Kids are assholes. Beanie's Guide to parenting (Part 2)

It's been a minute since I have Blogged.
Life goes by too fast. One minute you are 30 and them BOOM you are practically 40.

I have loved my 30's. It was way better then my 20's that's for sure. My twenties were full of breastfeeding, Bells Palsy and finding surprise poo on the floor.

I began my 30's with a divorce, College, a job and a really exciting, yet really not good Boyfriend.

Sometimes I still find surprise poo on the floor. (like last Friday when I walked into the two's room.) But now I'm not wholly responsible for the clean up of the poo. That's a plus.

I have observed a lot in the last 22 years of being a parent,  9+ years of those years being surrounded by children and their parents. And I get asked for advice on a daily bases.

For example, last Thursday when a parent asked me "Why is my son behaving this way?" in which I replied "Because kid's are assholes." 

And they are, but usually it is not all their fault.
If you haven't read my first blog about parenting fails, you can find it here:Common sense parenting

#1. Born that way

When children are born, they cry and they get a boob plopped in their mouth, They cry...and they get their diaper changed...They cry and mommy holds them.
SO they learn, right out the gate "When I cry, my needs are taken care of."
This of course changes into being teeny tiny adorable assholes who cry because they want something. Kids are smart.

Children are not born with patience. They are born with hunger. And they have to be TAUGHT patience (or how NOT to be an asshole) by someone they trust.
Parents or Buhach teachers of excellent breed and stock have to teach a child how to distinguish between needs and wants. And a child should never get everything that they want.

So when parent ask me "Why is my child selfish?" It's because they were, quite literally, born that way. They are born needing food, comfort and warmth. This then morphs into wanting fidget spinners, mac n cheese and the newest video game at the drop of your dime.

If your kid is an asshole. Take a moment to assess if you have taught them how not to be one.

#2. I'm bored!

When I was a child I would never, EVER utter these words because quite simply, I knew better.
If I ever got "Fidgety" I would receive a shovel, a pick ax and instruction on where my sister and I should dig the trench....how long we needed to rip roots and dead rodents out of the irrigation for...or toted up the hill in our military truck so that we can cut firewood from the newest fallen tree.
He most certainly wouldn't buy me a toy to "fidget" with.
Now I'm not saying that you shouldn't buy your child stupid toys, I myself spoil my daughter with most anything that she asks for.
Mostly because she doesn't ask for much, but also because isn't an asshole.


When children in my school age class tell me that they are bored  (Which is usually not too often given the fact that Cami vehemently shakes her head at them trying to warn them against uttering those words.)
This is how it goes:

"Mrs.Beanie I am bored."

"How"

"What?"

"How are you bored. You have video games, painting, two art projects, every board game that you could want and the shelves are stuffed with toys. There are books to read and friends to talk too, so how are you bored?"

"I don't know I just am."

"Okay go grab a book and read a chapter, Books are boredom busters....when you are done with that imaginative experience, if you are still bored read another one."

"Never mind I forgot that I'm not bored at all."

"Amazing."

Somehow, in the last 10 years or so, children have begun to believe that parents (and all adults alike) should be entertaining them. Giving them something exciting to do or taking them somewhere exciting every hour, weekend or school break.

Yes, we should enjoy our children. We should make memories, create magic and inspire imagination. But not to the point where it is expected of us and if we don't, then WE are the assholes.

#3 Spare the rod, spoil the child

No, I'm not saying your should beat your kid, (Hint: Bathrooms don't have cameras) but the Bible had it right on this one.
Giving your child everything that they want ruins them. And I am not being dramatic.

Our job as parents and leaders of children is to raise them up to be intelligent, kind, confident leaders.
To be able to go forth in life, be capable members of our society and raise up the NEXT generation to be leaders.

Spoiled children tend to think that they should receive everything in life simply because they want it (or throw a fit for it). And that is not how the world works.

You need to work for everything in your life. Work harder, get better everything.

Does your 8 year old child need a phone? Fuck no they don't.

You don't always have to talk about your child's feeling when disciplining them. They don't need that, you do.
Set a guideline, a consequence for those guidelines and follow through with it.

#4 You better work.

The other day, I asked a parent what his weekend plans were and he replied "Work. I work 7 days a week."
And all I kept thinking was "What an amazing Dad." (I also wanted to immediately bake him cookies and take care of him, but that's besides the point.)

Most of the time parents think that if they take their children to Disneyland 5 times a year, that makes them a good parent. Here's a #truth... It doesn't make them feel as good as it make YOU feel.

What makes you a good parent is working your ass off, disciplining your children and telling them no sometimes.

 (#truth..., your child will probably throw a fit because you took them away from the hotel pool to "MAKE" them go to the Disney parade of lights.)

I took both of my children to Disneyland a few times when they were younger, and I was quite surprised to find out that Shane's most favorite memory as a child is playing "Shark attack" (where we pretended we were on a boat on the ocean and sharks were surrounding us) Want to know why I played that? So I could lay in bed all day and giggle with my child.


#4 Parenting is not an electric sport.

There is a reason why First 5's "Talk, read, sing" campaign is blowing up the radio and television stations right now. Because people don't anymore.

Isn't it sad that there are people URGING you to interact with your child. Begging.

When you go out to dinner. Talk to your children.
When you are in the car, play I spy with your children.
When you are in the doctors office, waiting for 3 hours, pull out a notebook and play tic tac toe with your children,
At the restaurant You can have a creamer stacking contest, play tic tac toe with sugar packets, or have a drawing contest. Play "Finnish my drawing" or buy a pack of cards to keep in your purse.

Every where I go, I see electronics in the faces of children instead of parent communication and bonding. These moments are precious. They are important. Your children are learning to proceed through life by YOUR example.

Every SINGLE moment that you spend with your child is an opportunity to learn social rules and behaviors.
Every SINGLE moment that you spend together you are helping to create childhood memories.

What is your favorite childhood memory?
What will theirs be?

Look, I'm not the perfect parent. Parenting is hard, it is thick and heavy and peppered with laughter and mistakes.
We have to BE the example to an entire generation of tiny midgets who were born to be greedy assholes.
We have to take them and mold them into great leaders so that they can make our world socially, environmentally and economically better then we left it.

This shit is not for pussies, and last I checked there was NOT an APP for that.

Two fatties on a treadmill #fatlivesmatter

We blow into the gym at 4:55 am

"Goodmoring ladies!" The check in dude greets us.
He's nice. He doesn't judge me for forgetting to take off my makeup and having whore mouth.

"Good morning to you!" I chirp happily.
"Mlehhh." Brandee mutters next to me. (That's happy good morning in 4:55am Brandee speak)

We have our weekly routine. And head back to our section. "Look at this bitch." I whisper, and nod my head to the right. Brandee looks over to see the woman running like there is a sale on Marc Jacobs.
"She has been running for 33 minutes." She whispers
"Wow! Do you think WE will ever run for 33 minutes?!"
"No." Brandee deadpans.

On M W F we do the circuit and on TH F we do the treadmill and the machines that we have nicknamed "Satan" and "SPAWN of satan"...respectfully.

I'ts Monday so we get to our section and wait for the light to turn green. I love going to the gym with Brandee for many reasons:
#1. I get to see my bestie every day
#2. We laugh...alot. And laughing is my second favorite thing to do.
#3. If I am going to die a death of sweat and heavy breathing, this bitch is going down with me.

At the circuit it is hard for me to remember every move from the pictures that are so "helpful" so we have nicknamed some of them.
One of them is called: Flap Happy
This is a nod to the fact that you have to kick high and I feel that my vagina is popping out to say hello to everyone...happy flaps come from California. Remember that.

While we do our machines we talk about the prior day or plan events.

