become aware that the hairs on the back of my neck were standing up so I turned around.  I turned around to see a middle-aged (not middle aged like me, but like really middle aged) old bag with her eyes narrowed to slits and pointed in my direction.  She looked at hubs, looked at me, noted our son, and huffed off with her sack of walnuts. 

Whiskey.  Tango.  Foxtrot.

Seriously.  What the f*ck was her problem?  We are a happy family and I'm guessing that our happiness is evident even to strangers.  Who in the heck would have a problem with a happy family? 

Bitter old b*tches, I guess.

My husband told me that it's to be expected. . .that women of a certain age don't like or trust me because I'm obviously okay with mating with men of a certain age and that makes them (the women) feel insecure.  Add in that men of a certain age find me irresistible and I'm in a real pickle. 

You know what?  I call bullsh*t on the entire situation!  F*ck them if they have a problem because it's not my f*cking problem!

I am not a homewrecker.  I would have never, never, never broke up a marriage.  My husband's ex-wife left nearly ten years before I showed up on the scene.  Get that?  He was unmarried for nearly a decade before I came along to light up his life. 

Nonetheless, how dare this old bag judge me and cast her baleful glare at me?  She doesn't know jack sh*t about our relationship and my guess is that she was projecting.  I didn't sex up her husband - yeah, I'm assuming her hubs left her.  I am not the reason that she is alone and buying sh*tty meals for one in a grocery market.  I am not to blame here. . .and yet she projected all of her negativity toward me and it makes me regard her as a bitter old b*tch.

Hubs tells me that I should calmly walk up to those women (we see & note them fairly frequently) and proclaim all sorts of silliness.  Basically, to give them something to actually get worked up over.  Things like, "He never told me he was married, but I just had to have him so he divorced her for me," or "Your husband never really meant anything to me. . .but this guy (my hubs) made me give up all those middle-aged married men."  My hubs has a sicker sense of humor than me at times and that's really saying something!

I love my husband because he gets me as no other person on the planet can possible understand me; we are truly two peas in a pod - well, three peas now and hopefully four eventually!  Anyone who comes up with some snarky reason behind our relationship can EABOD and DIAF!  Seriously, just F-off!

I know we are May-December. . .but it doesn't matter to us.  Why does it matter to anyone else??

A Poem; Sans Poeticizing

I've always liked writing and there was a time where I wrote a lot of poetry.  Well, I probably did more poeticizing than actually writing poetry, but that's angst-ridden teenaged girls for you!  I ran across a poem that I wrote last Summer and it's just as true now as it was then. 

What I Want for My Son
I want my son to climb. . .even if he might fall.
I want my son to fall. . .so he'll learn that it hurts.
I want my son to learn what hurts. . .so he'll be more careful.

I want my son to try new things. . .even if he might fail.
I want my son to fail. . .so he'll learn to try harder.
I want my son to try harder. . .so he'll excel.

I want my son to explore. . .even if he might get lost.
I want my son to get lost. . .so he'll learn to stay close or at least learn directions!
I want my son to learn directions. . .so he'll be able to find his way around town.

I want my son to fight if he has to. . .even if he might lose.
I want my son to lose. . .so he'll learn how to win.
I want my son to win. . .because I love him.

My Epiphany - Part II

I've discovered that the subject of my epiphany post is still working at the same place I met him and that has caused me a lot of distress over the last few weeks.  I have frequently attended his workplace with my young son for well over a year.  The kiddo loves it there and I always have too.  However, I'm concerned that I should avoid this place at all cost because I'm not so sure that it would be emotionally safe for me to visit if it means that I might see him.

I mentioned all this to a very dear friend.  She knew me back then and she knew him too.  I indicated that my concern is that I'd see him and that I'd see that the spell between us was broken between us.  That I'd just be some frumpy middle-aged housewife in his eyes.  That's true, as I'd sure hate the blow to my ego, but it's more than that though. . .it's that I fear that I would be putting myself directly in temptation's path.

I detest liars, thieves, and cheaters.  And believe me when I say that someone who cheats on their spouse is all three in one.  We so easily begin to resemble that which we hate. . .could I ever be an adulteress?  Could I ever be so easily tempted?  I don't think so, but I am very aware that my pride in my faithfulness could very well lead to faithlessness.

My friend smartly pointed out that I'm too much in love with my husband and our son to do anything to jeopardize this family.  She's right about that because my family is my everything.  I'm sure readers of this blog know how much my husband & son mean to me; they truly are as vital as the air that I breathe.

She also pointed out that my epiphany subject was old back then and that means that he's ancient now.  She's not so right about that.  He's only a few years older than my husband and I certainly don't think my hubs is "old" - let alone "ancient!"

She added that we probably wouldn't even recognize each other anyway since so much time has gone by and we surely have aged in the last twenty-years.  Oh my, she is right about that!  I was looking over some old photos of myself and, well, I look nothing like I did back then.  I think I peaked (from a physically attractive standpoint) at around 19- or 20-years old.  And it totally pains me to admit that was a long time ago.  It sucks, but there you go.

I am an honest woman and I have discussed this potential problem at length with my husband.  He knows about the entire relationship and he knows every intimate detail.  Yeah, yeah, so I kiss & tell - to my spouse!

Yet he laughed at my concerns and basically advised me to stop worrying about silly situations that weren't likely to ever happen.  After all, I go to this place with our son - that alone stops any sexy situations dead.  I guess no one really wants to make time with a Mom.  Additionally, we frequently are in the company of other mamas & toddlers - another sexual killer.

And that's even allowing for the thought that this man and I would still have this fiery hot connection burning between us. . .and, let's face it, we do not and we will not because the years would have eroded whatever it was that brought the two of us together.  So, really, the chances to destroy my marriage are virtually nil.

