Missing in Action

I've looked under the couch cushions, in the closet, under my bed, in the refrigerator. And yes, I've even looked down my shirt.

I've looked everwhere and nothing. I'm about to send out a search party if they don't turn up soon. Come to think of it, I may as well ask you:

By any chance, has anyone seen my boobs?

Cuz I had 'em a few weeks ago and now *poof* they seem to have disappeared. Into thin air. Gone. AWOL. Splitsville. Perhaps Little Guy sucked them up with his last feeding?

Or maybe there's a booby thief hitting mommybloggers in the dead of night. I'm typically not into conspiracy theories, but I think it's just a little too coincidental that I'm not the only mommyblogger out there to lose her boobs recently.

But seriously, Boobs, wherever you are. Please come back. I have a new low-cut black dress that's begging to be filled out. Thanks.

*******
Edited to add: False alarm everyone. I feel so lame. They were totally hiding in my butt the whole time. Thanks to Michele for reminding me to look there. I shoulda known.

Doo-Goodey Mommyblogger Turned Vicious Troll Monster?

A few months ago, I submitted my blog to IT2M for a review. Perhaps you’ve heard of this site. They review blogs and usually tear people apart like nobody’s business. And they can be mean when they do it. Really mean. Especially when it comes to mommy blogs.

Like virtually every other person who submits their site for review, I thought they would like my blog. Maybe not love it, but at least like it enough not to want to scratch out their eyeballs and swallow them whole.

Well, I thought wrong.

They finally reviewed me on Friday and promptly ripped me a new asshole and told me to go to therapy. (Uh, newsflash IT2M: I'm already IN therapy, so there.)

Here is my favorite quote from the review:

She needs to find some self esteem outside of her bloggy life. Unfortunately, she is using her blog and her readers to qualify and validate herself. This makes her a very sad person in my eyes.

Ouch. And double ouch.

For the record, IT2M, I don't use my blog to boost my self esteem. I have homeless men to do that for me, so stick that in your pipe and smoke it.

The one good thing I got out of the review was that she let me know that I had misspelled the word “margaritas” on my sidebar. Yeah, I feel like an idiot now. Kinda like when you have food in your teeth and no one tells you?

But here's where this whole thing gets embarrassing. And it has nothing to do with the review. It has to do with my reaction to the review.

Upon reading the comments that ensued from the post, which were all equally mean, I clicked over to one of the meanie's sites and found myself leaving her a comment about her site that was, well, less than nice. One might even say it was borderline mean. This was something I've NEVER done before.

And in that moment, I had sunk to their level. I was no better than...

*gasp*

a troll.

It's embarrassing even to admit this. And as the day wore on, I felt bad about it so I left her a comment to apologize, which then sparked much more nastiness in my direction, on both the IT2M blog and on the meanie's blog.

Apparently, you can't be a troll with a conscience.

Anyhow, truth be told, a small part of me found it fun to stir up a bit of mama drama on the Internet. I actually had to resist the temptation to duke it out with the meanies online. So, sheesh, come to think of it, perhaps they're right. Maybe I do need therapy.

********************
*Just to be clear, I am not actually in therapy, IT2M, nor do I plan to go to therapy. Not that there would be anything wrong if I were in therapy. But, FYI, this is an example of tongue-in-cheek humor.

Isn't this Just the Stuff I Wipe My Butt With?

Something unholy is happening between Little Guy and the toilet paper in this house. For the last couple of months, he has been worshipping at the feet of the Charmin Bears. And when I say worship, I am not exaggerating.

His favorite toy? Toilet paper. His favorite security "blanket"? Toilet paper. His favorite food? Friggin' toilet paper. I swear, I'm having to stash away all the rolls in the house like I'm hiding booze from an alchy.

Allow me to present the picture proof...

Top 10 Things Little Guy Was Thinking in these Photos















1) If you think this is bad, wait 'till the neighbor sees what I do to his yard.

2) You clearly left this here for me to play with.

3) I'll teach you what potty training is all about.

4) This place is filthy. I'd help you clean it up, but I'm busy.

5) Do you have any crayolas? These walls look bare.





















6) You're damn right I'm mad, look at my unitard.

7) I'm hungry. Go strain my peas.

8) Pops, you don't know art when you see it.

9) Mommy told me to.

10) You wipe your butt with this stuff?

*Captions courtesy of a funny brother-in-law who responded with these when I e-mailed him the photos. (Like Husband, BIL doesn't read this blog so I guess I didn't need to give him the credit, but I'm nice like that.)