I step onto a platform. "That's Flap Happy." Brandee reminds me
"Ah yes." I nod
The light turns green and I strategically point my vagina to the sky as I grunt "VAGINA!" each time I kick. SOME times I point it at people and kick strategically. Everyone should have some happy flap in their life. (even if they are unaware of the lazer like precision of my vaginal kicks)

Sometimes Brandee cheers me on.
"Ohmygod! This one is awful! I can feel it RIGHT in my double vagina."

SIDENOTE: I call my thighs double vagina. The reason? Simple: I have fat thighs, they are practically another vagina.

"You can do it Beanie!"

"Okay.." I pant

"Kick that double vaginas ass!"

"Take THAT double vagina!" I whisper "And THAT!"

The light turns red and I walk away from the platform quickly to pick up my water bottle. Brandee meets me at the half wall and grabs her water.

On Tuesday we warm up on the treadmill and head over to Spawn of Satan.

"Holy shit." I pant, as I push my legs up and down harder. We've been on the machine at Level 2 for 5 minutes.

"I know." Brandee pants next to me.

"Look at that guy." I gasp leaning forward on the machine until my chest is pressed against the controls and my arms are flapping about to keep balance.

Next to us is a man who wears giant earphones and is sprinting like a fucking bunny. Light and airy and easy.

"We suck" Brandee laugh/huffs


1 minute later our machine level goes up and you would have thought the world was ending.
"Oh fuck."
"What just happened?"
"Oh shiiiit"
"I'm hungry"
"I'm seriously ......going to .....DIE......Like...dead."
"Oh God."
"Fuck"

"Hey...." I reach over and smack Brandee in the arm. Both of our foreheads are pressed against the machine.
"Huh!" She gasps
"Look...over.....there...."I nod my head to the bunny sprinter. "What...level is he on?" I gasp

She looks over and then laughs, using her arm to wipe the sweat from her forehead.

"What?" I try to say, but my mouth is squished by my arms do to the fact that I have to redirect ALL of my energy on defeating this machine with my legs.... so it came out like "Wuh"

"He has been on Level 33 for 42 minutes."

"FUCK that guy man." I gasp "I hate him so hard."

"Me too." Brandee mutters

No Judgement Zone my ass.

Ignorance.

I am usually good about ignoring other human beings thought processes on Social Media.

I can scroll past an offensive picture with just a nose wrinkle or a shake of my head.

Whatever.

People have their own opinions and make choices on how they want to view them.

That is another reason that I am happy to be living in america.

(Where we can over flow our social media sites with selfies and not be afraid of getting our noses cut off for it.)

On the 4th of July I saw a picture posted of a woman standing on our Flag with her fist up.

I read the dialog and just stared, biting my tongue but really just too busy preparing for our 4th of July parade to say anything.

It wasn't until yesterday, over french roast coffee and through several yawns that I became fucking furious at what I was seeing and so I have titled you and others like you "Ignorance." 

That is your name now.

Dear Ignorance,

You have endorsed killing and hatred.

You have posted pictures of a woman standing on our countries flag and while you have tried to spew "thoughtful" and "Intelligent" words about it. 

You have missed your mark.

I find it funny, (and when I say funny, what I mean is disgusting) that many people who abhor this country have no issue with letting it feed their family. Provide themselves with an education and help to pay for their child's daycare.

When you post pictures of a woman standing on the flag, what I see, is a woman standing on the neck of my father. Who fought for this country and couldn't talk about it.

My sister, who did the same and my brother who is currently active.

Until you strap on and step up. Miss me with your unintelligent bullshit and be thankful that you live in a country that will feed you when you are hungry. Educate you when you are un-knowledgeable and allow you the freedom to form your own fucked up opinions.

Dear Ignorance,

Ask me what I am and I will tell you that I am A woman, a mother, a teacher, a Queen of everything, An american.

I do not say that I am a white woman. I do not hashtag whitelivesmatter. 

Can you even imagine? 

That is disgusting.

My life matters, so does yours and that woman is standing on american soil, raising her fist up in protest. Her life matters too.

Her life mattered to my Father.

all life matters. dumbass.

Can you be so unintelligent as to look at what is happening in the world, and endorse it?

To DARE to cast judgment on the pictures of a police officer holding a man down in a way that is ...wrong to you?

Can YOU please share a story on how YOU disarmed a man, the "proper" way.

Have you asked a man to drop his weapon and have him keep coming, not feeling the taser because his body has an 8 ball of methamphetamine running through it and he is twacked out to a T?

Do you put your life on the line each and every day hoping that you will return home to your children in one piece? To feel like you have a target on your back and the world is filled with angry snipers ready to take a stand against "THE MAN."

We are raising up the future. And I have done MY best to instill a moral compass, love of country and respect for their fellow human beings.

NOT white human beings. NOT black human beings. But ALL human beings.

In my house, there is no separation. WE are colorblind.

In my house, we love one another as God wants us too.

And do you know how I do that?

I model it. I show it. I put down the flagstones that my children will walk upon.

Your words. Your actions. Your opinions matter.

They hear. They see and they form small opinions based upon your bigger ones.

It is easy to sit on our couches and forget the men and the women who make it safe for us to feel comfortable enough to bad mouth everyone.

I am not saying that your issues, are non issues. But how are you fixing them by encouraging rage and spreading hatred

Is this country perfect? no. But what are YOU doing to change that?

Finally, be you all of one mind, 

having compassion one of another,

 love as brothers, be pitiful, be courteous:

Not rendering evil for evil, or railing for railing:

 but contrariwise blessing; knowing that you are 

thereunto called, that you should inherit a blessing.

#FURLARIOUS

My Wednesday workday was not a bad one. Hectic yes, bad...naw man.

A bad day is when you step in SURPRISE shit, fall down in the rain, (breaking your bosses umbrella) and frantically making sure your Ralph Lauren boots didn't get scratched in the process.

But Wednesday was full of creative thinking processes and working together as a team.

It was also taco night.

Every night, when I walk in the door, both of my children greet me and ask about my day. They then sympathize with me when the beast is being beastly (they usually take his side) and pat my head when I am whiny. (They half-roll their eyes) and Emma hangs around while I prepare dinner.

"So mom. Taco's tonight?" Emma smiles and hops up on her feet.

I don't even know WHY Emma gets so excited for tacos. She basically eats cheese inside of a freshly cooked taco shell, but whateves.

"YES! Tacos." I nod and immediately start to disrobe. 

"Was it a good day?" Emma asks.

"Yes. Busy but good."

"We could always go to El Rosal. you know, so you don't have to cook."

My daughter is a genius. She also enables me to not cook sometimes. (Which makes her a geniusy-er genius.)

"YES! I need Mexican food in my life."

So off we went and Shane drove.

I have been going to this El Rosal for 17 years. When I sit down, they know what I order. When I ask for a Dos Equis...I'll be honest. She looked at me funny.

"A beer?" She asks.

"Yes." I nod

"Ooooookaaaaaay." and she walks away to get it.

Listen.

I don't drink. 

And when I do, I can only have like...a sip. (I am pretty sure that I have an allergy to alcohol.)

The waitress clunks a huge glass stein in front of me, complete with an itty bitty lime wedge.

"What the fuck is that?" I murmur. In awe of the gigantic-ness of it all.

In the world of beers. This was a goliath.

"That is your beer." Shane dryly answers. Looking at me like I am a retard.

"But it is HUGE!" I say, sliding it up to my face and taking a gulp. 

I am not going to lie here. I am not a beer connoisseur, but it was delicious...so I took another gulp.

"Try it!" I slide the mammoth monstrosity over to Shane and he shakes his head. "TRYYYYY it." I insist. (I have no guilt about it (ish)

He does and gags.

"There is no accounting for taste." I say and take my third gulp of the night

We continue chatting (The children were pushing each other back and forth and snapping pictures) and I took my fourth and final gulp.

Then it happened. 

While telling the kids about my day, I pick up my napkin because my nose is itching something fierce.

