derby day

If you enjoy what you find here, be sure to subscribe or become a follower, so you can keep up with all my bloggy goodness.

We're up early this morning because it is an important day in a Scouting household. Today is Derby Day, Pinewood Derby, that is. Little wooden cars will go flying down a wooden track, racing to the finish in just two short hours. Boys and their siblings will vie for the seats closest to the finish line, the better to judge the winners and the losers. Some kids will walk away with trophies. Most kids will not. This becomes an excellent teaching tool for parents and Leaders alike. You can't win them all.

I like the idea of the derby. I like the premise that elementary aged boys are given blocks of soft wood to shape into a car, attach wheels, and then race. I don't like the competitive spirit that goes into it. Now, don't get me wrong. I strongly feel that we shouldn't reward all the kids who participate in any given activity. There should certainly be winners and losers. Everyone should not go home with a trophy. However, the weeks leading up to the race can be stressful ones for parents.

The pressure to build the baddest, fastest, car on the block sends dads, and some moms, into a tizzy. From ordering special parts for their cars (guilty), to ordering professionally-made cars, to figuring out the perfect placement for the weights, the perfect shape for aerodynamics, and creating the smoothest possible axles, the derby can get a little extreme.

While we've gone over the top in years past, this year we opted out. Alex chose his design, though it certainly won't be the most aerodynamic car there. He had it cut out at the Pinewood Derby Workshop, hosted by our district. He brought it home and sanded it to his liking, and we pushed no further, even though the car is still rough and oddly-shaped. He chose his paint colors and design and painted the car on his own, with the exception of one oopsie-fix by me. We added the wheels just this morning.

Are we underachieving? Or, are we recognizing that this should be a fun event and placing less pressure on our son to get it right? He most likely won't win. He most likely won't even place. But, at least he hasn't spent months preparing for failure, as we have in previous years. At least his creativity shines through. I think he enjoyed making the car, as much as he could. He's not really a woodworker by heart.

So, the race begins soon. It will be an interesting morning, full of excitement. We'll go, we'll race, we'll leave. And, then we'll be done for another year.

I would post a picture of Alex's car, but I'm too comfy on the couch at the moment. Also, I don't have a lot of time for that right now. We leave in thirty minutes and I have yet to shower. Later, my friends. Later.

tsa backs down

If you enjoy what you find here, be sure to subscribe or become a follower, so you can keep up with all my bloggy goodness.

For once, the TSA has actually done something worthwhile in regards to airplane security.  I mean, besides from catching thousands of would-be terrorists and all that hyped-up jazz.  A few months ago, I posted about the naked surveillance scans that the TSA was using in most airports to detect knives, guns, playdough, and, quite possibly, strap-ons. 

Now, they've begun the process of retracting the whole-body naked googly-eyed scanners.  According to this article at time.com,  a new stick figure machine is being tested in a few airports.  If this goes over well, only actual walking, talking stick figures will have to worry about their private bits being exposed to the security agents.  And, if stick figures could walk, I think we'd have a lot more important things to worry about than what they were hiding in their hoo-hahs.

dave's return

If you enjoy what you find here, be sure to subscribe or become a follower, so you can keep up with all my bloggy goodness.

As a teen, I regularly read Dave Barry's humor column in the Sunday paper. Regularly, that is, until the idiotic Roanoke Times and World-News stopped publishing it. I guess it wasn't news-y enough or something. At any rate, I was an avid reader. Or a loyal reader. Or a fan. Whatever.

While other teen girls were infatuated with Brad Pitt or Sailor Moon (never quite got that one), I plastered the covers of my school binders with Dave Barry columns. After taping the article to the front, spine, rear, or inside of the binder, I would then "laminate" my work with more, um, tape. Classy, you know?

One fall, while at the Troutville fall festival (can't remember the name of it...), I happened upon a library's used book sale.  Books for a quarter!  Books for fifty cents!  Books, books, books, and more books.  You know what else they were selling?  hot dogs.  yeah.  because they go so well with books.  Want some ketchup with that?

I spent many minutes looking through all the boxes of no-longer-loved books and came away with quite an armful.  One of my gems was a Dave Barry book.  Seriously.  I know!  I didn't even know that my most favorite columnist who had been writing for the Miami Herald since the time I was three was an author, too!  I think the book might have been Dave Barry Talks Back, but really I'm not sure.  At any rate, it was awesome!

Now, let me tell you, the only thing that I remember from reading that most awesome library book sale find is this: Suck, Don't Blow.  That's right.  As a teen, I was taking my sex tips from a great comedian.  It scarred me for life.  Did you know that if you blow on a dick, the guy can get air in his blood and die?  That's what Dave Barry said.  I still can't breathe right while doing the oral nasty, out of fear of killing my husband.  Maybe I need one of those strips. 

This afternoon, I took Katie to the library and, lo and behold, what did I find?  Dave Barry's latest collection of comical essays.  I immediately checked out I'll Mature When I'm Dead, though I had an armful of other, more grown-up things to read.  (Like The Rebel Housewife Rules: To Heck with Domestic Bliss) (I'm pretty sure my early obsession with all things Barry influenced my overuse of the parenthesis) (parenthesisess? not sure what the plural of that one should be).

Dear Dave:  Though I go to comedy clubs and see other guys talking about funny stuff, though I inwardly laughed my ass off when my husband fell off a bounce house and bumped his head yesterday (he was fine), though I find humor in blogs and stuff, you're still my one and only comedian.  The one that I think of when I'm down.  The one I think of when I'm on my knees (Suck, lady, suck), the one who introduced me to the funny business.  Though you're an old man, and you're probably wrinkled up and should be gray, and you turned 50 like a million and a half years ago, you're awesome.  My binders salute you.

how to be on time

If you enjoy what you find here, be sure to subscribe or become a follower, so you can keep up with all my bloggy goodness.

Recently I've been reading a lot of blogs about home organization, kid control, and how to be on time. Isn't that the way things seem to go every year? January rolls around and everyone is talking about dieting and weight loss, how to live a better life, and how to take control of the life you have.