**********************************
Oh, and on a side note, you gotta check this out. In my search for an image to use for this post, I came across these awesome Bush/Kerry toilet paper rolls. Guess who I'd rather wipe MY ass with? I'll give you a hint, HIS version is sold out.

And The Funny Award Goes To...

Update: Thank you to everyone for your ideas on titling this award! More information on the first edition is forthecoming...

I've been feeling that things have been a little, well, depressing here at Chez MotR lately. I don't know what it is. Maybe it's the convergence of *ahem* monthly happenings with what is shaping up to be quite possibly my last few days of breastfeeding Little Guy. (*sniff*) That these two events are occuring simultaneously seems to have sent my hormones completely out of whack, and thus, a sort of sad and easily irritable MotR has emerged of late.

And while I think it is perfectly fine and OK and good to blog about things that aren't just funny and cute and that are actually of a more serious nature, I feel the need to honor the funny stuff today--the stuff that people blog about that gets me "choking on my twizzlers", as one blogger put it in her comments to me once.

And here is why I want to honor the funnies.

Because no matter how completely shitty my day is, no matter how badly I feel like picking up an expensive household item and chucking it across the room for reasons I can't fully explain...I'll open the Internet and something I read on one of your blogs will have me

laughing.
my.
a*s off.

And in those few brief minutes that I'm reading your post, I'll forget about stuff for a while. I'll forget that I still haven't gotten the laundry done. I'll forget that I have a "heart to heart" talk scheduled with my mom this weekend that I'm absolutely dreading even though I know we need to do it. I'll forget that Husband had every right to get annoyed with me this evening because I was being a bit*ch but couldn't help it (those damn hormones again). I'll forget that we're probably getting no vacation again this year and I sooo need a vacation.

When I read these hilariously funny posts, I'll forget it all and just have a good, from-the-gut laugh. And you have no idea how theraputic this is for me.

And so, to the true point of my post.

I want to start a Funny Award. And I want to know what you think about it. It would be a little award that I would hand out to bloggers who got me laughing my tushie off. I wouldn't award these on a schedule. Just when I came across a post that REALLY cracked me up. There are a lot of funny posts out there so it would have to be like spitting-out-my-coffee funny. There would be a button involved for the "awardees" that they could place on their blog, and I would put a link on my sidebar to all the "winning posts" as a way to showcase them.

Now please note that I am in no way qualified to determine what funny is, and I actually don't claim to be funny myself so it is quite possible that you might not think the posts that I select are even that funny. But one thing I've learned about the blogosphere is that you can create anything here. There are no rules. It's an open playing field where non-funny people can hand out funny awards. And ya know, I kinda feel like handing out some funny awards!

So, what do you think? Do you like this idea? Do you think I should do it?

If so, do you have a good idea for a name for my Funny Award? Cuz all I can think of is "The Funny Award," which is completely unoriginal and un-funny. And somehow I think that the name of a funny award should be kinda funny. But I guess it doesn't have to be.

Anyway, whatcha all think? I'm dying to know.

For examples of posts that I think are worthy of The Funny Award, go read Pattie's latest post over at Stolen Moments or go watch this hilarious video of Jenny's daughter over at Mama Drama.

Random Hormonal Stuff

Maybe it’s that I get all sentimental when it's that time of month.

Or maybe it’s that I've always felt that chimps are like one evoluntionary blip away from being human....

But I actually shed a tear when I read this article about Moe, pictured at right, who was raised by this couple as if he were their child, until he was taken away from them in a custody battle.

I think I lost it when I read about them having to share Moe's birthday cake with him in his cage at the animal ranch. Yeah, I know that's totally not the point of the article, and I kinda skimmed past the "lost testicle" part, but I just can't help but wonder:

Do you think Moe is lonely?

The Ten Commandments (of Blogging Sanely)

Bless me Father for I have sinned, it has been way too frickin' long since my last confession.

Before I get all religious on you, I would first like to thank you for lending your support in the comments of my last post. In a totally twisted and selfish way, it’s really helpful to know that I’m not the only sick blogoholic out there.

Since I last posted, I have been doing some brainstorming on how I can achieve a better balance between blogging and, well, everything else in my life. So in the name of getting a life while still keeping my blog, I give you The Ten Commandments of Blogging Sanely:

1) Thou shalt put thy family before thy blog. Family is not the hobby. Blogging is the hobby. This is the Golden Rule.

2) Thou shalt not take thyself too seriously. I’m a frickin’ unpaid blogger not a journalist for The New York Times. What the hell am I stressing about?