It doesn't stop itching.

"Here we go." Shane leans over and murmurs to Emma.

"Yep." She replies staring at me.

"What? What are you saying?" I rub my nose vigorously and beam mom looks at the both of them.

"Nothing mama." Shane singsongs at me and laughs.

Shane is always laughing at me.

Shane is a Bully.

"Is it hot in here?" I ask. My face feels like it is on fire.Literally on FIRE and I begin to fan myself.

"Nope." Shane replies, laughing. Emma shakes her head and daintily dips a fry in ketchup all the while staring at me.

"Mom?" Shane questions

"Yes."

"Are you ....tipsy?"

My eyes narrow and I giggle. Because something comes over me whenever Shane accuses me of being TIPSY. 

It's like...a mix between furious and hilarious. Furlarious. That's how I feel.

I push back my plate, grab my purse and stand up. "Let us go assholes." (Apparently I also talk like  badmouthed royalty when I am furlarious.)

I don't remember much about the ride home, except wishing I could have gifted someone the rest of my delicious mug of beer,  the children staring at me and my being very impressed that I was such a cheap drunk.

#momguilt

The other day a parent at work and I argued over who was the worst mom in the world.

"I need to take a picture of this summer calendar. I haven't yet. It's because I am a bad mom." She shook her head and snapped a picture.

"No, No. I am a horrible mom. I don't even make my kids dinner every night."

"Psh. I got that one beat....One time.."

And it went on.

In reality, If motherhood was measured in the amount of laughter our house held. Then I would win mom of the year.

As it is, my sink always has dishes, my living room always needs to be vacuumed and FORGET about my yard.

(Literally...don't even drive by.)

If you do, you will see a couch that is still sitting there from when I got my new one. And I don't even blame MYSELF.... I blame the taste of my neighborhood tweakers.
(Like seriously? Don't they know how comfy that couch is? Why haven't they taken it?)

So it is sitting there like magic will one day make it disappear. Or my children, if they would only listen to me and garb themselves in black at midnight and walk it two doors down.

Also, as a back up plan. I have HUGE ideas for that couch at Halloween time. So. If it stays maybe I will try and pretend that I wanted it too.

Right now, as I type, my neighbors are outside raking their yard and sweeping their outside carpet. (I guess it's a thing.) while glancing over at my yard in disgust.

I have yard shame. 

Enough to feel sorta bad about it, but not enough to go outside and join them in early morning raking.

Don't they KNOW Jesus wants me to sit on my butt on Sunday?

I always have good intentions in the morning, when I am energetic and hopping down he steps to work. "Okay, tonight I will work on the yard for an hour." I say to my deflated rose bushes and dried up grape vine.
But as I slug my way in the gate, up the stairs and into my home I ignore my earlier intentions and focus on whats REALLY important. My butt on this couch.

I have noticed that almost everyone has mom guilt. It just comes in different forms.
Working too much mom guilt
Stay at home mom guilt.
Fat people mom guilt
shopping addict mom guilt
I have an asshole kid mom guilt

All KINDSA guilt.

It is a fact that I don't beat my children. I don't smoke the ganja nor do I sleep with men and sneak them out my window (anymore). We women are too hard on ourselves. This I know.
And even though I try as hard as I can, to ignore the mom guilt as flawlessly as I do that couch outside, i just cant kick it.

Because whenever I do, I feel too guilty.

Beanies guide to Common sense Parenting 2: LET them fail (OR resting mom face)

I have a good friend, who tells me that there is no such thing as common sense.
And while he makes a good point and looks pretty while he does it, I still disagree with him.
I nod and smile while he argues his point because that's what you do to boys (and pretty things)

Common Sense (yes I googled it) means to "have good sense and sound judgment in practical matters."
So when I talk about common sense, this is to what I am referring too. (Also known as not being an fucking idiot.)

In my opinion it is our Job, as parents to create successful adults who will become leaders in our communities. To use their abilities to rationalise and react in a manner that will reap rewards or benefits for the good of themselves or their community as a whole.

And how do we do that as parents? Just how do we 'raise up' grown people who can think for themselves and foresee their outcomes using common sense and the abilities that we have nurtured in them.

The answer is simply stated, albeit intensely hard to do at times. You let them fail.
But you do it in a safe and protected way.
As our children grow up, we are to give them more and more space, until they are navigating through life on their own, and with good morals and standards of living, or more importantly, thinking.

From the time that our children are born to the time that they leave the house, every SINGLE moment, is a learning moment. Every trial no matter how trivial can be learned from. And sadly, when that moment passes it can never be recaptured. It starts small.

When Shane was 2, he was infatuated with our box fan. He would stare at the blades moving and creep closer and closer to it with every day that passed. Finally, I found him reaching out to it with his teensy tiny fingers.

What do you do?

A) Unplug the fan and hide it away in your attic until the child has left your home?

B) Demand that he NOT touch it and tell him he will be in big trouble if he does (Which, incidentally almost GUARANTEE'S that he will touch it.)

C) Recognize that there is a learning moment here.

First up: Teaching. It is our job to teach our children about life and everything in it. It is NOT our job to keep them from experiencing said life. Even at the cost of a cut teensy tiny finger.

"Shane, those blades will hurt you if you put your fingers in there."

He looked up at me and pursed his lips.
Children do NOT think with adult brains. (duh) they think with brand new brains that do not know (hopefully) much hurt, pain or consequences.

I turned the fan on low and walked back into our teeny weenie kitchen.

Soon enough I heard the fan stall and my son howl. He was holding his fingers and crying. I walked over, cuddled him and looked at the damage.

My heart was beating in my chest. Being 19 years old and the mother of a 2 year old, did NOT make me wise. I wasn't nor have I ever been a wise person.

 I simply wanted my son to trust what I have to say, and I KNEW that trust has to be earned and shown. Not told.

"What happened?" I asked him (Like I didnt already know.)

"The fan huwt me!"

"How?!" I gasped, (Being a parent is also acting)

He pouted and pressed his face into my chest.

"Did you put your fingers in there?"

He nodded into my chest, crying because the fan hurt his fingers AND his feelings.

"Yes. The fan will hurt you if you put your fingers inside of it." I reiterated.

So, what did Shane learn from this moment? He learned that the fan was a fucker. But more importantly, Shane learned that when his mom warns him of something, maybe he should listen. He also learned that it was okay to fail in front of me.

You can TELL, YELL and scream something at your children. But it is more important if they learn it for themselves.

Don't ever say "SEE? I was right!" To anyone.

That is just unpleasant and unintelligent. Yes you were right, you also just cost yourself the respect and admiration of the person (child, spouse or friend) that had a learning moment.

Basically your low self esteem just ruined it. YOU feel better about the situation. Everyone else just thinks you are an ass hat.

Our pride is not as important as theirs is. We are already adults. Who gives a damn if we were right. It is so much more important for them to feel safe failing.

As Shane grew, sometimes it was very difficult to let him fail. But I did.

When he was 12 years old and in Jr.High I took my first child development class and I learned all about positive discipline. "This is an actual thing?" I said to my teacher. She nodded and reiterated "This is an actual thing."

Basically it teaches your children to be aware and accountable of and for THEMSELVES.

It is not YOUR job as a parent to bundle up your child (past the age of 5) for a cold day. It is your job to let your child know that it is cold outside.
Let them decide if they want a jacket. If they choose not too, and they get cold...they will not die and they wont forget it again.

It is not your job to make sure your child eats all of their dinner. It is your job to provide dinner. If they go to bed hungry, they will NOT die, and choose to eat more the next night.

Do you see what I am saying here? Each one of these things is a learning moment. And it is IMPORTANT for your child to experience them. Make their own decisions about their warmth level, hunger level ect. Small stuff.
And once they learn how to make decisions about small stuff, Like what to wear on Tuesday, they will be able to handle bigger decisions and repercussions.

