Editor's note: end updated with new information as of 10/2/07

Sometimes, life is so unfair it's downright cruel. As if the family of Amy Moxie wasn't suffering enough. They've lost one daughter, and now another is fighting for her life.

Amy Moxie died Tuesday on Clemson's campus. She was a stellar student and a member of the Clemson women's swim team. The coroner says Amy died of a ruptured aorta that couldn't be detected on the physical she had the day before.



Amy was 18 years old, a graduate of Mauldin High School, and a pre-business major at Clemson. A former swim coach says Amy had an iron will. "So many times I saw her do what appeared to be the amazing, impossible swims. She'd come from behind in a race where you thought she was so far out of it. She'd be so determined," Scott Bonnie told WYFF TV.

Amy's visitation is scheduled for Friday from 5-8pm. It's at Thomas McAfee Funeral Home in Greenville. Her funeral will be Saturday at St. Mary Magdelene Catholic Church in Simpsonville.

While Amy is put to rest, her 23 year old sister, Megan, will be in the hospital. Megan went to the emergency room Wednesday, complaining of a "severe migraine." Doctors performed brain surgery, and now Megan is in critical condition.



Megan also seems to be an outstanding young woman. She recently earned a master's degree from the University of South Carolina's Moore School of Business.

A family friend spoke to the media. Neil Cochran said, "The Moxie family thanks the community for its outpouring of kindness and prayers during a very difficult time. They ask that you continue to hold them in your prayers during Megan's recovery and as they grieve for Amy's loss."

I cannot imagine the grief and shock this family must be enduring. Losing a child has to be the worst thing that could ever happen to a parent. I cannot imagine coping with that loss. The thought of it makes me want to go wake up my son and hold him and never let him go. I cannot imagine the level of grief that family is experiencing. Add to that the possibility of losing a second child, and I think I'd have to be institutionalized.

We can all only hope and pray that Megan has the strength to keep fighting. It is possible to make a full recovery from a brain injury. Our family has been lucky enough to see it happen, with remarkable results. I hope the Moxie family is as lucky as we were.

Update: On Saturday, as the Moxie family was holding a funeral for young Amy, doctors upgraded her sister Megan's condition. She is now in Greenville Memorial Hospital in serious condition after surviving brain surgery.

Another Update (9/11/07): A few days ago, doctors at Greenville Memorial upgraded Megan Moxie's condition to fair.

10/2/07 Update: The Greenville Hospital System says Megan is now listed in good condition. She has apparently started her recovery at a rehab center in town. This is where the hard work begins for her. The road to recovery from a brain injury can be long and painful. Please keep her and her family in your thoughts. They will need all the strength they can get.

Megan Moxie picture from WYFF 4.

Also on Amy Moxie:
Young Lives Lost

Labels: Amy Moxie, Megan Moxie

Come on, people. Leave that poor little ole senator from Idaho alone! I can't not believe that you cynical people don't believe him when he says he's not gay. He's a married man, for Christ's sake! Just because he ocassionally dabbles in anonymous sex with men doesn't mean he's a homosexual. I mean, we all like to mix things up a bit every now and then, right? Give the guy a break.



I mean, really. When I have to go Number Two in an airport bathroom, I usually turn facing the toilet, start to do my business, play footsie with the person next to me, and rub my hand along the stall. It helps me get in the zone. I mean, sometimes that stuff gets a little shy up there, what with the public dumping and all. You have to find ways to relax yourself to get it all out, you know?

You guys! How many times has Senator Craig told us how much he disapproves of these naughty beasts who like to put their man parts in one another's bottoms? I mean, so what if the Idaho Statesman has been investigating multiple allegations of Craig getting it on with other men? They're just the liberal media! So what if those allegations go all the way back to his college days and include accusations that he had sex with underage congressional pages? So what if he got married just after that 1982 sex scandal! Damn liberal media! So what if that very same liberal media outlet endorsed him in 2002! They're still liberal! And he's not gay!

Seriously, guys! He's worked really hard to keep those naughty gay people in the closet where they belong! I can't believe you don't recognize his hard work against those evil homos! I mean, how many times does a senator have to vote against gay rights for you to believe he's not gay? How hard does he have to work to keep Don't Ask Don't Tell alive for you to believe he doesn't like whiskers sliding up and down on his manhood? And, no! Men should not marry men! They should marry women, and get their rocks off with men behind closed doors. So what if those doors happen to be flimsy, metal swinging doors on public restrooms? Man. You people are judgmental.

I certainly hope you don't believe anything you've read in the heavily researched, documented and recorded piece of liberal-biased trash you've read in that Idaho Statesman multi-level investigation. So what if they interviewed hundreds of people? They were just picking out liberal homo-huggers to talk to. They obviously didn't interview anyone with a working moral compass. Damn liberals!

I mean, read for yourself what the man said to the Idaho Statesman. That is assuming you liberal homo-huggers can read, of course!

****"There's a very clear bottom line here," Craig said. "I don't do that kind of thing. I am not gay, and I never have been."

****"I've been in this business 27 years in the public eye here. I don't go around anywhere hitting on men, and by God, if I did, I wouldn't do it in Boise, Idaho! Jiminy!"

****"The gay movement, we know it for what it is. It's now aggressive and it's liberal and it's naming people to try to put them in compromising, difficult situations."

I can't believe you people think that this married member of the party with values is gay! I mean, if he was really hitting on that cop in the bathroom, do you think this upstanding, educated, powerful man would have actually allowed himself to be interviewed? I mean, how stupid do you think he is, people? Why would he talk to Sgt. Dave Karsnia and detective Noel Nelson if he was guilty of these dirty acts?

You can listen to the interview yourself here.

Here's one part I just love:

DK: Okay. And when you went in the stalls, then what?
LC: Sat down.
DK: Okay. Did you do anything with your feet?
LC: Positioned them, I don't know. I don't know at the time. I'm a fairly wide guy.
DK: I understand.
LC: I had to spread my legs.
DK: Okay.
LC: When I lower my pants so they won't slide.
DK: Okay.
LC: Did I slide them too close to yours? Did I, I looked down once, your foot was close to mine.
DK Yes.
LC Did we bump? Ah, you said so, I don't recall that, but apparently we were close.
DK Yeah, well your foot did touch mine, on my side of the stall.
LC: All right.
DK: Okay. And then with the hand. Urn, how many times did you put your hand under the stall?
LC: I don't recall. I remember reaching down once. There was a piece of toilet paper back behind me and picking it up.
DK: Okay. Was your was your palm down or up when you were doing that?
LC: I don't recall.
DK: Okay. I recall your palm being up. Okay.
LC: All right.
DK: When you pick up a piece of paper off the ground, your palm would be down, when you pick something up.
LC: Yeah, probably would be. I recall picking the paper up.
DK: And I know it's hard to describe here on tape but actually what I saw was your fingers come underneath the stalls, you're actually ta touching the bottom of the stall divider.
LC: I don't recall that.
DK: You don't recall
LC: I don't believe I did that. I don't.
DK: I saw, I saw
LC: I don't do those things.
DK: I saw your left hand and I could see the gold wedding ring when it when it went across. I could see that. On your left hand, I could see that.
LC: Wait a moment, my left hand was over here.
DK: I saw there's a...
LC: My right hand was next to you.
DK: I could tell it with my ah, I could tell it was your left hand because your thumb was positioned in a faceward motion. Your thumb was on this side, not on this side.
LC: Well, we can dispute that. I'm not going to fight you in court and I, I reached down with my right hand to pick up the paper.
DK: But I'm telling you that I could see that so I know that's your left hand. Also I could see a gold ring on this finger, so that's obvious it was the left hand.
LC: Yeah, okay. My left hand was in the direct opposite of the stall from you.

