Thursday, September 17, 2009

Mama called the doctor, and the doctor said...

No more fat girls jumpin' on the bed!

Not really. I did get chewed out a little bit for being fat, but I'm still allowed to jump on the bed all I want- as far as I know. Actually, the Dr. said she thinks my problem is probably thyroid related. The word diabetes was tossed around a little bit (as well as the words "high blood presssure")- but I stuck my fingers in my ears and sang a song during that part. I have to go back for some blood work, then she wants to refer me on to another doctor after that. So... I still don't have any answers yet, and I still can't sleep. But, hopefully, we are a little closer to getting my big butt straightened out. I have a feeling the phrase "lifestyle change" is in my very near future. Cripes. See, ladies? This is why you don't eat chocolate chip cookie dough and MM's for breakfast. You pick one or the other. I am a cautionary tale.

Now for a topic much more interesting than my goofy health: The kitten's name. The girls wanted me to say thank you for all your ideas and feedback. They were so excited to read all the comments. It really made their day, so thank you from me, too! The top names with you guys were Jasper and Pumpkin. The girls have settled on Pumpkin (I was kind of hoping for Cotton, but I like Pumpkin too).

Pumpkin is still doing really well. I think he's pretty smart- He already knows to run and hide when he hears Sam coming.

Speaking of Sam... He just turned 10 months yesterday. I can't believe it- we're going to be having his first birthday party in just two more months. The time is flying by.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Out of the Doghouse and Into the Cathouse... (Plus: A Name Game)

Here's the latest on the Pet Drama:
Darrell said that if I would call the puppy lady and try to get out of the deal, he would let the girls get a kitten instead, thinking they'd be just as happy and excited about any new pet- it didn't necessarily have to be that particular puppy. He's not as opposed to cats since they aren't hard to house train and don't have the typical problems that come with puppies, like chewing shoes, etc., but still... This was a great concession on his part since, as I said before, he had said no more pets of any kind. Period.

With this plan, maybe I wouldn't have to either end up disappointing the girls and breaking my word, or ticking off their daddy- the closest thing to a perfect solution, where all could be happy, except maybe for the puppy lady.

So... I called the puppy lady and told her if she had anyone else interested in the puppy I picked, to go ahead and sell her to someone else. I then asked if it would be at all possible to get my deposit back if she did find another buyer. I explained that I had done all of this without consulting my husband first, yadda, yadda, yadda, and he was not a happy camper. The puppy lady has kindly agreed that if she can get another buyer, she will return my deposit, and said that she has had a few people interested in "my" puppy. Her price was pretty reasonable, so I'm hoping it shouldn't be a problem to find another buyer.

After that, I looked through the local paper to see if there were any kittens available. There are always ads for free kittens, are there not? No. There are not. Not when I needed one, anyway.

However... Brianna has always wanted a white, blue-eyed, Persian or Himalayan kitten. I had researched the prices of these some time ago, and told her that it was probably not in the realm of possibilities. They go for hundreds, even thousands of dollars, depending on what type they are. I looked online again yesterday and saw that the prices have not come down any. I even saw one Persian (not white) listed at a whopping five thousand dollars! Who spends that on a cat? Anyway, here's the cool part: Despite the fact that there were no free kittens in the paper, there was an ad for Himalayans. I called, mostly just out of curiosity- thinking the price would be ridiculous. The kitten guy had three male kittens available- all were white "Flame Points" (light orange-ish tips on the ears and tail) with blue eyes! AND he was almost giving them away. The price we would pay for one, even if we do not get our deposit back on the puppy, is just a drop in the bucket compared to what these cats usually cost (and still less than the full price of the boxer pup). I've seen these exact same kittens online listed at $1500! I could not believe it. I told the guy we'd be there later in the evening to see them (this was last night). I could not believe my good fortune, and decided this must be the answer to my prayers for God to get me out of the doghouse with Darrell without having to disappoint my girls and look like a bad guy. God is good.

