Monthly Archives: February 2011

Blogging Wishes and Momfog Dreams

Posted in All Posts, Blogging by

Daily Foglifter:   If you yelled for 8 years, 7 months and 6 days you would have produced enough sound energy to heat one cup of coffee. 

Friday was a very exciting day for me.  I reached a goal.  While I’m sure people reach goals all the time, it’s not that common for me.  I am an expert goal-setter, but for whatever reason, I rarely get past the planning stage.  Ok, I know the reasons. 

  1.  I’m too ambitious.  All laundry washed, folded, and put away?  Sparkling clean house?  Trading pajamas for actual clothes EVERY day? 
  2.  I’m easily distracted.  By TV, books, shiny things.
  3. I’m tired.  All the time.  Some might say I’m lazy.  Po-ta-to, Po-tah-to.

Momfog is part of a master plan.  I want a job.  I have not worked in over 10 years because I was too busy having babies.  Financially and philosophically, daycare was not an option, so I’ve been home with all five of my children.  It’s been great, but also very stressful.  It’s lonely.  It’s boring.  Every day is exactly the same.  I needed to talk to adults.  I needed to DO something.  I needed a job.  It was an idea, but not ideal.  What would I do with my baby?  What kind of job would make it possible for me to be home when the other kids got home?  What about the summer?  The solution, of course, was to work from home, which wouldn’t solve the problem of socialization, but I would be doing something.  The only problems with that were my non-existent computer skills and aversion to telemarketing.  What was I qualified to do?  I looked into elance.com and got excited about the idea of being a “freelance writer.”  Sounds impressive, right?  It’s not.  The jobs paid next to nothing and were unethical, to say the least.  Rewriting other people’s articles, generating fake positive reviews of products and companies (usernames provided), and pretending to be a blogger and answering his e-mails and blog comments aren’t exactly things to be proud of.  The few legitimate jobs required blog experience.  I cringed at the word “blog.”  It sounded so ostentatious.  The Urban Dictionary explains it particularly well:

Short for weblog.
A meandering, blatantly uninteresting online diary that gives the author the illusion that people are interested in their stupid, pathetic life. Consists of such riveting entries as “homework sucks” and “I slept until noon today.”

Did I really want to be part of that?  What could I add to the millions of blogs already out there?  Would it be worth the time and effort?

I researched blogs and was surprised by the number of people who make money doing it.  I was also surprised that many publications accepted blog entries as “published” writing samples.  I’ve dreamt of being a writer for most of my life.  Of course, I had envisioned being a great novelist, but since I’m already 33 and haven’t written word one of a novel (the ramblings of my 16-year-old self doesn’t count), maybe it was time to focus on a local newspaper or magazine.  Start a blog, get some writing done everyday and bide my time until I wrote the one article that would be suitable for publication.  Somewhere.  Anywhere.

After much planning and trepidation I posted my first blog entry.  It went well.  36 views.  I was concerned about returning visitors, but I’ve managed to keep an average of 38 views a day.  Some entries logged as many as 71 views.  I was encouraged so decided to set some short-term blogging goals.

  1. Write every weekday.  This is really hard.  I find myself distracted throughout the day, trying to think of something to write about.  Luckily, life with 5 children is loaded with material.  Maybe not very interesting material, but enough to keep the grandparents checking in, anyway.
  2. Commit to 3 months.  If, at the end of three months, it was just my husband and parents reading, that would be it.
  3. Get 100 views in a single day. 

I’ve done number one and am working toward number 2.  Big deal.  Those had everything to do with me.  Now, number two, that would be something.  It requires outside participation and shameless self-promotion (aka creative marketing).  On Friday, exactly one month after starting Momfog, I met the goal with 113 views.  Granted, I bugged all of Facebook for the hits, but only after I reached 88 and could taste victory.  I also have a very supportive cousin who missed her calling in the PR field.  (Thanks Steph).  

So I actually reached a goal, albeit a goal within a larger goal surrounded by more important goals.  I still don’t have a job, my house is a mess, I’m in my nightgown at noon, and I’m literally counting the minutes until Anna goes down for a nap so I can join her, but that’s okay.  Tomorrow is another day. 

Never put off till tomorrow what you can do the day after tomorrow.
~Mark Twain
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Things Moms Say

Posted in All Posts, Motherhood, Words by

Daily Foglifter:  Ernest Vincent Wright wrote the novel “Gadsby,” a story of over 50,000 words, without using the letter “E.”

Before I was a mother, I knew what things I would never say when I became one.  I knew I would never say them because when my mom said them, I felt like screaming.  I would be nicer to my kids than my mom was to me.  I would be a cool mom who explained everything to her kids.  Here’s a short list of things I swore I would never say:

  • Because I’m your mother.
  • You’re not old enough.
  • Life isn’t fair.  Get used to it.
  • We’ll see.
  • When you’re a parent, you’ll understand.
  • As long as you live under my roof, you’ll follow my rules.
  • Sammich. (I’m not sure why this bothers me so much, but it drives me up the wall.  Oddly enough, my husband uses the word sammich.  I can only chalk it up to God’s attempt to cure me of such a silly pet peeve or maybe He’s just having a laugh at my expense.)
  • Because I said so.  (The absolute WORST phrase in the history of the English language.)