I was watching Larry King tonight. He had a fun panel to discuss Senator Craig's predicament. Big Daddy Attorney Mark Garagos had some interesting observations, but one in particular made me laugh. Garagos was saying that it's a fact of life that people like to have anonymous sex in bathrooms. He said that idea doesn't bother him nearly as much as the thought of someone actually bending to pick up toilet paper off the floor of a public restroom! Agreed, Mr. Garagos. Agreed.

It's stunning to me that all you mean people don't believe in the moral superiority of this fine upstanding member of the United States Senate. We all know that it's democrats who are the homo-huggers among us. Republicans don't allow Brokeback Mountain-types to join their party. Puh-leeze, people! I wish you'd all get off your high horses and go ride some short man in a bathroom stall! Let this fine member of the United States Senate go back to doing his important work at Union Station!

Labels: Senator Larry Craig

Too many kids are dying in the Upstate right now. I can't remember a time when we had a string of events like this one. I've lived here eight years now, and I've covered the deaths of quite a few children. However, this month has been the worst I can remember in terms of the number of young lives lost.



It all started with the Devon Epps case that my husband and I have become rather obsessed about. Soul Mate's blog got quoted by a weekly newspaper today in relation to that case. Deputies have not made an arrest in Epps' death yet. Local news forums were buzzing today with a rumor that Devon's mother, who many suspect of the crime, was in a wreck this morning. So far we've only seen limited information on that from one TV station. WSPA is reporting Amanda Reagan Smith ran into the back of a truck this morning in Spartanburg. We'll keep a close eye on what develops in that story today.



Then, a Clemson freshman collapsed and died while running on Tuesday. Amy Moxie was an excellent student and a member of the Clemson University Women's swim team. She had just passed a physical the day before she died. The coroner says her aorta ruptured.



Yesterday afternoon, lightning struck a Spartanburg soccer player and his coach on the practice field. Today would have been Alex Holbein's 18th birthday. The lightning strike hit him in the head, causing a fatal brain injury. Alex was student body president at Oakbrook Preparatory School and captain of his soccer team.

Three young lives lived in three very different worlds. Three young lives lost in such freak ways. Three young lives cut way too short.

I know the faithful turn to their god during times like these. It gives them comfort that this loss of life is in some way a part of a greater plan. That these three kids died for a good reason. That this is not the end for them.

It's all just so damn sad. As a mama, I'm having a hard time getting these children out of my head. I don't care how your kid dies: at the hands of another, invisible medical problem, act of nature. It just seems so wrong that these beautiful kids didn't get the chance to go out and conquer the world. My heart hurts for their parents and everyone else who loved them. I hope they find comfort somewhere, wherever they can.

*Devon Epps picture comes from his obituary on Greenvilleonline.
*Amy Moxie picture comes from the Tribune Times.
*Alex Holbein picture comes from firstcoastnews.

Labels: Alex Holbein, Amy Moxie, Devon Epps

I started the Great Lasik Debate here yesterday. I had just gotten back from a consult appointment, and I started having a lot of doubts about actually going through with the surgery. My eyesight is a precious thing, and even if it doesn't work very well without a great deal of help, it's still functional. I talked about the fears I had yesterday. Today, the flip side.

Some of my best childhood memories are set in the water. I learned to swim when I was a toddler, not because I was some superstar, but because I had a teenage mother who wanted to spend her summers at the pool. I was a little fish, who couldn't bear the thought of being trapped on dry land for very long. Unfortunately, we lived in the northern part of the country when I was young, so it was only warm enough to swim outdoors a few months out of the year. Logistics aside, I loved everything that had to do with water: pools, lakes, beaches, bathtubs.

My eyesight started to get bad about the time we moved south for the first time. We moved to Houston, Texas, where I could swim most of the year. I think I was in the fourth grade or so when I started wearing glasses. In the beginning, I didn't have to wear them all the time, really just to see the chalkboard at school. As I grew, my eyesight got worse and worse. When I became a teenager, I started wearing contacts all the time. It certainly cramped my style for swimming, but I could still manage on the swim team without them.

By the time I was in college, I could barely see a few feet in front of my face without contacts or glasses. Working in TV news, I spent a good part of my day in front of a computer, and my eyesight got even worse. Now, I'm pretty blind. Without my glasses or contacts, I can't even read my laptop screen a few inches in front of my face. Unless, of course, I'm reading a 54 font size or something, but most web sites don't cater to the visually impaired.

I've considered Lasik for a couple of years now. My husband has always supported the idea and was willing to take the money out of our family budget to pay for it. I've always been the one who wasn't sure I really needed it. The surgery is expensive. Yesterday, they quoted me about $3,400. I spend about three-to-four hundred dollars a year on glasses and contacts and all that jazz, so I would spend that much over a ten year period anyway. However, it's not the same as spending it all in one chunk. And, there's no guarantee that in ten years I won't need another adjustment or have to start wearing reading glasses. That just seems silly after having surgery to correct my vision. Ten years isn't that long.

Somehow I started back into the "con" argument again...

Back to the reasons I think I am "pro" Lasik...

I spent this summer in the sun with My Little Sunshine. We were in the water a lot at our neighborhood pool and the beach. My new contacts for astigmatism are shaped like footballs and often fall out or get all kinked up in the shower. That pisses me off. But what really ticked me off this summer is that I couldn't fully enjoy the water with my kid. It was a big growing time for him. He started going under the water and holding his breath. He started doggie paddling a little bit. He started playing shark in the water. All that stuff is so fun. I couldn't even go under the water to get my hair wet without the very real possibility that I would lose one or both contacts. I certainly couldn't go underwater with him and swim around or play games. That's just a really big bummer. I want to be able to really enjoy this time with my kid. I don't want to sit in a pool chair on the side and WATCH him. I want to get in and play. I want to share the joy that the water brings him, and I want to be able to see while doing it.

I tried just leaving my contacts out when Soul Mate returned from his summer in Las Vegas. I didn't want to try it when I was alone with Sunshine, because I couldn't drive without glasses, and I didn't want to drown my kid because I couldn't see. When Soul Mate got back, I tried the pool sans glasses and contacts, and, frankly, it was almost as disconcerting as the fear of losing contacts in the water. I'm a control freak. I just don't like not being able to see, especially when I need to be vigilant to make sure my kid is safe.

That's it in a nutshell. I want to SEE all the cool things my kid is doing. I think the money is probably worth it. I just don't want to do it if the reward is not worth the risk.

Please feel free to share your thoughts, positive or negative. I just need something to tip the scales one way or the other. I hate limbo land.

Labels: Lasik

Well, Miss Teen South Carolina, Caitlin Upton, has appeared on national television again. This time, the Today Show is giving her the face-time. If you haven't seen Upton's interview segment from the Miss Teen USA pageant, you need to get with the program.

