"We got naked and sat all over the furniture," she responded in an unintentional impersonation of George Carlin.

It seems that Liam has inherited her power.

A couple of weeks ago I took the boys with me to shop at Trader Joe's. As we wound through the aisles Liam asked a multitude of questions about this or that; he's responsible for reading my grocery list and locating the items we need. He always greets people and knows no stranger; despite all the worried emails I get about how homeschooling will turn him into an unresponsive social freak.

He knows many of the checkers in the store and grills them about their jobs, why certain things are on sale, even what my motivation may be for denying him a box of the candy near the register. They always chuckle and engage him. During this particular excursion our checker was a woman with a disfigurement around her eye. I never dissuade Liam from asking questions and try to view them as an opportunity to teach but sometimes I just want him to shut his mouth - like the time we saw a little person while visiting my uncle in the hospital and Liam stage-whispered in my ear: "LOOK, MOM, he's like Mike T.V. from Willy Wonka."

I swiped my card at the register and chatted with the clerk while monitoring Liam from the corner of my eye. He stood silent; his head cocked to the side as dogs often do, and stared at the cashier. I could sense his questions coming. Just don't, just don't, just don't I said to myself. I tried to send him a message with my eyes: IS RUDE. NO. His eyes responded: WHATEVER, I'M NOT LISTENING. WE'RE IN PUBLIC.

"What happened to your eye there? Why does it look all funny?" he asked. I know I said that I don't discourage him from asking questions OK, but I was raised to not ask any question which may cause someone else discomfort. Honestly though, I don't know what's more discomforting: asking someone a personal question or pretending that an aspect of a person doesn't exist so as to not cause yourself potential embarrassment. Luckily the woman was very laid-back and demonstrated the enduring patience of one who is used to children.

"I shot a firecracker and it hit my eye," she told him as she put my frozen stuff in my velcro bags.

"Did it hurt?" Liam asked.

"It did. I lit up a bottle rocket and wasn't being careful." She explained it a bit, including how he should always be careful with fireworks. I had to practically drag him out of the store so we could leave. He wanted to ask which particular fireworks might put out his eye, and he wanted to know whether or not her eye came out at any time and it was all I could do just to grip his wrist a little tight, talk over him, and usher him out to the car. I forgot my wallet in my rush, which she kindly brought out to me in the parking lot, right as I was telling Liam that if he MUST ask a question, ask A question, don't grill the woman. He understood. I don't want to scare him away from natural curiosity but at the same time, there's a way to decorously go about it.

I'm still learning how to teach him that.

Earlier that same day we had the first public meeting of the St. Louis Bloggers Guild, which was crazy and fun, and I met new cool people. We're partnering with Playbackstl to start St. Louis's first interactive festival in conjunction with Play:STL. It's very exciting and I'm looking forward to pulling it off with so many other talented individuals.

Now we're going to go out and enjoy some sun.

Ohmygawd.

Their produce sparkled like diamonds. The kids and I were in such awe that passerby must have thought that we were urchins who'd never set foot inside a grocery store before. Their bell peppers? They were meticulously arranged so that all their little butts were pointing outwards. I am freak about my food and we are instant BFFs if you order your kitchen items with a dash of OCD. There wasn't a withered piece of produce in the bunch; there's always a suspicious bag of grapes or a browned apple in the mix but not at this store. I like to touch, smell, and feel up my produce, not unlike foreplay, before I place it in my cart. It seemed pointless to do it here. They had everything categorized. There was a giant ORGANIC sign marking all the naturally grown products. I wish Schnucks organized their organics as thoughtfully. As I only popped in for meat - and OMG those cuts were SMOKIN' - I didn't go through the whole store but I'm sure that the aisles were paved with tiles made from crushed unicorn horns and that there was a pot of gold in the last aisle. We briefly considered erecting a tent in the cereal aisle and just like, live there for ever.

When we approached the register there was - GET THIS - a bagger waiting at the end of the conveyor belt. In some other stores, even when business is slow, I have to practically shake down a cashier to get a bagger. And when one isn't available there's this awkward moment, you know, when you attempt to bag your groceries and you try to hide how you bag them so the cashier doesn't glance over and roll their eyes. You stand there like an unwelcome houseguest as your groceries accumulate at the end of the conveyor belt, like should ... should I start bagging this? No? Is that a bagger over there? Is he...he's coming over here - no, no he's going on a smoke break. Ok, so I bag? When the cashier has to bag your groceries the people behind you in line are all "Gawd, we HAD to get behind a FAMILY purchase," because all they have is a box of wine, toilet paper, and beef jerky (party!) and boooo on you for buying family-size quantities of food. Ok, maybe it's just me. 

