This past weekend, the kids and I went up to visit family and see Jessica’s new baby.

Nolan is the absolute cutest baby.  I’ve never held a baby that small before and it was heaven when he fell asleep in my arms.  He is the sweetest little peanut.  It was really hard to say goodbye.

Being with my family makes me feel super snuggy and loved - it’s a safe place to be when you’re feeling so emo over a particularly bad cycle (hello hormones, kiss my butt), and kinda worn out from the driving and the fighting between the kids in the car.

Seriously, is this the age that they must fight over every little thing including the air?  No, I’m not kidding you.  Dylan seems to have less and less patience for his brother these last few days and Thomas seems to capitalize on that fact by poking at him at every opportunity.

Poor Thomas had a particularly hard time with his allergies on Saturday night and the town I was in had closed up by midnight, so I drove to the next town 20 minutes away to get him something.  It was pretty quick relief and the little man slept till 10 the next day. I felt so bad for him.

Saturday night we went to my Aunt’s for dinner.  We sat around and talked a lot, fussed over the baby, and poor Granny was Christened, (not in the good way) by Nolan.  He even got the cat.  It totally reminded me of this commercial:

We were all laughing so hard. Poor Granny.

I wish I could have stayed longer, and I wish we didn’t live so far away from each other.

Especially since I miss little baby Nolan so much already!

I took the last post to draft mode while I’m away for the weekend.  It’s complicated.

Do you ever listen to a song and think, who signed these people to make this horrible song?

Example:

In The Ayer - Flo Rida

Also, the same artist (Flo Rida), in his latest video, is dancing on a spinning Oreo Cookie which TOTALLY kills my willpower when on the treadmill at the gym (video below). I actually have to turn to look at CMT in order to stop thinking about Oreos.

Eff You Flo Rida. Eff you and your spinny Oreo and your song about oral sex that my kids sing along to in the car and thankfully don’t ask about.

Right Round (US Version Video) - Flo Rida

Eff you and your made up words like Ayer. Also, Apple Bottom Jeans are fugly.

Though I likely could fill them out since all I think about on the treadmill are double stuffed Oreos.

And yet? BOTH of those songs along with the damn Apple Bottom Jeans and Boots With the Fur song are on my iPod. And I’m not alone, am I Busymom?

Eff me. All I can do is Bounce. Like mah ass got the hiccups.

Got kids?

Could you the rest of us a favour and perhaps, spend a little time with them?

I will never claim to be the perfect parent.  But I will say this (at the risk of sounding old): (some) kids today are punks.  And they’re growing up to be useless punks who milk off the teat of their parents (enablers!) or worse, the government.   I see a lot of 20-somethings and some 30-somethings who still live at home.  Who can’t hold a job.  Who are still in university on major #4 or #5 because they can’t decide what to do with their life.  I see people who could be productive members of society pissing away their life on a constant stream of drugs, alcohol, facebook (seriously why does every detail of your non-life need to be broadcast?) (says the blogger) (who is on twitter), partying, superficial stupidity and excuses, excuses and more excuses.  It makes me sad.

What makes it even worse is their parents are condoning it all.  Enabling it.  Paying the kids’ bills and helping them to come up with more and more excuses as to why they haven’t cut the cord yet.  Cut the cord parents!  Kick the 22 year old out of your basement!  Teach your 14 year old to make her own damn grilled cheese!  Have the 34 year old DO HIS OWN LAUNDRY.

Pardon me while I get all uppity ’bout my parenting.  Maybe I’m in the minority here, but I expect a lot from my kids, by some people’s standards.

Namely:

Respect - both of them get in trouble for lipping off.  Dylan doesn’t do it very often, but Thomas is 4 and testing boundaries.  If he disrespects one of us, he is to look us in the eyes, say sorry, and tell us why he is sorry.

Strong Work Ethic - both my kids get an allowance: the 4 year old gets $4/week, the 10 year old gets $10/week - but, BIG BUT, they have to earn it (and there have been weeks when we’ve said, “uh uh, we don’t think you earned it dude because we fed the dog all week.’ ) They both have savings accounts, and both of them save like mad.  Since we started allowances (when Dylan was about 5), Dylan has bought himself an iPod Nano, numerous books, and is currently saving for an Xbox 360.  Some weeks, the kid has more money than his Mama.  In fact, I owe him $200 right now.  True story.

