Monthly Archives: May 2011

One of the great love affairs in my lifetime has been the one I have with my city, Los Angeles. I love living here, I love it’s brief history and I love parts of this city that few other people seem to care about. So when LA Noir was released I was one of the first to grab a copy, not the first, but one of the first.

I put the kids to bed and then ran downstairs to pop it into the Playstation and proceeded to play so horrendously it was laughable. With my siren running I drove the police car on sidewalks, and when I meant to ask passers-by questions I punched them instead. I was a very very bad cop.

The second day was better. I was no longer plowing down citizens and I seldom punched them, but I’d have been fired from anyone’s force. There was a bank robbery and a good bit of blood and shooting, but I still wasn’t seeing why it was rated M.

I remembered that my friend Laurie had a copy of the game so I called her up and asked her why I couldn’t let my kids play. Thus far it wasn’t exactly a wholesome game, but I didn’t see why it needed to be kept under lock and key.

“Oh no you can’t let your kids play. A friend of mine wrote a review of it and she was talking about a crime scence where a woman’s dress was pulled up over her waist and you could see pubic hair.”

“Yikes, I don’t need Alexander seeing that.”

“That’s not all, then when you investigate there’s anal bruising and semen analysis.” Laurie gave me a few more details but I was busy hyperventilating at the thought that I’d nearly handed my son the controller so that he could help me not drive on sidewalks.

Then we started talking about the usual stuff, parenting, work, marriage. I started to tell Laurie how I felt badly that I’m not going out much at night anymore, that I’m skipping BlogHer and other similar conferences. I told her that I needed to be home with my kids and that my work days with them seem to be starting at 3pm these days.

Plain as day she said, “Of course you do.”

And really that was all I needed to just collapse. Because when your kids are a little bigger it’s easy to let people tell you that you don’t need to be home with them. It’s easy to feel like they’re okay on their own, and they very well may be okay.

But okay is different than good, and Jane and Alexander didn’t stop needing parenting when they learned to make their own snacks, and just because Jane can be left home alone doesn’t mean she should be left. So when you feel conflicted about parenting, mothering, and marriage go call a girlfriend because four words might be all you need.

I’ll give you a hint, it’s not because of self respect.

If you aren’t on twitter (why aren’t you?) please understand that @iRespectFemales is the username that this young man has chosen for himself. Isn’t he adorable?

Today a woman is being raped, molested or harassed. Right now a woman is being disrespected or hurt. Please talk to your sons and daughters and let them know that it doesn’t have to be a reality, and that self respect has nothing to do with somehow earning abuse.

Last night I was watching TV with Mr G when a Thank You Mom commercial came on. Since we live in the house that TV built we love a commercial, and I said to Mr G, that! That commercial is my campaign. I’m that mom.

He looked at me, a little puzzled and said, “What do you mean you’re that mom?”

“Honey, I’m totally that mom. And that is MY CAMPAIGN because I’m using my blog to talk about the Moms and the Special Olympics and P&G and OhMyGawdHoneyIsn’tItTheBestSetOfCommercialsEver?”

And then he sort of looked at the ceiling. I guess he’s still looking for leaks.

So I added, “I mean, besides the ones that you make.” And then we were happy.

Please don’t forget that whenever you like, share or comment on a Thank You Mom page on Facebook another dollar is donated to support Team USA’s travel to Athens.

Recently my mother showed up at my house with my 6th grade spiral notebook. I flipped through the pages but never really read any of it. Which is weird, but I know I’m weird, just accept that as background.

There was an essay in there that is hideous. After sharing it on YouTube someone suggested to me that I get in touch with the folks from Mortified. And that is how I came to be standing a pretty girl’s living room while a kind stranger suggested I talk to my daughter.

In the middle of the day today I had my non-audition for Mortified. They don’t call it an audition, so I won’t either. For all intents and purposes it was an audition and I am not an auditioner. I got my job at Momversation from begging and pleading, you know, the old fashioned way.

So I’m there at 12.30 with a spiral notebook in my hands, and I’d been to mixed doubles last night where folks were really irritated with me for not shaking hands, but fuck ‘em. I’m tired of having these low level illnesses. I’m taking a ridiculous amount of immunosuppresants and I’m still walking around with herpes explosions of my face every time I have the tiniest bit of stress. So I’m not shaking hands with anyone, but I still don’t know how to walk into a room without shaking hands with people or even hugging and kissing hello, because I’m touchy and huggy and an I want to make contact type of woman.

