January 2010 Archives

Germs on a Plane

I'm going to be doing a lot of traveling over the next three weeks, coupled with work on a big project about which I'll divulge later, so things are going to be sporadic here during that period. I may not post for four days straight and then BOOM! TORRENT OF INSANITY.

Tomorrow I'll be in Dallas to discuss politics. I've never been to Texas, I've always wanted to go, and if I have to pay money for someone to take me to see J.R. Ewing's television ranch then so be it.

In the meantime, my latest for Momversation: Are you a Germaphobe? Note that when this was recorded I was (am still!) sick and that I have to take extra precautions because I make a living with my voice. Don't laugh at those Uncle Karl gloves. They are hot. HOT.


There was something seriously wrong with me when I was a teenager because I ran varsity track and cross-country, all as I studied classical ballet and I was never ever very rarely sore! I LOVED running! Loved pushing my tendons to the point of snapping! Love that burn!

The other day Chris and I did something that I as a human being, have never done before: we joined a gym.

I have an insanely high metabolism thanks to which I've never had to worry so much about what I ate, despite my mother's threats that one day I'd wake up with a third butt cheek. Before you envy me for this, having a high metabolism has its downsides, namely being that I am a complete and total fidget. It's hard for me to unplug, to relax, to go without a task for any length of time. If Multitasking were a page on Facebook I would fan it. That's how serious.

The other day I decided to start running again. I tried this once a couple of months after I had Liam and when I was done screaming while pushing a stroller after being chased all over my neighborhood by dogs (whose owners should be reported to the ASPCA for their lack of care towards their animals) I thought SCREW THIS, who just like, RUNS? FOR FUN? I'm done

There's an attraction to running, though. Even if you're running with others you're still battling it out inside your head, pushing yourself ever farther. Running has always provided to me a moment of clarity. I sometimes feel like I'm mentally and physically working things out all at once. I started running again for that reason and to build up my physical endurance. There is no excuse for me to not be as healthy as I can be and I think that it will help me in the long run as I'm constantly getting hit with cold after cold or strep throat.

I retrieved a pair of Nikes that I had in the back of my closet, ones I purchased several years ago for this purpose but put away when I gave up. I put on my jogging pants and hit the track with Queen and Missing Persons playing in my headphones. I probably pushed myself a bit too much my first day back (I did a workout as well) but I knew that if I didn't get that mile under my belt it would be harder to talk myself back into doing it another day. I like results, they keep me moving.

When I crossed the mark for my first mile back it felt glorious. Sure, my legs hurt and my feet ached a bit but they were results that I could immediately feel. Next I'll hone the time on my mile and work up to two miles ... soon as I can walk down the stairs.
I had to stop by the drugstore on my way home as Chris has the plague, I narrowly escaped the worst of it, and when we both talk we sound three cigarette puffs away from having voice boxes installed in our throats. (Apropos of nothing, I particularly love my voice like this because I sound like Joan Jett when I sing in the car).

So I run into the drugstore after the a.m. drive and grab some throat lozenges and some quick breakfast food items - oh and that bag of avocado chips because I was hungry - and make my way up to the register. I had my hands full with my wallet, my phone, my keys (because I now dislike big bags and have for about a year now) and in the mayhem apparently dropped one of my long leather gloves on the floor without noticing.

"I believe you dropped your glove, miss," said a man behind me.

"Oh, thanks," I replied and quickly grabbed it up off the floor.

"You didn't do that on purpose did you?" He asked. He reminded me of the bus driver from Wii's "Animal Crossing." The one that tells you to wash your pits.

"Um, NO," I replied, my face scrunched up in WTF mode.

"You know, because women do that in the movies all the time."

I prayed to God for Him to put a gigantic celestial hand over my mouth because HOO BOY the words "Really? In what movie does a young woman with a husband at home drop her glove in front of a way older male downgrade so as to have him oogle her arse? Because I'D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT MOVIE THAT IS" were begging to fly from my mouth.

The remark wasn't flattering; it was some sort of implied accusation that totally insulted both my taste and my character, which was why I didn't just roll my eyes and smile. No, instead, I flashed him my NRA card and gave him A Look. I'd have showed him a piece, but it probably would not have been the one he anticipated.

(*Yeah, not taking chances with Google search on that one.)  

Working At the Computer

Right now at this very second, I am prepping for tonight's show and the boys have assembled a Lego war involving knights and Star Wars characters all over my feet. 

"You can't move, Mom!" Liam shouts. 

If I flinch a dozen or so tiny little Lego action figures will scatter and possibly little tiny heads will roll. 

Liam is quoting LOTR. 

"This quest rests on the edge of a knife ..."

I let them learn through play and sometimes it is hard to be so still. 

Praying ...

Picture 10.pngAP photo

... for more of this. For more reunions. For more released alive from the debris. For the cries of the children buried in the rubble to be answered. The photos of these precious babies get me the most.