Pride - whether it’s school, hockey, soccer, or building a sand castle, I want them to know that doing things half-assed is not going to be enough for them.  Not for me, for them.  Work hard, Play hard.  Have some pride.  And we aren’t those doucheunits on the sidelines screaming at our kids.  We don’t lecture them until {insert any fun activity} is ruined.

Cleanliness - both personal hygiene and cleaning up after themselves are things that are important for life.  It’s never too early to learn this stuff.  Obviously they brush their teeth twice daily, wash their hands when they get home from school (especially then!  Hamthrax!!), after the bathroom and before dinner etc, and they are clean as far as showers & baths go.  They floss.  (!) They clean their ears.  I am in a battle with them over their nails though.  That’s a tough one since we don’t have a driveway or grass yet and we’re living in a giant sandlot.

Further to the personal hygiene, my kids do a lot to clean up after themselves.  They clear, rinse and load their plates into the dishwasher, they wipe the counters and the dinner table, unload the dishwasher, and they take care of the dog’s needs, including feeding her, giving her water and her pill, and cleaning up the dog poop daily.  They clean their own bathroom too.  Yes, they are 4 and 10.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s taken a long time to get here.  I still nag them occasionally, but they are growing up and getting it.  That’s all I care about.

Daren and I were talking about this tonight, and he said, “If we put Dylan in an apartment for a week, he would survive.  Probably better than X, Y and Z (that are all in their 20’s.)  X would call his Mom within an hour, Y would starve to death and Z would probably sleep until someone picked him up.”  Totally true.

We let the boys help us with cooking and laundry so they will learn these things.  One day I won’t be around to coddle them - what good does that do them anyway?

My mom used to say that it would take her more time to teach my brother and I these things than it would to do it herself.

Really?  Really Mom?

FAIL.

Because tonight, while I tackled code code and more code, my boys helped their Dad get salad and burgers on the table.  Then the boys cleared the table, put all the salad dressing and condiments back in the fridge, emptied the dishwasher, re-loaded it, wiped the counters and dinner table, got themselves ready for bed and 40 minutes after dinner guess where I found them?

As I peeked around the corner of Thomas’ doorway, I heard Dylan say, “sound it out…” then Thomas practically whispered, “aaaarrrounnd.”

They were reading Where the Wild Things Are.  Correction, Dylan was helping Thomas read Where the Wild Things Are.  With patience, with tenderness.

I’d say all this time we’ve spent teaching them how to do things is rubbing off on them.  The patience they are learning is a sweet bonus.

So my 10 year old brought home a permission slip for me to sign, allowing him to participate in sex education at school.  Topics to be covered are puberty, the reproductive system, the importance of personal hygiene, and in his words, “the teacher is going to show the girls how to use a tampon!”

To which he immediately followed up with, “well not show them show them, but yanno, show them.”

Heh.

Here’s the thing.

There are certain topics that I would prefer to teach our children, ourselves.  Namely, sex and drugs come to mind.

Last year, a police officer came to school and talked to the kids about marijuana, cocaine, heroin and peer pressure.

Alright fine.  That’s great.  But they teach him about meth, prescription drugs, huffing, strawberry quick, or what to do if your very best friend in the whole wide world offers you any of the above? NO.  I did that.

Did the fact that the school taught my kid about drugs open up discussion in our home?  Not really.  Before he listened to that police officer, he listened to us.  He saw pictures of every drug I could think of.  He was told exactly what each drug would do to him, how it would make him feel, and informed of the risks involved, especially since trying meth once could kill him.  We assured him he could call us any time of day if he was in a situation and that we would not get mad.  We talked about situations and how he would handle them.

Enter, the sex talk.  We’ve always been very open with him, always answering any questions he has. He’s pretty well informed on anatomy anyway since he is a big reader, and we’ve talked to him a little about STD’s and stuff, trying to keep it age appropriate, etc.  The fact of the matter is, kids are performing sex acts at a younger age than we did and we felt we should inform him of the risks, as well as talk about respecting yourself and others.