My little boy and I went to this particular place the other day.  We had a wonderful time with two other mamas and their children.  I did not run into an old love and I didn't particularly worry about it either.  My son gets so excited when he sees where we are going and I can't possibly trip down my own memory lane when my little boy is busily building his own memories.

The past is gone and I've never made a habit of going backward.  So it is entirely possible (remotely possible, really) that I may see this man at some point. . .but I wasn't brought to him to have for life.  However, I did voluntarily give myself to my husband in a ceremony that was witnessed by well over 100 of our friends and family.  And that union brought forth our son. . .our wonderful son!

I am my beloved's and he is mine.  No man will tear us apart; even a man who has known me in the distant past.  I can confidently enjoy this venue because I do know that the love I have for my husband overrides any lust or nostalgia that I can possibly feel.  Feelings, after all, are fleeting.  But the love and admiration that I have for my husband is deeper than the oceans, higher than the sky, and sweeter than the most tender nectar.  He is the harbor in which I seek refuge and life's storms will never tear me from his safe bay.  To put it quite simply, I adore my husband and nothing that is of this world could pull me away from him. 

So I will confidently enter this park and appreciate seeing the joy in my son's face.  And I will leave the past where it belongs. . .solidly in the past.

VisionQuest

My senior citizenry is beginning just a little too early for my taste.  I documented my annoyance with my pubic hair back in October and I have discovered yet another age-related complaint.  For the record, I'm still not sporting a merkin. . .yet! 

I should probably stop claiming to be under-30 at this point, because I think I'm courting bifocals.  Bi-freaking-focals!  I wish I was just kidding, but I'm as serious as a heart attack.

It all started when I was pregnant at the end of last year.  My eyes were so impossibly dry that I couldn't tolerate wearing contacts so, for the first time in more years than I care to admit, I began regularly wearing eyeglasses.  It was fine at first, but I found myself slipping my specs down to the tip of my nose to see things clearly up close or to read fine print. 

I knew what this meant, I've seen my hubs push his glasses out of the way enough times when trying to read, but I told myself it's just because I don't see as clearly with my glasses.  And I really don't so that's not just my vanity talking.  A couple of weeks after my miscarriage was complete, I started wearing my contacts again and I assumed all would be fine with my vision. 

Guess what?  I can't see anything up close or tiny.  I can not see anywhere near as well as I used to.  Plucking eyebrows?  Impossible.  Clipping my son's nails?  Impossible.  Reading a menu with ridiculously small type?  Impossible.  All of these things are impossible unless I take out my contacts and get waaay up close so I can see.

I've been nearsighted since I was twelve so I'm used to being blind, but this is just lame.  Someone suggested that I buy a pair of readers to keep for when I'm trying to do things like read menus. . .friggin' reading glasses!  The point of wearing contact lenses is that you don't have to wear freaking eyeglasses! 

My blindness was apparent the other night, Valentine's, when I could not read the menu at dinner.  I actually found myself gripping about the dimly lit restaurant and the minuscule font size on the menu.  Aw, nuts!  I'm not only blind and have greying pubic hair, but now I even sound old!  Dammit!

I'm almost afraid to ask what's next.  An ear horn?  A walker?  Predicting weather based on how my shoulder/knee/hip feels?  Yelling at neighborhood kids to get off my lawn?!  Talking incessantly about the good ol' days?!

Uh-oh, looks like I'm older than I thought!

I've Had an Epiphany. . .that is Probably Obvious to Everyone!

I'm so excited to report that I've had an epiphany! 

I've always thought it was weird when someone has a very definite "type" that they're interested in, but have noticed that I'm extremely predictable when it comes to the men I pick for dating, mating, and marriage.  I know that I've mentioned my proclivities in this blog, but I only realized today that I've had a "type" since I was a teenager.  We're always the last to know what's patently obvious to the rest of the world, right?

Desires change over time and, when I was a young teen, I had preferences that differ somewhat from my current choices.  In a nutshell, I wouldn't look twice if they didn't have dark skin, hair, and eyes.  No blond-haired or blue-eyed albinos were gonna get a piece of my action!  I used to joke with my BFF that I was like the UN of dating because every ethnicity and nationality was equally represented.  Of course, that's a little bit of an exaggeration!

I was busily watching mid-70s era Eric Clapton videos on youtube while my son napped this afternoon.  Shocking, huh?  Anyway, I was admiring his full head of hair, his face full of fuzz, and his skinny hips when it hit me - I've been attracted to this look since I was around 17-years old.  I'm not saying that I felt all tingly in my girlie parts when looking at 65-year old men, but I'm also not saying that I didn't.  In case you're interested, I did today!

But I realized why I like that "type" and it was a revelation to me.  I was with a man who sported that exact look back in 1992 or so.  We weren't exactly boyfriend-girlfriend in that it wasn't a societally appropriate relationship and I never considered bringing him to meet my parents, but he was absolutely taken with me and I thought he was just wonderful.  Absolutely wonderful.

Over the years, I've often thought with disdain about the men who were with my under-aged self.  As an adult, I find it repugnant that grown men would take advantage of such a young girl.  Sure, I was hot to trot, but I was still a friggin' kid and they should have practiced a little self-control.

Interestingly, I've never lumped this particular man in with that group for some damn reason - and he was far & away the oldest to have me!  Why do I give him a pass?  I don't know.  I guess because he loved me.  And, oh, how he loved me.  Even as a young girl, I could see that I was a feminized ideal to him.  I was the Yoko to his John and he was so smitten.  Just over the moon.  He made me feel perfect and lovely, two things that I haven't felt very frequently.  He cherished me and, though I loved him the best I could and I felt alive and free when I was with him, I could not stop myself from pushing him away.

