Sundays with Stretchy Pants

It’s like Tuesdays with Morrie, without all the wisdom.


I Wanted to Play Drums

I wanted to play drums in middle school band class, but they wouldn’t let me because they had a rule that we had to know how to play the piano first. Dumb rule because, isn’t that what middle school band class is for? Learning? And Dabbling? How could I learn the stuff before band class? Assholes. I didn’t want to learn piano because, my god, the piano is so fine-motor skillish and I’m more of a gross-motor type. So I didn’t take band class, I took choir instead where I lip-synced and messed around and did drugs. Ok, I didn’t do drugs, but I could have and I would have been justified.

*sigh* We watched Girls Rock last night at the Wexner Center and I cried all through it because it was awesome. And then I yelled at Bryan because, well, he’s a boy and he didn’t even have to learn that he rocks. And it’s not fair! But then, Dawn’s Girls Rock post makes a good point about boys and their struggles and whatnot, so I guess I won’t yell at him today. For being a boy.

The movie inspired my girls to play the drums (Liberty), play guitar and drums (Lena), and play guitar and drums and sing (Maya). And Bryan and I were inspired to pay for stuff that would enable those endeavors. Finally, the girls are doing what they’re supposed to by living out my dreams so that I can live through them. Er, maybe it’s not supposed to be about me and my dreams? I can’t remember. The world is so confusing after seeing Girls Rock.

Anyway, Kids Know Stuff is giving away a Washburn guitar soon and now I wish we could win it. Except it’s kind of ruined because it has either Hannah Montana or Camp Rock paint splashed all over it. I’m sure a kid would like it, but whatever.

We’re going to the Wexner Center to watch two more movies today: Jump and Children of Heaven. I’m sure Jump will inspire a jump rope purchase. I just hope Children of Heaven doesn’t inspire me to make the children share one pair of shoes. I’m easily swayed by visual media.

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Miles and Miles of Smothers Brothers

I’ve been listening to the Smothers Brothers on my runs lately. They give new meaning to the phrase “fun run.” I love them. I giggle. And I love running in the fall. When it’s cold enough that you need gloves at first, but then you can take them off after a little while? That’s the best time of year. And my forehead sweat has stopped blinding me by pouring into my eyes. Thank you, cool weather.  In the summer, if I forget to make a little barrier with various petroleum-based products then I go blind with my drippy, drippy sweat. Have you ever tried to dry your eyes with a tech shirt? It’s not comfy. It’s supposed to wick sweat away, but I guess that doesn’t mean you can use it for a towel.

Ok, so I’m pimping Kids Know Stuff again because we’re going to be doing lots of giveaways over the next couple of months and I love you guys and I want you to win some stuff so you don’t have to buy stuff for the holidays. We’re running a two-fer right now even! Dawn made the site all gorgeous. Thanks Dawn! (Dawn from Open Book Strategies, not Dawn from This Woman’s Work. Wait, maybe they’re the same person. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen them in the same room together even though I’m good friends with both of them. And they both have the same last name. Weird. Must look into that.) Anyway, go look at what Dawn can do. And then bow to her.

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Things I Love So F*cking Much

1. Electricity. I got some, bitches!

2. Dawn. She works my blogs and she invites me to free spaghetti dinners. And she makes me laugh.

3. Kristen. She makes her husband deliver coffee to me and she sets up free coffee for her neighbors because she has a generator. And she makes me laugh.

4. My other friends here and in Chesaning, and my extended family. They invite me to do laundry at their house and they invite me to stay with them and use up their electricity in order to get me to shut up with the whining. They remind me that I’m very lucky to have several places to which I could flee if I really needed to. And they make me laugh.

5. My husband and children. They’re just awesome. Bryan’s awesome because he puts up with me for-evah! And he’s cute. And the kids are awesome because, well, they’re 50% me. I’m kidding! They’re their own little bundles of funny electricity-addicted awesomeness. And they make me laugh.

6. Margaret Cho. Thanks to Dawny for this link because I couldn’t have said it better myself. And it makes me laugh: I’m Christian You Fuckers

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Yes We Can (wear matching t-shirts)!