I thought these were horrible, awful things to say to kids.  (With the possible exception of sammich).  I thought they were what lazy parents said when they didn’t feel like chauffeuring their kids all over the place or taking the time to explain things in terms kids can understand.  I was right.  I know I was right because I say these things at least 10 times a day for those very reasons.

I have 5 children.  Between trips to the grocery store, church, and gymnastics I spend half my life in the car as it is.  I cannot run to the store because Billy has a sudden hankering for goldfish.  I cannot go to the redbox just because they’re bored.  There are logical reasons for this, but no matter what I say the kids will hear, “Because I said so.”  I save myself the time it would take to explain that gas costs money, I don’t have time, and it’s not good for kids to get whatever they want as soon as they ask for it, because this creates spoiled rotten brats with a skewed sense of entitlement, and just say, “Because I said so.”  Then when they say, “It’s not fair!” I say, “Life isn’t fair.  Get used to it.”

Aside from laziness and not creating spoiled brats, there are even better reasons for using these phrases.  When my son asks if he can ride his bike down the road, I say no.  He asks why and I say, “Because I said so” or “You’re not old enough.”  He’s 11, which is plenty old enough to ride your bike down a country road.  IF that country road didn’t have a crazy man who stumbled up and down it, mumbling to himself.  IF that road wasn’t the place where a dead body was dumped last summer.  IF that country road wasn’t a popular sunning spot for 5 foot rattlesnakes.  “Because I said so” is kinder and less scary than “Because that guy could be a child molester or deranged homicidal maniac” or “you might get bitten by a monstrous venomous snake.”

Of the things I swore I would never say, the only one I kept my word on is “sammich.”  I guess I’m not a cool mom.  Of course, there is no such thing as a cool mom.  There is only mean, embarrassing old mom who has no idea what it’s like to be a kid.  As far as my kids are concerned, I am old, have always been old, and always will be old.  I realized this when my son, Billy, asked me to pour him a glass of tea.  When I didn’t do it as fast as he thought I should, he said, “Where’s my tea, old lady?”  This was a blow to my ego as both a parent and a woman.  I am trying so hard to raise non-brats, and he calls me that incredibly rude (and untrue) name.  I’m 32, for heaven’s sake.  That is not even close to old.  Not to mention that “Where’s my tea, _____?” is no way to ask for something to drink, even if he had filled in the blank with “my cool, beautiful, sweet mother.”

Normal “momisms” aren’t the only unbelievable things coming out of my mouth.  Sometimes I say something and my immediate thought is, “Did I really just say that?!”  Some recent examples include:

  • Don’t eat coffee grounds out of the garbage can.
  • Don’t rub pizza on your feet.
  • Don’t eat styrofoam.
  • Put down that metal bar.  Find something else to sword fight with.
  • Don’t touch the cat’s butt.

While all this is really good advice, I hardly think it will be included in any parenting magazines.  Seriously, though, why do kids want to eat and touch disgusting things, play with their food, and hit each other with deadly weapons?  I can’t believe I told  my son to find something ELSE to sword fight with.  Shouldn’t I have said, “Let’s not sword fight.”  If I recall correctly, that particular game ended with crying and the swelling of some body part, as “innocent” games between five kids always do.

I look back to my pre-kid conceptions of the perfect mom and sigh.  I was right in my convictions.  Perfect moms should take the time to make their children understand why they aren’t allowed to do certain things.  The only problem is that I’m not perfect.  I don’t have the time.  More importantly, I don’t have the heart.  I want to keep the ugliness of the world from tainting my children as long as possible.  Until I’m ready for my kids to view the world with the wary eye of good vs. evil, I’m content with being the bad guy.  That’s a position all moms are willing to take.  If you don’t have kids yet, trust me, “When you’re a parent, you’ll understand.”

Children are unpredictable. You never know what inconsistency they’re going to catch you in next.
Franklin P. Jones

Kids Are Annoying

Posted in All Posts, Kids, Motherhood, Rants by

Daily Foglifter:  Animal Species that eat their own young:  polar bears, burying beetles, hamsters, wolf spiders, and Mormon crickets.

Today’s Foglifter was inspired by my friend Becky, who occasionally posts as her status on Facebook, “I know why some animal species eat their own young….”  Becky has a pre-teen daughter.  I have a son the same age and I know exactly how she feels.  He’s moody, mean to his siblings, and gets angry for no apparent reason.  He’s annoying.  Sometimes his moods can ruin my whole day.  It’s not just him or his age.  Kids always annoy their parents.