Was it the 25-year age difference?  Was it the knowledge that he didn't have and never wanted children?  Was it that I feared my parents' certain negative response?  I think it was all of those things and the fact that I actively sabotaged my own happiness for many, many years.  In hindsight, I know that I could have been happy with him.

I've thought of him often over the years. . .wondering if he replaced me in his heart and yearning to see him just once more.  Did he ever find someone more perfectly lovely than me?  I hope he did, but on some selfish & childish level, I hope he didn't because I loved being that piece of feminine perfection for someone.

I can't listen to Cat Stevens sing Wild World without thinking of him.  I can't see a specific print without thinking of him.  I can't give a bearded man a hug & kiss without thinking of him for just a fleeting moment.  And, I suppose in some weird way, I desire the men I desire because I never lost my desire and admiration for this particular man.

My husband and I have discussed this relationship a time or two and hubs is fairly disgusted by it all.  Not that he's jealous (if you know my hubs you know that he's one of the most confident men on the planet), but that he thinks this man was a total freaking pervert.  Yes, 25-years is a big freaking difference when one person in the relationship is only 17.  Yes, it was illegal as it gets.  Yes, I can understand that some people just won't understand. 

But I maintain that if my husband knew my 17-year old self, he'd also find it impossible to resist my charms.  Long dark hair straight down to my waist, only weighed around 115-pounds, teeny-tiny waist with nicely rounded hips, and a free & loose attitude toward sex.  Damn, I think I just turned myself on by talking about myself!

Really though, hubs should probably send this man a Thank You note because he opened my eyes to the excitement that can only be found with significantly older lovers.  Yeah, a 19-year old kid might bang you all night long, but a man knows how to take his time, how to get all cylinders firing, how to take direction, and how to satisfy intellectually.  Perhaps that last bit only applies to me, but I can not get stimulated sexually if I'm intellectually strangled.

So there it is; that's my epiphany.  My love of older and bewhiskered men is directly traceable to one man.  Sometimes I find it crazy how your past shapes your present and your future.

Wherever he is now, I hope he has the same happiness that I experience. . .and I still kind of wonder if he ever fondly remembers me.

Toddler with a 'Tude - Part II

Toddlers are a funny bunch.  They clearly want to be big kids, but they cling to the babyhood that they are still experiencing.  They sport the mercurial attitudes of teenagers with limited communication ability.  Of course, there are many times that I'm thankful my son can't quite bust out the, "you have to let me learn from my own mistakes" line of bull - not to mention the other nonsense that teenagers are so fond of saying.  They may not have the crazy hormones that fuel most teen angst, but they certainly have out of control emotions and a decided lack of impulse control.

My son has really been upset by the events of the last several weeks (I think it started when I was battling such severe morning sickness) and he's having trouble expressing himself.  The easiest way to get attention?  Act out, of course! 

It started with potty accidents.  The kid has been potty trained for nearly a year and he started having potty accidents out of the blue.  At first, I chalked it up to not wanting to miss any fun with his friends.  Then I noticed that he'd have accidents any old time even if nothing particularly fun or exciting was going on.  He's improved dramatically over a several week period and even goes #2 all by himself these days (I still wipe him though), but he's still not 100% again.

Then he started asking for things he hasn't done in ages.  A couple of weeks ago, he began to snuggle up to me and ask if he could take his nap in the pouch.  I ordinarily wouldn't mind letting him do so, but we've had so many sleep difficulties that I wasn't willing to get him used to being worn for naps again.  I'd remind him that his bed is for sleeping and the pouch is for riding in when Mama wears him and that seemed to satisfy.  By the way, I've learned why he refuses to sleep in his toddler bed.  He says the twin bed is his bed, but that the toddler bed is a "baby bed." 

He's also started playing with toys that he hasn't played with in ages.  He protested when I packed up baby toys and convinced me to let him keep a "baby caterpillar" that he last touched when he was less than a year old.  He's been playing with that dumb toy for weeks now and shows no sign of boredom with it.  He  rejoiced when he recognized the cloth "baby diapers" that I unpacked for the baby.  Yeah, I kinda jumped the gun there, didn't I?

Weirdest of all, he's developed (or redeveloped) a desire for nursing.  He was weaned a long time ago and he still has a strange fascination for boobs (he's either too young or too old for this, right?), but he hasn't tried to cop a feel in a long time.  He crawled up to me the other night and immediately started sucking on my breast through my shirt.  My milk dried up months ago, but he was totally trying for it.

I pulled him off my breast and gave him a hug.  I told him that he'll always be my sweet boy and offered him big boy milk in a cup.  He gladly accepted the milk, but wanted to sit on my lap and be cuddled like a baby while he drained his cup.

I've tried to give him love and understanding, but my buttons are being pushed every single day and I find myself wondering if I can take it until he's old enough to go to pre-school.  I worry that one more shriek or defiant "NO!" will send me over the edge.  And that's not even getting into the daily battles over stupid things like not screwing with curtains and blinds or to stay out of the fridge and the pantry.

I know that this is just a temporary phase, but it's really been getting old since I've been housebound.  Does anyone have any suggestions to keep my sanity?  I'm tempted to flout my driving restrictions just so I can get the heck out of this house. . .of course, I won't because I'm scared to death of the very real threat of a lawsuit should I actually get in an accident when I shouldn't be driving.  Dangit!  Only a little more than week left and I can rejoin civilization.

What Was I Thinking?

My body is stubbornly keeping my baby so I'm still waiting for this miscarriage to complete.  It's been a week and a half since my baby died and I thought this nightmare would have been over by now.  This waiting is torture, but I almost welcome the torment because I deserve it. 