So I walk in the room and sort of wave hello and announce that I’m not shaking hands. This leads to a discussion of my Rheumatoid Arthritis which is not what I want to be discussing but like a dope I’ve led with it, so this is what we’re going to be discussing.

This is when I realize that I’m in an unusual setting. I’m the fourth person in a room full of story tellers. This trio is a trio of listeners, they ask probing questions and they actually care about the answers. One of them looks like my step brother, I’m relaxed and nervous all at once. I want them to like me because I like them and I wish with all my might that we could talk about them instead of me. I realize I’ve made a mistake. I’m not that interesting, I don’t have any angst ridden journals. I wasn’t introspective and it’s unlikely that I ever will be.

They ask me what I do for a living. I’m a blogger. I explain briefly that I’ve been building communities and blah blah, but no one really understands what a blogger really is. Which is fine. They ask me what I write about. “Lifestyle.” I say, “I’ll probably write about this.”

So now I’m reading and we all know it’s not a match, but they ask me what else is in there. “I don’t know.” I tell them. Because I really don’t know. I’d scanned the pages but it was all poetry and there are few things I hate more than poetry. Maya Angelou’s sentences seem incomplete, but I guess I can appreciate Poe.

So I read my 6th grade poem to them and as I’m reading the words for the first time in 28 years I realize that I’ve turned into my mother. Neil looks thoughtful and asks me if I’ve ever shared that with my daughter. I explain to him that I’m looking at it for the first time today. He’s thoughtful, David and Anne are complimentary and I realize that we could all sit in the room for hours and I have a million questions for them but really I just want to be with my family.

From 28 years ago, this is the poem.

Mommy’s Girl
Don’t wear too much makeup;
I don’t want to fight.
Please wear your jeans looser,
Your shirts not so tight.
I really don’t care,
What the others do;
They may look “flashy”,
But I don’t want you to.
I do this for you;
I may sound like a witch,
But later you’ll thank me,
And give your friends the pitch.
If we can be friends,
I’m sure we’ll get along.
And someday you’ll find,
It’s tough to be a mom.

Ugh. I know. Shut up!

My husband asked me where I was today. “I went to a thing about a thing.” I told him. “Can we talk later?”

Just. Mortified.

A few months ago Junior started licking everything. He licked the air, your hands, your clothing, my bed linens, everything. I thought it might have been behavioral as the latest addition to our family is not a lover of dogs. A few weeks ago I noticed that in addition to licking Junior had bad breath. He didn’t have typical dog breath, but he had the sort of breath where you longed for a good whiff of his ass because his ass would smell so much better.

So I brought Junior to the vet and the vet recommended a scaling. I knew this would happen because I could see the build up on his teeth. I’ve been a poodle owner for more than half my life so I know that the little dogs are particularly problematic when it comes to dentistry. Those anethesia free teeth cleaning services aren’t a good plan for a little dogs for a variety of reasons.

Today was scaling day. I brought Junior to the vet at 7.30 this morning and I missed getting my kids up and out the door so the whole day was a little funky for me. At about 11am I got a call from the vet to let me know that Junior had infections in his gums. To make a very long story short Junior lost eight teeth, got four antibiotic packs, and I lost any hope of ever having diamond earrings.

Oh also, his leg looks like the lamb chop I’m about to have for dinner.

He’s on my lap and moaning and all I want to do is cry and suck down a glass of wine, but Sandy the sadist trainer said that alcohol consumption can slow down your metabolism by 36%. I don’t want to be the fat lady with the toothless poodle.

I didn’t bring my kids to school this morning, I didn’t even make sure they brushed their teeth after breakfast. I didn’t even make them breakfast, they had cereal.

Mr. G loosely supervised the morning routine and our carpool brought them to school this morning while I brought Junior in for a little dental work. Since Junior is such a tiny dog they cannot clean his teeth without sedating him. If they apply pressure to his tiny little front teeth and he resists there is a great danger of the tooth simply breaking apart.

Junior isn’t really the best example of evolution. He’s a better example of inbreeding.

Nothing’s wrong with anyone really, but I feel off kilter. I need my routine and I need to get my kids off to school every morning in order to feel normal. I didn’t get that today.