Monday snark....

This weekend Bob and I went to a dinner party. We actually had a nice time, and met some really interesting people, but that would be boring to blog about, wouldn't it? I'm sure you would love to hear about the tender flakiness of the salmon I ate, or my personal moment of triumph when I waived away the dessert, but something tells me you want a little snark with your Monday morning coffee? Un peue de snark, no?

So this man was at our dinner table--let's call him "Bill." I have actually forgotten his real name, so, heh, hope it isn't Bill. Bill talked for at least half of the table's conversation about the reason he moved here to our little town. His entire family suffered greatly when they were back at their old home, both physically and mentally, but were good as gold when they came here. Finally, they figured out that everyone was getting really sick from the pesticides back home. See, Bill is a farmer. A very, very rich farmer. After going on and on about how terrible pesticides are, how now they only eat organic, how they only eat cows that have been slaughtered in nice ways without any antibiotics, about how everything they touch is pure and now their lives are markedly different, I managed to ask a question. Because even though the dinner conversation was remarkably monopolized, I thought it was great that he and his family were healthy and living a better life.

"So are you an organic farmer now?"

Bill looked at me like I was crazy. "Hell, no. Organic costs three times as much for a third of the yield. I have a little plot dedicated to organic, but the money just isn't there."

"Well, then what motivates a farmer to go organic? Aren't there subsidies or something?"

"The only thing that motivates a farmer to grow and sell organic is something inside of him. Most people just can't afford to eat healthy." And he went back to eating his green salad that hadn't been touched by a pesticide while countless families that night were no doubt digging into their dinner that had been liberally sprayed with poison and purchased for pennies at Walmart. And possibly grown by this man at my table.

It made me feel so sad inside.

Edited to add: This made me feel sad mostly because the world is so unfair. We ALL deserve to eat healthy food. Clearly, it isn't feasible, and THAT is a travesty.
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Now, to lighten my own mood, I direct you here, to the story that broke this weekend. Have you read about the Kansas woman who chose to stay on the toilet for two solid years? Have at it. Happy Monday.

Is Your Name Jen? Jenn? Jenny? Jennifer? Well, You All Won

Happy Sunday!

Flutter

Jenn C.

Jenn

Nancy

SPJ

Fantastagirl

Andi

Jen T.

Amanda

The Dragonfly

Jenn at Juggling Life

Jennifer...

You guys won an art card! Head on over to Katie's site and contact her and let her know you were picked from Get in the Car's blog to win a card.
Thanks for playing!

Art is Grand - Free Art is Sublime

I love the internet. Because of this crazy web, courtesy of Mr. Al Gore ;), we can connect, re-connect, and support each other in ways we couldn't just a few short years ago.

We've had give-aways here at Get in the Car for face masks, books, purses, lip gloss, and jewelry. We've sold diamonds and turned over the proceeds to Habitat for Humanity. All of this is possible because of the great network we have, and all we have to do is turn on our computer. Now, I'd love for you to turn your attention to a talented Pacific Northwest Artist, Katie Berggren.

Please visit her site. Not only is she a true talent, she's a mother, and she even designed the web page for Muddy H20, the people who gave several of you free chocolate and French clay face masks!

As an incentive to toddle on over and peruse her great work, which celebrates womanhood and is affordable, she is giving away TWELVE FREE ART CARDS to readers of this here blog. I love her work, because she celebrates motherhood in a unique way, and even though I live in one of those artsy southwest towns, I haven't seen anything like her style - and that's saying quite a bit. We have as many art galleries as the Bible Belt has churches and Waffle Houses.

What are you waiting for?? Leave a comment, go on and enjoy some beautiful images while you enjoy your morning beverage, and maybe you'll win something pretty to hang on your wall above the computer that connects us all.

Why My Son Will Be Getting Everything in My Will

This Morning....

"Mama, how old are you?"

"Thirty-six."

"Are you old?"

"No, sweetie. I don't feel old."

"No, you're not old. You don't have any cracks in your face yet."

Hallmark, do you hear this? THIS is a greeting card.

What Men Want

The following was cut and pasted from an email exchange with an old and dear friend of mine from high school. She happens to be single, I happen to be a happy woman who has been married for nearly all of her adult life. I realize, I am jaded. You, of course, realize that this is just a list for God's sake. Just another list on another mommy blog. So don't get too worked up. BUT if you have something to add, please add it.