I mentioned to my husband that I might ask my doctor about sterilization options when I see him next week.  My husband was surprised and asked why I'd want to know about such things.  The answer is ridiculously simple:  I don't want to experience this ever again and I'm willing to deprive my son of siblings in order to avoid it.  I don't care how selfish that sounds because that's how I feel. 

I've never thought that my husband is naive, but I'm beginning to think that my husband's naivete is greater than mine.  Even though it took over a year and a half to get pregnant with this failed pregnancy, he seems to think that I'll get pregnant with no problem and go on to have a perfectly fine pregnancy.  I wish I could believe that, but I don't.  As I said the other day, my faith just isn't that strong.

I've been finding myself playing the "If only. . ." game.  It's like the "What if. . ." game only full of more regret.  If only I hadn't married my ex-husband, I could have started dating my husband several years earlier.  If only my husband and I had decided to get married right away instead of screwing around for a couple of years.  If only we had started a family right after getting married instead of enjoying each other so thoroughly. 

Let's face it, these "if only" exercises highlight what's really bothering me.  If only I wasn't in my mid-30s and he wasn't in his mid-50s, if only that then I'm sure we wouldn't have found it so hard to conceive our son or this poor baby.  I've never spent much time regretting decisions I've made with my life, but I am now.

What was I thinking?  Why did I wait so long to settle down, to get married, to start a family?  I may be stupid, but I'm not dumb.  So why did I make such stupid choices with my life?  Why was it so damned important that I accomplish the things I wanted to accomplish prior to starting a family?  Why did I do this to myself?

I know how women's fertility works.  I know the age when it starts to decrease and children weren't even remotely on my radar at that time.  I stupidly thought that getting pregnant in my mid-30s would be as easy as getting pregnant in my mid-20s.  Guess what?  It isn't.

I'm aware that plenty of women have no trouble getting pregnant in their 30s and beyond.  I'm glad for them because they are fortunate, but I am not one of those women. 

I thought I was so damn smart to delay parenthood and focus solely on growing my financial health.  I've never had trouble making money.  I've never had trouble managing my finances.  I've never had trouble getting ahead in "life."  No, my problem is worse and harder to remedy.  I have trouble creating and sustaining life.  It took a long time to conceive my son and it took more than twice as long to conceive this baby who didn't even make it to the second trimester.  You can always make money, but you can't always easily make a family.

My husband doesn't think I should inquire about sterilization options so I probably won't.  He's smarter than me and perhaps his emotions aren't so battered so he may be thinking more clearly than I am right now.  I just don't know and I guess I won't know until the time comes to bring it up or not.

Censorship is More Dangerous Than Freedom

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It's Been a Good Journey Thus Far

A light-hearted game with some mama friends reminded me of just how much I've grown emotionally and spiritually.  Smooth sailing doesn't usually stimulate growth and, I have to say, my journey is still taking place on a road that is littered with bumps and pits.  But I've continued traveling on this road because I've come to love the journey.  It's what makes me who I am today.  Years from now, when I'm at my final destination, I want to look back on this bumpy road with fondness and appreciation.  You see, this journey is my life. 

It might be the understatement of the century to say that my very early childhood wasn't all that great.  I believe that a lot of personality is shaped in the first few years of a child's life.  I think that it definitely shaped the course of my life.

I used to be so tightly wound and my emotions were so repressed that I would periodically explode in fury.  I was impossibly uptight about my body and it's natural functions.  I was painfully shy around all but the closest of friends.  My secrets were a constant and gritty irritation to my soul. Instead of creating a pearl, keeping secrets created a weeping wound that would not, could not, heal.  I never felt comfortable being who I was.  Ever.  I was a young woman who desperately needed to be set free.

I tried many things to turn myself loose.  Plenty of hard living, thousands upon thousands of dollars in therapy, countless prescription medications.  Nothing worked for very long.  I went to bed many nights longing to not wake come morning.  My life didn't feel like a gift, it felt like a curse.  I was young, but I was old. . .jaded.  I was miserable and, though I stayed busy, I wasn't truly living.

I wasn't raised in a religious household and, as I aged, I dabbled in a variety of different religions and philosophical thought.  I delighted in learning because I was seeking.  Indeed, the tattoo that I got was related to one lengthy phase I went through with a particular group.  That foolishness cost me over $1,000 and one year of laser treatments to remove.  I hope you'll never know the horrible smell of your own flesh burning and that's to say nothing of the pain.  I found it far more painful to remove a tattoo than to get one in the first place.

I belonged to organizations that believe in "God," but they weren't Christian organizations.  I guess my parents probably think they raised me in a Christian household, but all I knew about Jesus is that he was why we celebrate Christmas.  I knew nothing about the main point of the Bible:  Man's Redemption and God's Agape Love, both through Christ.

I was antagonistic toward Christianity for many years, but I converted in my mid-20s.  My best friend, rest her beautiful soul, was very instrumental in bringing me to Christ.  I expect that I'll make a post about my conversion one day, but it involves an extraordinarily painful event that I generally can't bring myself to put into words.

Accepting Christ in my heart didn't make my problems disappear overnight, but I was finally freed.  Guilt, shame, and anger were lifted from my heart.  Even hate, and I had a burning hate, was removed.  My spirit was bathed with the Living Water and made white as snow.  I'm not saying that I've never suffered with depressive periods since my conversion, but I am saying that I have never been alone as I've struggled.

I'd guess that the transition to adulthood is hard for anyone, but my late teens and early-20s were a strange and difficult time.  I was spiritually adrift and I think that made my emotional wounds fester unchecked.  Being anchored to God is what ultimately healed me more than any other course of action.