I think lots of mommies have issues with herding the kids out the door so they can get where they need to be, when they need to be there.  At least, that's what I tell myself-- that it's not just me, that I'm not the only louse who can't seem to make it anywhere on time, let alone early.

Bloggers toss around ideas like laying out clothes, shoes, books, wallet, keys, lunches, etc, etc, etc the night before.  They say to set your alarm early, or let your clock run fast (mine does, it doesn't help).  Even more tout the virtues of five, three, and one minute warnings, potty breaks ten minutes before you have to load up the car, shoe baskets, entryway organizers, timers, and the works.  But, does all of that ever really make your mornings (or afternoons, or evenings) go any more smoothly?  Does it really help you get where you're going on time, without having your hair stand on end from the stress of it all?  Not for me, though I admittedly haven't ever followed one procedure long enough to notice a difference.  I'm just not a time-management type of girl.

The one thing that I have found that works without fail is this:

To arrive on time, go without the kids.

just crumbs

I'm using this androblogger thing on my phone to try to write something tonight, but hunting and pecking in a tiny screen is leaving me feeling a bit uninspired. I guess some things are just better in theory. Like autocorrect, for instance. So, I'll just leave you with a thought...

Who took the cookie from the cookie jar? Was it you?

a lesson for the bag boy

If you enjoy what you find here, be sure to subscribe or become a follower, so you can keep up with all my bloggy goodness.

The leaders of my fine city have decided that they want to do away with free plastic bags at the grocery store. Maybe all plastic bags, I don't know. This doesn't really raise my eyebrows because NOTHING ever happens within a reasonable amount of time here. For example, I recently read that the leaders of the city were discussing building an amphitheater in Elmwood Park as many as fifty years ago.  Has it happened yet?  Hell no.  Are they still discussing it?  Of course! 

Regardless, I am all for using paper or reusable bags when shopping.  It makes a whole lot more sense than bringing loads of those flimsy plastic sacks home every time you want to buy a couple cans of soup.  Because, you know, bag boys {and girls, and men and women}, are only capable of putting ONE item in each plastic bag.  I don't know why this happens, but it does.  Or, better yet, if you buy a glass jar or bottle, they'll wrap that in TWO bags and then shove it in another ALL BY ITSELF for safe-keeping.  Just because I'm not capable of getting my soy sauce home intact since I live all of A MILE from the grocery store.  But, I regress.

Saturday night, my husband and I went grocery shopping at Sam's Club and then Food Lion.  {woo-hoo!}  Sam's, of course, doesn't give out any bags.  That makes sense.  But, like always, I had left my shopping bags at home, so we were loading cheese, bread, and milk into the trunk one by one.  Checking out at Food Lion, I requested that the groceries be bagged in paper.  The bag boy looked at me and squeaked, "Uhhhh..."  I pointed at the small stack of bags on the side of the conveyor belt and said, "They're right there."  Since, you know, NOBODY ever asks for paper anymore.  Wouldn't you know, that pipsqueak kid acted like I was a pain in his ass.  The icing on the cake was when my husband wholeheartedly agreed with the bag boy on the way out to the car.

But, paper wouldn't be as big of a deal if the baggers would just learn how to place items in the bags in an orderly fashion.  (I encountered this same issue at Walgreens today, by the way, with my reusable sacks).  When I worked at Walmart as a cashier, we had to take training module after training module on how to bag groceries.  Boxes to the outside, building out the sides, with floppy, smaller items towards the middle.  It isn't hard to do, you can fit lots more in the bag, and you use fewer bags along the way.  The same premise would apply to paper and reusable bags, one would think.  Don't just throw the items in haphazardly because the bag looks sturdier, for goodness sakes!  You can fit so much more in the bag if you just build out the sides.  Nice and tidy.

When I unpacked my bag from Walgreens, I found a carton of orange juice stacked on top of roly-poly cans of tuna and chicken noodle soup.  Why?  Couldn't he SEE that there was a big carton of juice that should go in the bag before the cans?  The poor guy even looked confused as he was trying to place the items in the bag.  A course, people!  Offer your baggers a course!  This is one area in which Walmart certainly succeeds.  Of course, a training module is only as great as the baggers who adhere to it.  So, to all the bag girls and guys out there, I beg you: Take pride in your work!

two sides of a coin

If you enjoy what you find here, be sure to subscribe or become a follower, so you can keep up with all my bloggy goodness.

My dad, a 60 year old disabled veteran, lives in extreme poverty. Visiting his new home last week, I found that he does not have running water, a toilet (there isn't one installed, so even if he had water, he couldn't use it), heat, or a decent way to cook food. He receives just over a thousand dollars a month in disability and veteran's benefits. Doing the math, he can't live on that even in his current rented slum. He pays out $136 a month in interest to a Payday Loan Company. He also pays $106 each month for life insurance. At least he's trying.

He could move into a low-income housing unit for elderly people. The city owns it and only charges $300 a month for rent and utilities. But, then he wouldn't be able to own pets, which are very important to him. I don't understand why he insists on keeping the number of animals he does, but I've found I can't do anything about it, either. That is, I can't do anything short of calling animal control, but his pets aren't really to the caliber of the Animal Hoarders, so I don't think that's really necessary. He'd just go get more anyway.

Across town, my mother lives in a two bedroom townhouse with all the niceties. She can, obviously, bathe as she wishes, do her laundry, use a toilet, watch tv or movies, use the internet, and do all the things a typical 50+ divorcee might enjoy. She's surpassed my father's goals and lives comfortably in a middle-class townhouse community, complete with a pool and small gardens. She has upper-crust taste, taking vacations to Florida to private beach-side gated communities each year, splurging on my kids, and generally doing whatever she pleases.

I'm sure this isn't typical of a kid with divorced parents, but I'm really glad that they split up when I was so young (age 3). I think my mother has achieved much more than my father would have tolerated. I expressed this sentiment to my husband last night and he replied that my mother might have brought my father up, rather than the other way around. I really don't think so. I mean, I was so young when they split that I don't remember much, but I do know what I've witnessed over the past twenty-some years. My dad doesn't have the true desire to do any better for himself. I don't see how my mother put up with it for the short time that she did.