These people are not responsible for their corrupted government; they are people with whom we share this planet and when tragedy strikes it is a beacon to all of us to step up. That stirring in your soul is resonance.

Be not distracted by your perceived smallness or seemingly inconsequentialness of your response. Nothing is small, nothing is inconsequential in matters of the heart.


I'm up late finishing a draft of a script, freelance work as a favor to a friend, and I started thinking about boots.

- I would like a pair of riding boots in every color. I always say that I can't dress myself, in reality I can dress myself, it just sounds better to say that I can't because then people won't think I'm trying to be haute goth by wearing black all the time. Black goes with so much.

- I want more of these little brownies from Costco. I don't know about you, but I simply relish adding padding to my backside by having a brownie at 1:19, oh, nope, now 1:20 in the morning.

- A nice support bra that doesn't look like something my grandma had hanging over her dresser mirror. I have this no-underwire one from Victoria's Secret - oh, crap, sorry, I just forgot dudes also read this site, MY BAD - and believe me when I tell you it's like angels are providing the support.

- Prairie Farms chocolate milk. I like to purchase my chocolate milk (for the children) at the store, already chocolate, because it tastes so much richer than what I can stir up at home. And chocolate whole milk? OMGBBQ it's amazing and I have prohibited myself from buying it because I will drink nothing else.

- More time. I have a ton of emails to answer and I'm an awful person because it takes me awhile. I signed up for this mailbox-helper service thing and then I realized how much I hate mailbox-helper things because I hate the little form emails they send out:
"Hello! You're not important enough for me to answer back with an actual, from my mind email, so lo, you shalt have the form and thou willst be content until thy can answer at (crap. What's Old Times-speak for "mine?"), er, my earliest convenience."
OK. I'm being dramatic, but I always feel bad for folks who get those and I just want all the people who email me for the first time, like Publisher's Clearinghouse, if they wanted to give me money, to know they are just as special as Tina, who sends me every animated .gif email of angels and sparkles that she finds on the Internet.  (Love you Tina!)

It's now 1:29. 

Back by Popular Demand: the Trebuchet

I set these rules long ago: things that have worked their way into that space between skin and soul where they rub painfully, things which frustrate, things which hurt, things which make you want to scream all of that pain and annoyance into the sky to be blown away by the wind. All of that you put into the trebuchet. Then comes the healing. Then comes the point where you list all of the wonderful things you see in life, things which let in light. 

At some point I will open up comments for this. I'm working up to that point. :)

To fling:

- Dirty snow. It's just so gross-looking. Ewan asked if the snow was getting old because it was gray. 

- The people who cannot for the life of them say "excuse me" when wanting to pass you so they stand there like boobs and stare. I'm not a mind reader. Do you want by? Do you want to stand there and look at the crackers with me? I DON'T KNOW. TELL ME.

- Distractions. Miscommunications. Ill intentions. Not seeing the forest for the trees. The best can fall victim and when they do, the when and susceptibility, is what I want to fling. 

- Black licorice. The Black Plague never went away, it just turned into black licorice. 

- My dependance on coffee. It makes me feel like I have sludge in my veins when the effect finally dissipates. 

- Having to work as much as I do to eke out a living. (And I'm damn proud of having worked hard as hard as I can to help put a nice roof over the heads of my children, feed and clothe them, and I will never feel guilty about taking comfort in that small success.)

- Using emoticons to force feelings that I don't feel. No, I meant what I said; I am NOT going to put a WINKY EMOTICON there to diminish that. 

- Winter. The ground is cold, hard, and lifeless.

Not to fling:

- My boys. Ewan wakes me up most mornings by sticking his round little face mere inches from mine and whispering: "It's goooood morning time!" I used to not be a morning person but that alarm makes me love the world in the morning. Liam will be curled up under his blankets with a book, just as I was his age. 

- Chris. I think he feels bad that I have to work when he knows that if the political and economic climate were different, I might not have to, so he makes up for it by pitching in where he can. He made me rye bread the other day. I ate half the loaf with dill dip. 

- The way all the boys in my house sound exactly the same when they snore. 

- My friends, my mostly apolitical, wonderful friends who don't care what I think, for whom I voted, or anything else. They are at times an oasis, much like my non-apolitical friends are another sort of oasis. 

- All the people who have emailed. I stopped checking statistics here and have no idea how many people visit, but I know that I got about a hundred emails from people who said the most amazing, wonderful, supportive things after my last post. I honestly didn't know whether or not you were still out there and you were and well, here I am now also. Knowing that such people were still there, people who accept you as a whole and separate the parts out on their own gave me encouragement. I did still write privately.  

- Prayer. Knowing that I can give my yoke to someone greater than I who can bear it. Whenever joy eludes me I pray. 

Your turn. If you fling anything email me at mamalogues at yahoo dot com and I will link it here.

