Archives for May 2012

Motherhood confessions

Motherhood.

My daughter is everything to me. I have always wanted to be a mom. I used to keep journals about baby names and the types of things I wanted to teach my child. I knew my first child would be a girl- then I got pregnant and was convinced it was a boy, but WHATEVER. It turned out to be a girl, just like I knew it would so I still like to think I was right.

My journal for my child that outlined things that I wanted her to learn are not exactly TYPICAL lessons. Every time I learned something or came across someone that had an irritating trait or personality, I wrote down a bit of advice. It basically says things like: “Always write thank you cards. People remember that stuff, even if they end up chucking it in the garbage,” or “Don’t be a compulsive ‘question-askerer’, that crap is annoying,” or “Only give compliments when you mean it, don’t be one of those chicks that every single day is like ‘OMG I love that shirt, where did you get it? OMG your hair looks great, OMG where did you get those SHOES?’ That mess makes you sound fake and superficial. ”

Basically my child advice journal is meant to rear a child just like yours truly. That’s okay right?

Let me get to the real point of this post though:

I’m going to brutally honest: I love motherhood. I love my child, but motherhood is hard y’all. I knew it would be hard. I used to babysit. I was a server and was like “OMG NO. Do NOT give me the table with that 2 year old!”

The whole time I was pregnant, people were like “HEH HEH HEH. Think you’ve got it rough now? WAIT TIL SHE COMES OUT.” I think you have to be completely delusional to think it’s all rainbows and cupcakes and unicorns.

But let me just take a moment to whine about just how hard it is. Here are a few topics and my thoughts on them:

Sleep: What sleep? Do you mean sleep deprivation? Because that goes on for years. Remember sleeping in? Yeah, go ahead and just forget about it.

Clean house: Get real. The second I get it clean, my toddler is coloring on the coffee table, putting stickers on the walls or spilling juice on the floor.

Nice clothes: EVERYTHING WILL BE STAINED. Get over it.

Smell: Occasionally your house is going to have the faint smell of feces and unine. By occasionally I totally mean all the time.

Peace and Quiet: My house is full of shrieks, crying, howling from when my daughter pretends she is a werewolf and really loud cartoons.

Romance: Psshhhh. Don’t touch me. I’m tired. Loveyoumeanit.

Drinking: The answer is ALWAYS “Yes. I would love a drink. Or 12.”

Money: All my money goes towards my child. AND I DON’T EVEN HAVE TO PAY FOR DAY CARE. Take a minute to let that sink in.

 

Again, I will still tell you it’s worth it. The other night, my toddler had a bedtime meltdown and refused to go down until after 1 AM. Somewhere in there, around 11 PM, I think, I let her come into my room. She wanted me to sing the ABC song and then applauded. She showed me her stuffed puppy dog that she got for Easter (who is wearing bunny ears) she told me he was a puppy, but was also a bunny and that made him cute or “coote.”

Then she proceeded to show me all of her body parts. She pointed out her head, which she told me is where she wears her hats. She showed me her eyes and her ears, her hands and her tummy, her legs and her feet and her toes. And then she turned over and pointed at her behind and told me that was her “booty.” She informed me that her booty wears a diaper and sometimes it gets “duuurty.” It was then that I didn’t really care that the kid was still refusing to go to bed (and would continue to refuse until 1 AM, which would not stop her from getting up at 5 AM.) She made me smile too much to care about any of that.

So yes, friends, being a mother is worth it, but I’m still crazy tired.

 

 

 

 

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50 Shades of Grey makes me want to vomit.

First of all, SPOILER ALERT if you plan on reading this book because I’m going to discuss specifics.

So, I gave in and started to read 50 Shades of Grey because I’ve been seeing all the hype about it. I didn’t think I would like it. I’ve never read any kind of smutty sex romance book, like EVER. I just didn’t imagine I would be so disgusted by it as I am. So let’s talk about why.

If you don’t know about the book (meaning, you’ve been living under a rock) it’s about a young college graduate (Anastasia Steele) that meets a young, handsome, wealthy CEO (Christian Grey) that is a total creeper. He’s into BDSM, which means he’s into bondage, dominance, sadism and masochism. Grey recognizes Steele as a natural “submissive” and starts to court her (he later says that he might have been wrong, that she is not naturally submissive but that’s total BS, I’ll get to that in a minute), asking her to enter into this nondisclosure agreement and contract that basically outlines that she will become his “Submissive” and he her “Dominant” therefore allowing him to do all sorts of inappropriate sexual things to her. (Did I mention that she also happens to conveniently be a virgin that has never before had an interest in a man?) Let’s just outline what her little contract contains shall we? Oh, it just says that she will spend her weekends with him for 3 months and become his sex slave, letting him tie her up and suspend her from ceilings in his “red room of pain” (Anastasia’s words, not Christian’s, who consequently refers to it as his “pleasure room.” PLEASE, Christian. PLEASE.)

