Sunday, March 08, 2009


Baby boy has learned a lot more words lately. My favorite are:

"Noise". He will hear anything, a door creak, a car honk, and just cock his head and say "noise".

"Are you in there?". This happens almost every morning when I get in the shower. He will knock on the door and ask "Are you in there?"

Friday, March 06, 2009

Billionth Time's the Charm!

Motherhussy has moved, but hasn't really unpacked. If you want to visit her in a disheveled state, please do so at the following link:


*This title in no way means that MH-Dos speaks Spanish--at least not fluently. Une chemise, por favor?

Friday, December 19, 2008

In Which I Become Uncool

For those of you that don’t know already, I had my first two children at the age of 18. Yes, I was a member of the often scandalized, ever-politicized “Teen Mothers Club.” Now, being a member of this elite club has had its pros and cons. For example:

Pro: You get a lot of attention from your high school peers
Con: You get a lot of attention from your high school peers
Pro: Your babies get a ton of cute stuff at their baby shower
Con: You get NOTHING but an aching hooch and a pair of sore breasts, maybe a new nursing bra if you’re lucky
Pro: Even though you have children, you’re still a technically a teenager, so you can get away with the more idiotic parenting moves, such as giving your children hot chocolate in their bottles at night.
Con: Since you have children, you can’t get away with most of the idiotic things you were doing before you got pregnant

Anyway, you got the picture. There is one more thing that I saw as a bonus of being a child-holding member of the “Teen Mothers Club,” and that was the fact that somehow, maybe by osmosis, most teen mothers I knew seemed to be pretty damn cool. I know, that sounds so immature, but all the girls that got pregnant the same year I did were totally cute and fun to be around, which, now that I think about it, probably led to them getting pregnant in the first place. So, I pretty much knew that when my children were born, I was obviously a part of this group of “cool” parents.

As a cool parent my responsibilities included, but were not limited to: dressing stylishly, dressing my child stylishly, listening to mainstream music and/or classic rock such as Led Zepplin and The Doors, losing my baby weight before my children turned one, talking to my child as if they were a good friend from my school days, and buying my child booze and condoms so they didn’t get it elsewhere.* These seemed like easy enough responsibilities, right? I mean, it wasn’t like I needed to learn how to balance a checkbook or anything like that. I figured that since I was a cool parent, and could fulfill my obligations as a cool parent, I would stay a cool parent forever. Little did I know that the little bundles of joy that gave me my cool parent status could rip it away from me faster than I could say, “Hey kids, want to go to a Coldplay concert?” Sadly, that time came not too long ago…

I remember it like it was yesterday, but it wasn’t yesterday, it was a few weeks ago. Colton had broken one of the tuners on his sweet, sweet guitar and was hassling me to take him to Guitar Center so he could pretend he was going to buy some new tuners, but come up short at the cash register and sucker me in to buying them. I finally had some free time so Colton and I took off on a Mommy and Son outing to the world of strings, cymbals, and guys with long, unkempt noggins.

As we walked in, I noticed there was a sign on the door that read, “PLEASE CHECK ALL BAGS AT THE FRONT DESK UPON ENTRANCE.” I guess it was one of those 9/11 security precautions, as I have read on Pajamas Media or some blog that Al Qaeda members are targeting Guitar Centers for their high-quality, reasonably-priced musical merchandise. What? You haven’t heard that? They hate everything about America, even our Guitar Centers, those sons-of-bitches. Everything I tell you! Anywhoo, I digress.

So, I approach the mangy-skulled guy at the front desk and say, “Here’s my bag.” The guy replies, “Oh, you’re fine. Just don’t stuff anything in the bag.” “Okay,” I respond. Then, with a smirk the guy goes, “Your bag is big enough though.” Now, the guy has a point. My bag is huge. Like, Hollywood huge. I got it mostly because it was large and sturdy, but also cool looking so it wouldn’t be an obvious diaper bag. Apparently, the guy didn’t know my bag was used for nappies and small snack crackers, so I enlightened him, “Oh, well, it’s more of a diaper bag,” I say with a smile and a Sarah Palin wink. The guy gets a funny look on his face, points at Colton and says, “For him?” Colton rolls his eyes; I give a courtesy chuckle for the joke, and walk away mumbling something about leaving the baby in the car. Now, I didn’t think that the whole bag-joke episode was that embarrassing, but I’m not an 11-year-old kid either.

Well, Colton gets all the guitar gear he needs and we leave Guitar Center. On the way home Colton gently says, “No offense Mom, but I like going to Guitar Center better with Dad.” Whaaaaaaa? I choke on my cool-parent latte and ask him why. He tells me that I didn’t know what I was talking about when I was trying to tell the salesman what tuners he was looking for, and then he adds, “Let me ask you something—how many Moms did you see in there with their kids?” Hmmm, when I thought about it I realized that I was the only Mom in the store, and with a large bag to boot!**. I asked Colton simply, “What are you saying? Are you telling me you’re embarrassed by me? Am I an uncool Mom?” I held my breath for a moment. Normally the answer to that question would have been a resounding “No!” followed by a list of a few things that made me cool Mom. Not this time. This time his answer was a drawn out, “Well…..” I didn’t need anymore information. The damage had been done. I realized, that night at the Guitar Center I crossed over into un-cool, embarrassing Mom territory.