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We went to the Obama/Biden thingy in Dublin on Saturday with Kristen and Dawn and their tweens. Yes, we wore matching homemade t-shirts. No, it’s not lame. It’s cool! The kids were bored, but they were so, so good and I know someday they’ll thank us for dragging them there. Lena already told me she wanted to show her future children the “on the road to change” sign that she was able to wave. Awwwwwwwww!

Our t-shirts were cool, thanks to Kristen, but this guy’s t-shirt was the best:

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Of course I had to get a picture! I don’t even care that I look like a dumbass in this photo (I am a dumbass, so I should look like one). I’m posting it because the t-shirt says, “Michelle for first lady.” Word.

Dawn has a full report here. Kristen has a bunch of pictures here.

My report is that it was awesome. That’s all. Sixty-five days, people. Get your people to the polls.


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Weird Dreams

I have a lot of weird dreams. I used to keep a dream journal in order to try to interpret them. The more I wrote them down, the more vivid they became. I’m a lucid dreamer, though, so I’m not sure interpretation works when you’re going around changing things in the dream.

Last night I had a dream I was at Kristen’s house for a little party before park day. I wasn’t exactly sure how to get to the park, so I had to use her computer to mapquest it. So I’m using the computer and this jack-ass dude, dressed all businessy and acting all superior (the type Joe and Kristen would never be friends with; I’m sure he wasn’t even invited) just walked up and grabbed the mouse out of my hand because he had some “business” to look up. I was pissed and oh-so-ballsy as I ripped the mouse out of his hand and went on a rant about his business isn’t any more important than my business, just like a good stay-at-home mom who is not at all insecure about her choice. And then Steve Carell showed up and I went off on him: “I know everybody loves you and thinks you’re great, but I know you’re a smarmy bastard and I’m gonna tell the world!” And then my lucid-dreaming self was like, “You idiot! That’s Steve Carell. You will not find any smarminess about him and if you do, you will not tell the world.” In my dream I said, “Wait, you’re not who I thought you were. You’re awesome. I thought you were somebody else.” I don’t know what any of that means. I blame the jack-ass dude on a conversation I had with Dawn yesterday about her and her husband’s choice to have him be the stay-at-home parent and how jack-asses are weird about that, just like jack-asses are weird about stay-at-home moms. Jack-asses suck.

Anyway, we have homeschool park day today, and my sister TracEy (not to be confused with Tracy, my sister-in-law) and my other niece are coming to visit for the holiday weekend (can I get a “woohoo”?). TracEy , if you’re reading this, I’m not cleaning the house for you. I washed the sheets on the guest bed, but I am not doing anything else. It’s Thursday. After that, it’s a holiday weekend. I can’t be expected to clean stuff during a Thursday/holiday weekend combo. I will share my beers with you, unless I feel you’re bogarting them, in which case I will point you toward the liquor store to go buy me us some more. Don’t worry, we found one in a nice part of town, so it’s not across the street from the plasma bank. Nobody will ask you for money at the nice liquor store. You have nothing to fear from the rich drunks except roofies and date rape, so just don’t accept any drinks from anybody and you’ll be fine.

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Weekend Fun

Like most of the other Columbus bloggers I know (and some I don’t know), I spent part of my weekend at Comfest listening to good music, admiring painted breasts, and drinking giant cups of beer. I had a moms-only night on Friday with Dawn and Kristen, and every time a young lady walked by with pair of uncovered breasts that were sitting up high where God put them, without the aid of any industrial-strength materials, the 3 of us couldn’t help but shake our heads and say, “Enjoy them while you can! They won’t always be like that,” and then we’d lament the fact that we didn’t appreciate our bodies back when we were young and perky, and now we’re stuck having to appreciate them for stupid reasons, like creating life and sustaining life and all that bullshit. Bitter.

We also found a perfect spot to sit and eat, and then we just couldn’t bring ourselves to leave the table because it was such a great spot for people watching. It was fun for me to see people that we see at the library, the pool, the grocery store, the farmer’s market, and everywhere else we go around here. It made this big (to me) city feel like such a small town. That might be why I like the Clintonville area of Columbus so much. It has big-city convenience with a small-town feel. A small town where people don’t freak out if you carry your baby in a sling or homeschool or homebirth or breastfeed a toddler. I love that about this place.