Okay, so sexual preferences and what not aside, do what you want in the bedroom, people, or your very own “room of pain” I don’t care, what I have a problem with is the TREATMENT of this woman in this book. I’m sorry, isn’t this 2012? I refuse to be treated like some kind of damn sexual object. I refuse to accept orders from a man, sorry if I’m getting all feminist. But outside of her “sexual” duties in this contract, Christian outlines that Ana will eat 3 meals a day, with no snacking inbetween meals. Unless it’s fruit. She will work out with a personal trainer of her “Dominant’s” choice 4 times a week. She will keep herself shaven. She will wear the clothes he chooses for her. I’m sorry, is she a child? Or is she a grown woman? I’m confused. Because I’m a grown woman and I’m not going to have any man, I don’t care who he is, telling me when to eat and what to eat and what to wear. WHAT KIND OF BOOK IS THIS?

The author, in some kind of pathetic attempt, tries to give Anastasia a backbone because she goes through this tiny, itsy bitsy, little bit of turmoil trying to decide if she’s going to enter into this OUTRAGEOUS contract. The truth is, Anastasia Steele is a one dimensional character, she has no personality. She’s just some aloof 21 year old that gnaws on her bottom lip and doesn’t seem to really know where she is most of the time. She’s all kind of like…”Ermergerd, Imz a virgin! Look at dis handsome feller who wantz to hangz me fromz hiz ceiling and molest me with hiz sex toys and tellz me whatz to do all the time becuz I have no mindz of mer own! Good ideaz! Oh look somethin shiny!”

Okay, that’s not how she talks, but the woman is totally NOT intelligent. Would I ever, EVER, EVER let any man call me his “submissive”? Absolutely not. Would I enter into a contract where if I did not submit to his CREEPY McCREEPSTER SEX ACTS I would be “punished accordingly”? PUNISHED? Really? PUNISHED? Unless I commit some kind of homicide, no one is ever going to be punishing me.

So far, and I’m only about half way through the book, maybe a little more, he only spanks the hell out of her. 18 times. Because she rolled her eyes and one of his control freak comments. They aren’t light little taps either, he really SMACKS her and in her mind she’s all “OW OW OW OMG THE PAIN” but she remains silent and in the end he pats her and is all like “Good girl, Ana, Good girl,” which reminds me of something you would say to your dog.  Anyway though, it’s not like he hit her face, but “Come here and lay across my lap so I can slap the hell out of your behind?” I would respond to that with, “How about I slap you across the face with this hammer?”

Maybe this book is not advertised or targeted toward young girls. I think it’s totally targeted toward mothers and middle aged women, thats why it’s being referred to as “Mommy Porn”. But let’s be real, it’s getting so much hype that young women are going to pick it up and read it. What kind of message is that sending? I mean ladies, don’t think that any charming, wealthy man that wants you to enter into his bondage sex game is like Christian Grey. I mean, in real life, you will probably end up spread eagle and duct taped to a bed where you will be unpleasantly raped and then cut up with a chain saw and buried in a back yard. Just saying.

Christian Grey is a billionaire and he showers Anastasia with lavish gifts, like a car, which is really more of a control issue than anything else because he doesn’t like the car she drives. And a laptop, which is really because he wants her to have something to research Dominant-Submissive relationships so Ana doesn’t have to use her roommate’s computer because that would let the roommate in on his fetish. (Wait, I’m starting to think that Christian’s gifts are really more about HIM than anyone else. Oh. Well that’s just SHOCKING.)

Most of the time, Christian Grey seems quite charming, stroking Ana’s face and telling her how beautiful she is and kissing her forehead. Oh, it’s okay to be treated like a sex slave. As long as your guy strokes you endearingly from time to time and buys you stuff. That’s cool. That’s just A+.

Let’s move on. I don’t find the sex scenes errotic. I think they’re humiliating, but that’s all just going back to the fact that this woman is being dominated and shamed (of course her pitiful character doesn’t think so, she’s all DIS IS GOOD SEX). I don’t care how “gentle” Christian Grey acts at times. I don’t think he’s caring or protective. He’s a freaking sadist.

Also, this book is not particularly well written. I said that wrong. The writing is total crap, and maybe thats just because Anastasia is such a lousy character with her lack of intelligence and will power. If I have to read one more “Oh my” or one more “my breath hitches in my throat” or “I feel it in my belly” (she’s talking about her feelings that she feels in her belly, get your mind out of the gutter) I feel like I’m seriously going to go into convulsions. Those same freaking phrases show up about every 3 pages or so.