Since I have both linked to the YouTube clip of the pageant and provided commentary on the contents, I feel obligated to post her response in the interest of providing fair and balanced coverage here on my non-newsy blog.

All I can say this time is bless her little pea-pickin' heart. I'm sure she'll be wealthier than I'll ever be by sunrise.

Labels: Miss Teen South Carolina, YouTube

I have been trying to post these thoughts to a forum on our local paper's web site, but there are so many people involved in the chat about it that they're crashing the system. That tells me two things: people in my community are very interested in every detail about this news story, and some people need to turn off their computers occasionally.



My husband has been following this story pretty well, so if you read his blog, you already know the background. The story is about a seven year old boy named Devon Epps. His mother has told investigators that she was driving along late at night with her son, when a man approached her car, forced her at knifepoint to drive to a wooded area, made her get out of the car, then proceded to suffocate her son with a pillow in the backseat. The "carjacker" left the car, a dead kid and a live witness behind, according to the mother's story.

Much to everyone's surprise, this story has gotten very little coverage in the local media. One might suspect the national media to mosey on down here for a story like this. Problem is, no one believes the mother's story. To further complicate matters, the investigation has entered its third week and the mother has not been charged.

I have been rather obsessively following this story along with my husband. It's one of the few stories that makes me want to be in TV news again. I can't get it out of my head. Tonight, we even took an after-dinner drive down to the memorial site to see for ourselves what we've seen on the news. This spot is allegedly where the crime happened, and I'm even more confused now that I've been there myself.

So, tonight, I got back on the Story Chat on our local newspaper to read what people in the community were saying. The newspaper is the only local media really covering the story at all, and tonight, people in the community are pissed about that. I understand their feelings. I am, too. However, as a former member of the media, I wanted to stand up for my colleagues who are, in a word, screwed on this story.

Like I said, I tried to sign up to become a member of this online newspaper forum, and the damn thing is crashed. So, just so I won't feel like I completely wasted my time writing this, I'll post it here for now. Even though no one posting on that forum will read this, it is still an issue that's worth discussing. Americans do have a very strange relationship with their media. Love/hate is putting it mildly.

Here's what I wanted to say to the members of the forum who are railing on the media:

As a former member of the Upstate media, I would like to share some thoughts with you. The news crews and managers are suffering from a "damned if you do, damned if you don't" situation in the Epps case.

If I were in the newsroom when this story came out, the first thing I would think about was the Susan Smith case (just as many of you have). Every minor tidbit involved in that case was on every newscast and in every newspaper. The media showed that sketch of the "African American carjacker" over and over and over. The community was, in turn, terrified of every African American male they saw. When it came to light that there was no African American male kid killer, we all had to take a step back and look at the effect our extensive coverage had on the community. We implicity helped solidify a stereotype. We unintentionally caused mass hysteria, when all along, there was no mad man on the loose.

If I were in the newsroom when the Epps case began, I would have had a very frank discussion with a trusted member of law enforcement, making reference to the Susan Smith case. I would have asked (OFF THE RECORD) if they believed the mother killed this little boy. If I could get a straight-up answer from a reliable source, I would use that information to determine the amount and tone of coverage this story warranted. If I couldn't get a straight answer or if I was told there WAS a mad man on the loose, I would go all out to make sure my public knew everything they needed to know to catch this killer and keep themselves safe.

Journalists have a responsibility and obligation to serve the public. While many people believe that most members of the media are liberal sensationalists, I would argue that even if it's true on a broader level (which I don't believe it is), I know that the majority of the media here in the Upstate is neither liberal nor sensational (note I said majority, not all). Most of the people who are "gatekeepers" of information on the local level are very consciencious and take their responsibilities very seriously.

I'm sure many of these frank, off the record discussions have been had. Do I believe this story warrants more coverage no matter who the killer is? Yes, I do. I admire Paul Alongi for his efforts to keep this story alive. I wish the rest of the Upstate media would do the same.

Even though most people believe this mother is guilty, it has still not been proven so. Investigations sometimes change directions. This one is not finished. The case is not closed until someone has been convicted of killing this little boy. The local media should still be asking questions. They can still cover this story without causing mass hysteria. There is a fine line to walk, for sure, but it's walkable. If everyone's wrong, and there is a mad man out there (not saying there is), the media will then be accused of not doing enough to help catch the killer. Not doing the story at all makes the media complicit in the assumption of the mother's guilt, and that is not the way to cover news objectively.

Labels: Crime, Devon Epps, Journalism, Media

I went for a consultation appointment today with a practice that does Lasik eye surgery here in South Cackalacki. Before I went to the appointment, I was certain that I would have the procedure if I was a candidate and if we could afford it. Strange enough, I'm not as certain now.

Maybe it's a problem with actually pulling the trigger. I don't know. Maybe when it was a dream to be able to see a foot in front of my face without the help of glasses or contacts, the fear factor didn't deter me as much. Maybe the control freak in me can't handle the idea of someone zapping around on a very precious part of my body. Sure, my eyes don't work for shit now, but at least I can see with a little bit of help. The very thought of something going wrong and not being able to look at my little man's bright eyes is terrifying.

Here's what bugged me about the place: it felt more like a car dealership than a medical practice. From the moment I walked in the door, I felt like I was being sold. In reality, I am being sold since this is an elective procedure. This is not medically necessary for my survival. This is something I want, not something I need.

I never actually met with a doctor. A tech tested my eyes and then I met with a man in a small corner office. The questions I had about the procedure were medical in nature, and it felt odd asking those questions to Jack Average. JA has no initials before or after his name, and his title is Director of Operations, whatever the hell that means. This may sound terrible, but Jack's appearance bugged me. His shoes were a wreck. His pants looked cheap. His tie was not tied properly. He seemed like a halfway intelligent man, but everything he said to me sounded like a memorized sales pitch. When I asked questions, he always had an answer, but he used words the average person wouldn't know, and not in a good way. Fortunately, I have a decent vocabulary, so I knew what JA was saying. However, it seemed like those words were in his pitch to purposefully talk over the average person's head. They don't want you to understand what they're saying, in other words. Again, since he was a sales person and not a medical doctor, I felt offended by his throwing-around of terms that he didn't seem qualified to use.

A couple of times, JA was trying to push me around. One of my friends had her Lasik done so that one eye could see things closeup and one could see far away. That sounds like something that I would have a hard time adjusting to, but I wanted to know more about that option anyway. JA said very sternly, "We're just not going to do that for you." When someone tells me I can't do something, I want a good explanation, especially when this is something that is entirely my call in the first place. He read my reaction correctly. He could tell that I didn't like what he said, so he back-tracked a bit and told me it was possible, but not recommended for a person like me. Again, it bothered me that he has no medical title, and he was telling me that he didn't recommend a certain kind of medical procedure something. I frankly don't give a shit what he recommends. He just wants to sell me something. I felt like his recommendations were all based on what kind of commission he could get and not what was best for me and my vision. That bugged me.

