Leaving on a Jet Plane

I'm so excited right now, for in 10 hours I'll be jet-bound for VA.  (But I know I won't be all that chipper when I have to roll out of bed at 4AM).  Cool weather, wonderful friends, familiar places, and new sources for inspiration.....and MEETING WITH A MAGAZINE EDITOR!!!!!!!!

That's right!  I can't believe it.  Not that I am major overnight sensation, but after releasing my blog address at the beginning of August, I've gotten some fairly interesting traffic from all over the globe: Norway, India, Brazil, Pakistan, Jordan, Canada, and the US.  And it's thanks to YOU!  To all my friends, family, and readers across the globe (BTW, how do you translate 'YOUR PROBLEM' in Norwegian?).  Thank you for forwarding my posts, laughing at my observations/mistakes/opinions, and believing in me. 

I have to keep things short tonight; still a few things to do before reveille.  Now if I could only get the strange neighbors next door to cease the Macbethian witch-like cackling and forget that I came across this article tonight: Another reason you should fear flying.

Like a Remote, I Need a Pause, Rewind, and Volume Control

In childhood my siblings tagged me with the moniker "Doc," which has stuck til this day.  Not like 'You're so smart, like a doctor,' or Bugs Bunny-esque 'What's up Doc?'  No, I got the nickname Doc for one of the Seven Dwarfs; you know the one that sounded like he had Tourette's syndrome when he got excited?

Hmmm...is it open foot, insert mouth?  Or is it open mouth, insert foot?

Sometime, okay, a lot of times, my brain fires too fast for the cerebral links to hook up properly and before I realize it, my mouth has gotten involved, so I wind up saying something entirely backwards.  But I'm not the only one to do these types of things.

Take Brain Regan  for example.  (Note: this guy is totally family friendly and totally funny).




So you'll (hopefully) laugh and excuse/understand what I'm about to admit.

Not too long ago, I was at a very crowded, un-named mega store looking for everyday low prices on all the everyday items that I need or think I need depending if I've read the ad flyer.  (Look, a microwaveable egg poacher!  I don't eat poached eggs, but what if I have a guest someday who would request a poached egg! Then I could use my egg poacher!  And it's only $2.50!) (NOTE: I do not own an egg poacher, but I know someone who did.)

Anyways. . . I was just about to turn down the cutesy Hallmark card aisle when I noticed a man in a wheelchair trying to do the same.  I pulled back on my cart and motioned him to pass.  He smiled and said "Thank you."

And what did I say?  "YOUR PROBLEM!"

Yes, somewhere in that misfiring brain of mine I couldn't decide if I wanted to say, "You're welcome" or "It was no problem," so I came out with that darling gem.  (IT'S YOUR PROBLEM THAT YOU CAN'T WALK!  YOU'RE CRIPPLED AND I'M NOT!  SO IT'S YOUR PROBLEM!  NOT MINE!)

There was no recovering from that; mortified, I walked away. 

Parenting for Dummies: Part I

I try not to be too judgmental when it comes to parenting now that I have a child of my own.  I readily admit that during my pre-child-rearing days I was a judgmental snob; my list of "things my kids will never do" was extensive, pretentious, and down-right obnoxious.  For example:

• My child will watch educational shows only, and then only in moderation. 
• My child will eat a wide variety of fruits, vegetables, and whole grains.
• Organic meats or nothing at all. No processed foods.
• My child will have the classics for bedtime stories; plenty of A.A. Milne and Aesop's fables, none of that Pat the Bunny crap.
• I will never raise my voice, spank, or yell, but will have reasonable yet firm discussions with the Kid.  I will never say, "Because I'm the Mother.  That's why," as my mother said to me.
• And on and on and on. 

Oh, the irony.  I make plans and God laughs at them.  The reality is:

• The Kid's favorite TV shows are Sponge Bob and The Penguins of Madagascar.
• The Kid enjoys vegetable as much as a hole in the head.
• Chicken nuggets are his favorite food.
• He (and I) laughs hysterically each time we read If You Give a Mouse a Cookie and Fox in Socks.  (But thank God no Pat the Bunny). 
•  "BECAUSE I AM THE MOTHER!  AND I SAID SO!"
• And on and on and on.

So while motherhood has certainly relaxed my judgmental snob factor about the ins-and-outs of properly raising a child, there are some absolute standards that I will not relax, give a free pass, or ever change my mind.  Never.  Ever.  Even if I got beaned by a baseball.  Or really drunk.  Or brain dead. 

#1: Basic Parking Lot Survival
A child is auto-tuned to ignore every third word spoken by a parent, so this necessitates a parent to mimic an auctioneer when children climb out of the car: "We're in a parking lot, hold my hand.  There are lots of cars, give me your hand.  We are not moving until you give me your hand.  We're in a parking lot, with lots of cars, GIVE ME YOUR HAND!"