But anyway, there was a bagger there and he just stood there and then when my groceries came down the belt his arms went blurry and he bagged the hell out of my groceries like I have never seen them bagged before. When he was done his hands were actually smoking and he blew on him like a gunslinger blows on a gun after winning a draw. Slightly exaggerated, but still. Then the checker gave the boys stickers and because they are bought and sold with anything miniscule so long as it's free, they were all "WE LOVE IT HERE." 

(I was seriously not paid, contacted by, or cajoled by Dierbergs to write this. I just get really excited over little things.)

I checked in my purse to assure that I'd packed a jar of Vaseline so as to get our egos back out the door before showing him his ribbon and congratulating him. Liam is at the stage where he could accomplish quite a lot artistically (more so than now) if Chris and I wanted to really push him, really cultivate him. But we don't. We let him do as much as he wants. We first thought that perhaps we were doing Liam a disservice, holding him back. We've since decided to the contrary. I always second-guess my parenting decisions. (I'm sure that will make the kids feel fabulous when they read this as teenagers. Hi! We've no clue as to what we're doing! Love, Mom and Dad.)

When I first began homeschooling we decided that our major goal was to discover each of our kids' particular gifts and then teach and encourage them to use those gifts for societal benefit. I don't want to burn them out on their passions during their childhood, besides; I want them to enjoy their youth. We know another young artist whom I believe to be equally advanced as Liam. He's always in some art workshop, studying in a mentor program, doing this, doing that, going here, going there. He's a brilliant kid but he doesn't act like a kid. Perhaps he's just super mature for his age but the last time we were around him and his parents in a social setting I fully expected to see him smoking a cigar and clutching a glass of scotch. I want Liam to run and revel in all that defines childhood. We have a period in our life where we're afforded a free pass to behave immaturely and explore all of our options because of our age. I want him to enjoy that. Besides, I think he does wonderfully as it is.

"Yes, it does look nice," I said, looking up from my copy of Domino.

"Yeah it does! It looks AMAZING."

It's spring again, the time of the year when animals come out of hibernation, when baby critters are born, when men ultimately talk about fertilizing their lawns whenever gathered together. It's apropos. At a recent gathering of friends, I noticed that the conversation from the man-half of the group delved into grass fertilization and yard work and mowing and machinery. Whereas a man's fishing stories are akin to a woman's labor story, so is yard work discussion akin to something chicks talk about, I'm too tired to think of a competent analogy. You get it. 

The other day we were at Lowe's, often thought of as man territory, but I love it there. I love the shiny objects and the smell of the wood. Basically, I love it for the same reasons as would a cat. Chris convinced himself that he needed a blower-slash-sucker. Some mechanized elephant to remove the dead leaves from under the deck and from the flowerbeds. He spent thirty minutes examining the different types of blower-sucker machines (my mind is about to explode from the juvenile opportunities here) before trotting out proudly to meet me in the garden department with the box in hand.

That afternoon as I pruned and planted like a 50s' housewife, he stood in the backyard and adorned himself with the blower's bag and strap as though gearing up for a joust. He slipped on a pair of the manliest garden gloves I could find him (blue and green stripes), a pair of yellow goggles, and for a moment, I could've sworn I heard the Vienna Boys' Choir and saw a Photoshop starburst behind him as he stood satisfied, his hands on his hips.

Now! On to happier, more pleasurably angsty things, specifically today's Friday Flashback. We were asked: "What was the first movie you ever saw? What was your first notable movie memory? And what effect did it have on you?"

Sweet jeebus, there are so many. I remember when I saw "E.T." in the theater and thought that E.T. was gross and ew but yet, aw, how sad that he wound up in a ravine bleating "Elliooot." I remember that the idyllic situation of the subdivision was very appealing. I remember first seeing "Labyrinth" and thinking that David Bowie was a strange, but fascinating man.

Then there is "Rocky Horror Picture Show," which my cantankerous, beer-loving, fallen Catholic uncle picked up at the video store for the kids while the family was vacationing on a house boat in the Ozarks. I was all "Mom, what's a transvestite?" To this day no one can crack me up like that particular cranky ol' uncle.