I've learned to like myself, just as I am.  I'm not saying that I'm so great, far from it, but I am saying that I'm comfortable in my own skin these days.  Some might say that I'm altogether too comfortable in my own skin - ha. 

My journey has included unexpected turns and a lot of road work, but I am sure enjoying this trip!  I'm eager to see what lies beyond this upcoming bend. . .

Big Boy Bed is a Big Hit!

Though his fever broke last night, my son still felt pretty punky today.  We stayed in for the day and he seemed to enjoy playing with his trains and a couple of new cars that friends gave him over the weekend.  He's quite the musical little guy and he treated me to a concert utilizing a piano, a guitar, and a recorder.  I often end up playing the recorder and, unfortunately, it's often after my son has been slobbering on the mouthpiece.  Since I'm about the least-talented musician on the planet, I often think that my contribution ruins his delightful compositions.

I tried to break the monotony by watching several kid shows and, of course, Elmo videos.  I'm a little embarrassed to admit that we watched three Elmo videos today.  I also decided to check out what my cable service was offering On-Demand so that I might have something interesting to watch when the kiddo took his nap.

Woo-Hoo!  I hit an Alfred Hitchcock jackpot!  Cinemax is having a Hitchcock film festival and there are around fifteen movies to choose from.  Thus far, I've enjoyed Rear Window (a favorite of mine) and a few movies that I haven't seen before:  The Man Who Knew Much, Rope, and Shadow of a Doubt.  I don't customarily watch inappropriate programming when my son is awake.  But it's on like Donkey Kong when he's asleep!

Anyway, on to the progress with the big boy bed.  My son put his animals on his bed when he was ready for his nap.  Once I turned on his sound machine, he decided that he was not ready for his nap.  To prove his point, he ran through the house, yelling and crying.  Of course, all that really proved is that he really was tired and that he was very ready for a nap.  As would be expected, he stumbled and fell down as he was tearing through the house.  I picked him up, gave him some cuddles, and put him in his bed so that he could go to sleep.

And he did.

He was so comfortable and so tired that he napped for a few hours.  He woke calling for me and, as usual, he was clean & dry.  He pointed to his bed when I picked him up.  I told him that's his new bed since he's such a big boy.  He said, "Tie-tie," and I replied that it was for using whenever he's tired.

At bedtime, he gathered his favorite animals and a fresh burpie and he put them in his bed.  After his bath and his two bedtime stories, he ran to make a final trip to the potty.  Then he climbed in his bed, cuddled up to his animals, and I haven't heard a sound from him all night.

The big boy bed.  I'd say it's a pretty big hit!


BTW, I noticed babywearing in The Man Who Knew Too Much.  Yes, I guess I'm a little obsessed!

Update on the First Night in a Big Boy Bed

At around midnight I went to bed.  As is my usual custom, I checked on the boy before I continued to bed. 

He was sleeping on the floor beside his new big boy bed.

I picked him up and took him to the toilet.  He made a little pee-pee and then he went right back to sleep in his bed.  I placed two dining room chairs in front of his bedroom door, thinking that it would slow him down long enough for me to reach him if he wakes in the night.

He apparently woke at 2:30 this morning, opened his bedroom door, and walked by the dining room chairs.  I'd imagine that he felt that he was alone in the house and, since it was also dark, I think it made him nervous.  He started crying and called out for me.  He was standing in the hallway.

He did not wet his bed, but he peed himself by the time he was hustled to the toilet.  After he picked out some fresh underpants, he walked back to his bed, climbed in, and went back to sleep.  Just like that!

I'm writing this blog as he's taking a nap.  In his big boy bed. 

There have been a few hiccups along the way, but I'd say that the transition to the big boy bed has been a success thus far.

Night One: The Big Boy Bed

Children grow too fast don't they? 

My son has been trying to climb into his crib for days so my husband put together the new toddler bed last night.  It was in our living room and the Tater Tot went cuckoo when he saw his new "big boy bed."  He took every single stuffed animal he owns and piled them high on the bed and then he nestled himself amongst his favorites.  He sat in this cozy little nest and spent the morning watching his favorite television shows.  I was feeling pretty excited that the boy liked his new bed and I figured this meant that he'd easily transition to napping and sleeping in it. 

I was wrong.

We went to a playdate today and he was busy the entire time we were out.  I knew he was tired.  He even said he was tired.  So I moved his crib to the other side of his room and I put the new bed in the vacant space.  He put all of his favorite toys back in the bed and I expected him to go to sleep.

He. Would. Not. Sleep.

I didn't even make it to our living room before he opened his bedroom door and danced out.  Yes, he was dancing.  DANCING!

I returned him to his bed and reminded him that big boys sleep in their beds.  He kept saying that he was tired, but he would not lie down long enough to fall asleep.  He tried to get me to lie down on the floor beside his bed.  For a few reasons, I would not oblige.

I don't like to turn everyday events (like dining, toileting, or sleeping) into battlegrounds, so I decided that he could just skip the nap today.  He was fine with that solution.  Until around 6:30 pm, when he told me he was tired.  I fed him dinner, bathed him, and put him back in the new bed.

He. Would. Not. Sleep.

I asked if he wanted to go back to sleeping in the baby crib.  He said he did not.  I asked if he was tired.  He answered that he was tired.  I asked if he wanted to sleep in his new big boy bed.  He would lie down for a few seconds and pop back up.   I began to sing his special bedtime song while I rubbed his back.  I thought for sure that he would drift off to sleep. 

He. Would. Not. Sleep.