I’m sure there are a few things that I could do to redeem my status as a cool parent, maybe throw the kids a boy/girl party or buy them some songs off of the iTunes, but I’m pretty sure once you become un-cool, you pretty much stay un-cool. It’s like catching pneumonia, once you get it you’re more susceptible to it. I’m susceptible to un-coolness.

Ah well, I guess I should just throw in the designer jeans and start wearing elastic-banded polyester slacks, hush puppies, and Winnie-the-Pooh t-shirts. ***

So the moral of this story is, to all you parents out there, young and old alike, let this be a lesson to you: Hold dear every moment your child looks at you with admiration, photograph in your memory the times when your child asks to borrow your jeans or your Tom Petty CD, and never, ever, ever forget that eventually you’ll probably mortify your child with your lameness, but you’ll always be a cool parent in your own eyes.

*Since I became an uncool parent before the boys reached their teen years, I have no obligation of fulfilling any of the responsibilities listed anymore, including the one about the booze and condoms, so stop dialing Social Services.
**Oh, and did I mention that I had spilled a little of my beverage on my sweater? I did. Near my one of my bosoms no less.
***Just kidding, I’ll never dress like that! I’d wear a muumuu to the boys’ parent teacher meetings before I wear a WtP t-shirt! Gag!

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Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Tasty is in the Eye of the Cheeseholder

Not a Chula Vista Cheese Sandwich, but damn close

In case you haven't already heard, the big news in the Times of Los Angeles, California yesterday was this important piece about the poor, taste-deprived children who had to get cheese sandwiches as their school lunches when their miscreant parents didn't pay up on their school lunch debts (these unfortunate urchins will heretofore be referred to as The Cheese Sandwich Kids™).

Apparently, this has been a very effective form of reducing school lunch debt, because in addition to the whole wheat bread and slice of cheese, The Cheese Sandwich Kids™ are being served up a hefty side of shame with their sandwiches. The article reads,

One Chula Vista third-grader, whose mother requested that the girl not be identified, said students sometimes ostracize The Cheese Sandwich Kids™, switching tables and talking behind their backs."Some kids say they're not the kind of kids you want to hang out with," she said.

That last quote slays me: "Some kids say [The Cheese Sandwich Kids™] are not the kind of kids you want to hang out with." Oh. My. Lord. Yes, that is every mother's nightmare—one day having her child come home with one of them there cheese-sandwich-munching twerps. Imagine, if you will, the following conversation:

[Junior has just come home from school to see his/her mother standing, apron-clad with a few words of wisdom after hearing about the whole Cheese Sandwich Kids™ situation at school ]

Mother: Now Junior, if I ever catch you with one of those Cheese Sandwich Kids™, you're going to get a bottom paddling like you've never experienced before. I raised you to be better than that. You better only be hanging with the Hot Lunch Kids®, or Tasty Sack Lunch Children™.

Junior: Awwww, gee Mom, piss off.

[Junior defiantly shoves seven slices of pasteurized process American cheese food into gaping cakehole]

I hope and pray to the sweet food Lord in Heaven that in the ten years I've been a mother, I've taught Cody and Colton enough core values that they won't be running around with those mangy Cheese Sandwich Kids™. Because if they did, let me tell you, there would be hell to pay! [pounds fist hard on computer keys]

Seriously though folks, what did you get in your lunches when you were a kid? Guess what I got in my brown paper sack a lot of times? Yes, you are correct, a cheese sandwich. I was just grateful not to get a butter sandwich.*

Oddly enough, when I ate my cheese sandwich I was not ostracized; I was not heckled in the playyard by children who ate higher up on the school lunch food chain. Granted, pretty much everyone I went to school with was middle-class or downright poor. No, wait, maybe it wasn't because of our social class that we had cheese sandwich lunches, maybe it was because back then our schools and our parents didn't cater much to our tiny taste buds. A good lunch day for me was when I got a bag of Doritos or a Twinkie, and that didn't happen all too often.

So this whole situation leaves me begging answers to these questions:

• When did kids get so spoiled?
• When did it become abuse to provide a free lunch to a child?
• And why, ever since I read this article, am I craving nothing less than a homemade cheese sandwich?

I need answers, people.

*Kids who get butter sandwiches roll with a set referred to as The Buttercream Gang™. The Cheese Sandwich Kids™ have been rumored to be a splinter group of The Buttercream Gang™.

Tuesday, April 03, 2007

A thought. Love, Upton Sinclair

"I am not a giant physically; I shrink from pain and filth and vermin and foul air, like any other man of refinement; also, I freely admit that when I see a line of a hundred policeman with drawn revolvers flung across a street to keep anyone from coming on to private property to hear my feeble voice. But I have a conscience and a religious faith, and I know that our liberties were not won without suffering, and may be lost again through our cowardice."