In the meantime, we talked to the girls. For starters, I apologized and explained that I had gone about this whole thing in the wrong way and I should have respected dad's feelings and at least discussed it with him first. Then we broached the subject of "switching" pets. Would they be just as happy with a kitty instead? I knew Brianna would go for it, and she happily said yes. Olivia, however, was another story. She was sure she wanted the boxer. A cat would not be the same. Not as much fun as a puppy. Well, crap... We then told them about the kitten man, and suggested they come with us that night to see the kittens. I told Livie that if she didn't absolutely fall in love with them, I'd be shocked and I wanted her to at least be open to the idea of looking at them. I know her well enough to know how she'd react once she had one in her hands.

When we got there, we quickly found out that the kitten man knew everything there is to know about these cats and breeding them. We thought he'd be happy to keep us there for hours (and hours) explaining how you breed for different colors, etc. It was clear these cats were well loved and cared for. They looked exactly like the kitten Bri has always wanted, so she was beyond excited. Olivia was cooing and cuddling as if she'd just given birth to the kitten herself. We let them choose one (with a little subtle steering on my part towards the one that didn't seem jittery and scared of us- and who was, at the time, clawing its way up my chest and onto my shoulder trying to flee- to the one who was happily sleeping in Olivia's arms) and got to take him home with us. I asked the kitten man's wife why these kittens were so much less than others I'd seen. They are registered and healthy- there was no good reason that I could see not to charge hundreds (and hundreds) more than they were, so I was starting to wonder if there was a catch. She told me they do this because they enjoy their cats and it's fun- it wasn't about making money. Alrighty, then. Works for me.

On the ride home, Sammy spent the first 15 minutes lifting his head, trying to see the kitten in the back seat and wildly barking at it. I don't know if he thought it was a tiny dog, or what- but barking seemed to him to be the most appropriate thing to do. It was hysterical. I wish I would have had some video of it.

I am not a cat person, really, but I honestly think we stumbled upon the best cat on earth. He's using his litter box. He's not skittish and scared- even though he's not accustomed to such a noisy household, full of children and a dog. He's quickly coming out of his shell and likes to play. He's also very snuggly and cuddly, and happy being held, which the girls love. Olivia came up to me right before bedtime and said, "Mama, I am soooo happy we got him. Thank you so much. You were right, once I saw him I loved him right away. I feel like I'm his mom."

So, there you have it. I am in the clear. Nobody is mad at me or disappointed in me. We are free from the impending doom of poop and pee and chewed shoes. It's a good feeling, after days of stressing over my stupid, impulsive mistake.

Now, I have a request on behalf of the girls. They have asked me to turn to you for suggestions. Can you help them name their new baby? Some of their ideas so far are:
Pumpkin (because of the orange tint on the ears and tail)
Magee (McGee)
Jimmy (I hope they don't choose this one)

They hoped you would have some other suggestions, or help them narrow down their list. They would appreciate it!

Here are a few pictures for you to get your creative naming juices flowing:
We stopped for kitten supplies on the way home and bought him this little cube/house thingy, which he loves.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Obama and I Agree

I just thought I'd let you know, so that you can begin making calls to inquire if H*ll has just frozen over, that I wholeheartedly agree with B.O.... Kanye West is a J*ck*ss.

I think, since he never seems to agree with the selection of award winners, Kanye should have his own awards ceremony. The trophies can be awarded to the biggest piece of crap each year. The award would be a dog turd on a toothpick, called "The Kanye," and the recipient can be personally chosen by Kanye himself, since there's no better expert on being a magnificent piece of crap than Kanye West.

I also wanted to give you a brief update on my Dr.'s appt., since a few of you have emailed to ask how it went. It didn't happen. It's been moved to Thursday. I caught a nasty stomach bug and have been hurling left and right. Yuck. I think the worst of it has passed now, and I'm hoping it doesn't make the rounds through the house. I'll keep you posted on the Dr. appt. after it happens. Thanks for the concern!

Come back tomorrow for an update on Puppygate.

Saturday, September 12, 2009

I've Done Something

Okay- so today Olivia, Bri and I had a Girls' Day Out- a full afternoon of shopping and hanging out together. We were having so much fun and the girls really needed some time with mom. We bought shoes. We ate Thai food. Good times.