He ultimately ended up back in the living room.  He pointed at the television and I reminded him that he should be in bed and we don't watch his programs when he should be sleeping.  Fox News isn't exactly the most entertaining programming for a toddler, so he began to pull out books and toys.  I reminded him that Mama was off-duty for the night because he should be in bed so that meant he would have to put away every single toy he dragged out.  He tested me on a book and I told him that Mama would keep the book if he didn't put it back where it belonged.  He put away the book.

He ran to his room and pulled out his favorite stuffies (Elmo - of course! - and Curly Squirrel) and a beloved burpie.  He tossed them on the floor in the living room.  I told him that he was not going to sleep on the floor and that big boys sleep in their beds. 

He. Melted. Down.  BIG TIME!

I asked again if he was tired and he repeated that he was.  I asked if he'd like to snuggle with Mama before going to sleep in his bed.  He said that he would.  I sat on the floor beside his bed and cuddled him for about a minute.  I gently helped him to his bed and covered him with his new Elmo blanket. 

He was quietly sucking his thumb and clutching at me with his other hand.  I rubbed his back and let him know that it's okay to be nervous about growing up.  I told him that it can be scary, but that Mama and Daddy are always here for him if he needs help.  I added that I expected him to stay in his bed and go to sleep.  He loosened his grip and I pulled away, but didn't leave just yet.  I continued to rub his back and leaned over to give him kisses on his sweet face.  I let him know that he can call out for us if he needs to go potty or if he is afraid.  I repeated that I expect him to stay in his bed.  I stood up, lovingly brushed his hair behind his ear, and I walked out of his bedroom.  I shut the door.

And he started crying.

I walked to the dining room, shut the pocket door, and listed to the monitor.  I was sure that this was going to be another ill-fated attempt.  I had somewhat resigned myself to a nearly sleepless night of nocturnal back & forth.

He cried for less than two minutes.  I don't know if he left his bed, but he never opened his door.  I haven't heard a peep since then.

Was it really this easy?  Dare I hope that I will find him in his big boy bed come morning?  I'm cautiously optimistic.

Terrible Twos Baby!

I used to think that I wouldn't mind having a dozen children if I could get a guarantee that all of them would be as easy as my son. For the most part he has been sweet, affectionate, eager to please, and easy to please. That was before he wholeheartedly jumped into the Terrible Twos. I'm beginning to think that Terrible Twos is a fantastically smart way to describe the my son's current stage of growth.

Here's how my day went today:

8:30 Heard the kiddo wake up and ran to his side. He woke up clean & dry - YAY!

8:40 The boy turned on the television (why did I teach him how to do this??) and began watching PBS Sprout.

8:45 Kiddo claimed he was hungry. He was not hungry. He was so not hungry that he literally spit out his egg. I made a mental note to not give him an egg tomorrow as the dog eagerly cleaned the dining room floor.

8:50 Gave kiddo his milky. Decided to allow him to take the milk to the living room, big mistake. He poured the milk out on the floor. The dog enjoyed lapping up the milk.

We had a lovely period between 9:00 and 11:00. However, I did find boxes of sugar-free Jell-O in my crock-pots - thankfully he didn't plug them in and turn them on. He also decided he wanted to eat a can of macadamia nuts. I did not let him eat a can of macadamia nuts. I didn't even let him eat one nut and he didn't take the denial very well. Other than that, we had a fairly good time together. We played with his blocks, we read a few books, we talked about the sounds that letters make, and we watched Sesame Street. I really wish that Sesame Street didn't make you wait until the very end before they show Elmo's World!

11:00 I dressed the kiddo so we could go to the park. I got dressed. When I next saw my kiddo, he had taken off his pants and underpants. I couldn't find his pants.

11:05 We went to the park. He had a great time playing at the park. Well, except when he didn't have a good time. Somehow he thinks that all of his friends should share their snacks with him, but he's grown quite stingy and possessive with his own snacks. What really makes me want to put my head through a wall is that they are usually the same type of freaking snacks. I guess Goldfish taste better when they are coated by the tears of the child you're stealing them from. . .

1:40 I discovered that we have a bird's nest under our eaves. I'm giddy over this discovery and I was sure that the rest of the day is going to be totally awesome because (in my mind - don't ask) the nest means I'll be getting pregnant soon. The day did not get better. Indeed, it only went downhill.

1:45 Made stir-fry for lunch since he ate so poorly at breakfast. He loves stir-fry. He did not love this stir-fry. He poured his milk all over the table and, while I ran for a microfiber cloth to clean it up, he overturned his plate - his still quite full plate - of lunch all over the table. The dog would not eat the stir-fry. I wanted to cry when my son then began to beg for my lunch. The lunch that was THE EXACT SAME THING HE HAD JUST THREW ALL OVER THE TABLE!!!

1:50 My son went on a tear and began throwing crap, I mean toys, all over the living room. I tried a few tactics to get him to clean up his mess: I yelled, I showed him the Sad Spoon, I put him in time out, I cried. I ultimately decided that the best course of action would be to take away his beloved Elmo for the rest of the day. Our entire front room is red & fuzzy at this point, so I picked one of his favorite new Elmo toys. He flipped out! But he immediately began to pick up his mess when I threatened to take another Elmo toy for the rest of the day. Yay for torturing your children!!

2:00 I put the boy down for a nap as soon as he finished cleaning his mess in the living room. Thank the Lord that he went right to sleep! I could not go to sleep as I was expecting a visitor at any moment.

3:00 My visitor was an hour late.

3:40 My visitor left and I decided to try to rest.

3:45 My husband walked in the door.

4:00 My son woke up.

I'm a loving and giving person. I lovingly gave my husband the opportunity to spend some quality time with our son while I hid in the kitchen. I mean, I worked on preparing dinner.

6:00 About 25 minutes into cooking, I discovered that one of my casserole dishes must have a hairline crack. I wanted to run away from home at this point.

