Ask Me Anything - I is so Smart

It should be no surprise that my blog is found when people are searching for medical answers or information of a scientific matter.

Check out some of my keyword searches that landed people on my blog in the last month:

“feet x ray”
“foot xray”
“One-year-old foot bones”
“bees nest illustration”
“operating on the brain”
“burning soles”

Thank gawd these people landed on my informative site.

They may have been entertained by the rantings of over-anxious parents. See evidence below of our son’s foot as a one-year-old:

(Perfectly normal, squishy-type non-breakable toddler bones)

That picture was taken from a fun post Daddy Anxiety in which I blame my husband for the hypochondriac-ism that occurs in our house (even though I am just as much to blame).

Someone looking for a bee’s nest illustration learned the moral of the story in which my son was stung by a wasp (Moral of the story: Fuck wasps.)

The ambitious character trying to learn about operating on the brain was certainly provided a reprieve from reality when they came across evidence of people doing what I like to call “operating on the lizard part of their brain:”


And, finally, the poor, unfortunate soul who may have been plagued by “burning soles” was able to commiserate with my pregnant self, stuck at a bar, wearing high heels, and being hit on.

I’m so glad I can be there for the people of the world who need to know MORE NOW about these matters.

You’re welcome.

No Rest for the Weary - Sunday Stream of Conscious

I can hear my son upstairs giving my husband hell over taking a nap. Parker is in a very annoying phase, or at least let's just hope that's what it is. "Annoying" as a permanent personality trait would not be good. I feel like I have been waiting days for some rest. Rrreeeeeessstt. Rest. Mmmm. I want some rest. Should I go up there? Should I help? My husband would let me know if he needs help, right? Besides, this cooking show is RIVETING. My life will be better if I know how to make this EASY and SIMPLE dessert made from cookie dough, marmalade, and melted chocolate. My cooking IQ has increased ten-fold by watching the cooking channel while blogging. I am deeply grateful. Think of all the people I can IMPRESS now with my skillz! But, actually, I don't want to see anyone. I want Sunday to last forever, so I can convince this head-cold to leave me while I stay in a horizontal position.

Ruthless

Red Writing Hood is now Write on Edge.



The prompt is to write a story the length of a tweet - 140 characters. Mine is 128 characters without spaces and 157 with spaces, so I figure that's the right compromise.

I chose to think of a character - someone ruthless (way more ruthless than me), someone fun, someone who makes mistakes and bad choices, and we all love her anyway.

Here it is:

“No love for the haters, motha fuckas!” she screamed out the metro bus window. She sat back in her seat, smiling at the look of shock on her co-workers faces.

I'm Tired. Parker Blogs.

I'm linking this up for Mama Kat's Writer Workshop prompt:

Capture what it’s like to spend a day or a moment talking with your kiddo.

I am so freaking tired. If you work in a school, at this time of year, you are freaking tired. No joke.

So, my boy and I are laying here on the couch while he has a snack.

I leave this blog post in the hands of my three year old. Because I am lazy. And Parker may as well contribute to things around here.



Me: Parker, what should I write about?

Parker: Uhhh, Hawthorne. (our new cat)

(Hawthorne is exhausted too.)

Me: What about Hawthorne? What does he like to do?

Parker: Kill birds. And play with a mouse.

Me: Do you think Hawthorne and Dobby (our old cat) will become friends?

Parker: Yeah.

Me: If they were friends what would they do?

Parker: Both of them play with a mouse.

Me: What does Hawthorne do while we're gone during the day?

Parker: (Long pause, long stare) I don't know!

Me: What do you think he does?

Parker: He plays with a mouse while we're gone.

Me: What do you like about Hawthorne?

Parker: That he plays with a mouse!

Me: Does the mouse ever die?

Parker: No.

Me: Does Hawthorne want him to die?

Parker: (Silence, ignoring, finished with the conversation, and only watching Wonder Pets.)

Well, now that everyone has been thoroughly entertained by riveting preschooler conversation, my work here is done. I will continue to lay here if I can.

When you are tired, at the end of a long day, how do you like to unwind? Pray tell, are your preschooler conversations as riveting as ours?

Sometimes Even Your Hair Hurts (Sunday Snippets)

Time for some quick funnies from things my little maniac has said in the last week!

(Sunday Snippets was created by Marylin at Pure Unadulterated Softthistle, but she doesn't do the link very often anymore. I still give her shout-outs for it when I do my own "Sunday Snippet" post.)

We were in the grocery store. A few aisles away, a baby was screaming and crying. Parker said, "Mommy, someone is DYING!" I thought to myself, "Yes, probably a mother."