3) Thou shalt stop adding flashy new buttons to thine site in a feeble attempt to gain more traffic. Considering that I am addicted to buttons, this will be a hard one. Eventually, I would like to cleanse my site of all of my traffic-related buttons, but I am weak and must proceed slowly. For now, I will just refrain from adding new ones.

4) Thou shalt stop obsessively checking thine ranking on Blogtopsites. Blogtopsites is an evil, evil site that ranks bloggers according to how many unique hits they get each week. This site plays with your emotions, lifting you up and then dashing you down. Up ("They like me, they really like me!") ...and down (Fooled you, sucka! You suck butt!) Like I said, it's evil.

5) Thou shalt keep the Sabbath holy. I will be taking one day off per week from blogging. OK, make that one evening per week--I gotta take this in baby steps.

6) Thou shalt stop renting thy blog out. It was fun while it lasted, but I need to start cutting things out. Plus, this is not a hotel. This is a blog.

7) Thou shalt stop feeling guilty if thy cannot visit every blogger friend every day. More minutes snuggling with Husband = less minutes reading blogs. This is just the way it must be. I will still get around, just not quite as much.

8) Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s blog. There’s always going to be someone who’s a better writer or has a better blog design or who gets more comments or who has better hair and perfect, unblemished skin (damn them), but I should not compare myself. That is not fair to me or to them.

9) Thou shalt not worry about how many comments per post thy receives. I will not lie. I luuurve getting comments. Who doesn't? I mean really, who says, "Oh no, not another comment."? No one, that's who. Anyone who says otherwise is lying. Flat out. However, getting caught up in the comment game? The game you play where you tie your self worth to how many comments you receive? No more.

10) Thou shalt check thy e-mail no more than 10 times per day. That's approximately once every 1.6 hours that I am awake. It will be hard, but I know I can do it.

And the bonus commandment: Thou shalt not stay up past midnight blogging.

Crap, looks like I need to go back to confession already.

*******
Edited to add: It is Thursday night. 10:44pm. Guess what I'm doing right now. I am prying my fingers off of my keyboard and heading to bed. To sleep.

You may not believe this, but this is progress, my beloved blogging buds. Progress.

A Blogging Crossroads

Was it waking up in the morning after going to bed past midnight (again) and looking in the mirror to see that the circles under my eyes continue to darken despite the free sample of Kinerase under eye rescue I've been using? Was it finding out that I'd bounced a check for the second time in a month because I'm not paying attention to my finances anymore? Was it passing my piano for the 10th time thinking, "Gosh, I would love to get the Minute Waltz back again," and then walking straight over to the computer to check my bloglines? Was it the realization that Husband and I haven't gone to bed together at the same time in weeks because I do all my blogging at night?

I don't know if it was any one of these things or something else altogether, but I am slowly coming to a painful realization:

Blogging is getting in the way of my life.

This is difficult to admit to myself because I have come to love blogging. Before I started this blog, I was aching for a creative outlet and blogging has become that for me. I crave this space. I need this space.

But I can't continue to let other aspects of my life suffer in the process.

The takeover has happened slowly, but it's happening. I no longer read for fun. Heck, I no longer read anything unless it's on a blog. I no longer snuggle with Husband in the evenings watching videos after Little Guy goes to bed. I no longer exercise. I no longer watch the evening news.

I think about what I could be doing with the 2-4 hours a day that I blog. I could be reading a book, talking with Husband, reading the newspaper, learning to knit, volunteering from home...sleeping. Sleeping, people! I could be sleeping!

But instead, I blog.

And I have to tell you something. I'm not one of those speed readers. It takes me longer than I'd like to admit to read a post and craft a comment. I try my best not to skim through posts. What's the point of reading a post, if you're just reading the topic sentences right? I get a bad taste in my mouth after I've done that. It's not good. Not good at all.

I'm also not a speed writer. In fact, I started writing this post at around 10:30pm and it's now 11:00pm 11:21pm 11:43pm and I'm still not finished. I wish I were one of those people who could write beautifully the first time, but I have to edit and re-edit, molding the words over and over again until I'm finally satisfied. (And even then, I lay in bed thinking, "Oh, I should have phrased it this way instead. Darn.)

And so, while it shouldn't be, it's all starting to seem a bit stressful. I look at my comments and my bloglines and see all those posts waiting to be read and I have to admit, I get a little anxious. I think, oh, they've been by to read my blog, but I haven't been by to read theirs yet. I have to read. I have to read. I have to write. I have to write. And I have to eat lunch. And pay my bills. And snuggle with the husband. (OK, the snuggling can wait for another day....) And slowly I start getting this nervous feeling. And that's not really what this should be about. It should be fun. Fun, damnit. But my easily-stressed-out self is not at all surprised that I am getting stressed out by blogging.