When Shane was 13 he was failing a history class.
I called him into the kitchen (RESTING MOM FACE firmly in place) and presented his report card. "Let's look at your grades."
We looked at them together and he winced when he saw the F in history.
"I'm sorry Mama." he said

"Don't be sorry to me, these are not my grades. They are yours."

He nodded.

"Are you okay with this F?"

"No."

"So what should you do about it?"

He thought about it for a moment "I will go to my teacher and see which assignments are missing and try to make them up." 

"Sounds like a plan."

"Are you mad at me?" he asked. Shane could never stand me being upset at him.

"You did not fail ME. You failed History." 

Shane ended up not being able to make up the grade in that class and as a natural consequence he had to take it again.

"UGH I have to take that history class AGAIN!" He vented to me one night over dinner.

"Why?"

"Because I failed it."

"And are you going to fail it this time?"

"No way." He answered, determined. And he didn't. He passed the class and learned a lesson. Work smart not hard.

Was I worried? Of COURSE I was! However, Shane learning this natural consequence was more important then ME making my self feel better by piggybacking my son's way through his education.


As our children grow up, it is important that we teach them how to made decisions about their own lives. Despite how others may think it looks.

When Emma was in Kindergarten, she dressed...like a train wreck.
 Sequence skirts overlaying jeans, a striped short sleeve over a plaid long sleeve and she always, ALWAYS wore cowboy boots. (We had them in every color.)

One day as we were leaving the school campus, her kindergarten teacher chased me down. "Mrs.Elam!!!!" She waved to me. I stopped and smiled. My smile slipped once she said what she needed too.
"Um...we notice that Emma's shoes are always on the wrong feet."

I glanced down at Emma, and sure enough..they were.

"Okay." I waited

"It's just...maybe you could fix them before school?" She smiled hopefully.

"Emma dresses herself." I stated

"Well...we are worried that she will fall."

"If she falls, she will switch them."

"Well, they MIGHT hurt her that way."

"If they hurt her, she will switch them." I looked down at Emma who was holding my hand and clomping her hot pink boots against the cement.

Her teacher smiled uncomfortably at me.

"I don't understand. Is Emma's boots interfering in her learning while at school?"

"Well no. Emma is the brightest child in her class."

I smiled "I am sure her boots are the brightest as well. Have a good day."

Did I make Emma switch her boots? Naw man. Naw. However the school DID call CPS on me.

When they showed up at my door, I was shocked. Embarrassed and more then happy to show them Emma's pink princess room stuffed full of clothing and every shade of boot available in Modesto.

When they left our home they apologized and promised things would be wrapped up quickly.
It was.

The most important parenting advice that I have ever given out, or will give out is this: Let your children fail. But be there for them when they do. Be a guide in their crazy life. Be a teacher and let them learn lessons.

Show them that it is safe to fail around you, that you will not rub it in their face when they do, or demand that they should listen to you. (because they won't EVER after that.)

Be a calm presence in the face of childhood. And Perfect the "Resting Mom Face"

ALL of the time.

One of my favorite things about having older children is...well....there are many favorite things about it.

When my children were small I use to worry about the day when their belief in Santa Clause disappeared in a haze of bloody booger meatball and teenage angst.

Luckily that never happened.

The tables have changed and I truly believe that my children go through with all of the family traditions and expectations for me. I am the one who is catered too.

"Santa is coming tonight Mama. Aren't you excited?" Shane said to me in between spreading the reindeer food and laying out the cookies.

He also patted me on the shoulder, sort of child like.

Waitaminute.

I am pleasantly surprised at how amazing it is no longer having small children in the home.

Once upon a time, I thought that teenager-dom would include slamming doors, rolling eyes and children running out on me at every opportunity.

My ex-husband once caught me on the floor in our living room crying when Shane turned 5.

"What is wrong?"

"Shaaaaane! He is growing up too fast!" *sob sob bitchfest and cry*

"Well that is a good thing!" He insisted

"A GOOD THING? How is that a good thing?"

"Well....." He thought for a moment "..... think of the alternative. If Shane stopped growing up...then he would sort of be dead."

*GASP!* "HOW is that comforting asshole?!"

"Well....Aren't you glad he is growing up now? Growing up is a good thing...being dead...not so much."

At that, I distinctly remember clutching my 5 year old son to my chest and sobbing into his bowl cut hair.

"Mom. I don't want you to cry. Wanna play Zelda?"

"Yes." I sniffed. And off we went to play.

Later, I did thank my husband for pointing out my ridiculousness.

"Thank you. You were right. Shane is much better 5 then dead."

" It's okay. You were right to cry too. That's what good mamas do."

(See what we did there? We were a good married people.)

My ex-husband had a point, and from then on whenever I got sad from my children growing up too fast, I did indeed think of the alternative, cuss him out in my head (because he was right) and celebrate the fact that Shane was 10...then 15...then 20.

I take great joy in my children being old. Yesterday I bought Emma a desk for Valentines Day and didn't feel the need to prepare it in a grand gesture for her.

"HAPPY VALENTINES DAAAAAAAY!" I squealed to her when she popped open her eyes and saw her huge new fluffy puppy and desk. (I am not one who believes in gifts on Valentines Day, but meh...she needed a desk.)

"THANK YOOOOOOOOU!" She exclaimed with delight and began opening it and assembling it. 

"Wan't help?" I offered.

"Nope. I want you to relax."

Once Shane woke up she wandered up to him "Happy Valentines Day! Help me with my desk?"

Together they sat on the floor and worked on it. Shane cussed. Emma navigated the instructions and I called over every now and again with "DO you need help?" and "It looks wobbly to meeeee!"

(Which got me even more ugly looks from Shane and caused them to whisper at my expense.)

I loved it.

On Saturday, I braved 10 different stores to find Emma's Superstar ADIDAS that were sold out at 9.

I kept referring to them as A-Dee-Dee's and the children laughed together and patted my shoulder with kind condescending tones and "It's okay mom. I love my A-dee-dee's." and "I'm going to ROCK these A-dee-dee's on Tuesday like you don't even know."

I know what Adidas are and I certainly know how to pronounce them. (My high school boyfriend and I had a matching pair!) However, I receive immense joy letting my children think that I don't know what I am talking about ALL of the time.

#Fully flawed.

Acceptance is the first step to practically everything.
Drug abuse, bad parenting, grief and even clothing addiction.

I know, because I googled it and everybody knows that Google is the smartest thing in the world. Google is on every cell phone and even housed in a pair of specs.

Heck,

Google maps even caught me sauntering into Buhach Preschool a few years ago huffing and puffing like a Sasquatch. (it's true..you can Google it.)

...anyway. I accepted a long time ago that I am a flawed human being. Fully flawed.

*********************************************************************************

#Flawedandfalling

Take last night for example...

At 5:47 I rush out of the lobby, excited to lock up the center and get my weekend started (because let's face it, a Netflix binge is in my future.)

At 5:57 pm I limp inside of the lobby with my (Juans) now broken umbrella shaking in my fist.

"What! What happened to you?!" At first Preeti is SO concerned.

"I fell! I fell down the steps!" I lifted my skirt to show her my knee. "You know when you're old (and fat) you don't even realize that you are falling until it is over." I then reenact my falling.

"Oh my God....Are you okay?" She smiles.

"Yes asshole."

"Oh myyyyy Gawwwwwd." She laughs. "I am sorry to laugh."

"Friends are supposed to laugh when you fall. I can't WAIT for you to fall. I'm going to shit myself laughing at you. Look at my knee!" I whine and limp off to text Juan about his broken umbrella.

I sort of fold it back up and prop it in place. "Maybe he wont notice that half of it is crunched." I murmur to myself.



*********************************************************************************

#Flawedandfailing

Emma tells me that I intimidate her friends.
"But I am the nicest person in the entire world!" I state.

