Mumsaid

"I am a terrible mother." So very many of us mom-people freak out all to often and actually believe this statement. Until the Supermommies strike and piss us off. And here's how it happened: Pattergirl had a snotty nose, the tail end of what was a couple of weeks of germy HELL in my house, and was going out in public, which included playing with Other People's Children.  I called Pattergirl over so I could give her some decongestant.  As my little blonde-haired, blue-eyed, pigtailed Pattergirl bounced over to me, this "Person-I-Once-Liked-turned-Supermommy" looked at me with horror...the scene changed to a dramatic slow-motion...while I squirted what I thought was a relatively "safe" OTC cold remedy into my little girl's mouth...end of slow motion...and Supermommy began her interrogation. SM:  "Did you ask your pediatrician before you gave her that?" Me:  "No.  The dosage on the bottle for ages four to six says 2 teaspo...

Dear Self-Righteous Wench at the Library, As I stated in our brief conversation, thank you for telling me what you needed.  I will say this one more time: While I respect your right to quiet, I do not appreciate you telling me how to raise my children.  You are lucky I didn't bitch-slap you.  I am rather proud of myself for not even yelling. Allow me to elaborate: I brought my children to the library to offer them a developmentally appropriate educational experience while spending (please forgive the cliche) "quality time" with a parent.  We haven't been to the library as regularly as we used to, and were very excited to be able to make the trip on this particular evening.  My ten year old mildly autistic son requires help finding books because the number of choices on the shelves is completely overwhelming.  He reads at least at a twelfth grade level, yet possesses social understanding that is far below that of his peers.  This makes finding book...

Eeyah, GreenWarrior, The Boy...the Incredible Human I Get to Claim as My Son Note:  Ten years ago, in the chilly wee hours of a February morning, I gave birth to my firstborn, whom we refer to online (usually) as Green Warrior.  However, my second child, The Girl, affectionately named him "Eeyah" though I am fairly certain she is capable of correctly pronouncing his first name.  She is nearing two, he is ten.  I do not "get" the Green Warrior reference completely, so I, for ease of use, hereby declare the title of his persona in the World Wide Web...Eeyah.  I think I might type Eea for short. Just thought I'd clarify. Eea is amazing.  Incredible.  Unbelievable.  And sometimes just damn confusing.  His startling intelligence and loving disposition make up for the amount of frustration I feel when doing what I refer to as my "mom job."   I know most parents are supposedly biased and tout their own offspring as the smartest, cutest, s...

Tonight I went dancing.  Not the "fellas at the club" type of dancing, but the "promenade and swing and try not to run into anyone and onetwothree onetwothree will the room ever stop spinning" type of dancing. It was amazing.  It was uplifting.  It was refreshing.  It smelled a bit, but I loved it.  I had no idea that my calves could sweat. One apple and some peanut butter later (how many days now without an Extra Value Meal?), I lay here in my bed, head throbbing, listening to GreenWarrior snoring, and experience, for the second Saturday in a row, the exhaustion that comes from pure exhilaration.  Pure, absolute-my abs hurt from laughing and my legs hurt from dancing-exhilaration. Why on God's Green Earth didn't I do this before?  I seriously need to go contra dancing again.  No one ever told me that I could feel this completely and utterly tired and yet happy at the same time.  I could completely pass out yet I am still high from all of...

Today I went to a well-known day spa in our fair city and had an aloe and herb body wrap.  I was scared, ashamed, scared, unsure, curious, excited, scared...you get the point. You may be wondering, "What's the big deal?  Why is Pattermomma so damn scared?"  Well... Two children and various stages of using food or the control of food as medicine have left my body in not the most attractive of states. I am the heaviest I have ever been (maybe...I think I might have dropped a couple pounds this summer), and had my youngest in November.  It takes some of us mommas a little longer than others to return to what is now the New Normal.  My belly is floppy, my breasts are suffering from gravity, and what the hell happened to my ass and thighs?  Since when did I start looking like...a Mother? I often thank the Fates that I am no longer the naive youngun' I was in my early twenties, but I also curse those same Fates for removing the physical perfection along...

Patterbaby was born November 3, 2010.  She is beautiful and perfect and healthy.  Everyone thinks she is so wonderful.  She is.  Everyone thinks GreenWarrior is the Best Big Brother Ever.  He is.  (My own personal Big Brother holds that title as well, but seriously?  GreenWarrior has helped us SURVIVE at times.  That necessitates the passing on of the title, doesn't it?)  I have fought the Darkness rather valiantly, I believe, and to most Outsiders (Dear Friends included) I am flourishing.  Doing Great.  Fantastic. But sometimes it's all I can do just to get up. Sometimes I am pretty damn proud of myself when I just Keep Going.

Post published 16 February 2010 on Patterville: Some weeks ago, when I was feeling antisocial, I went to UCity BreadCo for church.  I took my laptop with me, hoping to wax poetic about my battle with depression.  What I wrote was quite eloquent, I thought, and helped to soothe the demons raging within.  I went to save, and the Internet Nazis at said BreadCo had kicked me off without any warning.  All work was sucked into a black hole, never to be seen again.  I dug myself further into my Personal Pit of Despair as a result and have not written since.   I intended for this blog to have a lot more entries, and to be much more interesting.  Upon review, I have found it to be a rather accurate portrayal of what I do when I am depressed: nothing. I want nothing I feel like nothing I like nothing nothing nothing nothing. It is akin to a large corporation's hostile takeover on the Little Guy, only more oppressive.  I am currently on a Long Clim...