Newborns.  This is by far my favorite age.  The newborn is tiny, cute, and can’t speak or move.  I am in complete control of what the newborn does.  I make the newborn happy simply by holding her close to me.  The newborn smells fantastic and makes my heart want to explode with the love I feel for this tiny miracle.  Until it’s 3:00 in the morning and the newborn is wide awake, screaming, unable to tell me what is wrong, and I am tired and still sore from childbirth, and realizing the newborn will only be happy if I walk her, for hours, in a clockwise direction. 

Crawling babies.  Still a great age.  Crawlers are mobile but limited in their scope.  It’s easy to keep up with the crawling baby and easy to keep potential hazards out of their way, since they can’t stand or reach very high.  Crawlers do super cute things like babble and point and play peek-a-boo.  They also actively and loudly fight sleep, probably because we’ve taught them that they or we disappear whenever they close their eyes (peek-a-boo is really kind of cruel.)  They develop separation anxiety.  The degree of this affliction varies.  Some babies are content to remain within visual or vocal range, making it possible for the parent to leave the room for a second or even bathe, so long as baby is in the bathroom in a bouncy seat or exer-saucer.  More often, the baby isn’t content unless planted firmly in mommy’s grasp.  This is the point when mommy’s back pain develops, as the mom’s body is now in a constant semi-bend at the waist, supporting baby on the hip.  This is also the point when mom learns what is possible with only one arm–cooking, cleaning, going to the bathroom. 

Toddlers/Terrible Twos.  It’s an exciting age.  The toddler is walking, learning to talk, and developing quite a personality.  Every day brings a new experience.  This is when moms start bragging incessantly on their babies to anyone who will even half listen.  It’s understandable.  The toddler starts saying words, contorting their little mouths around new sounds, delighting parents and grandparents with their intelligence and overall cuteness.  Inevitably, the first word a toddler masters is “no.”   They use it when they don’t want to eat, to sleep, to listen, to sit, or to be bothered.  They also learn to destroy things and to test boundaries.  When they get “in trouble” they poke out their little lips and do the fake cry.  If the toddler is truly gifted, she brings out the dances, the faces, and the giggles parents find irresistible to escape correction, thereby gaining control over the entire household.  They become tyrants– little, cute, angel-faced tyrants. 

 

Pre-School/Kindergarten:  Kids at this age are incredibly smart.  They have a unique outlook on life and surprise everyone with their revelations.  (My 5-year-old son, Billy:  I know why antibiotics taste gross.  An-ti-bi-ot-ICK!  Get it?  ICK?)  It’s especially endearing when they mix metaphors or misuse grown-up expressions.  Kids this age are also smart-mouthed.  They lie to stay out of trouble.  They learn to be pests to their siblings.  They are picky eaters and don’t like anything their mom cooks for dinner, unless it’s macaroni and cheese, hot dogs, or chocolate cake.  “This is gross!” is how they usually start a dinner conversation.

Elementary School:  It’s fun to talk to kids this age.  They are interested in everything and ask lots of questions.  They are slightly in awe of their parents’ knowledge of things like the names of  all the state capitals and knowing who invented the light bulb.  They discover love and popular music.  There’s nothing cuter than an 8 8-year-old girl singing Taylor Swift songs along with the radio in the backseat of a minivan.  There is, however, nothing more maddening than that same 8-year-old rolling her eyes whenever she’s told to do anything.  This is when the phrases, “I’m bored” and “It’s not FAIR!” are used about 50 times a day.  It’s also the dawn of the drama queen. 

Pre-Teens/Teenagers:   Occasionally, this particular age group can be sweet, surprisingly astute, and  fun.  Most of the time they are moody, taciturn, smart-mouthed, eye-rolling, sighing, and lazy humanoids who think their parents are the dumbest creatures on earth.

College/20′s:   Pretty much identical to the teenager but more eloquent.  They think that college or living “independently” has given them some credibility.  They are cynical, whiny, and convinced of their own superior intellect.  They still think their parents are stupid and express this openly with rancor and contempt. 

Late 20s/30s:  Slightly less “in your face” since the pressures of a job and a family have brought them down to earth a little bit.  Still believe they are smarter than their parents, particularly in their parenting skills.  Loud, philosophical arguments have been replaced with smug looks and condescending remarks.

40s and beyond:  Still think they are smarter than their parents.  They’re concerned about their parents’ eating habits, driving ability, sleep patterns, and social life.  They look for signs of incompetence or insanity.  Condescension has become an art form.

Kids, from the moment they are born, test the psychological and emotional limits of their parents.  Parents, in a mysterious and miraculous way that only God can be given credit for, relish every moment of it.  My kids annoy me, horribly.  They also amaze, delight, and humble me.  It’s a trade-off I’m honored to make.

Do you know what you call those who use towels and never wash them, eat meals and never do the dishes, sit in rooms they never clean, and are entertained till they drop? If you have just answered, “A house guest,” you’re wrong because I have just described my kids.
Erma Bombeck