Also flinging:

- Colleen has loaded hers up
- The lovely LeAnn, over at One with Books, loaded hers up as well

A New Year

It seemed like 2009 was dragging forever on and then, right there in the holiday season, the timeline scrunched itself up and flung everyone one on it straight into the new year. 

Sometimes I look back at the last two years and seriously just go WTF HAPPENED? I'm on a path that I never expected for myself but oddly feel as though I've prepared all my life for it. Sadly, this hasn't extended to me finding it any easier to knit socks. I reverted back to baby items because those things are small and babies don't care if their stuff looks slightly off. 

I always thought that I had a thick skin but last August showed me that a thick skin can still be penetrated, especially when the weapon is pure and utter crazy and the mode is threats. That very dark period resulted in me shutting down comments on this website and closing the gates on my Flickr photo permissions - but within it I found something else I did not expect to find: a new dimension of confidence and a better understanding of exactly how powerful a motivator mother's rage really is. 

I also learned that some people liked me but only if I denied a part of myself while accepting all parts of everyone else. It's impossible to do, dishonest, and it sucks massive amounts of arse to both write in such a manner or read anything written specifically to toe the line. People either like me or don't, I can't do anything about it, nor do I care to, because doing something about it means morphing into vanilla and that's not who I am. God made me energetic, fidgety, and gave me insane hair and an inability to not speak plainly for a reason and I'm tired of fighting it here. I started this website as both an exercise in writing and as a way to remember all of the amazing things that happens in young parenthood that we often overlook due to stress and neurosis. It used to feel like "my" space. Then I got the hatemail from people who hate what I do professionally, I got mail from people telling me what I can or cannot write about on my personal website; mail from people who said I couldn't be both a "mommyblogger" and a political blogger OH NO don't cross the streams; I got mail from people threatening to never come back and read again once they found out that I was a GASP evil deadly conservative radio personality. I didn't even write about politics here but people would still say that they didn't like Mamalogues because of what I'd write elsewhere.

(The funny thing is that I wrote about politics online a couple years before I started writing about my children.)

For a while I went with it. I posted kittens and sunshine! Look! Here's a photo of my piano! Oh, er, bacon! I don't have an opinion on anything over here! 

I don't know what happened but it's 2010 and now my response to all the emails is, basically this:

S  F  W.

The acronym is easy. 

If what I do in my day job makes it impossible for another breeding female to relate to me as a mother via this website then there are problems, yes, but they ain't mine

I don't have to have everyone agree with every single one of my beliefs in order to have a good time or enjoy life. It's boring and too hive mind-esque to have no check and balance. There is too much to be both enjoyed and freaked out about in the world to worry about all the different ideas people have in order to get to THE SAME GOAL. 


Actually, I do know what happened and it had nothing to do with the New Year. I was tired of hanging myself with the rope of vanilla writing in order not to inflame the hemorrhoids of the world. I read writers with whom I could not further disagree on matters political but I read them because they are damn good writers who tell an entertaining story. The whole quasi-analogous "keeping the bloodlines pure" approach is exactly why some folks today are still born inbred. 

I've some very wonderful friends who are liberal bloggers and liberal mom bloggers and they're of the same SFW? mentality. They know who they are. 


My point, which I am still formulating as I go along, this all started as a giant exhale, is not to say that I'm going to turn my site into a repository of political postings, not at all. I enjoy that it's different, a place where I can reconnect with the very craft that started me down whatever road I'm on in the first place. However, I'm not going to deny myself anymore in this space. I think to even expect such is, in a way, bigoted and some of it sexist, like women who raise children and are at home (or mostly at home) have no place in such affairs. I don't believe such things. I don't like middlemen butting into my relationship with God and I don't like middlemen trying to butt in the relationship between me and my employee, the government, by using the old snakeoil justification of elitism. 


We can all read and understand the Constitution, mothers, daughters, grandmothers, and sisters alike. I'm going to say this: I'm not slighting men (and I don't have to preface every thing I say about women with "no offense to you men" because it's ridiculous) but women have a different, not greater, different, relationship with their children. When you birth or adopt a child, nurse him in his infancy, when you can literally discern your individual children's scents, when it's woven into your very DNA to protect, protect, protect, nurture, nurture, nurture that child, you're going to pay attention to an election, the winner of which who could decide whether or not that infant you raised and know so well is going to war or whether or not he or she will have a world left when they grow up. 

Being a mother is a political act and a gigantic leap of faith. 

Anyway again. 

I will be here with more frequency. As my children grow, my perspective in their affairs will slip to that of observance with respect to privacy because long ago I set boundaries on how much I was willing to share about them with respect to their privacy and I knew that this boundary was dynamic. Personally, I think that there is a difference between digital scrapbooking (or writing about my life from my perspective) and writing an biography of someone's life. That latter is not my story to write where my children are concerned. 

Another anyway. 

I had to get that off my chest.

Happy New Year.  :)


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