During the week, I would live in your typical middle-class home. I was able to go to the doctor whenever I needed, I had all the toys you could imagine, I was warm, well-fed, and comfortable. I had a lovely bed with ruffled sheets and a big floppy blue comforter, complete with matching navy ruffled curtains.

Every other weekend, I was thrown into poverty. For the majority of my young childhood, there was only one bed. My dad would sleep on an army cot when I visited and I would get to sleep in his twin bed with dirty sheets. As a teen, I had my own room. However, it was fitted with two old, used, stained mattresses (no boxsprings, just two mattresses stacked together on a frame). It was queen-sized and my father never purchased or "found" sheets for it. So, I would be stuck throwing a blanket underneath me when I went to bed and another on top. At night, the roaches would come out. The conditions were awful. The house stank, there was little heat, and no clean clothes. And, to think, I temporarily moved out of my nice, comfortable home to live with him on more than one occasion.

So, I was exposed to both kinds of living as a kid. Though I didn't fully grasp my father's situation back then, it saddens me to see him living in such conditions now. While he used to work, he no longer does. He claims he is unable to, given his hip problems (2 replacements in ten years), carpal tunnel syndrome which surgery did not fully correct, and whatever mental issues he is dealing with. I used to think he was lazy. Now, I don't think anyone would be willing to hire him.

So, I'm stuck. I don't know how to help. I understand that my expectations in a home are higher than his own, but come on. He needs a toilet, which the slumlord won't install. He needs to be able to pay for water and electricity. He needs to live in safe and healthy conditions. I just don't know how to get him there.

non-conformity in extremes

If you enjoy what you find here, be sure to subscribe or become a follower, so you can keep up with all my bloggy goodness.

Good golly, what is this world coming to? Apparently, there's this lady living in Old Southwest, a neighborhood here in Roanoke, who has nailed a bunch of stuffed animals to a dead tree outside her apartment. First, one must ask why was this is the story of the day at roanoke.com yesterday?  I mean, really... aren't there more pressing local topics than a maypole made from nasty old stuffed animals?

But, then, one must wonder why in the world the landlord of the apartment building allows such a thing?  Who would want their property decimated by rotting trash?  This isn't art, people.  It is junk, through and through.  There's no statement behind it, no purpose.  It is only a tree full of stinky, wet, floppy, discarded toys.  I don't blame the neighbors for complaining.  I wouldn't want to live next to a dump, either.  Would you?

Then again, maybe there is a point to this.  Maybe this piece of "art" should make you think (though that isn't the purpose of the creator).  Our resources are being converted into garbage.  The natural beauty of our neighborhoods disappears under the clutter of materialism.  We buy and buy and buy and buy some more, piling the junk up in our homes, our yards, and eventually our landfills.  We are decimating the beauty of the land on which we live by our immature rituals of accumulation.

And, again... isn't the so-called artist doing the same?  Isn't she ruining the landscape through the display of her collection?  Wouldn't these toys have been better used had she given them a thorough cleaning and then passed them on to homeless kids or even animals at the shelter?  Yet, she hung on to them, for no sentimental reason, and nailed them to her tree.  She crucified the animals, because "Jesus said so."  Read the article, it's true.

Personally, I think she's a nutcase.  I think many of the self-identified artists in Roanoke are.  Yet, people coddle their quirks because being different makes them special, no matter what the result of their efforts may be.  Case in point: another recent news article detailed the opening of a new restaurant in the downtown district.  The "chef" specializes in boiled water.  She then adds powdered hot chocolate or ramen noodles, and turns around and sells this cup of crap for profit.  And people buy it!!!  People waste their money on shit-food that a monkey could have made with a microwave.  Why?  Because she's an artist.

Don't get me wrong.  I believe in art.  I like art.  I just don't like that there's this certain movement in my city, in which people can gain recognition for being off-beat and artsy.  Really, I think they need to get over themselves and stop trying to be non-conformists just for the sake of being.  Making a point?  Fine.  Making a point to have your ego stroked by the local media and your little cronies?  It gets old.  Fast.

comfy nights

If you enjoy what you find here, be sure to subscribe or become a follower, so you can keep up with all my bloggy goodness.

Last night, we converted Katie's crib into a day bed. I had been putting it off for some time because she is just now getting back into the habit of sleeping in her own bed every night. I couldn't imagine struggling to keep her in a bed from which she could easily escape.

I changed my mind, though, when I heard that a friend's child had climbed out of her crib and fallen, breaking her clavicle. How painful! Though the mother is at no way in fault, out of negligence or any such thing, I didn't want to risk that happening with Katie, who loves to climb anyway. So, the crib rail came down.

Katie was all giggles in her big girl bed.  "My bed is COMFY!" she would shout, jumping in and out.  The little princess also helped me make her bed with her all-new comforter set, given as a birthday present last October.  We had been saving it for just this occasion.  

Katie was eager to be put to bed and tucked in tight.  "Sleep tight, Mommy," she called out as she put her head on her bee pillow.  However, she didn't seem to want me to leave the room.  Giving in, I sat down beside her and decided to read a good night story.  What could be better than a fairy tale?

photo credit

Pulling out my nifty phone, I looked up Hansel and Gretel and began to read.  It was a story that I thought I remembered well from childhood.  You know, the one where the kids get lost in the woods and then snack on an old lady's house?  The witch catches them, holds them captive, and fattens them up for supper.  Then, just as she's about to roast one child, the other shoves the evil witch in her own oven.  Pretty simple little read, or so I thought.

I found myself skipping over the not-so-friendly parts of the story in horror.  Do you remember how the kids found their way into the forest?  This isn't a story about staying with your parents and avoiding strangers, folks.  The evil stepmother convinced their father to lead them out there and then leave the little buggers.  Child abandonment!  Oh my!  Not really a theme I want to reinforce to my daughter, whom I'm about to leave in her big girl bed for the very first time.  And the twist at the end, about how the stepmother dies after the witch bakes?  Could this be a subliminal message encouraging children to rise up against their parents?

And, what is it with the evil stepparents?  Did the Brothers Grimm have something against their mom?  Did they have an actual evil stepmother?  Were they using their storytelling as a form of release from their childhood horrors?  Or, were the stories more supposed to be antidotes as to why parents shouldn't remarry?  Think of the kids!