I have a feeling that this book is going to go somewhere in the direction of Ana helping a broken and disturbed Christian who seems to be the way he is because of his upbringing and some abuse situation(s). Yay. Can’t wait for that. The point is, sure, maybe he’s a lunatic because of his abuse and upbringing, but Ana’s willingness to enter into a relationship (if you can call it that) where she allows herself to be treated as a possession (seriously, that’s what Christian keeps telling her, that he wants her to be “his” and “his possession”) makes her a total lunatic as well that lacks any sort of self respect.

I’ll gag my way through the rest of this book and post a follow up.

 

 

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The time I ran away from school.

So let’s get right to the point here: this one time I ran away from school. I didn’t run away from home, I RAN AWAY FROM SCHOOL. The story follows me to this very day despite the fact that I am now 27 years old and it happened when I was in the 3rd grade. It’s come up twice within the last few months. One of the times was at my bachelorette party when we were telling embarrassing stories about ourselves and someone was like “Hey, Rachel, how about that time you ran away from school?” Oddly, this really isn’t that embarrassing of a story for me. I imagine it was at the time. I can’t really remember. I remember being upset and angry, but not necessarily embarrassed. I’ve kind of come to the conclusion that I don’t really get embarrassed very easily, despite the fact that I roll my eyes at myself on a regular basis. Also, I guess now, 20 years later, there are many other thing that have happened in my life that pale in comparison to leaving Ms. E’s class when I was 8 years old. Anyway, let’s get to the point for all you people who want to know what in the world happened.

Well, for starters, I had this really wretched teacher. I don’t know this for a FACT but I heard rumors that years later, after I left her class, that she was fired from the very same elementary school for drinking on the job. Then again, years later, I read in the paper that she died under suspicious circumstances in her home. (By suspicious circumstances I mean possible over dose.)

I can’t say I didn’t feel sympathy for her when I read her obituary. I think that she must have been very sad and miserable. Regardless, I had an extreme dislike for her, which would explain why I ran out on her class that one morning. I was 8, I can’t remember a whole heck of a lot about the woman, I just remember feeling like something was horrid about her from the very beginning.  I remember crying on the first day of school when I realized that she was my teacher, (PLEASE! Anyone but her!) I always felt uneasy and unhappy in that class and I don’t remember learning very much. Then one day I just decided to leave. I’m not sure why, she had gotten on to me about something and I can’t remember what. I probably can’t remember because her getting on to me was incredibly typical, it was an everyday occurrence. The fact that she was always angry with me really didn’t make any sense because I was the shy kid that would sit in the corner, always followed directions and completed all my homework assignments. My whole life revolved around being quiet and unnoticeable and staying out of trouble,  I had never  exhibited any kind of behavior that had caused any teacher or any other adult besides my parents to get mad at me. So, for some reason, that morning when she got mad and disciplined me for the 10,000th time, I decided I wasn’t putting up with it anymore.

I went to the back of the classroom to the cubby area where we kept our backpacks and lunch boxes. I snagged my Ziploc baggie of Goldfish crackers and stuffed them in my pocket. Then I asked Ms. E if I could go to the bathroom. She said yes but of course I didn’t really  go to the bathroom, I walked right past it and walked out the back door of the building. I jogged right past the window to our classroom and remember seeing a few little faces looking at me curiously, (SEE YA SUCKERS!” Then I patiently walked home, snacking on the crackers in my pocket the whole time. (I lived really, really close to the school by the way, less than a mile, so don’t think I was walking all the way across town or something.) I knocked on the back door of my house and my mom let me in, she totally confused. While I sat in my bedroom, eating more Goldfish crackers, she called the school and let them know where I was.

Then she drug me back to the school where she met with the teacher in the hallway outside the classroom and made me sit in the room with my classmates who were like….”What the hell?” I didn’t answer any questions, I just sat with my head down on a desk.

Finally my mother came in and retrieved me and we left for the day. I remember we went to the mall, (Hooray!) When I came back to school, Ms. E was absent for several days. When she came back, she never messed with me again. Or let me go to the bathroom by myself either.

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Profound thoughts.

Don’t think of this as an actual post. These are just some of the random thoughts I caught myself having today:

 

Maybe I should download Fifty Shades of Grey to my Nook. I mean my best friend’s mother and law is reading it and so is my boss….

Yay! Tacos!

How long do aquarium tetra fish live? He’s been in there a few years. I’ve lost count.

I’m going to close all the blinds because I think those guys putting a new roof on that house across the street are staring at me.

Seriously, that tetra only has one eye.

I think his skin is falling off.

Is it called skin when it’s a fish? Maybe it’s scales. Is that right?

I’m sad Walking Dead is off the air until next season.

My kid just said “buffalo rainbow.” Is that normal?

We need a garden gnome. That will make this yard complete.

I’m kinda starting to like this boy band, One Direction.