After you listen to their little sales pitch, they immediately want to sign you up for pre-op appointment and your surgery. This an even higher-pressure deal. They want you in their books as soon as possible. It was annoying to them that I needed to discuss scheduling with my husband. That also sent up the red flags. I want some time to think about them, research them, and decide if I really want to have this procedure done with these people. I also have all kinds of scheduling issues. I need to do this at a time that works for my husband, since he will have to take over childcare duties for a couple of days. I agreed to allow them to "pencil me in" with the caveat that I might have to reschedule.

So, I'm going to start my research now. I've already researched Lasik. I'm pretty certain I want it, just not sure I want it from this practice. The non-doctor guy recommended Intralase Wavefront Lasik for me. It sounds good, but I'm not completely sold. I'm looking for advice. Has anyone out there had it? What was your experience like? Any concerns or regrets? Any horror stories?

Labels: Lasik

Dear Over-large Mail Carrier Lady,

I understand that you have an absolute opposition to burning a single calorie that you have so painstakingly packed into your over-large frame. I know the very thought is unsettling. I understand that you have chosen a job wherein you get to sit on your over-large posterior region for an over-large portion of the day. I understand that the very thought of lifting your over-large posterior region off of that cozy leather seat you have in your cute little mail truck is also incredibly unsettling. I understand that you do important work that you believe keeps America running. I thank you for that. However, I would ask that you employ some common fucking courtesy the next time you visit my humble little abode here in the 'burbs of South Cackalacki.

See, the thing is, we here at Mt. Otis occasionally keep odd hours. There are times when we are gone for weeks, months even. There are times when the three of us (four if you count my dog who wants to rip your throat out) don't leave the house for days. Yes, I know you've seen both of our vehicles in the driveway. That's because Soul Mate hasn't found it in his, um, soul, to get rid of the Bradoween Bar. I can't fit my car in the garage. Otherwise, it would always be there for the simple purpose of making it appear that I am not at home when I am.

You see, on days when I'm really lucky, we try to enjoy what we call Family Nap Time. It's a rare but glorious occasion that I look forward to for quite some time before it actually happens. It's a time when the kid and the dog stop barking for a few minutes, Soul Mate and I stop this trying-to-stay-vertical crap, and we shut out the world for a while in the middle of the day. The whole idea of two "grown ups" getting a nap in the middle of the day is probably absurd to you. If you're awake and working some godforsaken job, you think the rest of us should be at your beck and call. I hate to inform you, Ms., but we're not. What if I had a newborn who had kept me up all night? What if I worked third shift and just got home to go to bed? I understand that neither of these things is true, and perhaps since you've probably been reading my mail, you already know this about me. The point is, I ought to be able to sleep whenever the fuck I want in my own home.

So, let's come up with a Plan of Action for the future. If you don't want to get your over-large posterior region off the cushy leather seat in your cute little mail truck, just leave the shit that won't fit under my mailbox. You don't even have to get up. You can toss it down there for all I care. It won't be any skin off my back. I wouldn't want to be responsible for you losing one of your precious 158,098,098,435,987 ounces. I just couldn't have that on my conscience. So, please, for all that's holy, don't put yourself out. Leave the shit at the curb.

If you have any sense of decency about you at all, you will not repeat your actions of today. You will not honkety-honk-honk one time. Wait. Honkety-honk-honk two times. Wait. Honkety-honk-honk three times. Wait. Drag your ass up to my doorstep, leaving pools of sweat in your wake. I know you heard my dog losing her damn mind over your transgressions, but you don't care about her psychological state. You've had to hoist your over-large posterior region off your cushy leather seat in your cute little mail truck. You're pissed. I understand. SO. AM. I. It's Family Nap Time, bitch! Stop ringing my doorbell. Again. And Again. And Again. See, you've made me call you the C-word. I hate the C-word. I hate hearing it, but I hate it even more when people force me to use it. Oh, and that last honkety-honk-honk as you were driving away was just egregious and wrong. Now, it's on. Oh, it is so on.

You ruined Family Nap Time. My Little Sunshine never went to sleep. That alone would make killing you justifiable homicide. However, I am a peace-loving person, and I think we can work this out. If you can just leave me a note in my mailbox saying you agree to my terms, all is forgiven. You don't have to get off your over-large posterior region ever again on my account. Leave the shit at the curb. I won't be angry about that. I will be thrilled. Because maybe by the time my three-year-old son turns five, another Family Nap Time opportunity might have presented itself. Next time, I'd like to be able to enjoy it.

Sincerely,

Your Lazy No-Job-Having Postal Customer

Labels: Family Nap Time, Postal worker

What did Miss Whitney tell us?

I believe the children are our future
Teach them well, and let them lead the way...

Dear Lord, Baby Jesus, please, pleeeeeeze save me from a future in which Miss Teen South Carolina leads anything but her cheerleading squad!

I have to be honest. I stole this post idea from my friend, E, but this is too good to not share with everyone who hasn't seen it. I didn't see this pageant, because, well, I don't do pageants. I'm sure E wasn't watching it either, but if she was purposely watching it, it was either for research or a drinking game. That's the only explanation.

Anyway, in case I needed further proof that I need to get the hell out of South Cackalacki before my son is old enough to go to public school, E has provided it to me (Thank you, E. You just might have saved our nation's future).

So, without further ado, here is Miss Teen South Carolina showing the world what the Palmetto State has to offer.



Hey, maybe we should start a charity for all those poor, U.S. Americans who don't have maps.

Labels: Funny stuff, Miss South Carolina Teen

Yo, Money-Grubbing Monsters at Mattel,

I just wanted to let you know that I inadvertently gave you another 17 of our hard-earned dollars. It was an oversight on my part. It wasn't an intentional effort to support your kid-killing efforts, I assure you. I was simply supporting my son's love of all things with tires. Nothing more, nothing less.

However, since you have chosen to produce your products with materials that can harm my son and his friends, I feel it's only right of me to give you a warning. See, even though you think stupid little women like me will hand over their money to purchase anything shiny and new, especially when it will shut their kids up for a few seconds, you're wrong. Not all of us are mindless consumers. Some of us will look at the labels from here on out for any sign of your logo. In the future, I will stay away from anything that has Mattel stamped on the side. This is my last transgression against the future of my great nation.

So, now to the warning. If you think that the Ultimate Fighting Championship is gory, wait and see what happens when a bunch of pissed off mamas get together. Your blatant disregard for our children is really starting to piss us off. It's not going to take much more to push us over the edge. We might not present ourselves as a united front very often, but when you start messing with our precious little offspring, we can hang out with a bunch of bitches we don't like. We can even cooperate with them if it means slaying an evil giant such as yourself.

Please don't let us hear that we have to pry another fucking toy from the tiny, dirty, sweaty fingers of our little ones. It hurts our very souls to see our children so upset. And frankly, it's a pain in the ass to mail all that shit back to you. I hate the post office. Fucking hate it. If you make me go there again, I'm going to be angry. Angry, I tell you!

I will be forced to start a "Mattel Hates Children" campaign. I will blast it from one end of the internet to the other. I will bribe some of my TV friends with beer so they'll fill the newscasts with stories about how much you hate children. I will write all of my do-nothing representatives on the state and national level and convince them to finally DO SOMETHING, in the name of our children. I will join with a bunch of other pissed off mamas and we will find a way to rip the keys of your shiny new Jag from your stinky, sweaty, Man-icured fingers. We want you to see how it feels to lose something shiny and new all because someone else doesn't give a shit about you, because someone else is looking out for themselves.