At any rate, though I have fond memories of fairy tales from my childhood, I think I'll spare my kids the dirty details.  Disney films may have some disturbing scenes, but can you imagine how much they must cut out to make the story mostly appropriate for children?  This is one case in which I'm all for censoring for the sake of the children.

you can't say that!

If you enjoy what you find here, be sure to subscribe or become a follower, so you can keep up with all my bloggy goodness.

Censorship by the government. When is it ever okay? When the materials at hand put the government officials in a sticky spot? When the information is "dangerous" to troops and citizens? When it is done in our best interest? Who is to say where our best interests lie?

Wikileaks founder Julian Assange was arrested today, on likely bogus charges of sex abuse.  Isn't it funny that the one thing they had on him was something that is definitely a he said/ she said sort of situation.  Isn't if funny that, after the man may have gone a little too far in publishing classified documents, he finds himself awaiting trial?   

Does this scare anyone else?  Does anyone else worry about the power of the US Government?  Are you concerned by the fact that government officials continue to violate the rights of its citizens?  Freedom of Speech, Freedom of Information, Freedom from Illegal Search and Seizure.... all flushed down the drain in recent days.

What's next?  When is this ever okay?

change of plans

If you enjoy what you find here, be sure to subscribe or become a follower, so you can keep up with all my bloggy goodness.

My husband and I have rarely had the opportunity to get away together. We spent a kid-free weekend in Gatlinburg about five years ago and we've visited Johnsonville, TN. But, that's about it. For that matter, we rarely get to take a vacation together at all. While I'll take the children to the beach with my mother, he'll stay at home because he can't take the time off from work.  However, due to an upcoming conference in San Fransisco, that was going to change next summer.  If he decided to go, I was hoping to fly out with him and, when he wasn't networking and attending conference-things, we were going to have a little time to ourselves.  

Then came the TSA's new screening policies. 

source

Our local airport does not have the Peeping Tom naked screening machines as of yet.  Given the small stature of our city, and the fact that many people drive two hours to fly out of the next largest airport in the area, they will likely be a long time coming.  Though, if we did have them, I likely would not go through one anyway.  I'm jittery about the typical pass-through metal detectors on a good day.  Now, you want me to travel through an x-ray machine that the laughable FDA has deemed safe, but private studies have found that they emit varying degrees of radiation?  Without a cape that protects my girly bits?  No thank you.  I'm not going to do it.




But, then again, I don't have to worry about that.  Our airport doesn't have the machines.  So, their newest method of screening involves this "enhanced pat-down."  In addition to providing maximum security in small airports, this is obviously an attempt to enact a humiliating negative consequence to opting out of the Peeping Tom machines.  When a passenger sets off the metal detector or opts out of the imaging technology machines, TSA agents have been known to loudly announce the coming fondling by shouting "opt-out, we have an opt-out here," thereby bringing attention to the imminent public humiliation.  Using the fronts of their hands and their fingers, TSA agents are now required to fondle passengers' genitals and breasts if the passenger either chooses to opt-out of the new naked screeners, or if such screeners are not available at all and the passenger sets off the metal detector.  The TSA has determined that dicks need to be grabbed, breasts need to be lifted (and likely squeezed-- what if a wanna-be terrorist has had a bomb inserted during a boob job??) and labia need to be swept with a "sliding hand motion" in order to assure that passengers aren't hiding weapons in their most private places.  Apparently, those places aren't so private anymore.  At least, not if you purchase an airline ticket.  I mean, really... why bother just sweeping?  Go ahead and probe us to make sure we haven't stuck anything inside our hoochies.  What?  Right, that's probably the next step in this crazy plot to make the average American citizen feel safer while treating them no better than a common criminal or an assumed terrorist.

I mean, really.  Why do they think passengers will just idly stand by and let this happen?  Do we not have any privacy any more?  What about our freedom from unreasonable search and seizure?  I understand that, traditionally, courts have allowed airlines and the TSA to be more vigilant in their searches for the supposed common good, but how far is too far?  At what point are we allowed to shout "enough!"

Well, apparently we aren't.  John Tyner, a passenger who recently told a TSA agent "Don't touch my junk or I'll have you arrested," was thrown out of the airport and is now facing a civil lawsuit and hefty fines.  According to CNN:

Tyner could face a civil penalty as high as $11,000, according to Michael Aguilar, the TSA's federal security director in San Diego, who defended the behavior of his officers during the confrontation. "He's violated federal law and federal regulations, which states once you enter and start the process you have to complete it," he said. .......

But anyone who refuses to complete the screening process will be denied access to airport secure areas and could be subject to civil penalties, the administration said, citing a federal appeals court ruling in support of the rule.
The ruling, from the 9th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals, says that "requiring that a potential passenger be allowed to revoke consent to an ongoing airport security search makes little sense in a post-9/11 world. Such a rule would afford terrorists multiple opportunities to attempt to penetrate airport security by 'electing not to fly' on the cusp of detection until a vulnerable portal is found."

Therefore, just buying a ticket, showing up to the airport, and entering the security line, removes all of a passenger's rights as to what they will experience at the security checkpoint.  You can't say no.  You can't turn back.  You can't make requests such as, "Don't touch my junk."  You just have to shut up, stand still, and deal with it.  Something about that is terribly wrong.  In this country, a consenting adult is not legally permitted to have sexual relations with whomever they choose, however they choose, in some states.  Yet, in all states, the federal government can grab you where ever they want, take pictures of whatever they want, put you through the loops and sexually abuse you, yet you cannot say anything about it and, as of now, have no legal leg to stand on. 

Even worse, this doesn't just apply to you, it applies to your teenagers as well.  Children under 12, of course, will receive a modified pat-down.  But, we have not yet been told what that will be.  Do you want this happening to your 14 year old daughter?

I certainly don't.  Beyond the fact that I feel this is incredibly inappropriate to subject ANYONE to, and the strong feelings I have against going through security due to these newly implemented measures, I know what it is like to be 14 and helpless against sexual assault from an authority figure.  That's right, it happened to me.  I will NOT allow the same to happen to my daughter or my son.  I don't want anyone looking at them naked and I don't want them to be felt up and groped.  So, what's the alternative?