But I am.

So I guess what I'm trying to say is that Blogging and I are at a bit of a crossroads.

I know I want to keep blogging. But I need to find some balance here. I'm not sure how to do that exactly. I'm not even sure what the point of this post is. I just know that I have to get a little more snuggling back in my life somehow. Because, in the end, I have a feeling that no matter how much I love blogging, it will be the snuggling I will wish I had done more of.

Where Baby Toys Go to Die

Somehow I just can't get myself to pack them away in the garage. *sniff*

What Have I Done?

Dear Future Daughter-in-Law,

I am so, so sorry. I honestly don't know what I was thinking. I mean, I didn't go out with the intention of buying it. I was at Marshall's perusing the toy aisle and it just kinda ended up in my cart. I didn't consider the future implications until it was too late.

I know that, unfortunately, it will be you who pays the consequences of my mistake. And I feel awful, just awful thinking of all of those Saturdays you will spend alone, waiting for him to come home. I know how it feels. I too have been there. Over. and over. again.

Please know that if there is ever, and I mean ever, anything I can do to make this up to you, I will. You just let me know.

In the meantime, please enjoy this picture of your husband with his first golf set. As soon as we gave it to him, he pulled a club right out of the bag like an old pro and started practicing his putting. It appears that he has a knack for it.

Love,

Your mother-in-law (golf-widow extraordinaire)

**********




Hey dude, slap me five. I'm gonna make someone a golf widow one day! Woo-hoo!









P.S. Guess who made this shirt for me? Mom's good blogging bud, Deb, at I Obsess. She, like, made it herself. With her own two hands. Did you know she's a professional embroiderer? I'm not kidding you. She's amazing. Check it out.

Finally Some Quality Television

Amazing: Flavor Flav got his own reality TV show last year.

More Amazing: His show was so popular that he got signed on for a second season.

Most Amazing: I watched the whole first episode of the new season last night.

Yep, that's 60 minutes of my life that I will never, ever get back. So I figured why not waste more of my time and write a post on it?

If you haven't seen this show yet, you are really missing out. It's basically The Bachelor except with Flavor Flav as the prize and with many more sleazy hot tub scenes. But what got me hooked was the dialogue. The girls and Flav can get really deep. Here are some of my favorite quotes from the first episode:

On spirituality
"I'm looking for someone I can grow with spiritually cuz I just got saved...and when you speakin' in tongues, that means you confirmed you're going to heaven."--Hood

"I ain't never heard nobody talk in tongues. I mean, I tongue-kissed somebody, but I ain't never heard the Lord talk through me in tongues." --Buck Wild


On Striking an Emotional Connection
"[Flav] was sittin' next to me and he could feel my buck wild body heat radiatin'." --Buck Wild




On Finding Mr. Right
"None of these girls here are gonna stop what I'm doing. I'm on a mission to get my man and I'm gonna get 'im." --Buckeey

"You cooler than a polar bear's toenails, dog." --Buck Wild to Flav

Flav on Himself
"I go down there and there are all these girls are lined up. My oh my, Flavor Flav. You the King. You. the. KING. Once again." --Flavor Flav

Seriously, if you haven't seen this show yet, you just must watch at least one episode so we can make fun of it together. I'm begging you.

I've Still Got it After All These Years

What is is about a tween in a catholic school uniform and knee-high socks that gets middle-aged men all hot under the collar? I swear, I never got more cat calls and up-and-down stares than when I was in elementary school.

There was this time in 6th grade that my two best friends and I were hanging out after school chatting together on a streetcorner, when all of a sudden a car sped by and out flew three poloroids. We began rapidly talking over each other.

"What the hell was that?"

"You go pick it up."

"No you!"

"I'll do it."

"What is that?"

"It's a french fry. Someone holding a french fry."

"Let me see it."

"Turn it around this way."

"That's not a french fry. That's a...."

"A penis!"

Yep, some dude had thrown close-ups of himself masturbating at three innocent 12-year-old girls. Eww. That was the borderline pedophila stuff.

As I entered high school, the cat calls continued; however, to my relief they were usually hurled from the windows of cars holding guys much closer to my age. Cute guys. Guys could actually date me "legally." It was still lewd and wholly inappropriate, but I won't lie and say that I wasn't, in a weird way, flattered. Not that I should have been. I mean, they were yelling at anyone in a skirt. And I just happened to be passing by while their testosterone was peaking. But still, it made me feel powerful. Pretty. Admired.

Sick, I know. I should seek couseling. Probably.