Especially that shaggy haired one, what’s his name? Harry? I think he’s 18. That makes me a creeper.

Should have bought wine.

 

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Your teenager is an idiot…..because they’re a teenager.

The other day I was talking to a friend about what we would and would not let our teenagers do (when my child actually becomes a tenneager, obviously) and I had some stories to tell because I was a DAMN IDIOT when it came to being a teenager. But in my defense, so were most of friends, where do you think I learned it from? Will Bella be an idiot as a teenager? Oh, most certainly, because her mother was. And now, I am going to offer an example, and it’s going to be something that I have never told my parents and they are going to read this post and be like ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME? Because truly, this is something that has stuck in my mind for a very long time.

When I was 16, I went on a Florida vacation with my parents and some of their friends and their kids. I brought along a friend of mine and all was good and well and family vacation-y. On one of our vacation days we went to a water park and my friend met some COLLEGE AGE BOYS and we agreed to meet them later that night outside their hotel on the beach. That night, off we went, telling my parents we were just heading out to the beach for a walk, which we were but we didn’t mention we were going to walk MILES down that damn beach to find the hotel of our 20 something year old pals. It was like, the longest walk ever. We met up with our companions, hung out on the beach and in the ocean and whatever (it was actually quite boring and neither my friend or I ended up liking any of the guys) and then it got late and started to rain. And our college aged friends did not have a car to take us back to our hotel because they were total losers obviously on vacation with their parents who were asleep. So you know what we did? WE GOT A RIDE HOME WITH THE 30 SOMETHING YEAR OLD HOTEL JANITOR. And he totally drove some kind of white utility creepy rape van. But we were all like “YAY, a ride home, we don’t have to walk in the rain!”

…………

We didn’t get raped or anything, I guess he wasn’t a creeper, but he could have been. We got in some older man’s van at like 1 AM and trusted him to just take us back to our hotel. Are you freaking kidding me? Did I really do that? I mean I had been educated on stranger danger. But he seemed nice and helpful, it didn’t even occur to me that I could get in some stranger’s van and be raped and slaughtered. That kind of thing totally happens.

My point is, never trust your teenager. They are an idiot, not because they’re just a straight up idiot, they could be quite gifted. I was on honor roll and went to CHURCH CAMP. But I was still drinking occasionally (gasp) in high school and getting in stranger’s vans, because I was 16 and stupid. Teenagers are idiots simply because they are teenagers and they don’t know what in the world  is going on. Don’t “pray that they will make the right decisions”. They will do stupid stuff and if you don’t set boundaries and expectations, you could end up with a dead kid on your hands.

Maybe I’m preaching, I only have a 2 year old. I don’t know what it’s like to have a defiant teenager yet, but I can tell you one thing, I know what I was like. So I’m going to know what to look for. Bella is going to hate her life as a 16 year old.

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Smells like skank.

Tonight we decided to go to a local park by the lake for a cookout. While Jesus fired up the grill, Bella and I took a walk. We had a nice nature experience, except for the part where I stepped on a damn bee. See, I was trying to stick to the paved walkways on our little walk, but Bella insisted on taking a run through the grass and so I followed. Then I stepped on a bee, which in turn stung the hell out of my foot. Of course right after I got stung, Bella took off running for the lake, where I was sure she was going to just fling herself in, she was already ripping off her clothes. I tried to limp after her, but ended up having to call Jesus on my cell phone and insist he come and rescue us. He was just across the field so he could see me pathetically fumbling after her. He made it in time, she didn’t thrust herself into the lake.

Then we had a nice dinner, which I, of course whimpered through because my foot was throbbing and swollen. Damn bees.

You know what, though? That’s not even the point of the point of this post.

I’m really writing this because of what happened when we were packing up our supplies and heading for the car. (But the bee part is relevant because my foot still hurts AND EVERYONE NEEDS TO KNOW ABOUT IT.)

See, this blog is called “Mommy Lost in Translation” for a reason. My husband’s first language is Spanish. If you’ve met him, you know he’s fluent in English; incredibly, amazingly fluent. He uses English words that I don’t even know the meaning of, but that doesn’t mean that we don’t have a language barrier sometimes or that he doesn’t mistranslate or misuse words often. We have frequent arguments where one of us is like “I DON’T UNDERSTAND YOU.” I really don’t elaborate on that enough.

Anyway, tonight as we were walking to the car amongst the glorious nature that caused me to be stung by a bee he said: “It smells like a skank out here.”

So I said:” What?”

And he said: “It smells like a skank.”

Me: “……It smells like a skank? Or skunk?”

Him: “What’s the difference?”

Me: “Well…..

Skank=

 

Skunk=

 

 

Jesus: “Ohhhhhh.”

Well, that clears that up. One step at a time folks, one step at a time.

 

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