On Saturday, we went back to Comfest as a family just in time to see Kristen’s kids do their Grimaldi circus performance for 2 minutes until it got cut short because of the major thunderstorm that was on its way. It wasn’t raining when we took off, but by the time we were about 300 yards away from our van, the downpour was heavy, the wind was pushing us around and we dove for cover in a food tent near the North Market. The wind was rocking that tent back and forth in a very menacing way. I realized then that I only think thunderstorms are cool when I’m safely indoors. I was extremely uncomfortable with the amount of lightening, rain, and wind. My kids and my niece were all scared shitless, but they were playing it cool in front of each other. I was grateful for that because the cherry on top would have been desperate, “I wanna go hooome!” whining and that would have sent me over the edge. Bryan kept saying, “Let’s just run for the van!” But I wasn’t about to listen to him because he drove through Chesaning’s great tornado of ‘98 (Or was it ‘97?) all the while thinking, “Hm, that’s quite a lot of horizontal rain.” He didn’t know there was a tornado going on, but he was about a mile away from a barn that got destroyed by it. I didn’t think he could get that lucky twice, so we stayed put. Until the short man in the official uniform poked his head in the tent and told us there was now a tornado warning and that we all needed to find a building to get into. At that point, I looked at the kids with an isn’t-this-quite-an-adventure smile plastered across my face and told them, “Don’t worry, the North Market is right there and it’s a huge brick building. We’ll be fine. Isn’t this exciting? RUN!!!!” We ran into the North Market (It’s important to note here that Riley and Liberty almost got backed over by a police cruiser during this run. I had to verbally assault the cop. It’s not like he had his sirens on. I totally would have sued.) So we ran again with Bryan still saying, “I think we should just drive home,” and me saying, “You are a retard and if you keep it up I’m going to get all hysterical in front of the children. I’m trying to act like it’s an adventure, but I’ve already peed my pants from fear. You don’t know that, though, because we’re in the middle of a raining-ass tornado that has washed my pee away so shut up about driving home. We’re never going to get home. We’re all going to die and our home has probably already been destroyed by the tornado anyway!”

We waited inside the North Market for a bit and then people were saying, “I didn’t hear the sirens,” but my niece and I thought we did hear the sirens. I didn’t care one way or another because those stupid sirens were broken last week and they wouldn’t shut off after our tornado warnings were over, so how did I know they weren’t broken and wouldn’t turn on this week? You can’t trust technology! Except when it’s Dawn using her handy-dandy computer to tell us the weather. Yes, it finally occurred to us that we could call Dawn and she would tell us what to do. She told us that Short Guy was lying to us and told us we were safe to get the f*ck out of there, so we did. And then it turned out to be fun. We had our own little community festival with cozy, dry jammies, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, candy, chips, and card games. Best. Comfest. Ever.

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Escalator

Today was Thursday pretty much all day and it was my turn to host the Thursday potluck. Now I’m riding high on caffeine and socializing, and instead of cleaning my house I’m blogging. Yay.

As sometimes happens on Thursdays, we did a lot of talking about parenting and how we suck at it. I’ve been thinking about something in particular that I struggle with and I’ve decided to turn over a new leaf. I have a serious problem with regard to how I react to the children when they’re having difficulty with a craft or math or rollerblading or opening a cereal box or a new DS game or a maze or whatever. It’s not the fact that they struggle, it’s the fact that they have to whine about the struggling that just sends me over the edge every time. It finally occurred to me that I have an extremely unreasonable expectation that when they have some kind of difficulty, that they’ll say in a normal tone of voice, “Mother, I am having trouble and I would be ever so grateful if you would assist me.” Instead, they usually use their whiniest voice to say, “I caaan’t doooo iiiiitttt!” and then they stomp and flail. I don’t like that. If I were a mature adult I would hear that and calmly reply, “There, there, let me see if I can help you.” Instead, I have an extremely immature nervous system which reacts with a fight-or-flight response when faced with super-deadly whining. I usually say, “Stop whining and I can help you,” which looks fine in print, but if you heard the tone of my voice and you were a very sensitive lass, you might pee your pants from the fear that my words were actually going to choke you. This is my least favorite thing about myself. First of all, it just escalates the problem and, most importantly, it goes against everything I believe in as far as emotional health. I would never tell them to stop feeling mad or sad or anything like that. In this house, we share our feelings and our feelings are respected. But when it comes to their whining because of having difficulty with something, I feel like they should understand that it’s ok to struggle and they should have an attitude of, “Huh. This is hard. I guess I’ll have to ask for help.” When in reality, nobody acts like that when they’re having a problem. We all whine and stomp in our own way. My asking them to stop whining doesn’t work because then they think I’m mad at them and that freaks them out and then they can’t relax and then they cry and whine more. It’s really quite the opposite of helpful. So I’m turning over a new leaf and I think it’s going to be life-changing. You know, like Jesus and The Secret. Only with less bloodshed. Hopefully.