For me, it is not to fly.  At this time, I do not anticipate accompanying my husband on his possible trip to California.  Of course, as public outcry grows and time passes, current events may change that decision.  So don't hold me to it, k?

The sticky thing about it is this: I have the luxury of choosing not to take a trip that requires flying.  Many people do not.  They must travel for work, sometimes quite often.  They don't have a choice in the matter.  What will those people do?  It is likely that they will take the abuse quietly.   They will keep their heads down and their mouths shut.  They might make sure they don't have a bit of metal on their person, so they won't have to endure the humiliation of the enhanced pat-down in small airports.  They will go without their belts, their underwire bras, their fancy studded shoes.  They will go to the furthest extent to make sure that they don't set off the metal detectors and, even then, that may not be enough.  Random screenings, anyone?  I can bet that they are on their way.

simplify, my dear

If you enjoy what you find here, be sure to subscribe or become a follower, so you can keep up with all my bloggy goodness.

source

This morning, a debate was started on a friend's facebook page in regards to childhood obesity.  It all started due to the dear, misinformed, crazy lady who goes by the name of Sarah.  That's right, Sarah Palin.  She apparently showed up to a school in Pennsylvania, toting a tray of chocolate chip cookies to make a point that the government should not be trying to dictate what our children eat.  Whatever.  I'm grateful for school lunch on the days that I don't have time` energy desire to pack for my son.  However, I do resent that his teacher dictates what we can send for snacks, but that's aside from my main argument here.

One woman involved in this discussion had a very good point that the current trend of overscheduling children in regards to sports, dance lessons, music lessons, language lessons, tutoring, etc, etc, etc, is aiding to the rising obesity rates of American youth.  After some thought, I must agree with her.  However, others were quick to point out that no one is making the mothers stop at McDonald's on the way home from practice.

This is true.  While no one is making you stop beneath the golden arches on the way home from activities, even convenience foods that you can fix ahead and take along are often times some of the worst things that we can feed our kids. I'm willing to bet that most of the moms who try to avoid the fast food lane with pack-ahead snacks still reach for he over-processed, prepackaged junk rather than cutting up some carrot and celery sticks or baking from scratch. Even the prepackaged apples, carrots, and celery that you can buy at the grocery store, and that health food nuts advocate for moms in a rush, are coated with chemicals and/or preservatives in order to make the food remain appealing after being cut so long ago.

Additionally, if kids are eating in the car or on the run, they are developing a rushed mentality about food. Eating on the go is also proven to lead to higher rates of obesity. Slow down and eat together at the table to curb your children's overeating.

source

Furthermore, many parents resort to stopping at a fast food chain to hit up their dollar menu because they feel that they cannot afford to purchase the healthy foods for their children.  I can totally understand this.  Buying organic and whole grain and the such is very expensive.  But, why must you continue to purchase the foods at all?  What did mothers do before they could buy 101 varieties of bread in the store?  They baked it, for much less money than we can buy a loaf today.  What did they do before they could purchase cheez-its or animal crackers or high-fructose free cookie dough or whatever else we fill our carts with each week?  They either made their own snacks, or they did without.  Or, gasp! They ate whole fruits and vegetables.  If we aren't purchasing so much crap, we can afford to purchase some good stuff, too.  If we're baking our snacks, we're less likely to just toss a handful into our mouth, because that's twenty or so crackers that we cut out by hand.

Of course, many moms say they don't have the time to make things from scratch because they are so busy living a hectic and varied life. Well, ladies... there's an alternative.  The best thing that we can do for our kids and ourselves is to begin to live more simply. Quit over-scheduling and allow your children to go out and play. Let them use their imaginations. Give them time to breathe. In the meantime, use all that time you would have spent in the car or sitting at practices to actually cook healthy meals for your family. Bake from scratch, shun convenience foods that are overly processed and overpriced. Get back to gardening and raising your own food, which will help your children develop important life skills (if you require them to help as well). Above all, quit babying kids and trying to make them more "well-rounded" because it is having a serious effect on their social, mental, and physical well-being. You want to cure obesity? Let's get back to the basics in caring for our families and ourselves.

source

** I do want to note that, while I firmly stand behind this argument, I am in no way the perfect mother.  Parenting is hard work and there are days when I can't fathom the idea of doing anything more than what is necessary to get by.  We eat processed foods.  I don't bake all of our bread and things, yet.  And, I don't have all the answers.  But, I do absolutely believe that simplification and a return to the old ways would solve many of our present problems, including obesity.  So, there.

picture day

If you enjoy what you find here, be sure to subscribe or become a follower, so you can keep up with all my bloggy goodness.

Today's picture day at my son's school and I actually did it: I sent him to class without his picture form and check. And, I did it on purpose. I can hear the audible gasp from parents everywhere. Why would I do something like that? Well, for several reasons.

First, we don't have all that many people to give the portraits to. The school picture package is great if you have a huge family with which to share portraits, but we don't. At least, we don't just randomly send them school pictures in the mail.

Second, the package that we normally purchase used to be $17 and we got a couple of 5x7s and maybe a couple of wallets. When I looked at the price list this year, it was going to be a minimum of $30 to purchase any package that contained anything of a frame-able size. Sorry, but that's too much.

That leads me to my third reason. Parents are required to pay for the portraits sight-unseen. We just send in a check and pray that the picture will turn out half-way decent. We can only hope that the photographer will take more than 30 seconds to plop each student in front of an ugly blue screen, point, and shoot.

Also, the past few years we've gone to a portrait studio for professional Christmas pictures. It might just be a mall studio, but the photographer actually takes the time to work with each client. I am much more pleased with the portraits that we purchase, though we obviously spend more than Lifetouch charges for sit-and-shoot school portraits.

Though I have all these great reasons as to why we shouldn't buy school portraits this time (not even to mention that now they take them in the fall and again in the spring), I feel a bit guilty for sending Alex in without his form. I don't want him to think that we don't love him enough to buy his portraits. Obviously, we do. We just don't want to be strong-armed into buying something of lesser quality.

condom conniption

If you enjoy what you find here, be sure to subscribe or become a follower, so you can keep up with all my bloggy goodness.