Anyway, we had to go to W*lmart on the way home and the first thing we see as we pull into the parking lot is a van with puppies in the back. The girls ask if we can go over there "just to look." Crap. "Fine," I say, "But we're not getting one, so don't even ask me." They didn't ask, which was awesome. They just played with the puppies and giggled like little girls do, and looked so precious you could puke. The perfect, fun ending to a perfect, fun day with my girls.

Ten minutes later...

I'm telling the puppy lady that I have to run into the store to get a few things and I'll get cash while I'm in there (for the deposit on the puppy I'm buying, of course) if she'll wait for me. The puppy lady agrees to wait and to hold the puppy I wanted (the only female) even though the people who were there right before me were interested in the same one. Gosh, the puppy lady sure is nice. I have absolutely no qualms about handing over my very own husband's hard-earned cash to this lady I've known for all of ten minutes.

She's adorable (the puppy, not the puppy lady. I'm sure the puppy lady is a lovely woman, though. You don't need teeth to be lovely). She's a little Boxer (again, we are referring to the puppy). The girls are THRILLED and I am the King of the World... for the moment.

I don't know how this happened. I really don't. What was I thinking? All I know is that I was the "Awesome Mom"- the FUN Mom, for once- instead of the Craptacular mother I've been lately. The girls looked so cute holding the puppies and they were so, so happy and all the birds were singing and the sky was blue and somewhere, a Hallmark employee was envisioning this very scene to put on the front of a card, except maybe in a setting other than a W*lmart parking lot, with a puppy lady who looked a little less... toothless, and was maybe wearing a slightly more supportive undergarment... I dunno. Anyway- You know what I'm saying?

So yes, I'm that kind of mom now, apparently. I will buy your love and happiness. Is there some kind of award I get for that? Does it come with a sash I could wear? I've always wanted to wear a sash.

As soon as we were in the store (to get the cash... and, oh yeah, we're here for milk in the first place), I realized that, CRAP, I was in a bucket of deep, deep you-know-what with my husband. I decided I'd better call him. Crap. Crap. CRAP... I honestly felt nauseous. I knew he would not be happy. No, not at all.

See, "we" (as in the one with all the big, manly, power-wielding testosterone) decided our existing animals were to be our last. No.More.Pets. Ever. Never, ever, ever. They smell. They shed. They have to be housebroken, and sometimes they don't want to be housebroken. Ever. They have to be let in. And out. And in. And out. They have to be fed. Food isn't free. And the kids who promise to be responsible for the tasks of feeding and taking the creature in and out quickly tire of those jobs after the novelty wears off. The beloved critters need vaccines and medications, surgeries, boarding at vacation times, and all of this... Costs.Money. And more money. Lots and lots of money. "We"positively, absolutely agreed "together" that "we" would not have any more animals enter our humble abode. We "both" feel this way. Totally. "We" are done with pets. Are you getting the point I'm making here? Darrell is gonna be mad as H*11, is what I'm saying...

I called. He answered. Crap. Was kinda hoping for voicemail. My stomach tightened up and I had to stifle my gag reflex. I tried to find my Cheerful, Confident Voice (the one that says, "I'm not at all afraid of you right now"). I said, "Hi, Hon!!!! So! (Gee whiz, take it down a notch, Michelle. Nobody says "So" with that much excitement)!!! How ya doin?!!! Um... I've done something."


I was right. He.Was.Not.Happy. No, not at all.

Darrell knows by now that "I've done something" is never going to be a good thing as far as he's concerned.

I told him I'd just committed myself to buying a dog.

I'm going to have to edit the majority of our conversation. Suffice it to say that my stint as King of the World had ended. Just.Like.That. I got in trouble, just like a five-year-old (or Lucy Ricardo), but of course, I had it coming- I had acted just like a five-year-old (or Lucy Ricardo). Ricky Darrell said, "...

You know what? Let's just skip to the end, shall we?

Our puppy will be ready to pick up after Oct. 1st. Her name is going to be Clementine. She shall have a pink or purple collar... with diamonds on it. The girls have already decided that much. They are over the moon. I am the Awesome Mom. Awesome Wife? Not so much.