“Are the kids at school all giggly about this unit?” I asked him.

“Yeah totally,” he laughed.

“Well if you have any questions at all about the unit, don’t hesitate to talk to Dad or I,” I offered.

He giggled.

“What?” I asked.

“You said unit,” he laughed.

I laughed too.  “Well if you have any questions about YOUR unit, take those to Dad.  He’s a unit expert.”

Anyway, I know there are families who don’t talk about anything in this regard, and I guess it’s good the school does cover it.  It just makes me sad that some kid’s parents refuse to talk to their kids about stuff.  My mother never ever explained anything to me.  I learned from friends and books, and maybe that’s why, in grade 6, I thought men and women had sex to make the hole bigger so the baby could come out.

True story.

I have insane problems with anxiety when staying away from home. I hide it pretty well, but it often takes the form of an insecurity that comes out in stupid jokes and really nerdy laughter. And farts. And babbling about nothing.

Yeah I know I’m a nerd. I embrace my smartypantsness quite well, most of the time.

On a bit of a whim, Sam and I decided last Tuesday that we would travel to Casey’s, and I? Was terrified.

First off, I didn’t really know much about Casey except that she has a beautiful daughter Thomas’ age and she herself is absolutely stunning.  And she made me cry when I saw this last year, so I wrote to her and told her how brave I thought she was for telling her story.

Then I started reading her archives and find out she is Mormon. Devoted to her religion and her family.  One of my very best friends was Mormon before she met me. And no, I had nothing to do with her leaving the church a couple of years ago.  Pinky swear.

I am absolutely fascinated by religion.  All kinds.  I think the stories behind the beliefs and how the beliefs came to evolve and be what they are today is interesting to learn about.  Especially since I wasn’t raised in any sort of organized religion, unless my mother sending us to Sunday School so she could sleep in with her boyfriend of the week counts for something.

My Granny bought my brother and I a children’s version of  Bible stories and I read that book until it fell apart.  I believed, as a child, that if I read my bible, I would go to Heaven and the stories themselves had me lost in a world that was so unlike my own.  As a child, I prayed.  A lot.

Having said all that, religious people scare me to bits.

For some silly reason, with me not going to church as a child, teenager, & young woman, I developed a fear of the unknown.  I didn’t belong anywhere and so when it came to worshiping any sort of God, I didn’t fit.  And for some reason, I have this belief that religious people automatically will mistake my lack of religion as me being a bad person. That and they can somehow see into my soul. Uh yeah. I did say my fear was irrational.

Enter: Casey.

At the last minute, Ali was able to make the trip with us to Casey’s house, and her, Sam and I had a great drive up, laughing and talking.  Ali was instantly loved to bits by Sam and I and I’m fairly certain she wants to have lesbian babies with us loves us back.

All the way there, I kept wondering how I would be received by Casey.  She’s seen my potty mouth tweets, she knows I swear.  I drink Corona’s and lime on the weekends.   I have, on occasion, smoked things you can’t really buy in stores.  I wondered if she had let me tag along with Sam because she’s polite.

Internally, I was a mess. It doesn’t help that I’m approaching pms week and I always get insecure during that time.  Like DriveYourFriendsAliAndSamCrazyInTheCarInsecure.  I know.  22-25 days out of the month, I’m FINE.  For about a week I get an A for Annoying.

By the time we got there, it was pretty late and we all sort of were so tired and punchy, giggling all silly that we finally ended up going to bed after about an hour.   Casey was so sweet and welcoming and had us all set up for bed, and as I fell asleep (spooning Sam , of course), I couldn’t wait for the morning when I could get to know her a bit better in person.

Saturday morning, we sat around Casey’s dining room table and talked like old friends.  Her sister was visiting too and us 5 women went from nervous laughter, to true hearty laughter very quickly.  I taught Casey awkward turtle and she literally fell off her chair laughing.

We talked to our other girlfriend Adam on Skype, went shopping and devoured 8 million calories at the Cheesecake Factory, and found out the mall family bathroom wants you to be their friend on Facebook.  Indianapolis is a little strange that way.