Please don't make me do it. I so enjoy my stay-at-home mom life of Doing Jack Shit. All we stay-at-home moms ever do is get our hair and nails done, oh, and eat bon bons, oh, and order around the maid and the nanny, and, of course, go shopping for your fine products manufactured under questionable labor conditions in China. I really don't have time to be pissed at you. Besides, being angry could lead to untimely wrinkles, and I just don't need that on my pretty little face, you know? I'm just saying. Douchebags.

Labels: Mama Rant, Mattel

I am back in the safe confines of my boring living room now after what can only be described as a play date disaster. It lasted only about 45 minutes, but it felt like an eternity in hell.

My Little Sunshine and I met this really cool mom and her kid several months ago at Gymboree. Sunshine and this little boy hit it off, likely because they match one another's energy levels. There are very few children I have found who have a fraction of the energy Sunshine has, so it was a relief that Cutie Pie's mom asked us to do something with them.

Early on in the summer, we met Cutie Pie and his mom at the park. The boys had so much fun there, we took them to eat dinner together. That went pretty well also, and I left feeling hopeful that we had found some new running buddies. Sunshine and I were gone for most of the summer, so we haven't hung out with CP and his mom in a while.

I was thrilled when Adorable Pregnant Mom called and invited us on a play date. Soul Mate is away at a bachelor party, so Sunshine and I were trying to find ways to entertain ourselves. This seemed perfect.

Sunshine just turned three, and he just spent a gift card buying some of the characters from the movie Cars. We missed CP's birthday while we were away this summer, so I bought CP the same characters Sunshine had. I thought if they each had their own, it would minimize the toy battles. Obviously, I'm not very bright.

CP was very excited we were there. He instantly offered Sunshine toys to play with, and he didn't freak out when Sunshine picked up any others that belonged to him. No problem on that end. The problem was on mine.

We weren't there five minutes when Sunshine refused to share his cars with CP while his mom got his out. Sunshine immediately started pushing and screaming and yelling, "No! Mine!" I calmly explained to Sunshine that CP was very nicely sharing all of his toys with Sunshine, and that we should do the same with our toys.

The next forty minutes or so, APM and I tried to engage the boys in different games or activities. CP played along beautifully. Sunshine, however, was a different story entirely. The pushing started. Then the screaming. Then the death grip on CP's favorite toys. CP frowned a couple of times, but remained generally unaffected by the onslaught of The Crankies in his house.

APM and I tried to talk in between referee sessions, but we barely got out a single complete sentence before Sunshine moved on to his next emotional outburst. For most of the time, the veins in his neck were bulging out like the Incredible Hulk. It was terrifying, really. I tried to take him into another room several times to talk him down from the ledge and help him calm himself. I tried all the techniques I've been learning from my "Spirited Child" book. When he hauled off and hit CP over the head with a plastic net, that was it. I did the only thing I felt was right at the time, and dragged his ass out of there.

It was a very awkward departure. Lots of "I'm sorry" and "I understand" and clumsy gathering of bags and toys. Sunshine continued the terror all the way out the door. As CP tried to hug him goodbye, Sunshine screamed, veins once again popping out of his neck, "Don't push meeeeeeeeee!"

We left with the promise to try again another time when Sunshine isn't having such a "bad day," but if I were APM, would delete my number from her cell phone. I'd forget my name, my child's name, and that this horrible nightmare ever happened. I don't expect to hear from her again.

It makes me so sad, because this child was my best hope for Sunshine to make a friend his own age. Sunshine adores several of our friends' kids, but they are all much older than he is. One of my friends has an eight year old girl Sunshine adores. She could punch him in the face repeatedly (she hasn't, but you get the idea) and he would laugh it off. CP is the first little boy Sunshine's age that I thought he could get along with. Again, I'm apparently not very bright.

I'm sad for Sunshine, but I'm also sad for me. That might sound selfish to some people, but I don't care. Until you know what it's like to go from being a working woman who always had adults to talk to and commiserate with, to being a stay-at-home mom with no non-working friends, you can't possibly understand. Some days, I feel very alone. Some days, I feel like I'm a terrible failure at this parenting thing. I try to do all the right things with my son. I love him so very much. I read book after book, article after article, all seeking the best way to help him learn the ways of the world. I try ignoring the "professionals" and trusting my gut. I try asking other parents for advice. I try so hard, and yet, here I am, feeling like a complete failure.

Sunshine is a beautiful little boy. He has an old soul. He understands things to a depth that frightens me. He is amazingly perceptive. I want other people to get to know the beautiful little boy I see when it's just the two of us. However, most of the time when he gets around other children, particularly other boys, he turns into some little monster I don't know. He tries to be Alpha Male. He is verbally and physically aggressive (I'm trying to say assertive instead, but today he was just plain aggressive). He can't control his emotions. He comes completely unglued. And so do I.

I have put him down for his nap early today. Partly because he is just a wreck, but mainly because I can't deal with him right now. I need some time to regain my composure. Throughout all of this, I stayed completely calm in front of him. I was crying on the inside, believe me. I am so bummed about the way today went. I am terrified that this is a sign of what lies ahead when he goes back to "school" in less than two weeks. I'm afraid he won't be able to follow the rules. I'm afraid he won't be able to make friends with other boys. I'm, quite frankly, afraid they won't be able to deal with him.

I think I need to go do Tae Bo or some shit like that. Maybe that will help me clear my head and figure out how to get this day back on track. Right now, it's so far off that I'm not sure that's possible, but as always, I'm trying.

Labels: My Little Sunshine, Play Date

I was just about to shut down the computer and get to work on my "Four Million Things to Do While the Kid Is Napping" list when I happened upon a story on CNN.com that got me all fired up again. The story comes from WGCL in Atlanta.

Here's the deal in a nutshell (nut being the operative word here): An Atlanta City Councilman wants to amend the city's indecency laws to make baggy pants that expose boxer shorts or thongs illegal. Now, while I agree with C.T. Martin that we could all use a little less crack in our day, I don't agree with him trying to become the fashion police.

Is Mr. Martin really so productive in his position as Councilman that this is all that's left to do? Are there not any more serious issues that need to be addressed? You know, things like crime, economic development, or the INSANELY RIDICULOUS GRIDLOCK people have to put up with to get anywhere in that city?

Mr. Martin wants to add this underwear exposure ban to the same section of the city code that bans sex in public. Because, of course, showing me your thong-th-thong-thong-thong is the same as getting it on in front of little school children.

Some weirder crap has become law here in the good ole bible belt, so I wouldn't be surprised if this passed, but come on, folks. Is this what we're electing people like Mr. Martin to do? Couldn't our tax dollars be better spent? Plus, if you're going to become the fashion police, why don't you focus on things more offensive, like coochie-cutter jeans?

***Update: I was just looking for more information on Mr. Martin. I went to the City Council web site, and then linked to his page. Well, here's some funny insight: He has a Councilman's Corner newsletter. The title is "Keeping You Up-to-Date on Matters That Affect You and Your Communities." The date is Fall 2004. Yep. He's on the ball, man. On. The. Ball.