Let me preface this post by saying, I used to be on birth control. In fact, I've been on many different types, but most recently I took Yaz. Guys, I was having a full-blown period every other week. I couldn't stand it. So, I'm not on Yaz anymore. In fact, I'm not on anything.

This week, we used our last condom. Now, I'm not normally the condom-buyer around here, but Mr. Hull has been busy with work and I didn't really want to bother him just so that later on I could "bother" him, if you know what I mean. I had some shopping to do anyway, so I thought I might as well just buy a box.

Do you know I went to three stores over the course of two days and could not find the condom aisle?  Seriously.  Two different Krogers and a Walmart.  Okay, the Walmart was in the crappier part of town, so it shouldn't have been much of a surprise that they didn't have them out on a shelf in the mis-labeled "family planning" aisle.  But, still, the Krogers locations didn't have any out either.  I couldn't even find a place where they should go, so it isn't like everyone in Roanoke suddenly got all horny and everything.  They just weren't there.

image source

I'm assuming they were probably behind the pharmacy counter, beside the pregnancy tests.  Because, you know, those who steal condoms invariably also steal pregnancy tests.  Or, wait... that doesn't make much sense.  If you steal a condom, you shouldn't need a test, right?  And, if you do need the test, you obviously didn't steal the condom.... huh.  So, maybe the powers that be have decided that too many people are melting down the condoms and using the latex to manufacture illegal drugs, like they do with the good sudafed.  Or, maybe they just want kids to have to ask the pharmacist for a pack, with they will invariably be too embarrased to do, and so they won't have sex at all.  Uh-huh.  We all know that they will anyway and then they'll have to go asking for the pregnancy test, which they won't ask for, and then they'll be featured on TLC's show, "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant."  Really.  It could happen.

Do you think I stood in line to ask the pharmacist for a pack of condoms?  Hell no.  The line was too full of old people picking up their many prescriptions (throw a pack of condoms in there too, why don'tcha).  Or, maybe they really were there for the condoms.  I don't know.  I didn't wait to see.  I was toting around a squirmy toddler who wouldn't stay in the buggy, wouldn't hold my hand, and wouldn't stand beside me in the store.  Maybe I should have gotten in the line anyway.  The cashier would have chucked a case of condoms at me. 

So, after going to three stores in two days looking for the all-elusive condom, I returned home with none.  Mr. Hull hasn't gotten any, either.  I feel frustrated that I can't just walk into the store and purchase such a simple, but needed, item.  I have to wonder what the average fifteen-year-old would do when faced with a similar situation.  I imagine that he or she would simply give up, and then have sex anyway.  Kinda like what I might do.  Is that the answer?  No, I don't think so.

I used to feel like parents who gave their kids condoms were weird, but my feelings have changed.  If my children should ever decide to [gasp] have the sex, I don't want them to go to one store and give up.  I can't control the merchandisers, but I can control what goes on in my own home.  I now kind of understand why some parents would have a bowl of the things just sitting out in the entrance way.  That is much easier for a teen or young adult to access than the condoms that sit in the bowels of the pharmacy, on a dark, dusty shelf, where even a semi-mature adult must jump many pointless hurdles in order to gain access to the goods.

And, it isn't just about the pregnancy thing, either.  Whether a girl is on birth control or not, she needs to learn to use a condom, and then have access to them.  Just yesterday, I was catching up on an episode of Project Runway and was stunned when Mondo revealed that he had been living with AIDS for ten years.  Ten. Years.  What the hell?  He was only 22 when he contracted it.  Now, that's some scary stuff.

When I was a teenager taking sex ed in middle and high school, we were told to use some means of birth control.  We were informed of condoms and spermicides and the pill and such.  But, we weren't told that, even if we were on the pill, we should still use a condom because of all the nasty funk we could catch from our partners.  When my doctor first started giving me the depo shot, he didn't warn me to continue using condoms, even though I wasn't married.  My mother has never uttered the word "condom" in her entire life, I don't think.  We need to be talking about this more.  We need to keep ourselves from becoming so lax concerning the sex lives of teenagers.  We don't need to put teen moms on a pedestal, we just need to give them the education and support they need.  But, most of all, we need to make sure that the all-important male condom is readily available to every single person who should wish to purchase it, without having to wait in line behind a bunch of old geezers (who, in all honesty, need the condoms, too).

image source

the early bird washes the trash

If you enjoy what you find here, be sure to subscribe or become a follower, so you can keep up with all my bloggy goodness.

source

Dear alarm clock, I hate you.  Hate is not a strong enough word for the loathing I feel every morning when you wake me.  My patience wears thin as you continually beep at me, urging me to leave my nice, warm bed.

Today started off wrong.  I can't stand that Alex has to be at school at 7:30 each morning and that I have to drive him there, across town.  Especially considering that a bus that goes to his school drives right past our house every morning, but the school system can't be bothered to pick him up.

7:30 would be understandable if the time change was to allow for a longer school day, but it isn't.  The powers that be just decided that elementary students work better at the crack of dawn, while their high school counterparts should be allowed to sleep the day away.  What about the parents?  I don't want to get up at 6 am any more than someone who is ten (or more) years younger.

Of course, I probably wouldn't agree with the school start time even if it was to accommodate more educational hours because the school system wastes a lot of the hours they do have.  Teaching kids to use Ipods?  Pish-posh!  Taking an hour a week to wash out juice pouches for recycling?  Even more unnecessary!  Come on, can't that be done in an after-school recycling club or something?  I mean, really!  They can't add 2 and 2, but they sure can wash trash.  Give me a break.

So, my morning got off to a bad start as I contemplated the real reason as to why I was getting up at the ass-crack of dawn even though I'm a stay at home mom and really shouldn't have to.  Snuggling is my thing.  Driving out in the cold rain to get my kid to school an hour and a half earlier than a decent start time is not.

one mom's guilt trip

If you enjoy what you find here, be sure to subscribe or become a follower, so you can keep up with all my bloggy goodness.