That evening, Casey and I ran out to get dinner for everyone and had some time alone to just talk.  Our friendship, however new, rested solely on an Airhead candy for a brief time period.  Thankfully I passed a rigorous test that involved a lot of jaw power and all was well with the world.  Thank goodness I have a strong jaw.  Whew.

That car ride through Indianapolis made me think long and hard about making assumptions about how people will perceive me just because I’m not religious.  Truth be told, no one I’ve ever known has been wholly defined by their religion and Casey was so much more than the wonderful person she tells you about online.  I’m sure no one wants to be wholly defined that way, just as I don’t want to be labeled a sinner or an Atheist - especially since I’m neither and especially since I hate putting people in Mental Tupperware myself.  It isn’t fair to anyone to be labeled.  I don’t talk about my religion because it really doesn’t belong anywhere.  What I believe is personal and I think it should be that way for those who want to keep it personal.

On the way back home to Canada, Ali and I had a long conversation about the very same topic and about being Jewish (she is).  I told her that over the last few months, I have realized that my previous belief about circumcision was very narrow.   Before, I was adamant in believing that boys should not be circumcised under any circumstances including religion.

I dismissed someone else’s religion completely.  Not cool, Karen.

That was ignorant.  When I saw Alice Bradley’s face fall in a Momversations video about that very topic a little while ago, I knew my words had hurt someone in her very position at some point.  Maybe even Ali.  For that, I take accountability and I’m sorry.  May I reiterate that any parenting decision shouldn’t be critisized?  You wanna breastfeed? Bottlefeed? Diaper your kid in banana leaves? Go for it.

(Well, except for Crocs, okay?  That’s well, something that rhymes with shmmild shmabuse.)

Anyway, my point is, religion can be a tough topic to talk about, but it is my hope that doors will continue to open for me to learn more about our people’s beliefs.  Because the friends I made this weekend were so amazing and interesting, I just can’t imagine living my life not knowing these women.

As for Casey, she can turn 27 today knowing we learned a lot from each other:

1) There really are words beyond swears.  And some of them are comedy gold;

2) Awkward Turtle will make a Mormon literally ROFL;

3) Swunderwire, Swass, Swunt and Swuttcrack are in the New Blogger’s Dictionary under ’sweaty body parts’;

4) Feed a Canadian enough ChickFlah and she’ll become an internet sensation;

5) Casey can’t make brownies, but boy howdy, she can make WOWnies.  (I dreamt of them last night!)

6) Canadians really are crazy enough to drive 10+ hours each way to walk a 5 mile course with people they’ve never met, for a baby they’ve never met.  We have big hearts.

With my big Canadian heart, I wanna tell Casey, on her 27th birthday, just how much I love her.

You should too.

Dear Jessica,

Tonight was a comedy of errors trying to get to you and in the end it made more sense to stay home and get a good night rest before driving to Indiana tomorrow.

I know you understand why I’m going to Indiana, and why I couldn’t be with you tonight or over the weekend.

Tonight you gave birth to beautiful baby boy and I couldn’t be more proud of you.  From the day you told me you were pregnant, you’ve been nothing but positive and hopeful that the plan for your life will work out, that you will make it work out.  I believe you.  I believe in you.  You make it easy, because you believe in yourself.  That is a really good quality to have and I hope it never wavers.

I know that our family can be hypercritical to a fault, and sometimes the competitive nature of sisters gets under your delicate skin and often pricks your heart.  My hope for you all is that these things change over time.  I believe they will.

The good thing about being the older cousin is that I don’t have that silly sisterhood thing happening and I can be here for each of you in a capacity much like an Aunt-like figure, much like your mother has been there for me in ways my own mother couldn’t be.  I’m grateful we have a family that is so close that we’re into too much of each other’s business.  It beats having the kind of family that never communicates and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.  I believe that.

Now Nolan is here, and though I haven’t yet met him, I hear he entered the world with strong lungs and a strong reserve.  I smiled and teared up when your Mom gushed over him on the phone tonight.  Already he has your fight, your will.  You’ve been a Mama for a mere few hours and you’ve already made all of us so proud of you.  You were so brave and the first thing you wanted was to hold your son in your arms.   Welcome to motherhood, Jessica.  It’s a place of vulnerability, or unknown strength, of love you’ve never known.