"Just look at you! With your hair and clothes. Not to mention your red lips. YOU are intimidating."

I huff off. Worried that I don't look as nice as I feel inside.

On Wednesday Morning I was driving Emma to school. We pick up 2 of her besties on the way. It is usually so early that I never have time to talk to them, PLUS, I do the whole 'I am just going to drive and not embarrass my daughter' thing.

Well THIS Morning, Micheal was late to wake up and late to hop in the car.
What's a mom to do? Make conversation of course!
"Hi Gynnifyr." I turn and look at my daughters best friend.
"Hi." She smiles shyly.

SIDENOTE: Gynnifyr is ADORABLE. I love her and her freckles and blunt bangs so much, but usually I try to stay "chill." (chill is what my daughter says is quiet)

"Do you have a boyfriend Gynnifyr?" I question, noting that Emma's face is falling in the review mirror.
"No." she smiles and looks out of the window.

"Good girl. Boys are stupid. Do you have a girlfriend? Do you like girls? Sometimes that happens." I ramble.

"No!" she turns red while Emma's face glowers at me in the mirror.
"Uh oh." I murmur and turn back around.



*********************************************************************************

#Flawedandfullyaware

I am addicted to clothing. (See? I have accepted it. Which is the first step.)
The problem is...I don't really want to fix it. Unless fixing it means going to a shopping spree.
I am actually MORE addicted to men's clothing and follow several sites on the Instagram.

I love a fancy man in fancy clothes. Bespoke suits...*shudder

Talk fashion to me...please.

 'You had me at Prt-porter' is a shirt I would gladly wear.

The problem with me is my inability to keep my hands to myself when it comes to feeling clothing of items that I am drooling over.
The bigger problem is when Parents realize it and ask me if I want to touch their jacket, scarf or god forbid purse.

Uh oh they are on to me. I think while gladly feeling the texture of their jackets.

The other day Jana plunked her purse on the desk in front of me. "I got a new Bestey. Wanna smell it?"

"Bitch." I murmured to her and picked up the purse angrily. "Of COURSE I do." And I smooshed it to my face for a whiff.

Life advice to my daughter.

Now that my daughter is reaching the precipice of teenage-dom, I feel that it is important for her that I pass on experienced and jaded knowledge of the dating world, life and everything else.

(I have never felt so old as when plotting this Blog.)

RULE #1:

WAIT for a man like THAT

While watching Unbreakable, an amazing movie By the way, The only thing that kept going through my mind and I kept sputtering through my mouth was "Why don't they make men like THAT anymore?"

Men who were stranded on a raft after their plane went down WHIST serving their country.

Men who were STRANDED on a raft, who were hungry so they worked together to catch a FUCKING shark by the tale and kill it by punching it in the head.

Two men survived 47 days on the raft catching birds and punching sharks and dodging Japanese air raids.

Of course they did.

I feel like most men today would die after 2 days in a heap on the floor clutching their water logged cell phone to their chest and crying about no cell towers in the ocean.

As the credits rolled I looked over at Emma with a smile on my face and said "Emma, Wait for a man like that."

RULE #2

IF A MAN CALLS YOU BAE PUNCH HIM IN HIS THROAT

(or balls)

No explanations necessary.
If you are older then 13 and you say the word Bae in your daily life you better be talking about going to the ocean and watching the fucking whales in the Bay.

RULE #3

DO YOU

There is no one in this entire world as important as you are. Travel, make friends and mistakes. Work on becoming a fully realized woman. Don't set your self up to settle down.
There is plenty of time to relationship.

RULE #4

Make friends and invest in them.

Friendships are uber important in your life journey. If you have good friends, you are never lonely and are rarely allowed to be grumpy. Friendships are a relationship. You have good times and you have bad times.

You fight and then make up.

Don't give up on your friends. Especially when you get in a relationship.
Understand that when your friends are in relationships you are as well. You will rarely get to be alone with your friend anymore. It is a process. Accept it, and whatever loser or winner they fall in love with.

RULE #5

Know your worth.

The problem with most of the dating world is that it is lazier then ever before. You go out on one date and that means you sleep together.
Uh hello? Are you ganna give your vagina away for a $25.00 pasta plate?
NO THANK YOU.
Be the kind of woman that is worth it. Know your value and act like a lady.

RULE #6

Be strong.

Sometimes life is incredibly hard. Find something to look forward too.

Love the people who are good to you, know your strengths and work on your weaknesses.

Always strive to do things in life with your whole soul.

Look people in the eyes when you talk to them and give firm handshakes.

Speak clearly and decisively, Make your voice heard.

Fight for what you believe in, even if it is unpopular. ESPECIALLY if it is unpopular.

Ask for what you want and fight for it.

Fight for others who have no voice.

Be different, be unique and celebrate it.

RULE #7

Be a secret keeper.

Other peoples stories are not yours to tell.  Keep information to yourself. Ladies don't gossip about their friends. They are a safe place, a keeper of secrets.

RULE #7

Be honest.

Liars are ugly. Nobody likes them and they have poor soul hygiene. Also, they cannot be trusted. exaggeration is another form of lying....that is ugly too.

RULE #8

Read the Bible.

Even if you are wicked old when you do, at some point in your life, read it cover to cover. Inside of it there Is wisdom, forgiveness, life lessons and most importantly LOVE.

RULE #9

Don't be a dick.

And if you do, apologize.

There is no weakness in admitting your dick-dom. Only strength of every relationship. Friendship, husband or co-worker.
Be nice to people, forgive when asked and always love people back.

RULE #10

Nobody loves you MORE then I do.

They may claim to love you as MUCH, (not possible) but nobody in this whole wild world will ever love you MORE then I do.
Not your husband, your lover, your children or your bestie.

I will be there for you in every success and in every failure. I will wipe your tears and push your chin up. I will be proud of you, no matter what and I will always be your biggest fan.

Preschool Teacher on a soapbox.

To whom it may concern,

I am a Teacher.

I am NOT a Daycare worker.

The curriculum that I TEACH is researched, planned, written and executed with care and individual thoughtfulness.

My goal as a TEACHER is to provide an atmosphere filled with LOVE, routine and challenging thought processes.

At the beginning of the year my students learn how to properly hold a pencil, are given activities and tests that exercise their fine motor skills and by the end of the year, they are writing words that they have sounded out with said pencil.

They are learning literacy skills, sentence structuring and money value.

They are learning how to tell stories from the beginning and finish them at the end. But those things are FAR from the most important things to me.

I teach children MANNERS, such as raising their hands before speaking, asking to be excused from the table, waiting quietly and with patience when an adult is speaking.

I teach children KINDNESS, such as standing up for one another, helping a child who is hurt or sad and complimenting others on their actions (or cute shoes)

I teach children HONESTY, and that they can trust us with their story, information and heart.

I follow through when I say something, because it is part of my job as a leader to teach your children that adults are trustworthy, honest and can be trusted themselves.

Children are special and unique. Each one requires something different from their teacher.
I am silly when I can be and strict when I have to be.

I am not stuck in a teaching rut, I do not HAVE to be a Pre-K teacher. I want to be one.
I have considered what it would be like to work in a school district. And I cringe every time.

One of my school-agers brought home a referral from his school yesterday:


"Ms.Beanie, I have a note." He said miserably foreseeing written letters of apology and video game groundation.

I gave him a stern look, shook my head and began to read it.

"___________  splashed in puddles and stood beneath the water dripping off of the building, even when I warned the entire class beforehand."

I just stared at it for a moment before putting the note away.

"DO I have to write an apology letter Ms.Beanie?"

"Not today love." I replied

Later I stepped outside of the classroom to talk to his mom. " He got a referral today, Please read it. I want to follow through with discipline so I kept him off of the video games, however I did not make him write an apology letter for it."

She read the note and her eyebrows raised before looking back at me. "He's a kid!"

"He's a number." I said to myself.