Do you ever feel guilty for not spoiling your children? That's where I am right now.  With two kids, small outings and holidays get expensive pretty quickly if you don't watch what you're doing. 

Before Katie was born, Alex always had deluxe Halloween costumes, but I was working and between my income and Grandma adding bits and pieces (like a leather coat for an Indiana Jones costume), we could do that.  Last year, I made his Jedi costume and it turned out pretty well.  Earlier this year, I made a Luigi costume for him to wear to a birthday party, thinking it would double as his Halloween costume.  However, I neglected to realize that shorts would not be appropriate attire for the end of October.  Oopsie.

So, I've started looking at costumes for both him and Katie.  I've thought about sewing them, and I still may, but I've been browsing the Halloween sites for inspiration.  Good golly!  I kinda forgot that costumes can be so pricey.  To get Alex what he wants, and to buy something cute for Katie, we're looking at nearly $100 just for Halloween costumes.  Is it just me or is that completely crazy?!

So, I want to give them something nice.  I want Alex to be able to dress up as what he wants.  Honestly, I never would have blinked an eye at a forty or fifty dollar costume a few years ago.  Now, I might have waited for it to go on sale, but we still would have spent at least $30 on it.  So, I feel bad that now I'm hesitant to blow that much dough on something that will be worn a maximum of three times in my son's case (he doesn't play dress up anymore).  I also feel guilty because, at age nine, he might not even want to dress up many more times.

My solution is to have him identify a costume he likes and then reproduce it at home for (hopefully) less money.  I'm also going to sew up something for Katie.  We had been looking at a monkey costume for her, but now I'm thinking more along the lines of Little Red Riding Hood.

Since we all know that home crafting projects take on a life of their own, I'm going to challenge myself to really stick to a budget on this one.  Let's say, $40 for two costumes.  Can I do it?  I sure hope so.  I'll post the finished products when I actually finish (you know, after I actually get started).  Want to join me?  Leave a link to your super-fun, budget-friendly homemade costumes below.

a discovery of sorts

If you enjoy what you find here, be sure to subscribe or become a follower, so you can keep up with all my bloggy goodness.

Guess what?  I'm a guest blogger today, over at Big Mama's The Bristol Project.  Go check out my post and her super blog!

Have you ever been caught off guard by something, and then felt surprised that you were caught off guard in the first place?

source

On my way home yesterday afternoon, I saw a little black boy riding his bike down the street.  To be honest, it struck me as odd because I was in a traditionally white neighborhood.  Not a rich neighborhood, mind you, just traditionally white.  In fact, it really is a working class and poverty-stricken neighborhood more than anything, but that is a story for another time.

You may have noticed that I called the boy "black," rather than African-American.  You see, that's what we really say here in VA, at least in my corner of it.  Now, we aren't trying to be ugly or anything.  They call me "white" and I'm fine with that.  This boy, had he himself been from Africa, as some of our local refugees are, would likely be called a refugee, or black, rather than an African-American, even.  But, this is a rant for another day.

So, to get back to my story... there's a little black boy riding his bike on the sidewalk next to the road and I feel taken aback.  Why, you wonder?  Well, Roanoke, VA has a deep, dark secret.  Back in the 2000 Census, it was considered to be the most segregated city in Virginia.  Also, my hometown ranked 66th in segregation amongst 300 and some metropolitan areas nationwide.  So, we still aren't quite used to seeing integration creep into our neighborhoods.

source

 There are four quadrants in my city.  The Southern two have traditionally housed mostly white people, while the northern sections have mostly housed the black folks and other minorities.  From time to time, you would find that someone of the opposite race had moved into the neighborhood, but that was only after the ordinances were struck down by the Supreme Court a way long time ago.  Growing up, there was a nice family who lived across the street from me.  The dad was white and the mother was Asian.  The boy appeared to be Asian, too.  Somehow, it didn't strike me as odd.  But, if they had been black and white folks, I bet my parents heads would have spun.

Up until a few years ago, children were still bussed into other neighborhoods in order to integrate the schools, under a city-wide Magnet program.  Schools in less desirable, crime-ridden areas, would begin offering special application- only programs in dance or theater, math or science.  Parents would apply to these schools, and suddenly there was an influx of white children into the black schools.  Of course, it went the other way around, too, but not nearly as often.  This program was discontinued due to funding a few years ago.  Then, about two years ago, the city decided to cut costs by eliminating the need for bussing and redrew the lines so that most children now attend their neighborhood schools.  Like it or not, segregation has somewhat returned.

source

And, then I wonder... what would lead a person to move into a neighborhood in which they didn't quite "belong?"  I suppose it would be considered bravery.  I couldn't do it.  I could not pick up and move my family into an area in which we would be stared at, made fun of, or-- worse-- physically endangered.  Yet, many years ago, people stood up for not just equal rights, but the same rights.  The right to sit anywhere on a bus.  The right to eat in any restaurant, to use any restroom.  The right to live as a free individual in a land of opportunity.  The right to be free from being ostracized, set aside, and used as an example.  The right to be a whole person.  I applaud them, and I applaud those who continue to stand up for what they believe in.  I'm sure it is a hard thing to do.  I might not always agree with what they have to say, but I'm sure glad that they have the right to say it.  

So, in a city so full of difficult race-relations, one could only wonder why I felt surprised at encountering a black child in a white neighborhood.  Well, quite honestly, I thought I had somehow managed to grow up unfazed by the color of one's skin.  I try not to be racist, really I do.  I have claimed to enjoy getting to know people for who they are, rather than their race.  But, try as I might, I didn't ignore the color of this child's skin as he rode down the road.  In some instances, I guess the culture in which we are raised really defines us.  I'm going to try harder to teach my children to love people for who they are, rather than what they look like, how they speak, or the culture from which they come.  There's still a lot of work to do.  Let's get going.

source

plain ol' stupidity

If you enjoy what you find here, be sure to subscribe or become a follower, so you can keep up with all my bloggy goodness.

(source)

I used to think that those warning labels that can be found on just about everything should be removed.  I figured that, if a person is that stupid to use a curling iron in the bathtub, place a baby walker next to a set of stairs, or ride a motorcycle barefooot in the rain, then they would deserve whatever consequences they received.