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TGIThursday! And Other Stuff For Which I Am Un-Thankful

Yeah, yeah, I know you all read Pepper Paints and she already blogged about Thursday’s fun. Too bad. Read about it again.

I missed last Thursday’s homeschool park day because I was in Michigan. The potluck was canceled (obviously, what fun would it have been without me?) Or maybe it was because Dawn has a job or something lame like that. Anyway, we’re on for today and I have an extra kid with me so it will be extra fun. My 10-year-old niece is visiting us for a bit and she’s really sweet so she gets along nicely with my kids and my kids’ friends. The pool even gave her a free membership for us so we wouldn’t have to try to sneak her in. Nice of them. Bryan and I were actually planning to just pay an extra 10 bucks to get a pass for a family of 6 instead of 5, but Bryan didn’t know if she had to be immediate family or what so I guess he stammered around saying, “I forgot, our step-daughter will be with us a lot this summer, so I need a pass for 6, blah, blah, blah.” The kid at the desk was like, “Whatever, geezer, have a free pass.” Yay!

I didn’t say anything to Bryan, but it’s funny that his choice of the word “our” really stood out to me when he was relaying the story. Poor little bunny from a two-parent home doesn’t understand that there is no “our” when you’re talking about step-daughters. Unfortunately, I’m quite in-the-know on all matters of step-crap. For the lie to work really well, he should have said my step-daughter. Right? It’s the little things that make a lie believable.

Speaking of step-crap, I’m making a new rule and I think all children of divorce will get behind me on this one: I decree that our parents only get one shot at “blending” families. Got that? My dad is now going through his 2nd divorce, so I will have an ex-step-mother and 2 ex-step-brothers and 1 ex-step-sister to go along with my ex-step-father whom my mom divorced several years ago. I’m not having anymore steps.  My dad’s next wife will be “my dad’s wife” and my children will call her by her first name or Mrs. Clement, but not grandma. Same goes for my mother’s next husband. If they don’t like that, I will go to plan B, which is to refer to the new spouse as “my dad’s current wife” or “my dad’s next ex-wife” or some such other equally degrading term. I think that’s fair.

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OMG, Thrifting!

Kristen and Dawn have introduced me to the wonderful world of thrifting. You would think it would be a no-brainer for me: I’m poor, I should buy used clothes on the cheap. But I don’t like to shop and I absolutely hate to shop in chaos. I <3 T@rget so much when I absolutely have to buy something, not because it has good stuff, but because it is neat and orderly. Order soothes.

I thought the thrift store would be very chaotic, but it was lovely. Everything was sorted by color, which I didn’t think would be a good enough system, but it was. I kept getting butterflies every time I saw something that I liked that was in my size for $1.50.  A dollar and a half! I had to really work at keeping my excited squealing under control. We ended up spending more than 4 hours in a single store. I don’t spend more than 4 hours Christmas shopping without a food break. Actually, if I were ever to shop in regular stores for 4 hours in a row, that would involve 1 lunch break, 1 coffee break, 7 potty breaks, and a cheesecake break. And I would spend 3 times the amount of money and come home with 1/8 of the stuff.

By the time I came up for air and decided to look at my watch, I thought it might be around 2:00ish. It was 5:15. I was in a thrifting-related time warp of some sort, the likes of which I haven’t seen since 1991 when Bryan bet me I couldn’t drink a fifth of Jack Daniels. (The last thing I remember from that night is slamming down the empty bottle, standing up and saying, “Somebody owes me TWO DOLLARS!” And then I woke up and it was 1993).