I would fail miserably in the school district. I would hop in puddles and decorate the walls with paint splatter.

That being said, I do appreciate job offers. Thank you for thinking that I am amazing.

However, I do NOT appreciate being told that I deserve better. Because I as far as I am concerned, I travel an hour a day simply to work at the BEST.
With the BEST teachers and the BEST leader.

(And thank you Jesus, we have a long waiting list to prove it.)

When people have a passion for painting it is an amazing talent.
When you have a passion for Preschool it is considered a step below teaching.

This is untrue.

Preschool is IMPORTANT.
It is a valuable step in the development of a healthy and well rounded individual.

When we TEACH your child, we think about what values need to be instilled into them. Each and every one of them and as a TEAM we work together to provide it, while cultivating your child's need for magic, natural consequences and happy memories.

Some of these skills are invisible and cannot be written on their daily notes.
Can you imagine?

Daily activities:

 I learned how to stop being an asshole.

Today I learned to use my words instead of my fists to communicate. Also I stopped eating my boogers for dessert.

Today I learned that when Ms.Beanie says it is cold outside, I should PROBABLY grab my jacket.

Today I had to complete my work three times, until I have Ms.Beanie the kind of work that she expects from me.


It is my pleasure and indeed honor to have a small say in what kind of human being your child becomes.

Know that when WE as Preschool teachers say we love your child, we MEAN it.
We worry, hope and pray for them.
When they leave our classrooms we MISS them, think of them and sometimes cry because of it.

Penis.

I say the word penis, on average, at least 20 times a day.

"Don't kick people in the Penis."

"Put your penis away!"

"Are you rubbing your penis on my table?"

"We don't color our penises."

"Nobody wants to see your penis."

"Is something wrong with your penis? No? Then stop squeezing it, I'm sure your mother wants grandchildren someday."

You know, the norm.

Yesterday I rang my bell and made a lofty announcement " I am speaking to the boys. Please keep your feet, hands, crayons and elbows off of your own OR each others penises. We do not punch, hit, stare or even speak to another persons penis. I am tired of SAYING the word penis. If I say penis one more time to anyone in the WORLD, I will sell you. Do you understand me?"

"Yes Ms.Beanie."

The boys all answered (and tried not to laugh)
Everything was going well until the one little boy, who couldn't help it whispered "Peeeeniissss"
to the great enjoyment of every single boy in my classroom.

My head fell back and I sighed before going into full whale breathing.

*Breathing like a whale makes you feel calmer, instantly...try it.

I chose to ignore the penis whisperer and decided to take the high road of brow furrows and tight lips.
That never lasts long with me, especially when another child tells the penis whisperer that he was going to be sold soon.

Tree Choad. (Or how to throw a fit when your 38)

choad

 As it stands, the word choad has three major definitions.

1) A short, fat penis that is wider than it is longer
2) The area between the scrotum/vagina and the anus.
3) A derogatory term used to insult somebody.

"Ducas has a fat choad."

"Last night your mom tongued my choad."

"Quit being such a choad."

It is almost October.

This is my favorite time of the year, not only do we get to celebrate Halloween, read Halloween books, wear Halloween inspired clothing and drink Halloween coffee...but in MY family, October 1st means that we make plans for the 'Other'  Holidays.

Eeeeeee! Holidays.
How I love them so.

The music, the smells, the lights. Ahhhhh
Encase you're wondering...I AM one of those people who end up on December 26th, trembling and teary eyed that Christmas is over... "But it happened so fast.." I always say.

How sad.

However, I am also the planner of the family, and after eating our weekly family dinner and catching up on everyone's week, I whip my phone out and demand "OKAY. Let's schedule pumpkins."

Brandee and I look at our calendars and decide which pay day is the best to visit Delosso Farms.
"That's not a payday, but the next pay day is too close to Halloween." She says.

I "Hmmmm" In response.

"I am working. I can pumpkin!" Shane volunteers.

"Yay! If we are broke Shane can pumpkin for us!" I exclaim

"No, we can save." Brandee says...like an adult.

We quickly schedule our pumpkin date and discuss which rides we will go on.

As I get ready to follow my children out the door I murmur to Brandee "Wish me luck with these two. I am like the BOTTOM of the totem pole when we are together."

Brandee wishes me luck, I squish Mandy's face to my boobs and I am out the door.

On the way home I am excited.

Filled with Glee even.

"OH CHRISTMAS!" I exclaim "I can feel you coming! We will have the BEST most AMAZING tree EVER!....Who's turn is it to pick our tree this year!?"

Shane claps with Glee "MINE!"

My stomach drops and I frown at him.
Shane has ALWAYS wanted the most depressing tree's at Christmastime. You know, the ones you feel sorry for. The ones with gaping holes or lopsided ones that cause you to look away so that you don't feel sorry for the tree. THOSE ONES.

"NO." I mutter

"YES!!!" He exclaims "And I am going to pick out the smallest, most chubby tree on the lot!"

"NO!" I gasp trying to still my sinking heart with my hands

"YES! It will be a tree choad!" He laughs manically which causes my daughter to laugh with him.

"But SHAAAAAAAAAANE! I don't WANT a tree choad!" I whine, which causes him to laugh even harder. His fingers pinching the bridge of his nose to keep the tears at bay.

"I know! I KNOW! But it is MY year and I want a tree choad!"

"Oh my god, and it will break in half when we put my shark ornament on it that Mandy got me." Emma chuckles in the back seat.

"But I want a big fat tree! I picked out the BEST tree!" I whined some more, trying to make them see it my way. LAST year was my year and our tree was magnificent!

"DO you mean the one that we had to cut a foot off of to fit in our house and it took us 5 HOURS to put up. THAT ONE?" Emma questioned

"YES! But wasn't it magnificent?" I whispered, still awed by my fat giant LOVELY tree.

"Well yeah...but you had to run to Walmart and buy a whole separate tree holder for it."

"But...well now we have one so Shane can pick out a giant tree!"

"NOPE!" Shane shook his head "I'm getting the choad and there is nothing you can do about it. It's MY TURN! Family rules."

He was still chuckling at me, even when I smacked him for it on his tummy.

By the time we got home, I was pouting (and stomping) Shane was STILL laughing and Emma was spinning around in circles, probably high with the knowledge that her mom was miserable.

Shane stopped on the front porch to our home and looked down on me walking up, " I'm over your tree choices! You know what Momma, your tree choices SUCK!"

I gasped appalled at anything that I have chosen sucking.

"The pink tree?" He questioned, his arms folded and his eyebrow raised.

"Well THAT was my divorce tree! I HAD to celebrate with pink tree icing and pink diamonds on top!"

"The tinsel tree?" Emma stood next to him, her eyebrow raised as well.

"AGH! That is a reminiscent of times past. IT SHINED so prettily!" I stomped up our front steps after them. Completely rethinking my decision to give birth.

"I don't understand why you two are Christmas ruining assholes! I am the best mommy EVER and have filled your lives with Christmas fucking joy. JOY!" I shouted and pointed to the sky.

I walked down the hallway, de-braing and stomping like a toddler.

Behind me I heard "Oh my. Mommy is so mad." Then laughter.

Lots of laughter.

"If those beasts think I am going to have a choad tree, they have another thing coming." I murmured to Karma.

She snorted (Which in Karma speak means: THOSE BASTARDS!)  and I was happy that I had ONE family member who would not be getting coal for Christmas.

Looking for cows.

A few months back, while sitting in the passenger seat, my stomach growled and Shane let out a laugh.
He was still learning how to drive and each day after I clocked off at work, I headed to Tracy to pick him up....


"Hungry?" He smiled

"Yes, and I am going to die from it. COMPLETELY DIE!" I huffed and crossed my arms.

"OHHHH MYYYY MOMMMYYYY" He singsonged at me peppered with chuckles and headshakes.