There's also "Poltergeist," which so impacted my life that to this day I am still weirded out by closets, mirrors, charismatics, and Quaker hats. One evening we grandkids were all spending the night at our grandparents on Thanksgiving night and my aunt thought it would be a nice little scary move, "like Casper." Sweet Christmas. I was never more terrified in my life as I was when I saw that film. After "Poltergeist 3" came out I removed all the mirrors from my bedroom. I'm not kidding. They stayed out of my room until I left home. Come to think of it, why the cost of the film's rental doesn't come with a therapist is beyond me. Steven Spielberg turned all of the fun, neat things about childhood: toys, clowns, trees, innocence, into instruments of terror.

My family seems so irresponsible, don't they?

I think perhaps one of my favorite films of all-time, a film that contributed so much to my warped humor, my fascination with my own neighbors and urban legends, spying on - and a general appreciation for my street is, "The 'Burbs." I saw this film in the theater with my mom and aunt when I was in elementary school. I've never laughed so hard in my life. It saddens me that it's so under-appreciated. I can identify with every character, even the Klopecs's outcast aesthetic. One of my favorite characters is played by the brilliant Bruce Dern. "I spent 18 months n the bush, sonny. I can snap your neck like a twig!" I found a compilation of his different moments from the film here:

Another scene from the movie here:

What movie impacted you the most? Share it in the comments. It's an interesting topic; I'm always curious to hear what people say.

The other divine Flashback Friday participants:
Oh the Joys
Mrs. Flinger
Sweetney
IzzyMom

(We're also still working on piecing the site back together. I'm still manually inputting hundreds of archives - though we may have some hope left for the server; Ill update if we do.)

One thing about trademarks: they're not like copyrights. Trademarks must be maintained because any stone left unturned can weaken the ability of a mark to distinguish a person's goods and services. This is intellectual property law 101. Because my mark was used as a column, because the name was optioned in Hollywood once, and now it seems for a second time, as a project, I knew that I had to stand up and protect my property. So I did.

Ms. Genevieve Hinson was apparently offended by this. I got emails asking me if I was related to her, if our sites were affiliated - there was actual confusion between the two websites. Then she followed me on Twitter. She was well aware of my trademark as I use the ® symbol present beside my mark. I was very cool and contacted her and told her hi, I was a bit concerned, could we talk? I was ignored. Again. And again. And again. I didn't quite know what to do. I realize that bringing the law into your life is a very serious thing and I wanted to steer clear of that but I have a responsibility to protect my property. So I contacted my attorneys. A cease and desist was sent out.

Just days before the deadline to which she was to respond, I was notified by a reporter, Nick Belardes, in my comments section no less, who very curtly asked me why I was "going after" everyone with a "mom" in their website name and oh, he was going to do a piece about it for the ABC affiliate ABC23 KERO in Bakersfield, California. Except that he already did it; it not only aired, but a story was on their website as well as video. I followed the link he gave me and I couldn't believe my eyes. I started crying.

Not only was the story missing valuable information, but I couldn't believe that they went so far as to suggest that I'm somehow being a "bully." I couldn't believe that Hinson thought it easier to run to a news outlet instead of just talking to me in the beginning. Who knows what could've happened. That it was asked why I was protecting my mark instead of asking why others were causing me to protect my mark also blew my mind.

What wasn't mentioned in the piece were all the times I tried to contact her and amicably discuss the issue. Or that I obtained my federal trademark before she blogged, and years before the entry was made on Urban Dictionary (I also think it's curious how the Urban Dictionary entry was created just last month). It didn't mention that my dispute with MomLogic was not over the issue of "MomLogic.com," but rather over their use of "momologues" as a blog on their website.

The bottom line is that it's not a case of "cyber bullying," it's about the rights extended to owners of trademarks under federal law. Specifically, federal trademark law requires that the trademark owners be vigilant with the protection of their marks. Plus, the term "bullying"  suggests that there is a disparity between resource and power when in reality, both parties are represented by capable counsel representing their interests in this matter.

It's amazing that I can be vilified for simply protecting that which I have earned, applied for, and received. I never tried to prevent anyone's speech, but rather act to protect my proprietary interest in my URL. I've never told anyone that they couldn't blog, but rather am asserting my right to my trademark which identifies my website.

That's why companies protect their trademarks.

You can't create a car company and call it "Dadge." You can't open up a coffee shop and call it Stahrbuchs. This is one of the main reasons I, and others, founded the bloggers' guild, to protect our work. We want to protect ourselves against any attempts to restrict and/or dilute the scope and force of the validity of our intellectual property, among many other goals.

It really upsets me that Ms. Hinson would use such a platform to express, for the first time, her disagreement with respect to my rights under trademark and in the process essentially cast me as the villain - that her dispute would resort to personal name-calling instead of having a discussion about the issues of our dispute.

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