Labels: Atlanta, Mama Rant, Stupid laws

As I mentioned yesterday, I'm concerned that the Downfall of Western Civilization is near. It has more to do with the state of the American media than some threat of enemy or alien invasion. However, I've recently had another clue that our civilization is, um, not so civilized.

Lately, I've had not one but several people visiting my blog via a Google search for "Britney's snatch." Now, I'll admit that I was among the millions who, for curiosity's sake, checked out the pictures of Britney's bald cooch when they first hit the internet. I'll agree that it was a fascinating view into the depths of her soul. She's, um, a really deep thinker. The C-section scar was hot, I tell ya. Hawwwwt! However, once I saw the pictures, my curiosity was satisfied, and, well, the images were burned into my eyelids, maybe forever. I couldn't get them out. I needed some sort of surgery to erase them from my brain. Seriously. I regret ever looking, but I just couldn't help it. I have to keep up with the latest "news," you know. It's in my blood, people.



The deal is, man, if you didn't search for those pictures months ago, you must have been living under a rock the size of Texas. Perhaps you were abducted by aliens, and you were far, far away on a planet that didn't have high-speed internet access. Maybe you were in a coma. Otherwise, there's no excuse for you to be searching for "Britney's snatch" today. That's old news, baby. Britney's moved on to other scandals involving her parents, soon-to-be ex-husband, and her poor little children. Besides, the rest of the world has moved on, too. Get with the program.

Hey, did you hear Lindsey Lohan's in rehab again? I'm bored of that, too. That's so last season. Maybe she'll show us her snatch when she gets out. And where's Paris Hilton been? I'm so bored of her being Little Miss Goody-Goody. I'm not worried. Living right gets really old really fast. We'll see her stuff in no time, too. Mark my words.

*Picture courtesy eonline.com

Labels: Britney Spears, Google searches, Lindsey Lohan, Paris Hilton

A good friend of mine has long said that lawyers are the downfall of Western civilization. For a while, I could see her point. However, now, I've come to believe that the lack of a free and independent press will lead ot our demise. It's already happening, folks, so wake up.

I am a former television news producer. Even though I am not working in the business right now, I still consider myself a journalist. When big stories happen in my market, I still kick into gear and start researching. I just can't help it. If you check out my husband's blog, you'll see that he still has the news bug, too. Once it's in your blood, it's very hard to get out. I lived and breathed the news for 14 years. I was a news junkie long before that. Even though I bailed on the business for the good of my family (and my sanity), I still believe journalism is important.

So, imagine my outrage when I started seeing promos for Fox's new "reality" show, Anchorwoman. I was praying I was misinterpreting the promotion. I was praying that it wasn't true. I was wrong. Sadly, it is true. CBS affiliate KYTX in Tyler, Texas did in fact hire a bikini model and WWE diva to anchor and report the news. And they're proud of it.



If you want to read more of my rant, please go check out my post on Up For Hollywood. If you've read enough, don't say I didn't warn you that the end was near.

Labels: Anchorwoman, Journalism, Television news, Up For Hollywood

For some reason, this morning felt like a Monday. My ass was dragging on the floor when My Little Sunshine woke up just after 7. I stumbled to his bedroom with my eyes half closed, and I immediately collapsed on his bed. Of course, he jumps up, already playing the role of a Pittsburg Steeler. "Come on, teammate. Get up! Get up! Get uuuuuuup! We gotta game," he screamed into my morning-puffy face. I wanted to cry, but his enthusiasm is contagious. If I weren't so deep in this fog, I would have immediately gone deep into the end zone for a touchdown. That just wasn't happening this morning.

Sunshine insisted on putting on the Steelers uniform before we went down for breakfast. During the summer, we're often still in PJs until after lunch. I'm a lazy mom. This morning, however, Sunshine started throwing every last thing out of his dresser looking for the football uniform. It took me a second to register what the hell he was doing, since I was still half asleep. The tossing-about of clothes that took me hours to wash, dry, and fold was the only thing that would have gotten my ass up off the bed. That and a gaping head wound. The kid definitely knows how to push my buttons. I'm glad he chose the wardrobe instead of the wound. I don't think I could stomach blood that early in the morning.

After breakfast, we headed over to Sunshine's "school" to check out his new classroom. He was pretty nervous, so he intently honed in on coloring the perfect apple during the car ride. I had to coax him out of the vehicle with the promise of seeing a bunny, but once he got out of the car and saw the playground, he was good to go. I tried to point out all the things that would be the same this year, because Sunshine has a tough time adjusting to new things. See, the same parking lot. The same sidewalk. The same playground. The same sandbox. The same door. The same hall. The same lunchroom.

A big difference this year will be his teachers. Last year, he was in my friend, Teacher Mommy's, class. This year, she's been promoted to pre-school, and he's staying in Parents Day Out for a few days a week. Luckily, one of his new teachers isn't a complete stranger. She was the story time lady last year. Apparently, Sunshine loves the way she brings the pages to life. Teacher Mommy says Sunshine hung on the lady's every word last year. Hopefully, that familiarity will help him make a smooth transition.

When we left school, I needed a coffee. Badly. I was still half asleep. I just couldn't shake out the cobwebs. Some spider wrapped up my head in a hell of a contraption in my sleep. Things looked good as I pulled up to my favorite locally owned coffee shop, though. There was only one car in front of me, a baby blue convertible Honda Prelude that was way too far from the drive-thru window. There was a short little geeky dude in the driver's seat. I'm sure he thought that car upped his cool points exponentially. I should have backed out when I saw him hand the guy at the counter a piece of paper.

This coffee shop is a fantastic place. It's locally owned by a pretty cool chick. She is one of the few Democrats in this state, and she's very passionate about her politics. She hires a very diverse staff. They're all very friendly and very efficient. She was running a great business until the Evil Empire opened up a drive-thru establishment right next door. Starbucks corporate types can go fuck themselves as far as I'm concerned. They've done this to every locally-owned coffee shop in town. It's pissed me off so badly that I make it a point to go to my mom-and-pop joint more often than I might otherwise. I want to help her defeat the Evil Empire.

She's done a great job slaying the beast so far. She has great advertising campaigns, great gimmicks (like an afterschool pit-stop deal for parents and kids), and great rewards programs. She's also managed to keep her prices a couple of cents under what the Evil Empire has. Oh, and she comes up with the best specials in town. Because of this, I almost always order the Skinny Special (regular sized whatever with skim milk). As I rounded the corner today, I noticed the special was a Kahluha Latte. Yummy. Just thinking about it perked me up.

Today, the planets were not properly aligned along Liquid Highway. The asswipe in the Prelude was out to bring my lazy morning to a screeching halt. What with his mile-long drive-thru order and all. The fucktard could have simply parked his car in the parking lot and mosied on up to the walk-up window, but, no, he wanted to fuck everyone else with his heightened sense of importance. I hate lazy ass people like this. If you have an order you have to write down, park it and go inside. Don't screw up everyone else's coffee zen so you can brown-nose your boss and/or coworkers. I'm sure that's what it was, too. Geeky pocket-protector fuck in a Prelude was buying everyone in his cubicle a coffee so they would stop spitting paper wads at his computer screen.