6:15 Dinner was nearly finished and I returned to the living room. IT WAS DESTROYED! Books, toys, blanket, dining dishes (Whiskey Tango Foxtrot?!), stuffed animals, you name it. I told him that he had to clean up his mess before we could eat dinner. Considering how the day had gone at this point, I shouldn't have been surprised that he threw a tantrum and knocked over an entire stack of his books. I hit the roof. He ended up in a time out and, when the time out was over, he lost an Elmo plushie - the laughing & giggling one. I must admit that I felt horrible when he cried real tears while begging for "Lala." This newfound tactic worked though and he cleaned it all up.

6:30 I've made tater tot casserole plenty of times as it is an easy recipe and my son absolutely loves it. I screwed up the tater tot casserole and my son did not love it. He did not love it so much that he cried throughout dinner. I must have used the strongest onions in history because all I tasted was onion with every bite. I love onions, probably use one each day, but it was pretty foul.

6:45 My husband, bless his heart, bathed our son and put the little one to bed.


The Terrible Twos. . .they can't possibly get any more terrible than this can they??

Living Well is the Best Revenge

I've been idly following the Phoebe Prince case. For those not in the know, Phoebe Prince was a young girl who was bullied by a group of vile kids from her high school. The harassment was so unbearable to her that she took her life at only 15-years of age.

A group of six teens have been indicted on various charges related to the case. I'm doubtful that any convictions will be reached, but I'm glad that her tormentors are being held accountable for their vicious behavior toward a fellow human being. And I hope that they are forever tormented by the tragic result of their despicable actions.

Tone doesn't come across very well with the written word and in case you didn't pick up on it, I was a major misfit in school. I wasn't well-liked by many kids and I never really fit in with any clique. I didn't have many friends or acquaintances. I was called all sorts of ugly names by nasty kids who seemed intent to make me pretty f*cking miserable in school.

It's sad that a group of kids bullied another kid so severely that she felt suicide was the only way out. It's even sadder that a 15-year old child was so miserable that suicide seemed to be the only way out of her torment. The saddest thing of all though is that this petty high school bullsh*t probably wouldn't have mattered at all to this girl in a few more years.

Generally speaking, the only people who really give a rip about high school once they hit true adulthood are life's losers who peaked in high school. Not everyone can make it in the real world and some precious little snowflakes melt when the heat gets too intense. Sucks to be them.

Being hassled in school inspired me to succeed at life. I accomplished some pretty impressive things at a relatively young age because I was intent to prove that I was better than my tormentors. I look back with a tiny bit of gratitude toward those who were so cruel toward me because they pushed me to be one of life's winners. Living well has been the best revenge.

What could Phoebe Price have accomplished had she been able to hang in there for a few more years? I hope Massachusetts throws the book at her tormentors.

A Preachy & Free Speech(y) Post

I really wanted to address the South Park v militant Islamic fundamentalists brouhaha, but something else has preempted that post. Perhaps I can find a way to tie them both together? I'm crossing my fingers, now here I go:

I'm sorry to have to break it to all the 1st Amendment chest-thumpers, but free speech isn't exactly free. We do not have the right to say many things in this country. You don't have the right to shout, "FIRE!" in a crowded theater. You don't have the right to threaten bodily harm toward anyone - including, most importantly, the President. In some states, you don't even have the right to anonymously bully and harass people over the internet.

Politics is ugly and divisive. Individuals with no knowledge of this nation's history believe that politics is more partisan now than ever before. That is simply not true and it is only easy to believe that because we have far more information flying than at any point in history. We have several 24-hour news channels, we have countless legitimate news websites (all biased in some way to one side or the other) to peruse, and, of course, we have innumerable sources of information and opinion on the blogosphere.

I've become aware of a squabble on Facebook in the last few days. I don't want to direct any traffic to either group, so I will be calling them Group A and Group B. There is a group, Group B, that is outraged over another the very existence of another group, I'll call them Group A since they existed first. Group A is titled with a mock-prayer in which they indicated that God has taken various favorite celebrities in the last year. They finish the prayer by mentioning that our current President is their favorite. The implication, in case anyone is too thick to get it, is that they want God to take the President too.

I personally don't find the title terribly offensive, but I do acknowledge that I have a thick skin and it takes a lot to offend me. Of course, I clearly remember far worse things that the rabble said and illustrated about our last President. Comedians had an absolute field day with President Bush and I find this to be fairly tame in comparison. Besides, I'm not humorless and I realize that it is a joke. It's even somewhat funny, what with the very obvious misspellings in the title. I find it difficult to take anyone too seriously if they can't even be bothered to double-check their spelling. Of course, by stating that, I am virtually guaranteed to make several errors in this very post!

Back to the topic at hand, taken literally, they are praying for death in an otherwise healthy man. The head of our federal government. I can't speak for God, but I don't think those are the types of prayers that He's looking for from his people. Indeed, He wants us to pray for our leaders and respect & obey our government. Heck, we are even instructed to pay our taxes - even if we don't approve of how they are being used! See 1 Timothy 2:1-4, Romans 13:1-7, and Matthew 22:15-22 for a very clear examples. I think it's obvious though that the creator of Group A isn't a Christian. Therefore, why would his mock-prayer, to a God that they don't even believe in or respect, mean anything to anybody?

Side note: Before anyone starts squawking that the creator of Group A may be Jewish or Muslim, I'll grant those two possibilities because it is often bandied about that the three Abrahamic religions all share the same God. However, followers of Judaism and Islam don't exactly have a "Hey God, I need a favor. . ." relationship with their deity. I suppose it's possible, not probable, that a Jew or a Muslim created Group A, but I'm going to ignore the possibility since I just showed evidence why a Christian wouldn't create such a group, based on New Testament teachings, and I'm not well versed in the Torah or the Koran. More than likely, I'd guess the creator of Group A is an agnostic or an atheist because they are so irreverent.