Darrell already does not like the impending bundle of joy.

But he'll come around... right? How could you resist something that looks like this?

Friday, September 11, 2009


Gee, does anyone think I should see a doctor- lol? That was the overwhelming consensus to last Saturday's post. I heard you. I made an appointment. I go next Monday. I'll keep you posted.

Onto more interesting things... How about an update on Sammy Davis Jr.? He just had his nine month check-up (at almost 10 months. See? I told you I'm behind in everything). He currently weighs in at 15 lbs., 13 0z., and is now 26 inches tall. That puts him in the THIRD percentile for weight, and he just now made it onto the chart for height, so he's now at the third percentile there, too. His head circumference, however, is in the 25 percentile... My little bobblehead. He's wearing mostly 6-9 month sized clothes right now, for anyone out there who may be adopting and trying to figure out what sizes to buy. When we first got to Majuro, he probably would have fit into 3-6 months if we would have had them, but we made due with our 6-9 months stuff.

Beyond the boring stats, he's really doing great. It's as if he's always known us. The attaching and bonding processes have seemingly been a breeze, leaving me to wonder how I could be so lucky.

He's eating well, but isn't showing much interest in a sippy cup yet. He has two teeth on bottom, none yet on top. He's crawling and into everything. He can pull himself up to stand, walk with help, and stand alone for a few seconds (if we help him get his balance first). I predict he will be walking within the next 6 weeks. He loves his walker and bouncer and really loves to smack things- the walls, his toys, the dog, my face... He shakes his head "No" when he's about to do something he knows he shouldn't. Then he goes right ahead and does it anyway. He can say Dada (his favorite), Mama (mostly when he's upset and I'm supposed to come to his rescue), Hi, Uh-oh, dog ("daw") and he can bark like a dog ("wuh"). He also says Baba alot. His foster parents say they taught him this because it means Daddy. We use baba at home for bottle and Bubba or Bubby for brother, so we don't really know to whom or what, if anything, Baba refers. It could just be gibberish. Evan is sure he's tried to say "Evan." I dunno about that one.

He's a really happy little dude. Loves attention, of course, and certainly gets it. He rarely cries because he doesn't have to. Any little peep causes someone to come running. Aye yi yi. He's going to be so spoiled later on, but the kids just adore him. Even the older boys. Alex and Mike carry him around (when they're home) just as much as the little ones do. Evan thinks he's Sam's mommy. It's great to have the help from so many people, though.

He's still not sleeping all that great. It's hit and miss. I think he is getting better, though, and closer to sleeping all night without our "help." We try, if we can, to leave him in his little bed and give him his pacifier for comfort. Sometimes this works, sometimes not. We only bring him into bed with us if he's been up so many times that we're tired of getting up.

Lately, Darrell has been sleeping with Sam in our family room- with Darrell in the recliner and Sam in his little portable crib- to let me get some sleep. Last night, I got a little more sleep than I have been getting, but I seem to wake up every couple hours, no matter how exhausted I feel. Once I wake up, it can sometimes take hours to get back to sleep. So... Life has become a series of short naps, it seems. Not very restful, but hopefully the doctor will have some answers next Monday.

Thank you so much, you guys, for all the feedback, and support the other day. I truly appreciate all the help and advice. Some of you even emailed me personally with your phone numbers, which just blew me away. I was touched. And I don't like to use that phrase often. To say "I was/am touched," these days, has a somewhat naughty connotation, does it not? Anyway, I'm very blessed to have such good cyber buddies (and IRL friends, too- Love you!).