1. Men want to be mothered.
2. By a slut. A cheerleader slut.
3. But you can't be a slut in public or during the day.
4. During the day you are:
a. attractive
b. wholesome
c. domestic
d. intelligent, yet under the radar with your observations
e. witty, and same caveat as "d"
f. well-groomed (which should look "natural and effortless" yet require massive work unbeknownst to them)
g. Happy
h. low-maintenance
i. Excited to see them under any circumstances
j. horny
k. ambitious yet not competitive, ready to happily subvert your goals should a conflict arise
l. willing to make it all about them
m. a good listener (see "l")
5. In private, during the evening you are:
a. horny
b. all about them
c. funny
d. domestic
e. horny
f. You have been waiting ALL day to give them a blow job. In fact, it's all you thought about.
6. Oh, and you were really, really hard to get and many other men wanted you. Men need to hunt.

Tra la la la LA

Its Monday. Monday after spring vacation with all the children home. Wheee!

I love Mondays - they've been my favorite day of the week since the kids have started school. You know those "getting to know you" internet forward quizes people always send when they're procrastinating at work? I hate them, because inevitably two questions separate me from my childless cohorts (or those with maybe only one kid). What is your favorite day of the week? and What's in your car?

I always seem to be the only one to answer "Monday" and "Old cheese, underwear, an eye patch and something that looked to be congealed but then screamed when I poked it."

Happy Easter

We celebrated early since Maddie and Bob are leaving for the week to head out to Catalina Island with her class.

So even though we may have felt a little weird hunting for eggs on Easter Vigil, we had a blast. The real part of the holiday for us is the tradition - so if it's a day early, no sweat.

I recommend checking your kids' baskets for poisoned candy. I hear the Easter Bunny is mildly disgruntled these days - the economy and all. I took one for the team and sampled the Reeses Easter Eggs from each basket - just doing my part.

Good Friday. Good Grief

Happy Good Friday. Or not, depending on your faith. Although I classify myself as a liberal Christian, accepting of all faiths and the concept of universal salvation, I still have enough Catholic in me to render me guilt-plagued, worried, and trying to cover all of my bases - so to speak.

Although I went through the Catholic confirmation process, I have never been to confession. I'm not exactly sure where this leaves me in the eyes of Catholics, but when I went through the process I was very open about my pro-choice beliefs and my distrust of confessing sins to some guy who couldn't possibly relate to me...the thought of confessing sins related to my marriage and motherhood to a man who wasn't even allowed to have sex? Well...I am certain that they let me finish the program only because they figured I was a lost cause. And I happen to have belonged to a fairly liberal Catholic church at the time.

After a lengthy discussion on faith and religion, my best friend and I discussed the concept of confession. The Catholic Church has come out with a new list of deadly sins, and I have already (albeit unintentionally) committed one of them (polluting the earth). This means that if I don't confess my sins and absolve them, I will go to hell. 99.9% of me believes this to be man-made hogwash. Come on. But of course, it got me thinking - can I confess online? Check the box for confession without enduring the smarmy presence of my current church's priest? A man who annoys me so much I used to imagine kicking him in the neck - just for fun - when I had to attend Mass with the kids for school. Sorry, God. I need to add this to my list of sins.

Hey, guess what? You can. Just go to http://www.absolution-online.com/confession and you can add sins to your shopping cart. After you've reviewed your order, you proceed directly to checkout and you're given your penance.

I decided to confess online to every sin I could recall committing over the course of my life. It took me *ahem* a while to do this. You don't type your sins in, rather you find a category (venial/physical/10 Commandments) and sort through the list, selecting your transgressions as you scroll through the sins. My shopping cart was enormous, and I'm sure I missed a sin or two - 36 years of living and it all adds up. Not to mention that you had to classify to severity of your sin - Class A-D....I usually rounded up and made mine severe (As and Bs) to cover my bases.

How long do you think it will take me to complete 1,666 Hail Marys and 60 Our Fathers? Oh, and I have to fast for five weeks. I'm pretty sure those last few pounds will slide right off.

Of course, there is just enough superstitious freak in me to believe that maybe I really should do all of this, just in case (and I can break up the fast, according to the site.)

How about you? If you've never confessed a sin before, what would your penance be? Do you believe in confession as a path to absolution? Are you on the fence?

So much to think about before gorging on Cadbury Creme Eggs. Oh crap, I need to add another gluttony. And cursing. Christ.

They're Just Too Damn Old

Ah, Easter with little kids. It's all pastel colors, dyed eggs still faint with vinegar, crinoline, hair bows, and starched shirts. Not to mention the gleeful sugar high of a child wiped out on chocolate bunnies before eight in the morning.

Then they grow up.

Last night my girls approached me. "Hey, Mom. You know what would be great for the *wink* *wink* Easter Bunny to leave in our baskets?"

I just stared at them. Even last year they all went along with the ruse that indeed a furry critter had deposited treats on our doorstop. I'm never ready for things like this.