Again, I get the joke. I just don't think it's all that funny, but I do recognize that humor is subjective and acknowledge that the title of this group may be the height of cleverness to others. Frankly, the biggest prank of all would be if Group A were created by an Obama-supporter! Now that irony would tickle my funnybone.

Look, I didn't vote for the man, but he is in fact our sitting President. I believe he is still deserving of the honor and respect of that position, even if you detest his policies. Even if his personal behavior is a complete embarrassment to the country. Even if you hate him personally, assuming you know him personally. He is still our President for three more years and no amount of bellyaching is going to change that fact. If, God forbid, anything happened to our President, remember who would take his place. . .

I realize that I take a more mature view on this than most people on the left or the right. To those who were full of hate & vitriol during the Bush years and to those who are full of hate & vitriol now, I say this: You can disagree with civility. You can even decide to agree to disagree. It's really not that tough to suck it up and be a grown up about such things. Your anger and frustration is openly mocked by the so-called other side and your behavior, more often than not, only serves to highlight your childishness.

To Group A: Congratulations. Your trolling and attention-whoring has caught the attention of thin-skinned humorless prigs. Enjoy it and try not to make too big of an ass of yourselves.

To Group B: Do not feed trolls and do not pay attention to attention whores because doing so only encourages their outrageous words and behavior. Forming Group B only serves to get them off, so to speak, because they've garnered attention. Had you ignored them, they would have been easily forgotten by next week.

How does this tie in with the South Park v militant Islamic fundamentalists? Well, it's really the same damn thing, isn't it? South Park pokes fun at what's "allowed" in regard to images of Muhammad and, predictably, militant Islamic fundamentalists react as we have come to expect from followers of the "Religion of Peace." Matt Parker and Trey Stone are Group A personified. Militant Islamic fundamentalists are Group B personified - only they tend to murder people who they disagree with instead of forming ineffectual Facebook groups.

Personally, I see no problem with South Park showing Muhammad. They did it like nine years ago on the Super Best Friends episode. No one flipped out. No one called for death. No one really seemed to care at all - I guess because they were lampooning so many other religious figures. Before anyone suggests that I feel this way because they don't rip on Jesus, you really need to see the series. They rip on everybody. Everybody!

Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar and sometimes a joke is just a joke. You might not find it funny, but it is still just a joke. Get over it and move on with your life or you run risk of finding yourself in the trollish attention-whore category as well.

I hope all this made sense, I wrote it while my son was busy watching his beloved Elmo video! :-)

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

I used to be impossibly ignorant. I used to actually believe that all good deeds get rewarded. Once I outgrew my youthful naivete, I realized that the cliche may be jaded, but is true: No good deed goes unpunished.

Why do I continue to do any good works at all? Sometimes I really don't know and I wish I would just quit being such a patsy. I often dream of being a completely selfish individual, but that's just not who I am. And I really am a sucker for a good cause.

Ideally, everyone who takes part in a philanthropic organization is doing it for completely altruistic reasons. Unfortunately, that's not often the case. Nothing seems to bring out pride in a person like charitable work. Don't believe me? Try neglecting to thank someone for their donation sometime and let me know how that works out. If one does good work so that they can get their ass kissed, they're doing it for the completely wrong reasons. I'm not saying that their work is worthless, but I am saying that their intentions are wrong.

Among the other causes that I support, I've been participating in a particular organization for several years. The egos can be staggering. Is it biologically possible for maturity to stop just shy of adulthood? Because the cattiness displayed by grown women sometimes reminds me of teenaged girls. And I'm not talking about the sexy ones having pillowfights that reside only in men's dreams. I'm talking about the gossip, the backbiting, the general bitchiness that is the hallmark of female puberty. I'm not saying that every member is like this, but it's enough and I find it distasteful. I truly wonder why everyone can't just check their ego at the door and focus on doing good things for a worthy cause.

My current role in this organization is very limited, but specific. Tonight I received a phone call because someone was offended about something that I do for this group. Naturally, this call came in right at my kiddo's bedtime and I was absolutely not in the mood to smooth a grown woman's ruffled feathers when I had an upset baby on my hands. However, I take my role seriously and I listened patiently to the complaint.

I was already perturbed and was further dismayed when I realized that I wasn't even the responsible party. I explained this at least three different times in this conversation and I heard the same complaint over and over again. Why did I listen politely? I'm really kicking myself for not being curt and finishing the conversation after the first go around. My baby was crying and ready for bedtime. We have a very regimented bedtime routine that doesn't vary from night to night. It was difficult to get him to go to bed tonight because we had a major interruption in the routine this evening.

I let someone's wounded pride cause me to neglect my son's immediate needs. And, in my view, pride shouldn't even be an issue because this is work done for a charitable cause. Even worse, I wouldn't ordinarily be in this role for the organization. But I was asked to fill this position by a family member (who clearly didn't realize that I already keep a busy schedule) and I'm only doing this as a favor. Yeah, yeah, no good deed goes unpunished. I'm completely frosted and would love to shout in frustration - but I'd probably wake the baby!

I like philanthropy. I like that I'm able to help advance the living conditions of those who aren't as blessed. I like participating in charitable causes because I need the reminder that everything I have can be taken away in an instant. I do it because I want to be used to demonstrate God's love and provision. Giving to others makes me more aware of (and thankful for) all that I have been given from God.

I don't do it for the accolades; I actually prefer to act in an anonymous capacity so I don't fall prey to my own foolish pride. I wish others had the same attitude.