Parker was having a cranky time. Our time was intermittently broken by pitiful wails like, "My eye hurts!" "My leg hurts!" and then, the longest, most dramatic wail of all, "Myyyyy hairrrrr hurtsss!"

Parker is delighted to finally have a cat around here that lets him pet it. He was petting Hawthorne, our new cat, and then excitedly ran up to me. "Mommy! I touched his nipple!" (Please. I do not know what he touched. I do not know how he knows the word "nipple." All I could say was, "Don't touch it again.")

When Did This Guilt Creep In?

The past three years, I have not had much Working Mother Guilt. Can I get a "Hallelujar!" for private bathroom time and adult conversation?! I even wrote about it here.

But...something's changed.

I'm feeling it. The Working Mother Guilt.

My boy is a little older now. He talks. He asks questions.

Every single night, he asks, "Mommy, do I have to go to daycare tomorrow?" Or, "Mommy, do you have to work tomorrow?"

Five nights a week, I have to say, "Yes."

And then, I see the sad face.

It just doesn't feel right that only two nights a week, I get to happily exclaim, "No! We're staying home!" And then see that gorgeous smile and hear a happy, "Yay!"

I'll be ok. We'll be ok. Parker gets to start preschool in a couple weeks, and that will be good for him. Something different than daycare. So, yes, he'll be fine.

I just wish I had a few more days a week...

Women, In Case You Need Inspiration

Ecstasy by Maxfield Parrish

"A mother who dedicates her life, body and soul, to her husband and her family is loved and cherished - and despised. Though the word would never enter their minds.

Thousands of years have brainwashed men into believing women are in the the world to take care of them. Anything else is treason and unwomanly.

A nun who has lived a full, adventurous, intellectual life is considered to have wasted her existence. An unmarried woman must be a trifle odd.

For the sake of the sons - and even for the sons' future wives - a woman must keep a part of her mind and heart entirely for herself. Every family is better off with a wife and mother who can astonish and occasionally bewilder."

-Pam Brown, 1928


Before Bedtime, Robert Gemmell Hutchinson (If my grandmother was alive, I would send her this picture because I would believe that she loved it and that she would possibly paint it.)

"...none of us is Superwoman. We are by turns industrious woman, harried woman, organized woman and sometimes cunning woman, because we all agree that one can always find time, in the most hard-pressed life, to do what one really wants to do, whether it is dancing the tango, playing the harp or writing a book."

-Valerie Grove, from "The Compleat Woman"



"Women...think that perhaps whatever they achieve is at the expense of their personal world and will somehow destroy their personal world. They never thought that whatever they became was in turn poured back into the personal world and enriched it, that they were enriching their children, they were enriching their husband, they were enriching their neighbors. We stopped really believing that the enrichment of the individual is actually what enriches our collective life. We forgot that. And for woman it was worse because she was not expected to produce in the first place. She was not expected to create. Culture didn't demand it of her; it didn't demand of her to become the best doctor or the best lawyer or the best painter or the best writer; it didn't demand anything of her except the fulfillment of her personal duties. So this was not an incentive for woman to develop whatever gift she had.

-Anais Nin (1903-1977), From "A Woman Speaks"



After the Bath, Joaquin y Bastida Sorolla

Reality TV for Writers?

Because I love reality TV, because I love and respect the creativity of the designers on Project Runway (or, Project Wunway, as my husband likes to call it in his best Heidi Klum voice), and because my own creative forte is writing, I had an idea the other night.

A writing competition reality show! Now, there's a reality show I would sign up for.

But, just as my blood started pumping thinking of the CHALLENGE of it, the possible REWARD of it, the FUN of it, I think, It just would not be good TV. Dammit.

Imagine, the writers have been given their weekly challenge - Write a short story never using the word THERE! Or, write a poem consisting only of foul curse words!

Then, for days, all the cameras would capture are expressions.




And sighing.

And staring off into space.

Moments of furious typing.

Heads on tables.

And, this could be as exciting as it gets.

At least this is what could be observed when I am doing "serious" writing.

It's just not good TV, but I can dream.

Blog on Fire Award

Today, I am accepting an award by the gracious MaMe Musings! She is the mom to twins, and I just love her "About Me" description:

Mommy to twins, wife, sister, daughter, aunt, friend, educator, reader, blogger, traveler, political junkie, wine drinker, deep thinker, coffee needer, worry wart, napper, wanna-be entrepreneur, beach lover, a work in progress.

To accept the Blog on Fire award, I must tell 7 things about myself. As if you don't already know too much? Well, there is always more.