Saturday, September 5, 2009

Still Tired

Remember those whiny, self-pitying posts a few weeks back when I told you how tired I've been? Yeah. The whining continues (as evidenced by this all new, if not improved, whiny post), the self pity comes and goes, and the sleep deprivation is worse than ever. I am so far beyond over-tired, I'm not even sure what to call it. It's really screwing with my head. I honestly feel like I could start sobbing at any time... and I often do. The scary thing is that sometimes, the sobs feel so... I don't know what to call it... so BIG, so powerful, so overwhelming... like I won't be able to keep myself together. Like if I were to really let loose, and let those sobs come all the way out, I wouldn't be able to stop. I do keep it together- so I don't think I'm crazy yet... at least not technically. I'm still holding it together. Somehow. So far. But barely. Like when a kid comes walking in, I'm able to quickly wipe tears from my face and say, "Nothing, honey. I'm fine. I'm just tired. What's up?" Then as soon as the kid leaves the room, here come the sobs again- full force, as if they never left.

It's not that I feel sad, really. I just feel like crying. All.the.time.

And I can't think anymore. My mind has turned to oatmeal. And I don't just mean regular "Mommy Brain," either. I mean more like full-on brain death. I never know what the hell is going on. I can't remember things.

I have no clue what is taking place around me. I can be watching TV with the kids and one of them will ask about something that was just said on the show, but I won't know the answer. Because I wasn't listening. I thought I was listening, but really I was just zoned out like a zombie in front of the screen, and I couldn't tell you one single detail about the show I just watched.

Mike (or some kid) will tell me where he's going, then drive off. Darrell will ask where he went, who he was with and when he's coming home. I.Don't.Know. Because I forgot to ask. Didn't even think of it. Obviously, this makes me look like an uninterested, horrible mother. I'm beginning to think I am. Not uninterested. Just not able to hang on to my interest. But definitely horrible.

I can't carry on normal conversations. Sometimes I have to ask what flippin' day it is. And that is soooo NOT like me. I used to be all about the calendar and keeping track of whatever we had going on. I had this master calendar in my head that could remember kids' schedules and what I was planning for dinners that week, and when the baby would be due for shots, and... you get the idea... Now, I just feel like I need to be taken care of.

Darrell is very good about making sure I get to go back to bed in the morning or take afternoon naps when he's home. He takes care of the kids and lets me sleep, so I can't complain about a lack of help... BUT... It's not the same. Taking a nap is just not the same as putting your head on the pillow at night and waking up the next morning. The other day, I slept longer than I think I've slept in the past year or two (really). I slept deep. I slept long (like, 4 hours). Wonderful, yes? No... The problem? It was during the late morning/early afternoon. Which basically guaranteed I wouldn't be able to sleep well that night (and I didn't).

I don't know how to fix this.

Last night, I honestly don't think I slept for longer than 10-20 minutes at a time. It's really, really starting to get to me, peeps. I'm dizzy a good part of the time. I've gotten really scared of driving, especially with the kids in the car, because I don't ever feel totally "with it" anymore. I feel weak and shaky. And I'd almost swear it's affecting my hearing. I know it's really not- but it seems that everyone sounds like Charlie Brown's teacher these days (Waa-wah-wa-wah-wa). It's probably just that, since I'm hearing impaired and have to focus closely on what people are saying to understand them, I can't hear since I can't focus. Make sense? Oh, yeah... and I'm always mad as hell. I feel really, really cranky 24/7.

It's getting to the point where all I want in life is to sleep at night. And it doesn't even have to be ALL night! Just five hours would be awesome. Four. Good God, I'd take four. I want to sleep at night, and feel awake during the day and know what the hell is going on with my kids. I want to do normal mom things, like make breakfast for my babies and do laundry- and while we're on that topic, I really want to know where my frickin' favorite blue t shirt is. I do not want to ask my teenage son if he happened to wash or fold any of my underwear lately. Is it a tiny bit pathetic that my whole goal in life has become dusting a damn table without feeling so overwhelmed and exhausted by the activity that I have to fall down and cry in the middle of it?

I want to do "Normal Mom" things without feeling like I have to hold in the sobs until my kids aren't looking. I do not want my children to feel like they are "bothering Mom" to come up and ask me a damn question or show me a picture they just colored. God, I'm so horrible. No kid should ever have to say, "I'm sorry to bother you, Mama, but I made a picture for you." I.Am.Horrible. That is now my new name. Horrible Hugeass.