Anyway, yeah. Thrifting is fun. You should totally do it. But set an alarm or something because the time warp will get you and then you’ll realize that you’re starving and you didn’t get groceries like you planned to and then you’ll decide that you and your thrifting friends and their husbands and children should all go to the Chinese buffet for dinner (since you saved all that money at the thrift store) and then you’ll try to run the next morning with a pile of buffet food in your guts. Not a good idea. But the thrifting was totally worth it.

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We’re Supposed to do Things Right?

Dawn tagged everybody with this meme about 3 things we do well as mothers, and then she verbally assaulted me at the park yesterday and threatened my life if I didn’t do it. (Not really, she just asked me to do it and so I am. Because she’s the boss of me. But you can totally see her verbally assaulting me, right?)

1. I take an interest in what they find interesting even if I find it horrendous. You know, so we can talk about it and I can be excited about it with them. I think they like that.

2. I cuddle with them endlessly.

3. I’m teaching them that their feelings matter and that they don’t have to go along with something just to avoid hurting a friend’s feelings.

Number 3 has been more uncomfortable for me than anything I’ve ever done as a parent. And that includes saying the word vulva. This seems to come naturally to Maya so far, but for the rest of us, it is hard to say no to people we like. It is hard for me to allow my kids to say no to playdates or birthday parties, but if they don’t want to go, I’m not making them go, despite my extreme discomfort. It literally goes against my make-up as a precious pleaser to do this (right now, my Ohio friends are saying, “What? You’re the biggest bitch I know!” and I’ll take that as a compliment, thankyouverymuch.) In the past, Lena and Liberty have asked, “What if so-and-so gets mad at me because I don’t want to go to his birthday party?” And, while my instinct is to say, “You’re right! We don’t want people to get mad at us. What will we do if somebody gets mad at us? I guess we better just ignore your feelings for the sake of somebody else’s feelings. Get in the car,” I have choked down that sentiment, broke out in a cold sweat and said, “Well, darlings, it’s like this: Your feelings matter. If your friend gets mad at you just because you’re not comfortable going to his birthday party, that is your friend’s issue, not yours. You aren’t in charge of other people’s feelings. Chances are, your friend will come to understand and respect your feelings. If he doesn’t, then he’s not a true friend.” And then I passed out from the effort of conveying this most basic truth of humanity. Our own feelings matter? WTF?

This trip is hard. Dawn is right when she says other parents make all the difference in the world. We need other parents who can be open and honest about the struggles in their parenting, the struggles in their marriage, the struggles in their lives. And you know what? We need to be able to talkabout the good things without setting off a competition. If it comes up in conversation that I cuddled with Lena while she talked about her Pokemon DS game for ten minutes, it makes me uncomfortable when another mom comes back with, “Well, I cuddled with my precious for even longer while she was talking about something even more boring to me.” It makes me feel like I made her insecure with my very small good thing and I didn’t mean to do that. And then it makes me feel like I’m in a competition that I didn’t know I was in. I usually get a free t-shirt whenever I sign up for a competition. I don’t have one, so I didn’t sign up. Stop it.

This is not a new idea, but we really, really do just need to be able to share and not be judged or fixed or competed with. It’s amazing how many of the posts for this meme start off with something to the effect of, “I’m supposed to say what I do right as a mother, but there are so many things I do wrong,” even though the instructions clearly say we’re not supposed to say that. We can’t help it. We’ve been burned too many times by the mommy olympics and we’re afraid that if we say we’re doing three whole things right, 800 other mommies are going to feel insecure and point out exactly what we’re doing wrong, or what they’re doing better. Stop it. We don’t need that shit. Let’s celebrate ourselves because, no matter what we do, our kids are going to be pissed at us. Let’s just be there for each other when it happens.

Oh, I’m tagging Mechelle, TooTightPonytailGirl, Sharon, Alissa, and Kristen. Five chicks who are ever so hard on themselves and deserve to talk about what they do right because there is a lot. A whole effin’ lot.

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