"Um, no. Extra chocolate?"

They both looked at each other like, can you believe this woman? "No, mom. We want a Derma Pod."

I laughed. "Guys, that's for women. It is supposed to help smooth your eye area. You are both way too young for it."

"Uh, no we're not. Hanna has one and she says her face glitter goes on a lot better after she uses it. And, uh, it's never too early to care for your skin, Mom."

Ah, Easter. Time for pastel colored gimlets in the morning to wipe away the knowledge that, much like kitties and puppies, they grow up eventually.

Touche

While lounging poolside at the resort we just returned from with the kids...Important to note that my children attend a school where they are required to wear sun hats outdoors and sun safety is high on everyone's minds...we have a lot of sun and are close to the harmful rays up in the mountains...

[Whining] "Uh! I can't find my goggles."

Me: [splayed on chaise lounge to brown all parts of thighs, since we all know brown thighs are way better than white thighs] "Oh noooo, maybe you should stop whining first, then look in your beach bag."

Child: [shooting me an irritated look] "I may be whining, but at least I'm not a...not a sun user."

Spring Break

Have a good one, everybody. I am signing off for a while to get my kids down for some sunshine and pool time.

Hopefully this year nobody throws up, but we've had at least one hurler on Spring Break for two years now, and everyone knows third time's the charm.

Call for Entries

When I visit all of your blogs the one thing that amazes me is the quality of photography on so many websites out there. I am usually in awe, especially since I sporadically post grainy, dark or fuzzy shots of my kids taken with a cheap camera I got at Staples.

Sooooo. I was reading a post the other day at another blog and she said that when she did a Google image search of "Man doing housework" she only received three pictures in her search results. THREE.

Here's what I propose. All of you (and I'll play, too) take a great shot of our men chasing dust bunnies, scraping egg off of a plate out of a dishwasher with a "I just can't get these clean enough" look. I want to see your man folding sheets, getting happy over the way his laundry smells in the sunshine, and wearing the cutest little apron over those hairy thighs. Take your time, make them great, and the top twelve will get picked to be in the...

Hot Men of Housework 2009 Calendar

The net proceeds will go to Habitat for Humanity, possibly one of the coolest non-profits out there, and we'll have a lot of fun seeing the pictures while sending some money to help build homes for natural disaster victims and people who have never had a place of their own.

All you have to do is send me the picture, along with a release stating your husband/boyfriend/co-worker is okay with having his photo exploited for charity, and the rest, hopefully, is magic. Send all entries to getinthecar6@gmail.com. Oh, and for the handful of men who trip over here and read, I'd better see your smiling faces and some Windex in my inbox!

All chosen pictures also receive a photo credit and plug for your blog on the calendar, and if we get more than twelve, I'll post the pictures here and we'll vote for the top twelve. Maybe it's the sleep deprivation I'm experiencing, but I just think this is a really neat idea.

Of course, I will be harassing many of you, since I know your mad photo skilz need to be used...and who doesn't love a man who knows how to use a polishing rag....

This Sums Up Things Quite Nicely, I Think

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light not our darkness that frightens us. Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.

- Nelson Mandela, inaugural address, written by Marianne Williamson

Yet Another Opportunity to Wield a Blunt Object and Flog Myself

How many of you stay at home moms are actually home much during the workweek? Really, I want to know.

I have days where I leave with the kids in the morning to take them to school and am not back home until five or later. Obviously, I (happily) took this on when I decided to have lengthy gaps in between each kid. Which means doctor appointments almost every week (between the eyes, regular doc, teeth and skin we are covered), school activities, errands, and volunteer responsibilities. Not to mention that little thing called the writing career and the possibility of a part-time job never far from my mind. I can't imagine that every single mom who reads this isn't nodding her head and relating. I am probably describing many of your lives, as well. Let's face it, the "stay at home" mom is the busiest she's ever been.

So two things chapped me this week. One, when I went to approach several teachers about finding me a parent volunteer for a gala we're having, every single one of them told me they would have a hard time coming up with a name, since most of their moms are working. Now, I appreciate how busy these moms are. When I only had two kids, I worked a fifty-plus hour work week myself. When I look back, it's with mixed feelings, but the one thing I loved was my lunch hour. Keep in mind, I need a total of say, three hours over the next month from these potential volunteers. That's six days where they give me half their lunch hours and make some calls. If that. Plus, we are no longer at the Catholic school, which means as a family of six, we are an anomaly at this school. There are a handful of big families, but most of these parents have one or two kids. Yeah, clearly they are smarter and more evolved, I know. But my point is this - aren't we all busy as hell? Aren't we all burning the candle a little bit to get the most out of life? When the third teacher mentioned they would see which stay-at-home mom I could call, I felt so angry. Bob jokes that half the time I am an angry black man inside of a white woman's body - and that's how I felt when I saw the stereotypes being brandished with impunity at a class of women that is shrinking with each day.