Three-year-olds aren't patient people. Neither are their 32 year old mothers. However, I found ways to pass the time. I returned a phone call. I yelled at Sunshine to buckle his carseat harness. I cleaned off my console. I yelled at Sunshine to buckle his carseat harness. I reorganized my change compartment. I...well, you get it.

The dude behind me was much less patient. He pulled up in his shiny Mercedes with his slicked-back hair and cell phone attached to his ear. He pulled up just far enough to fuck himself. See, he didn't see Geeky Prelude Boy hand in his order on a piece of paper. He thought it was going to be like every other day at Liquid Highway. He thought he'd be in and out in two minutes and on his way to make more money. Not so, Mr. Money Bags. His obvious impatience helped me be more so. I got kind of high and mighty about it, frankly. Imagine that. Every time I looked in my rearview mirror, he was either tapping his fingers, making another call, or trying to figure out how to squeeze his shiny car out of the drive-thru. He was trapped, and it was making me laugh. See, I was late for my mental checklist. I wanted to get my car washed, but it was no biggie. I have no real schedule. Time is clearly money for this dude, and he was losing bags of it by the second.

I was trapped in the middle of a People-I-Loathe sandwich. Some days, it might have made me angry. Today, it just made me laugh. The only thing that was ticking me off was the thought that someone behind Mr. Money Bags would back up enough so that a customer could get out of the Liquid Highway line and go to the Evil Empire next door. I was watching closely for that as well. However, I think a lot of people in town feel the same way I do. We all waited, patiently or impatiently, to support our local business owner. I'm sure all the folks in this line were the only liberal pinkos in town supporting the only liberal pinko business owner in town, so they're all pretty passionate about the cause. There's safety in numbers, you know, and the number of people who don't vote a straight GOP ticket around here is pretty small.

Fourteen minutes after I watched Geeky Prelude Boy turn in his handwritten order, I was passing Sunshine his milk and cookie and then ingesting some froo-froo coffee zen for myself. It can really turn a frown upside down, I tell ya. Oh, and by the way, it's Tuesday, not Monday. Even though I don't work a Monday-thru-Friday gig anymore, that still turns my frown upside down. Cheers to all you working folk. Happy "It's-Not-Monday-Anymore!"

Labels: People I oathe

I am exhausted after a busy weekend here on Mt. Otis. It's been a ton of fun, but I can't wait until my head hits the pillow tonight. Before I go to count sheep, a few funny things heard 'round the house today:

The first was during our "lunch theatre." My Little Sunshine is "reading" some books and acting out the scenes while he eats. He looks at Soul Mate and me and says, "The bad guy took my conscience!" Soul Mate and I steal a quick glance at one another, and Soul Mate says, "The bad guy took your conscience?" Sunshine replies, "Yep. He took my conscience right outta my head." Happens to the best of us at some point, son.

The second was our after our Sunday trip to the pool. Soul Mate is taking off his wet clothes. As I'm walking up the stairs to change, I hear Sunshine say to Soul Mate, "What are those, penises?" I hear Soul Mate say, "Son, don't touch those." Sunshine giggles and says, "Those are funny." Yes, son. Yes they are. I guess you forgot they were Tesla-claws, huh?

Finally, before we finally got him tucked into bed, Sunshine was a little wound up. He kept running away from me and flinging himself down the stairs on his stomach. You'd be amazed at how fast he can travel. Anyway, I finally enlisted the support of Soul Mate. We got Sunshine wrangled into his room, and then he broke free again. Soul Mate yelled after him, "Alright, Beavis." Sunshine ran back into the room and said, "What? Penis? PENIS?!? What are you talking about Penis?" Soul Mate said, "No, son. I did not say penis. I said Beavis." Sunshine's reply: "Yeah, dad, but I said penis." Yes, son. Yes you did. Now go to sleep.

Labels: My Little Sunshine, Quotes

I have many curses and bad words flying around in my head right now. Many. I stayed up late last night to update my iPod. I knew I had a lot of shit to do today, and I thought I'd spend my iTunes gift card to get myself some pump up music.

I put on my iPod this morning as I started cleaning the house for a little three-family barbeque we're having in, oh, about twenty minutes. I immediately suspected that none of my new music actually made its way onto my iPod. Soul Mate took a look at it for me and confirmed my suspicion. Pissed.

I decided to go try to run the update it requested I install. After I began that process, it gave me some message that my iPod was corrupted and it needed to be restored. Restore away. Once the restoration process was complete, I thought my music would be there. Um, no. Fuckers.

iTunes then informs me that "at least one of my songs" wasn't able to be loaded onto my iPod because I didn't "have the authority" to play those songs on my computer. Bullshit. It just so happens that it wasn't one song. It was 84. All 84 of the songs that I have ever PURCHASED from iTunes. All 84. Bastards.

I immediately went on MAJOR TILT. Major. Partly because I didn't have time for this shit and partly because I paid for that music, and it wouldn't let me have it. Besides that, iTunes doesn't want you to EVER under any circumstances get to their support people. Ever. They want you to read computer geek language and fix it your damn self. Even if it's their fault.

Well, I continued to be on tilt for several hours while I cleaned up the house and did some food preparation. Soul Mate kept telling me that he knew people who had experienced this problem and that all my music was still there. He assured me he could fix it. HOWEVER, I didn't want him (or me for that matter) to waste any time dealing with my iPod when I had people coming over in a few hours.

Turns out that we got finished for the BBQ a little early (probably because of my efforts to get my mind on ANYTHING other than my screwed up iPod). Soul Mate went upstairs, and within five minutes (he points out that it was less time than it took me to write this rant...thanks, ass munch) he figured out how to solve the problem.

I wanted to be taught how to fish, so I asked him how to do it. He said a combination of Google and the iTunes trouble-shooting pages helped him fix it. He warned me that this wasn't even worth a rant, because this is just "a little bug" in the system that they are aware of and have created pages to help their customers fix it. Well, piss off iTunes, and piss off Soul Mate.

See, here's the deal: I don't want to have to deal with this bullshit to listen to music I PAID FOR. I didn't download it illegally. I went to the trouble of paying for it. You fuckwads who are making billion of dollars off of law-abiding music consumers like me shouldn't spend a few hundred to let some computer geek make a trouble-shooting page. You should FIX THE PROBLEM. Fix it.

Soul Mate has again reminded me that I'm venting about a "non-issue." I want to throw something at him. The only thing I have in my vicinity right now is my laptop and my iPod. Otherwise, he'd be dodging something.

There. I'm finished ranting about my "non-issue." I feel better now. I just needed to get that off my chest. Now, I can enjoy some good food, good company, and some serious Guitar Hero action.

Labels: Customer service, ipod, Mama Rant

I was sitting in my living room this morning watching my kiddo play with all of this new birthday toys, and I was getting more pissed off by the second. The rev up started while I was watching the news in bed last night. I didn't have the energy to get up a start blogging then, but now I do.

The news is this: Mattel has announced YET ANOTHER toy recall. Since last August, this company has recalled millions upon millions of children's toys. Now, today, millions more, 18 million in fact.