But I just don't know how to make it all better. I feel at this point, the housework is so far gone that I'd never be able to catch up, which makes me want to say to hell with it and just go take a damn nap. I apologize, by the way, to my Christian readers, for all the hells and damns. If it makes you feel any better, I'm actually editing all the effs in my head and changing them to hells and damns before they reach the page. I'm just in that kind of mood. God forgive me, but right this second, I just want to scream really loud effs and every other drunken sailor type of phrase at the top of my lungs. I'm horrible. I'm tired AND I'm heading for hell in a handbasket. How awesome is that?

Anyway... I was saying that I don't know how, at this point, to start turning this around and making it better. I feel right now like there is no light at the end of the tunnel. Like I will never sleep like a normal person again. I will never be a normal mom. My house will never be even half-way in order. And it's making me crazy. It's all just too much. Sam is going to grow up believing his mom is a vampire who sleeps all day and says hell and damn all the time and the other kids are going to hate me and I'm never, ever going to find my favorite damn blue t shirt because it has committed suicide by diving to the bottom of the laundry pile and suffocating itself.

My priorities used to be: God first, Family second, Others third, Self last. I tried to live that. I certainly wasn't successful at it every day, but I tried. Now, my priorities are: Sleep first, Sleep second, A little something chocolate to snack on, More sleep.

I've tried several times to go without sleep (for 36 hrs. or so), thinking I'll be so tired that I'll have to sleep. At some point, your body and mind just must collapse, right? Wrong! When I go so long without sleep, I'll either: A) Become so wired, that I'm no longer sleepy (still tired, but not sleepy), or 2) The baby will have a bad night and I won't be "allowed" to sleep.

I say really crazy things. I was talking to Sam the other night- thank God the rest of the house was asleep and Sammy is too young to understand, because I realized what I was saying didn't even make any sense. I could not believe I'd said it. I'm too embarrassed to tell you what I said. And Sam won't tell, so don't ask. I'm just totally Nuckin' Futz.

I'm going nuts right here in front of God and everybody and there's not a soul on earth (in my real life) I can talk to about this, either. That makes it suck even worse, because it adds the loneliness and isolation factor in there, too. Of course, talking to everyone else on the planet(that would be you), like I'm doing right now, is not quite the same thing. Isn't that funny? I can tell you, strangers, things that I cannot say to people who know me. I feel like the only conversations I have with Darrell anymore swirl around my complaints, so I try to shutup as much as I can. He doesn't need to hear it. I'm quite certain he doesn't want to hear it. I know I wouldn't. Complaints get old so fast. I'm sure he feels he's doing the best he can, and I know my complaints make him feel like he's not doing enough. I also know he's doing a lot more than many other husbands would ever dream of doing. And I will look people right in the face and LIE when they ask me how I'm doing... "Oh, fine," I say, "I'm doing great!"

I think it makes me sound like a horrible failure if I tell the truth: "Oh, I'm crappy, that's how I'm doing. I honest to God feel like I'm going to DIE. Yes, D.I.E.- DIE. Thank you for asking. I skipped church last week so I could catch a nap and will probably do the same tomorrow. I haven't cooked a decent dinner in days, and who the hell knows how long it's been since I've done a load of laundry, or spent any real time with my kids. I don't even want to be talking to you right now because I'm too damn tired to fake all the pleasantries. And how the hell are you, as if I really care?"

I know there are people in my life who, if they heard any of this, their answer would be,
"Well, maybe you shouldn't have adopted another baby... Especially not at your age. Seven kids are just too many for you to handle."

And no, I'm not just imagining that. I know of at least one person who would have that attitude.

Is she right? I'm beginning to think she is. And her voice just keeps playing over and over in my head.

All I know is I'm failing. At everything. I don't cook. I don't clean. I don't even keep myself clean on a regular basis. I noticed the other day I could smell myself. Smell.Myself. And I did not get up to shower. Now that's not good. I don't spend enough time with my kids. I snap at anyone who tries to talk to me. I avoid having to be around people. I just want to sleep. And sleep some more.

Oh, yeah- and the social worker is coming at the end of the month for our 6 month post placement report, so... um... that oughtta be good. Bwaaahahaha.