Then, a woman I know asked me what I had been up to lately, and in her asking, she used the term housewife. Before I could answer, she stammered and went on and on about how sorry she was that she said housewife. Until she mentioned it, I hadn't given it a second thought and was only trying to think of anything interesting that had happened so that she wouldn't fall asleep in front of me as I described my many journeys to school in the car that week. She was so upset, that she was literally stuttering in front of me.

"I know how demeaning that term is. I know you do things and that you're smart. I didn't mean to say it."

So now being a housewife is demeaning? Argh, people - not while I am PMSing, okay? Because this week could get really long.

Hold on...I Have Something in my Teeth

I was talking to Sarah on the phone the other day and somehow we came to the topic of The Vagina Monologues. When I say somehow, you have to bear in mind that linear thought processing goes right out the window when we talk, and our conversations are so circuitous that in the span of five minutes we can cover children, cheese, nipple hair, and of course the obvious segue into the merits of super delegates.

So when one of us mentioned The Vagina Monologues Sarah said she used to hate hearing that title when it first came out. Every time someone would say Vagina and Monologue together, she would picture a giant vagina on the stage.

"With a stool and a mike?"

"No. Just the vagina."

"On its side or more, you know, vertical?"

"On its side, definitely."

"Would it have to pause and pick a hair out of its mouth?"

"You're disgusting."

Now With Twice the Eye Rolling

When I've come to you, wonderful people who read this blog, and vent my frustrations because a hormone poisoned child has rolled her eyes at me, slammed a door, or delivered an invective more venomous than, um, things with lots of venom, I have usually been referring to my oldest daughter. In three short months she is officially a teenager, and from what I have heard, I'm not out of the woods for a while. In fact, I can't even find my damn compass.

But now, now the other daughter is closing in on puberty. And to say it can suck at times? Well, it sucks so much that I think the handsome anal-retentive Dyson Vacuum guy should talk about it on television, next to his immaculately rendered model of the Anti Bitch 3000 - Now With Twice the Suckage. Having two girls about to get their periods living with you, plus the cyclone we call the kindergartner plus the upgraded to Hurricane Jack that is our toddler and I feel like a human punching bag a lot of the time. Like school mornings. Which would be now. Instead of typing this, I really should be whistling a merry tune to my bird friends in the kitchen window while packing their lunches and cooking their breakfast. Instead, I have taken a brief refuge in my office.

So with that opening, I have been mulling something over for a while. I think I need a little time each week with people I didn't birth on a more consistent basis. After eight years, I am thinking about going back to work part-time. Okay - I am opening my eyes. Are you still there? Good! More later...I'm off to make waffles and be pummeled.

Open Mouth. Insert...

Last night I went to the super-secret meeting with the other kindergarten parents and we started to sew the "Wee Ones" for our five year-olds.

The Wee One is a wonderful part of the Waldorf curriculum that enables the child to nurture, and to see their reflection outside of themselves. The Mother Fairy delivers the Wee Ones to the school, one by one, until over time, all of the children have had a special delivery. The "birth" day for each Wee One is a huge deal for the children, and they get really, really excited for the unknown day when the Fairy delivers their baby.

It is so secret, and so sacred, that we are forbidden from discussing it with anyone in our family, with the obvious exception of our spouse. There is an almost Christmas like feel to the specialness and preparation of our child's Wee One.

So last night, as we sat at the small wooden tables, we each had a sheet of instructions titled, "How to Make a Baby."

I am a juvenile delinquent at heart, and so I snorted. Then, while we were pinning, my neighbor let out an "ow!" as she stuck herself with a pin.

"What's the matter, you prick yourself while making a baby?" I giggled.

Sigh. I wonder when I'll grow up.

Who's Walking Now?

Oh, that would be Jack. Yes - he is FINALLY, at nineteen months old, walking!!

To say we are overjoyed and filled with relief is a huge understatement. We have been praying for this since he was twelve months old and the physical therapist told us he had gross motor skill delays as a result of being intubated and on supplemental oxygen for so long.

Now? He is running, pulling lamps down, falling, playing, shrieking, and basically being a typical toddler. Thank God for typical. I had his hair cut a couple of weeks ago, took the boys to the library, and within minutes, he was up and walking around, practically running, after not doing it on his own at all. Sort of a reverse Sampson.

Thought I'd post a picture of the Leap Day Hike, too.