But on to the main point.

In the last few years, I've noticed that I'm not getting any. Attention, that is. In fact, over the last three years or so, I've barely received an unwanted glance. Not even a whistle. Nothing. And it has been kind of disconcerting. Because God help me, I want a little attention. For old times' sake. Just one little comment. One little, "hey baby." I want to feel like I still have "it". The "it" being whatever makes men stop and drool and toss out an inappropriate remark. I couldn't have lost it so soon, could I?

Then finally, it happened.

As I was walking to work last week, I passed a man on the street and heard him say, "Oooh baby."

I couldn't believe it. I turned around. Was he talking to me?

Oh yes, it was undeniable. He was clearly staring me up and down. I began to blush and get that old feeling back. The feeling of female prowess. The feeling that I could turn my head, ignore him and walk away, leaving him longing and drooling. The feeling that I still had it!

And yes, by God, I did. I still had it! After all these years. And this just proved it to me.

I went on my way. It was juvenile and egotistical and shallow, I know, but I felt rejuvinated. I had finally been noticed by someone. Finally.

So what if he was drunk. And homeless. I don't care what you say--it still counts!

Blogger Lesson #45

A Technologically Challenged Blogger Really Shouldn't Go Messing Around in Her Template

After reading Mothergoosemouse's great recap of the technical workshops at the BlogHer Conference, I thought I would enhance my site a little with some of the new stuff I learned. So this evening, I tried to add code to my template so that I could add categories to my blog (see down on my sidebar? Lame, I know.)

Anyway, now for some unknown reason, all of my text is centered in all of my posts. Yikes! What do I do? Anybody? Anybody?

What was I thinking trying to get all fancy schmanzy? This'll teach me.

P.S. I suck. *sigh*

Edited to add: this post was originally published on Aug 8th but I'm moving it down a post because I've solved the problem and cuz, well, I'd rather have you reading about my homeless boyfriend. :-)

Someone Enlighten Me

I don’t get it. I really don’t.

I don’t get why more than half of all women polled by the American Dietetic Association think that women should not be allowed to breastfeed in public.

I don’t get why women are expected to nurse their babies in the stall of a dirty restroom in lieu of breastfeeding on a park bench or in the booth of a restaurant or in the hallway of a ladies' dressing room.

I don’t get why there are breastfeeding mothers in this country who have been arrested for public indecency even though it is legal to breastfeed in public in each and every state.

I don’t get why people can’t understand that breasts are beautiful, life-sustaining glands first and sexual body parts second.


And finally, I don’t get why the current cover of Baby Talk magazine has sparked so much outrage...










...while these types of magazines are often sitting at toddler eye level at our neighborhood grocery stores.











I don’t get it. And to be honest, it really pisses me off.

Welcome, Great Day!

Edited to add: Apparently, I've been nominated for the blogs of summer. Who did that? I was told to let people know they can vote for me here. Poll on the lefthand sidebar. I feel completely embarrased asking you to go vote for me, but it sounds like there's a button involved for the winner and you know how I love buttons. hee hee


I have a new renter this week, Great Day, who blogs about motherhood and her daughter, Kathryn. Coincidentally, Kathryn was born on the exact same day that Little Guy was born. It's a small blogger world out there!

Blogexplosion hasn't uploaded a thumbnail of her blog yet so it looks like she's not there, but she is! Click on the rent my blog icon under "Other Moms on Motherhood."

The end of the day

We come home.

I've been at work all day.

As has he.

He leaves to walk the dog. His outlet.

I play with Little Guy, who makes me laugh. But I am tired.

He comes home. An hour later.

And gets on the Internet.

I occupy the baby, while he surfs.

I have to go to the bathroom. I've been holding it. For at least an hour.

I ask from the other room: "Can you come watch the baby while I go to the bathroom."

"Yeah, yeah."

I believe him.

10 minutes. He doesn't come.

Now he is on the phone. With a friend.

I walk up to him. "I really need to take a s--t!" I yell it. I really need to go.

He throws down the phone. Exasperated. "It's not my fault you didn't go earlier!"

I see white. Then red. I lash out.

I am all arms. And legs. Flailing at him.

I want to cry. I want to scream.

I just want to go to the bathroom.

And not feel guilty that I want 5 minutes. Alone. In peace.

And maybe even 30 minutes more. Doing something. Just for me.

Why do I feel guilty? Why do I feel like I have to ask for permission?

Why?

******
Please know that I don't want this to be about bashing my husband. I love him. He is 96.59% of the time wonderful. But life is stressful sometimes. Especially at the end of a long day. And sometimes I just need to vent.