This is what I consider to be a good rule, an important rule, especially if you'd like to see your children grow up.  As most children are the size of garden gnomes and the distracted soccer mom in her behemoth Flex-Fuel SUV is not going to see your offspring, it's your job to hang onto their sticky hands.

What's a good example of NOT practicing parking lot safety with your child?  How about you standing by your car, hands on your hips, yelling at your child to not walk in front of a car?  While the child is three car lengths away? And is maybe 16 months old!!!!!

This is what I would consider to be an EPIC FAIL in car safety parenting.  

#2 Crash Test Dummies 
Car safety has come a long way since I came home from the hospital.  I rode home in a Moses basket set on the floor boards of my parents car.  While I had Mom's outstretched arm to prevent me from bashing my head into the dash when we stopped suddenly, today's car seats have built-in side air bags, juice cup holders, and designer colors.  So it always simultaneously baffles and pisses me off when I see a child riding around either in mom's arms or bouncing along the back seat.

For instance, yesterday while I was out running errands I happened behind a shiny silver compact.  And bouncing in the back window, like a bobble-head figurine on crack was an irritating troll of a child.  Now before you think I'm an ogre, can I say that the brat was picking his nose while making horrid faces at me, WITH his parents approval?!!!  Yea, I watched mom and dad turn and laugh at his hi-jinks.  Oh, my evil, dark side thought, "I'd love to tap the bumper of that car and watch the monster hit the headrest."  Which I'd never do because I'm not a psychopath, but still. . .  .I bet you've had that feeling too.

In all honesty if I hadn't been paying attention, say I was texting OR mobile blogging (which I just mastered) OR singing along with 3OH3(feel free to mock me), and I rear-ended the car, that kid was in the perfect spot to be hurled out the windshield.  I didn't like the kid, I didn't like the parents apathy towards their child's safety, and I didn't like the color of their car, but that didn't mean that I wanted their child to wind up as a crash test dummy.

While I'm sure I will have future posts on PARENTING FOR DUMMIES, I'm through with the lessons on car safety.  So parents out there, while I promise not to foist my particular brand of (ever-evolving) parenting rules onto you, I do demand that you adhere to the most basic of child and car safety. 

He's Lovin' It!

When The Kid says, "Look! McDonald's! My favorite place to eat!" each time we're out driving, I know it's time to give $2 Tuesday/Thursday Happy Meals a break.

Postcard to a Soldier

Dear Soldier,

I don't know how to say thanks, but in my imperfect way I will try.

When I see you dressed in fatigues pumping gas, shopping for groceries, waiting at the airport, or getting your haircut, I will always stop and say thank you.  I will offer my hand, that you might shake it, and I will offer you a hug, if you will accept it. 


I will pray for you each and every night with my son.

I honor you, because you have freely chosen the duty to defend this country, this people rife with error and imperfection.  You signed up to serve, not a president or a mission statement, but to protect and defend the lives of men, women, and children you will never know.  You were aware that your life would be put into harm's path, and yet you still undertook the task. 


Nine years ago, you watched in horror alongside the entire nation as the worst act of violence to overshadow Pearl Harbor occurred.  Planes fell from the sky, killing everyone in their paths.  Firefighters, doctors, nurses, paramedics, police officers, and men and women from all walks of life ran to recover the dead, dying, and wounded from the wreckage that spanned three states.  A nation was brought to it's knees, but sadly we didn't stay on our knees in prayer long enough.  A president struggled to address this bewildered populous as parents struggled to soothe their children and you prepared yourself, for you knew that you would be called upon. 

Maybe at that time you were 13, filled with righteous indignation and desire to stand up and defend your country.  Maybe you were 26, almost on your way out when your unit was stop-lossed.  Maybe you hated the president, maybe your were his biggest fan.  Maybe you joined the service to avoid the question, "When are you going to start doing something with your life?"  You all came from different walks of life, then, nine years ago and still today. 

I have a tender-hearted baby brother who is wishing to join the service.  I dread to think of him as a soldier, for a soldier has to grow hardened and accustomed to seeing the harshest conditions of life, possibly comforting a dying squad member, sleeping in foxholes or having to shoot a child who is firing upon you.  But who am I to say, "You, over there.  Thanks for your sacrifice; I appreciate it, but I don't want one of my own to possibly get hurt."


I can't do that.  And as much as it hurts, I won't.  I know my brother is at a cross-road in his life right now, with many possibilities to consider and many decisions to make.  But I know that if he does go into the services, I hope there will be someone out there like me, who will thank him and hug him while he's passing thought the airport. 

And I hope you can come home soon.