However, my view on this multi-warning, dumbed-down, libelicious- society phenomenon has changed as of late.  Why, you ask?  Well, it has recently occurred to me that stupid people can have children, too.  And, when they do, the consequences for their poor offspring can be disastrous.  While I've written about this in the past, here are some more recent examples:

• While I was at a private pool at the end of August, a father walks in with his two year old son, Ethan.  At first, the dad seems to be attentive, feeding Ethan yogurt, helping him into his floating swimsuit, and so on.  However, he then leaves the two year old child pool-side with no lifeguards or anyone else (but me) around, while he goes to use the restroom.  While he is gone, the boy runs over to the ladder, hops into the pool, and begins to paddle around with no supervision.  When the man returns, he walks over to his lounge chair, lays back, and sunbathes while his two year old plays in the water, which is no less than 3 feet deep.  Talk about inattention!  What sorts of labels should have been, or likely were, on that suit?  "Use with adult supervision," "Not a lifesaving device," or, maybe, "Not a reliable babysitter."  What an idiot!

•  I had a playgroup at my house recently which involved food and one of the guests actually fed her 9 month old daughter marshmallows and pretzels, without even paying attention as to whether she was choking or not!  Um, excuse me, lady, but don't let your child die in my house!  

• Several years ago, I was at the park with my son when I saw a young couple walk into the area with a baby walker and a baby.  The walker had a rope tied to it.  The father put the walker down at the top of a hill, held the rope, and put the baby inside.  He then let the child (maybe 1 year old) roll down the hill, while he held the rope.  I can only imagine they were attempting to create either a torture device or an amusement park ride.

Okay, okay.  I'll admit it. I'm not a saint, either, when it comes to my kids.  Nor am I super-mom.  When my son was three, I caught him about to play Tarzan by swinging off the back deck from a rope that was not even remotely attached to the overhanging tree.  Just last weekend, my daughter was standing on a chair in a restaurant, holding my hand, and tumbled backwards.  She's also fallen off of the bed, jumped from the couch, and been the victim of an incident involving her Little Tykes car and the hardwood floor.  But, I try.  I'm not terribly neglectful and I don't completely ignore all sensible safety rules.

How about you?  What have been some of your parenting blunders?  What warning labels would apply to your life?

what's in a name?

If you enjoy what you find here, be sure to subscribe or become a follower, so you can keep up with all my bloggy goodness.

Last week, Kerin from Her Good Intentions posed a question on BlogFrog, an online blogging community (because, where else would a blogging community be located?)  She asked the following:

What do you think about using a child's real name while blogging? I know a lot of moms are against using their child's real name(s) while blogging or even chatting online. If you are someone who is against using a child's real name, why do you feel that way?

I use my children's real names and pictures when blogging.  When I first started, I called my son Master Hull and my daughter (once she came along), Little Miss Hull, as my blog was called Mrs. Hull's Musings.  But, it felt very impersonal and it was hard to keep up with.  Then, when I moved over to TattieTats and One Creative Housewife, I thought about using cutesy alternative monikers, but I decided against it. 

When I was a kid, everyone in my neighborhood knew my name.  It wasn't a big deal.  Now that the Internet has expanded our "neighborhoods," I can understand the caution.  But, I feel that my children are just as safe whether I use their names on my blog or not.  There are bigger fish to worry about.  I don't want them growing up in a house filled with paranoia and over-protectiveness.  They need some space to roam and the opportunity to feel safe in this great big world.

Mommy's laid back attitude about stranger safety is just part of this.  Our steadfast rule is, don't go with anyone other than Mom, Dad, or a grandparent (or uncle), ever.  period.  not if they know your name, not if they offer you candy.  never.  Other than that, what real measures can you take to actually protect your kids, as opposed to making you feel good, anyway?

So, what about you?  Do you use your children's actual names when blogging, or on Facebook, Twitter, etc?  Why or why not?  Join the discussion here.

when hosting a sleepover

If you enjoy what you find here, be sure to subscribe or become a follower, so you can keep up with all my bloggy goodness.

Things I've learned from holding one too many sleepovers this summer:

(source)

1. Clean up right before the mother drops off her child, but leave the empty mop bucket in the corner so it looks like you didn't try too hard.  She'll think you're an awesome housekeeper and must clean all the time if the bucket has a place of honor next to the kitchen table.  Or, she'll see you for the farce you are.  No matter!
2. If said child and parent are to arrive at 5, start drinking at 4 and hide the glass in the cupboard when they knock on your door. The ensuing buzz will ease the transition quite nicely, but the mother will never know you're a drunkard.
3. Arrange the sleepover on a night on which you must go out for a meeting or some errands, leaving your child and his friend with your loving husband for a few hours.  At the very least, you won't have to listen to their whining.  Better yet, hire a babysitter.  Believe me, it will be money well spent.
4. When you return home, randomly shoot nerf guns in their direction, shouting "duck, duck, goose!" and "hit the deck!" at the top of your lungs.  The poor kid will think you're so crazy he won't dare cross you.
5. For dinner, serve a traditional turkey with fixings.  You'll have leftovers for days, when you're too worn out to cook, and the kids will crash before you know it.  Just make sure it is cooked all the way through, or else you'll have vomit to clean up, too.
6. Bake cookies, from scratch if possible, and fix a hearty breakfast so that the child goes and tells his mom that you are a much better cook than she.
7. Arrange for the children to sleep outside.  Call it camping if you wish.  This way, you won't have to listen to their whispers and laughter all night long.
8. If they are still too loud or sleeping in the backyard is impossible, ear plugs will become your best friends.  Use them liberally.  Duct tape, too, if necessary. 
9. Show the child your morning face.  You know, the no-makeup, hair un-brushed, sleepy-eyed look.  He'll never want to come back.
10. When the child finally leaves your house, wholeheartedly agree that they must have your son over sometime soon, slam the door, and collapse.  Send your own child to nap or clean up the mess he and his friend made and go rest.  Congratulations, you survived!  Now, will you take my own kid for a night or two?