I know you have all kinds of hopes and dreams for Nolan, for yourself and TH, for this newly developing family you’re so lovingly putting together.  I wish I could tell you that things will all fall together into place, but the truth is, raising a child is friggin’ hard work.  Yes, you are well aware of that, I know. You’ve never lost sight of that reality.

I wish I could tell you that marriage is a walk in the park,  but often it’s a delicate balance of working together and listening to ensure you are really hearing what each other needs.  It’s all too easy to get so very comfortable in a relationship that you begin to treat each other with less patience, and more harsh words and dirty looks, especially during the ‘babymoon’ of little sleep.  If you remember nothing else I ever say to you, remember this: respecting each other’s feelings will take you a long way in a marriage and sometimes you have to remember when to stop talking, take a few breaths and try again later.  True communication can’t really happen unless you’re both taking the time to really listen.  I believe you both are capable of doing just that.  I believe in you both.

As far as parenting goes, I told you the other day that while I may or may not agree with decisions you make about your son, I will never ever judge you on those decisions.  If you want to breastfeed, bottle feed, circumcise or not, it makes no difference if I would have made the same decision as you.  It makes no difference what the world thinks of your decisions.  You need not open yourself to truckloads of guilt and agony by requesting the opinions of people who have not been supportive of you in the past.  Sure, as a mother, you’ll weigh many things, turn them over in your hands, inspect them and lose sleep over them, but once you’ve made your decision, please don’t let anyone make you feel badly.  In turn, do the same courtesy to fellow mothers.   Too many moms try to one-up each other when a little support is really all we really need.  I believe your maturity level is higher than most, and you’ll remember the feelings of others over trying to make your kid look better than their kid in some silly way like who’s child sat up/stood/walked first.  Don’t get sucked in by people’s leading questions to do that to you, either.

It’s funny, if I was thinking about saying these things to any other new mother, I probably wouldn’t.  I’m not the type to bestow lecture-like advice to anyone.  Please don’t mistake any of this to mean I don’t have faith in you.  I do.  So very much.  The thing is, I’d love to protect you from the unsolicited advice of strangers (and sometimes friends), from the seemingly innocent grandmother types in the drug store who will tell you to put a damn blanket on that baby and from the legions of women pressuring you to make sure you do {baby fad of the week here}.

I suppose I want to protect you from the harsher parts of motherhood.  After all, I used to change your diapers.

Love,

Karen

xo

p.s. sleep when the baby sleeps.

p.p.s. lanolin for your nipples.  give it three weeks. call the le leche league if you need help.  if you go with bottles, do not feel guilty about it.

p.p.p.s. if people want to visit, they have to bring a meal.

p.p.p.p.s. i’m only a phone call away.

p.p.p.p.p.s. i love you!

I’ve always been a grateful, appreciative person.  More so now that I’m a grown woman, seeing as my adulthood more than makes up for my childhood.

I tell my husband and my children that I love them, a lot more than I was ever told as a child.  I know I’m doing the right thing when my sons are giggling and pretending to push me away to stop kissing me already Mooooooom! I know that sounds idealistic and silly, but it’s true.  I want my kids to know that I am proud of who they are becoming, these perceptive and kind souls.  And I sure want them to know they are unconditionally loved.

I tell my husband thank you all the time for going out to work every day, I’m grateful that he helps me around the house, and more importantly, that he is a damn good father and a wicked awesome husband.   I think he loves hearing it, and it doesn’t hurt the kids any to see how much we respect each other.

I am a rich, rich woman when it comes to love, no doubt.

Today, Sam came to visit with her two boys.  Carter and Hudson are freaking adorable and it’s beautiful to watch a friend be a parent and feel just how much she loves her kids.  To know we’re pretty much the same as far as snuggling and kissing our kids (as much as they’ll let us) is comforting.  I know I’m not a freak for loving my kids as smooshily as I do.

We sat in my living room and planned a trip to walk for Maddie in Indy on suggestion from Casey and it was funny because Sam and I both kinda said we’d have to talk to our husbands, but the truth is, we both knew they wouldn’t have a problem with it.

We joked about ‘getting their permission’ even though we have similar team-like marriages and neither one of really needed permission.