He always does that when I throw a fit.

"It is almost 7:30 and I found a turd on my classroom floor today....A TURD!"
"A surprise turd."

"Yes! And now it's late and I am so hungry that I want to eat your giant baby man face off!"

He gasped fake-appalled at my threat of eating his face, and chastised me accordingly. "How sad to YOU. I am not speaking to you for 3 MINUTES!"

My mouth dropped open "3 MINUTES?! But I barely even threatened eating your giant face, just barely!"

3 minutes was a lot in our family, usually it was 10 seconds of the silent treatment in which we would pout, apologize and be forgiven.

1 minute in: "I hardly think that is worth 3 minutes!"

2 minutes in: "I am so sad at YOU! How sad to YOU!"

2 min 35 seconds in: "I'm sorry for threatening to eat your face."

3 minutes exactly "I hope you have learned your lesson! I forgive you."

"That was HORRIBLE."

"I know. That is what you get. Now....look out the window Mama."

"What!? NO! I have to look forward and make sure we don't die..or worse...hit some gravel."

"Gravel IS death." Shane mimicked one of my driving lessons

"Precisely."

"We are fine momma, relaaaaax...Look out the window. Look for COWS!"

I snorted and smiled at him. "You remember that?"

He nodded and smiled. It made my heart happy.

When Shane was small, we drove around a lot. And no matter where we went, we would tell him "Look out the window Shane! Look for Cows!" He eagerly would for a minute or so and then makeup incredible places that he had spotted the mooing mammal.

On Car drives, or in waiting rooms we would play I-spy, sing along to Vegi-tales or make up stories together.
As he got older he would draw and then regail us with stories that went along with his pictures. (These usually involved Luigi in some way.)

On my keychain I had a itsy bitsy checkers set, and in my purse were spare pens and pads of paper for tic-tac-toe.

I took him everywhere with me. The DMV, Gynecological appointments (he would count behind the curtain to 100) and every kind of shopping imaginable.

After Emma was born, our travel time continued the same. We did have a DVD player in our car for long trips, but more often then not it was off and the whole family would sing along with Larry the Cucumber's 'GOD is bigger then the boogy man'
(10 years later and I can still sing every word.)

It is intriguingly sad to me, how often I see children walking along with their parents, clutching a cell phone or an IPAD.
I want to stop them and implore them to turn off the machine and enjoy their child.
Technology is everywhere, and I GET that I sound old when I shake my head at an opportunity to have touchscreens in my classroom.
APPS are amazing!
APPS can teach the children so much!"

I prefer human connection and verbal teaching styles. Computer APPS are perhaps an invention for the now while I, and my feelings about them are befitting of the past.

Old I know.

I scrunch my nose even now as I type this.

I always say that the most important thing in life, is to make memories....but after Shane's remark about cows I realized that it is even more important to be IN them.

Shut off your phones. Take a walk, sing a song and for my sake, wherever you go keep your eyes peeled for cows.

Castaway and Cold cream.

"Hey girl, Damn you look good. I know you just turned 38 but you don't look a day over 25." I gushed.

No I was not talking to my bestie.

I was talking to my vagina.

Being single means a great many things.

It means I get to stretch out on my bed kitty corner.

It means I get to read all day and not listen to anyone bitch to me about lack of attention, but more importantly it means that I can let my vagina resemble Tom Hanks face circa Castaway. (albeit a blond one thankyouverymuch)

This morning after lazing about in my bed and binge watching Sherlock Holmes I decided it was time for my weekly beautification ritual. Which means: soaking in a scalding hot bath infused with bath salts and bubbles up to my chin.
Also today, I decided, was a good day to check in on my vagina. You know, see what's good.
(Being single ALSO means I don't pay as much attention to her as I did when I was shackled.)
Poor Vagina.

Since the age of time, boys have always wondered what we do behind closed doors, The truth is
every bit as alarming as your imagination.
We soak in scalding hot water, we scrub out bodies (using imported sugar scrubs) and we apply ointment that aids in the sloughing off of dead skin to our feet and elbows.

Yes, we women wouldn't be as soft as we are without working for it.
My personal secret is simple and was passed down to me by my grandmother. Cold cream.

VAGINA TIP: The next time you shave your bagina bits, apply cold cream, let it sit for a good 5 minutes and rinse.
You will thank me. (And your vagina will feel like a silk.)

As amazing as cold cream is, it is a hard find. I had ran out a few weeks prior and was searching the shelves like a mad woman, squatting down and reading boxes and jars aloud...just to see if I had skipped over it in my previous 2 searches.

"Can I help you?" A woman stood to my right

"Yes. Cold cream?" I looked up at her and squinted my eyes

"Hmmm. Cold cream?" she questioned. Her eyes flickering between me and the shelf.

I sighed in irritation. Mostly because I had gotten this same reaction at both Target AND CVS.

"There is face cream." She grabbed a box and held it up

"That is not cold cream." I stated

"I've never even heard of cold cream." She muttered beneath her breath.

"OBVIOUSLY." I huffed, staring at her unsoftened skin.

But just then I saw it at the very very bottom next to the mineral oil.

COLD CREAM!!!!!!!!!! It exclaimed (In my grandmothers leathery voice)

"HA!" I held it in my hand before lovingly rubbing it against my heart. I grabbed two just for good measure.

Which leads me to my bath, and speaking lovingly to my vagina this morning.

"You should be in pictures!" I exclaimed to my vagina in the mirror and then I clothed myself and headed out to finish my Sherlock Binge.

Emma came up to me and rubbed my arm. "You are so soft. What is it. What do you use?"

I squinted at her, and decided that I should let her in on my little secret.
I left the vagina tip out.
For now.

Licensed.

I am a lucky mom. 

My son did not want to drive when he turned 16 years old. There is no way in HELL that he was ready too, and I had explained to him that until he had a job and could afford 16 year old insurance, It was a no GO.

I would like to say that I wish I was one of those parents that bought their child their first car and furnished their insurance, you know...all Betty Crocker and shit.

But alas. I live in the real world of Singlemom-dom and juggling bills like a boss. Like I said. I am a lucky mom. And I have a son who understood that.

When it came time to hand over his keys and teach him the way of the wheel I will honestly tell you that I was filled with a fear like no other.

"Shane has a job!" I exclaimed to B&B (Birdie and the Beast...respectively)

"YAY! Praise Jesus!" One of them said..or both.

"Now I have to teach him how to drive." I muttered and Immediately I had to poop.

(I have nervous poop syndrome. Its a thing.)

"You can do it!" Birdie cheered me on, while flashes of her own driving experiences with children flashed across her face. It looked like horror...and fear.

" I can't teach my kids how to drive." Juan shook his head "Nope"

"Yes you can." Birdie cheered (shes always cheery)

"I have to poop." I whined. Juan rolled his eyes and pretended he didn't just hear that and Birdie laughed.

Teaching your child to drive is the worst thing ever.

WHY hasn't anyone told me about this? WARNED ME even.

"Emma, I think it is time I go out and find you a new daddy."

"What?"

"What kind of daddy do you prefer."

"WHY?"

"Well, My master plan is to find you a new daddy and then HE can teach Shane how to drive."

"I think you're ganna have to do it mom."

"DAMMIT."

FLASH FORWARD

Shane is strapped into the drivers seat and I am calmly sitting in the passenger seat. Telling myself to portray confidence and calmness.

What I was thinking is: "THIS IS SO FUCKED UP, THIS IS SO FUCKED UP."

"Okay son. You ready?"

"No."

"You can do this. Are you ready?"

"I mean. I guess."

"YOU ARE READY! Be confident, like me! Look at me being all confident and shit!"

He turned and looked at me. His eyes were nervous and his laugh was too.

We stared at each other and laughed together for a moment. "We can do this!" I whispered

"Okay. I'm confident-ish" He turned and grabbed the wheel.