1. I do not like small talk.

2. I am currently angst-ing about some revisions on my novel.

3. People need to be more quiet.

4. I love cooking shows.

5. If it were up to me, I'd be in Mexico right now.

6. I have a problem with chewing the skin off of my right thumb.

7. I know I probably just weirded you out with #6, but then that's your problem, not mine.

So, of course with these blog awards, I must spread the love and award it to others. I will go with the first 10 bloggers who made me feel so welcome on Twitter and were excited to see me recently join! These bloggers are on Twitter chatting it up and connecting. It has been fun!

Thank you for your generosity and your blogging hotness:

@TroppoMum, Tropical Mum
@Missy_Stevens, Wonder Friend
@OldTweener, Old Tweener
@TamingInsanity, Taming Insanity
@shellthings, Things I Can't Say
@MoveOverMaryP, Move Over Mary Poppins!
@MamaWantsThis, Mama Wants This!
@SleeplessNights, Sleepless Nights
@MamasMonologues, Mama's Monologues
@Glowless, Where's My Glow?

A Favorite

I am grateful to The Red Dress Club this week for providing me the opportunity to link up one of my favorite Red Writing Hood posts. I have started back to work, so a little rewind action is appreciated!

Enjoy one of my favorite fictional pieces I have written for Red Writing Hood.

The Christmas Party

I sat in my usual hiding spot at the top of the stairs, peeking down at the scene below. My father, my embarrassment of a father, was in the middle of one of his favorite jokes. It was like driving by a car accident. You don’t want to look, but you have to.

“So then the guy told the doctor, I don't smoke cigars anymore, but now I can't go to sleep at night unless I have a cigar shoved up my ASS!!" my father finished with an almost manic shout.

I shut my eyes and cringed.

Why do they all think that is so funny? It’s disgusting! HE’S disgusting! I thought.

The drunk idiots were all crammed into our living room on a snowy December evening. My parents’ Christmas party was a popular annual event. Not that my father ever needed an excuse to drink. The Christmas party just meant he could do it with an audience besides his own family.

They must all tolerate him. They must laugh at his jokes to not be rude. Surely, they must hate him just as much as his own daughter does? I wondered.

In spite of my own disgust, my father always seemed to be the life of the party. There was no way I could respect this scene if my father was the person all these assholes adored. Without having had a drink myself, all I could see was a sloppy, old loudmouth – way past his prime.

I had lost respect for him long ago. It had all become too much. Too much drinking, too much yelling, too many secrets, too many excuses, too many broken promises.

Personality does not make up for a complete lack of basic human decency. Why doesn’t anyone else see that?

I turned my attention to the blond woman that had been laughing a little louder than the rest at my father’s jokes. She moved closer to where my father was standing and stumbled a little on the way there. My father reached out to steady her arm, causing her drink to spill over onto the carpet. They leaned into each other, giggling like school kids.

My eyes narrowed, focusing in for even a hint of familiarity. I didn’t have to look very hard though. My father’s hand moved down to the woman’s butt, squeezed it, and stayed there.

The woman acted like nothing was happening. She only continued to give my father smiles here and there.

My eyes frantically scanned the room, the faces, for my mom.

There sat my mom on the couch next to no one. She was as still as a statue. Awkward in a room full of easy movement and blurred edges. Her gaze was trained on my father and the blond. Her expression was defeated. Hopeless. Empty.

Tears stung my eyes as I longed to comfort my mom. How much would she have to go through because of him? How much was enough? What the hell would it take for her to DO something about all this?

Pity turned to anger growing in my belly. He may be my father, but I am NOT like HIM. I will NEVER be like him. He is a disgusting mother fucker. Somehow, I will make him hurt.

The resentment sat with me like an old friend. Eventually, I grew tired keeping watch. I slipped quietly back to my bedroom, which felt a few degrees cooler than the rest of the house.



Here was the prompt:
Is there someone who drives you crazy? Someone who really gets under your skin.

It doesn't have to be someone you know (although it certainly can be). It could be someone famous. Or even a character in a book.

Now, write a first-person piece - as if YOU are this individual. Write from his or her perspective and include the things that really bother you. For instance, maybe there's a good reason why they eat with their mouths open, or why they use sarcasm as a weapon.

Our Family Has Grown - Wordless Wednesday

If the husband is going to take a week-long adventure excursion with his best buds, then I get to do things like adopt stray cats while he's gone!



Isn't he great? He fits in with us really well. His name is Hawthorne. Funny thing is, weeks ago, my son asked one of our friends, "Scott, will you buy me a big orange cat?" No need to buy the big orange cat, Scott. The universe sent us one!

And, here's another fun picture from our zoo outing yesterday. The gorilla was systematically puking up his food and then licking and eating it. He did this over and over. It never got old. My son and I laughed and laughed. These are things that amuse me.



I am linking up with Live and Love Out Loud and Parenting by Dummies for Wordless Wednesday!