I'm sorry this was so long and even more sorry to take up your precious free time being such a whiner. My little laptop has become my one real confidante, so you are too, by default. I'll try to be more cheerful on the next post. I owe you one.

Very Funny

Speaking of politics (at least, I was speaking of politics... You guys aren't speaking to me, apparently- lol)...

Who's the joker who put me on a mailing list for ACLU supporters? Ha. Haha. Ha. That was a good one. You got me.

I'm getting emails thanking me for my support, asking me to become a "Guardian of Liberty," and detailing the next plan to stick it to the evil conservatives.

You silly Liberals and your wacky, madcap humor.

Friday, September 4, 2009

Speech to students

Sorry to those of you who don't like to read anything political on a non-political blog, but I'm just wanting to hear opinions here- I'm NOT trying to start arguments or open a big can of worms, although I know some of you will disagree with me. I think I have a pretty good balance of right and left in my readership (3 of you are conservatives and the other 3 are nutty... :P), so I'm just wondering how you guys feel about Obama's upcoming speech to students next Tuesday... ??? You can read the MSNBC take on it here.

I'm feeling torn. I know that both Presidents Reagan and Bush have done it before (and Bush was blasted for it, too, btw). But this time it "feels" different. Different, as in creepy. I'm trying to decide if that feeling is because I can't stand B.O., or if I have a legitimate concern about indoctrination here.

I'm leaning towards thinking I have a legitimate concern about indoctrination.

The speech supposedly contains nothing of a political nature... supposedly. I just don't like the idea of bypassing parents (adults, voters), which is what I feel B.O. is trying to do, to market himself directly to our kids. Remember those creepy praise and worship songs, sung by children that were popping up on YouTube around election time? If you don't, here's an example:

It really is a little Hitler-esque to me. Regardless of the content of the speech, it is the attempt to speak directly to my children- to draw them in, earn their trust, their reverence (loyalty to the regime), that sticks in my craw. I just don't want that arrogant, self-serving J.A. talking to my kids about anything- not health care, not basket weaving, not anything. (Whoopsie. The name-calling may not be necessary. I calls em likes I sees em. Sorry.)

So, guys? What do you think about Tuesday's speech? Like it? Or not? Is it being shown in your child's school? Have you seen the suggested discussion questions, etc., that could be handed out at your kid's school (if not, I linked to them above- although they've already been revised a couple times due to complaints)? Are any of you creeped out by this, too- or am I all alone here?

Lastly... my apologies to the Obama Mamas out there for dissing your man- I know how that sticks in your craws (and yes, you can discuss politics and use Redneck words like "craw" at the same time. That Carville idiot does it all the time).

Wait- one more thing! Have a great Labor Day weekend and stay safe. No drinking and driving.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

In response to my diaper inquiry, I received this response via email. I would never embarrass the writer by revealing her identity to the world, but this may or may not have been sent by my smarty-pants birth mother. I thought it was pretty funny.

Dear Mrs. *****,

I applaud your desire to find the perfect no leak diaper. I too have searched and my quest has led me to Depends....very few leaks, unless of course there is a full night of beer guzzling...very few blowouts, except for one unexpected "bomb-blast" at Juan's Burrito Bunker.

There are one or two problems, as there is with any good diaper - namely, the rustling sounds when standing for prayer in church. This noise can usually be covered with a well placed sneeze or cough. Another down side is undependable tab adhesive. However, with a little practice, it is simple to carry unused holiday stickers for emergency stick-ups.

So far, for ladies such as myself, the most inconvenient disadvantage is the inability to properly don a trendy thong. and as we all know, there are so many choices these days.

I hope these suggestions are helpful. Write when you find some time.
Love you

Disclaimer: My birth mother is not a beer guzzler, nor does she wear Depends (at least I don't think she does- I guess I've never really checked, though...). I believe she does wear thongs. She makes them herself out of duct-tape. I have no personal knowledge of what took place following her visit to the Burrito Bunker.

And... Yes, I will write when I find some time. Soon. Very soon.