Both husbands discussed logistics (with us, not each other) and at the end of the day, the reason for going was clear and necessary.

Behind this community of bloggers, there are the non-blogging loved ones who stand behind our reserve to help each other when needed.

For that, for my husband, for Sam’s husband and Tanis‘ husband and Casey’s and Lotus‘ and Angie’s and many more husbands (and wives, boyfriends, and girlfriends!!) who are not bloggers but often the subject of our blogs, I gotta put my hands together and say, Thank You.

Thank You for standing by us when we have our friend’s tears on our shoulders.

Thank You for telling us that stupid troll comment meant nothing.

Thank You for hugging us when we decided to close down our blog 87 times.

Thank You for listening to us blather on about our stupid plugins and visitors versus page views traffic and mothereffing code that mothereffing broke everything in mothereffing IE 6 which no one should be using and why am I designing for people who won’t get with the times, even though you have NO IDEA what the hell we’re talking about.

Because with you, we have been able to do so much for families who need us.  We have said goodbye to people we have loved.  We have raised money for children we don’t know.  We have taken trips to meet complete strangers.  We love other bloggers without even laying eyes on them.  We have kissed the heads of babies we aren’t related to.

We have introduced our blogged-about children to each other and they’ve snuggled up within hours:

(Carter and Thomas, snuggled in Dylan’s bed watching Monsters Inc. this afternoon.)

It’s bittersweet that Casey, Sam and I are together in Indianapolis this weekend.  Of course we’re thrilled to see each other.  I wish it were because of other circumstances.

At any rate, for Maddie, we walk.  I only wish I had gotten the chance to kiss the top of her sweet little head.

Please donate, if you’re able.

EDIT: When I moved mah blog back to the original domain, I had stupid settings on for commenting.  namely, you had to be logged in to comment.  Whoops.  I just took it off.  Here I thought nobody loved me anymore!  I’m a tool.  Just like the category says.

I’ve been the usual busy with work, (at these pretty websites here, here, and here if you’re curious - oh and sorting Karl’s ass out for having 18 million outdated plug ins, which HELLO? Are a risk.  If you aren’t using a plugin, delete it.) and haven’t cooked up anything blog-worthy that I’m unlazy enough to stick out there.  Read - it’s all 140 character-worthy.

I started back up with a newer trainer and she is doing something very similar to Shred with me.  I’m trying to drink more water and move more but the whole web design thing means I sit on my ass a lot.  Anyway my first day back was last week and OH EM GEE I’m STILL sore 4 days later.  I don’t know how I’m going to do sit-ups with her tomorrow at 9 a.m. without punching her in the face.  Really.  I can barely get off the couch to get a beer.

My husband is still alive even though he announced this morning that he has lost 7 pounds for our It’s On Like Donkey Kong challenge.  I told him I gained 2.  I’ve actually gained 3.  I’m hoping it’s muscle.  I’m suspecting it’s white cheddar macaroni and cheese with bacon bits.

My kids are loving the new house and we should be getting grass and a driveway soon.  Thankfully for them, the adjacent lot will still be a sandpit and they can create things like Spongebob Town in the dirt using old bricks and such.  My builder went over everything with his metal detector so the kids won’t step on a nail hopefully.  I thought that was pretty damn nice of him. My washer and vaccuum are both dying slow deaths what with all the sand coming in the house.

Thomas continues to make us howl die of embarrassment with his quips.  I bought him a hockey stick at Superstore (groceries + more) and he was carrying it way out in front of him.  I pulled it upright and told him to hold it up so he doesn’t trip anyone.  Doesn’t a lady whiz by in an electric wheelchair right then?  Loudly, he says, “Pretty much that’s the only person I can’t trip in here Mom!”  She didn’t hear.  I wanted to die right there.

We also discovered that Thomas has some sort of aversion to milk.  We tried soy but that made him worse.  He does okay with Almond milk and most recently we discovered an organic lactose-free brand that is working for him.  Wanna take a guess at how much that costs?  Yes, an arm, a leg and a tit.

Well hopefully I survive tomorrow and my trainer doesn’t kill me - I don’t want to be the only one in this house Thomas pretty much can’t trip.