Before I continue with my story I need you to know that I am fully aware that I suck at teaching people how to drive. I AM aware of my faults you know. 

"OKAY! Lesson ONE. What are you driving?"

"...um...a Ford?"

"No. YOU are driving a killing Machine."

"Uhhhh"

"This machine kills people. Be aware of that. Do YOU want to kill people?"

"No?"

"No you don't. SO you are going to drive safely and slowly."

"Okay Mama" 

"Good boy"

************************************

"LESSON FIVE! What is that?" I said, pointing to the gravel on the side of the road

"Uh...rocks?"

"NO! That is gravel. Gravel is death. Don't hit it. Its like hot lava."

"Okay?" He said while laughing nervously

"HEY! Do you want to die?"

"No?"

"Then don't hit the gravel."

**************************************

"LESSON 7 Everyone else is retarded. Remember that. You are the only smart one. Keep a look out for assholes and retards."

"Assholes and retards. Got it."

*************************************

"LESSON 8 There is absolutely no point in speeding. It is stupid. People who drive too fast are reckless and unintelligent. If you speed then you get pulled over. Your ticket will cost you hundreds of dollars and you will be late to work. Think about it, is going too fast worth it? No. No its not.

Just go the speed limit, and fuck everyone else. Just ignore them and sing a little song about how you don't care that they are honking at you. Arrive alive."

"Go the speed limit, sing a song, Arrive alive. Got it."

"You're a good boy Shane."

**************************************

I soon felt pretty comfortable with Shane driving, and I wasn't clutching the back of his headrest until my hand cramped up.

All of my directions sounded like childrens stories.

"Go over the creepy bridge, PAST the 'Where the wild things are' Trees and what do we do at the the blinky light?"

"At the blinky light, we turn right."

"Very good Shane! You are a good boy."

"You are a good mama."

Yesterday Shane drove off to work for the first time alone. I was worried. "Do you want me to drive behind you?"

"No mama."

"But do you feel confident?"

"YES mom."

"Okay son."

I'm still terrified.

Perspective.

I woke up this morning way too early and with the thought in my head that Dragons were breathing on me.



1. I was hot. I am fat and it was hot as dragon breath in my room.

2. How to train your dragon has been playing on repeat in my room for 3 days and in actuality it was the screeching of the movie that woke me, not a dragon bent on fatty blood.



I limped out to the coffee maker as quietly as I could. It was not children that I was afraid to wake...it was Karma. She has been experiencing excitement at an extreme level.



For instance when I wake up, she usually runs past me and over to the front door, looking at me excitedly while I growl at her and reach for my coffee carafe.



I'm sorry. COFFEE first. You pee SECOND.



Then I open the door for her and she dances outside and looks at me expectedly. Like I am going to frolic with her on the porch.



Or at night when I get home, she wags her tail so hard it practically touches her ears.



She misses our morning walks, and apparently me as well. Either that or she has dipped into the next door neighbors Meth Stash.



I miss her too.



When Emma wakes up I smile at her and she just stares at me and tries to become invisible. She knows that I want to hug her and she is uncomfortable with this lately.

Maybe its because of her boobs. Who knows.



Whatever the reason is, when I see a child that I personally squeezed out of the cavity of my body...I have an overwhelming urge to squish their body into mine, smell their hair and say something inappropriate...its sorta how I show my love.



I am touchy.



I love to feel bodies, clothing and love. I am 36 this is not going to change and it cannot be helped.

"Come here my little baaaaby" I say and reach my hands out to her.



She pouts, walks into my arms and sorta of plunks her head against my chest.



This is how 12 year old Emma shows love. She allows me to hug her. I have to just accept it and roll with it.



I squeeze her and Sing into her ear "Do you want me to dance for you?"



"No...NO...Please no."



I look affronted. Offended even "Why do you NOT want me to POP it, LOCK it and DROP it like it is hot?"



She laughs at me "That is not how it goes mom."


I move my hands very mechanically (If I do say so myself) and tilt my head "I look exactly like the girl on TV." I say in an amazed manner.



Emma covers her mouth. She is mortified at me. "No mom."



I laugh and let her go.



I have learned in the past year that something's take a bit of "thinking on" gathering information, taking a step back and putting things into perspective.

Thank YOU for ME.

I wrote this post a few months back, but didn't feel like I had a right to put it out there at the time.
_______________________________________________________________________________






My mom died today.


I did not know her well.


I do not know what perfume she preferred, or what her favorite color was.


I do not know the story of why my Father raised my sister and I, but whatever reason it was, I was never angry with her for the choices that she had to make in order to survive in her own story.




I have always known that sometimes, we have to make choices and decisions that others do not understand.


I have always felt that she did.




I have some memories of my mom, Always good ones.
I wasn't old enough to remember bad times or hold on to bad memories.




Maybe I have forgotten them.




I do remember her laugh. She had the best laugh that I have ever heard. It attracted me instantly to her the very first time that I heard it.


It was a laugh that was given with every inch of her.
Gritty, loud and real.
As a child, I wanted to blanket it around me.
I wanted to be the recipient of that laugh, and watch her eyes alight on me.




I remember visiting her when I was young and being in awe of how beautiful my mom was.
I took pride in that.
She was fun and beautiful and she laughed a lot.




I have not spoken to her in years, and yet when my sister told me of her passing...tears filled my eyes.


 Regret inevitably followed.


I couldn't put a name on why I was so sad. Why would I cry for someone that I did not know?My sisters sobs echoed my own.




"Why are we crying?" I mumbled into the phone


"Because...she gave us life. She was our mom." My sister replied.




It is sad.


And yet I hope that she finds peace at last.




I hope that whatever monsters or demons have chased her, have become slain by her passing.


I hope that she knows how thankful I am that she had me.
My sister.
US.

Courage.

cour·age

 the ability to do something that frightens one.

"she called on all her courage to face the ordeal"

 strength in the face of pain or grief.

"he fought his illness with great courage"

synonyms: bravery, courageousness, pluck, pluckiness, valor, fearlessness, intrepidity, nerve, daring, audacity, boldness, grit, true grit, hardihood, heroism, gallantry;

Ever since Caitlyn Jenner came out as transgender, I have ignored the memes, scrolled past the criticisms and wandered on to better  thoughts and ideas.

Everyone is entitled to their beliefs and thoughts. Me defending my own simply wastes my breath.

Today while having dinner with my children, I saw another and I said aloud, "fuck it, if they can spew their bullshit, well then so can I."

And that is what I am doing. If you are go  to be offended I don't give two fucks.

Caitlyn Jenner IS in fact courageous. SHE has come out to her family, which is hard enough. But she did it publicly and she did it that way for a reason. She wants to help other people like her.

I have been born and raised to be Patriotic. I have an entire wall in my home dedicated to my father and late Father in Law that shows their hard work and honor in defending their country.

I love my country and no matter who is leading it, I will support him because he is my president. I am honored that my family has had a part in defending it.

By saying that Caitlyn Jenner is courageous, this In no way diminishing the acts of courage that our soldiers endure each and every day.

To YOU, maybe Caitlin is not courageous. But to a million others she is.

To me she is.

She is the face of where the world is right now. And when people rant and rave about being pissed off at "The gays rights" all I can compare them to is the people who were furious about women's right to vote or the abolishment of slavery.

The world is evolving. Its people are evolving, as we have always done. You have two choices. Acceptance and education or stay stagnant and angry.

As much as I love our military, the word courage does not only belong to them.

It takes courage to be bare to others.

It takes courage to be a single mom who will go a week and hardly eat so that her children have food.

It takes courage to walk into an AA meeting and come back again the following week.

It takes courage to start a new business and be responsible for another human beings livelihood.

It takes courage to leave an abusive relationship.

It takes courage to do many things.

This is not a competition. I can understand others people beliefs and thoughts on it and you are entitled to them. And so am I.