First of all, Mattel is an AMERICAN company that has chosen to manufacture its products in China. The company recorded more than $5 BILLION dollars in revenue in 2005. Its products are sold around the world, but American children make up a large chunk of the consumers. Over the years, Mattel has been suspected of some shady business practices, but it's continued to grow and gobble up competing companies.

Today, Mattel is pointing the finger at the Chinese manufacturers, and the Chinese manufacturers are pointing the finger back at the American company. CNN reports that China's General Administration of Quality, Supervision, Inspection and Quarantine said Mattel "should improve its product design and supervision over product quality." A spokesman for that agency went on to say, "Chinese original equipment manufacturers were doing the job just as importers (Mattel) requested, and the toys conformed with the U.S. regulations and standards at the time of production."

Given Mattel's past, I can't entirely discount the statement by the Chinese as untrue. Besides, if you are an American company marketing your toys to American children, it is your responsibility to make sure that your products don't injure or kill American kids. Period. It was Mattel's choice to produce those toys in China. However, they didn't want to pay their workers the American minimum wage and meet the other basic requirements of employers in this country, even though they make BILLIONS of dollars a year.

I recently had to go through a recall fiasco with another toy company (RC2 Corp.) that produces the Thomas the Tank Engine toy line. These toys also apparently contained lead paint. They were also made in China. I was stunned by that. Stunned. LEAD PAINT?!? LEAD PAINT?!? Come on, people. How long have we known lead paint is bad? Why would we use it in anything, let alone children's toys? I just don't get it. After seeing this massive recall, wouldn't it have made sense for American companies manufacturing their goods in China to check to see if any of their products contained lead paint as well? It's infuriating.

I wonder just how far this thing is going to go. It's interesting to me that the manager of the factory where the Mattel toys were produced hanged himself in a warehouse shortly after the first major recall of the month of August. Is there more to the story we don't know? Just how many toys are tainted? Can't anyone DO anything about this? Shouldn't companies that repeatedly violate standards be punished in some way? Am I the only one who's pissed about this?

Labels: Mama Rant, Mattel, Toy recall

My big boy had a big day. Since our lives have been so insane for the past few months, we really struggled with how to celebrate My Little Sunshine's third birthday. Uber Mommy told me I had to throw a big bash for the little guy. I was stressed out for quite some time this summer trying to figure out how to make that happen while I was busy coming unglued. Sane Down-to-
Earth Mommy finally said, "Bitch, please!" Soul Mate and I decided to nix the whole birthday party bonanza and celebrate Sunshine's big day in a way that better suited our situation. I have to say it's one of the best parenting decisions we've made in a long time.

I'll admit that the Mommy Guilt kicked in the moment we decided to bag the party favors for a more private affair. We at Casa de Otis are party-throwing people. Some of our parties have been the stuff of legend, and I have to say that I've felt the pressure to get on the Over-the-Top-Big-Bucks-Big-Bash kid birthday party bandwagon. A lot of the pressure was self-imposed, since I never really had any real birthday parties when I was a kid. My parents always made a huge deal out of our birthdays, especially given that we were pretty poor when I was growing up, but it was always a big deal in the "you-are-so-special" way. Frankly, I only felt ripped off in that regard a couple of times after I had attended huge mega parties for a couple of my rich kid friends. Feeling special was enough for me for the most part.

I don't feel peer pressure most of the time. I have no desire to keep up with The Joneses, because I find them to be incredibly pretentious and boring people. However, I do want to give my son all the things I never had. And that's one place where I think I've gotten all screwed up in the head. I have to remind myself that things never really mattered to me all that much. They still don't. Being loved, cherished, and adored by my family was the most precious gift I ever got, and I'd be willing to bet that will be enough for Sunshine as well.

When we started thinking about where, when, and how the hell we were going to organize a big bash for Sunshine's birthday, one thought kept coming back to us: is this party for him or for us? I mean, to be real, we threw Sunshine a birthday party last year when he turned two. He didn't really have any friends his own age, so we invited our friends and our friends' kids. Now, we have good friends. Those friends are like our family. Those friends have some great kids. Most of those kids love Sunshine, and Sunshine loves them. However, we were sorta late on the Procreation Train. All of our friends' kids are a lot older than Sunshine. They all obliged us and sat through the opening of the little-kid-toy fest, but I bet they were all bored as hell. His toys are all baby stuff to them. I'm sure most or all of them would rather have been somewhere else. This year isn't a ton different. Sunshine made a couple of friends at "school" this past year, but he really couldn't have given a shit less if he hung out with him on his birthday.

The next thought on our mind was our kid already has too much shit. We discovered the other day while packing up some of his toddler toys to store in the attic that we have no more room in the inn. No. More. Room. This house is seriously bursting at the seams. That's a hilarious thought when it comes down to it, because for much of my life, my parents had three kids in small two-bedroom apartments with no attic or garage, but that's just one of the many ways our life is different than my childhood. We simply have more money, and with more money comes more shit we don't need. Even if you invite a bunch of people to your kid's birthday party and say "no presents, please," they're going to bring presents anyway. Most people can't imagine going to a child's birthday party and not bringing him something. I understand that. The problem is that Sunshine only plays with a very small percentage of the shit he already has. I just don't want more shit that I have to pick up at the end of the day. It already cuts way too far into my Guitar Hero-playing time, and that just ain't right. I need a lot of practice, because, well, I suck, and I want to rock.



So, we bucked the trend. We did the unthinkable and didn't have a birthday party for our kid. Shame on us? Hell no. Our little man had an absolute blast with Mommy, Daddy, Nanny and PaPa. Instead of a party, Sunshine's day started with a trip to the water park where he spent his last birthday. He played so hard that within an hour and a half, he was falling asleep on his daddy's shoulder. He was toast. We ate lunch in the car and went home for a nap. After nap, we opened presents. We gave him the option of going to ride go-carts and bumper boats or staying at home and playing with his loot, and he chose the loot. We took him to dinner at one of our favorite restaurants. He didn't really eat. Came home. Played with his Incredibles cake and ice cream, then he asked to go to bed and read his new books. Done and done, young sir.



My little man is now tucked snugly into his big boy bed. I think he had a great birthday. I don't have any regrets about not throwing a party. In fact, I may throw myself a party to pat myself on the back for not wasting money on a party that would have been for me anyway. Cheers to me, and cheers to my baby, er, big boy. Gotta get used to that.

Labels: Birthday, My Little Sunshine Memorable Moments

Tomorrow morning at 5:50, My Little Sunshine will officially turn three years old. Three. Every single time the thought has crossed my mind, I have to shake my head a little. The rate at which time seems to have passed is mind boggling. Does something happen once you become an adult that pushes you into some sort of warp speed of time passage? I remember the summers of my youth, spent mostly outside in the sun. The time seemed to pass like we were wading in an ocean of molasses. Now, I barely get my toenails painted for proper sandal-wearing and the leaves start to fall off the trees again. It seems like my son's entire young life has passed that way.


During his three years, he has astounded me like nothing ever has. I've always had a sense of wonder about the world, but the wonder this kid inspires in me is astronomical. I watch in awe over everything from the size and/or consistency of his crap to his unbelievable memory and stunningly perceptive nature. At times it causes my jaw to drop to the floor. Other times it makes me curl up in a ball, laughing my head off. And then on a fairly regular basis, he moves me to tears. Before he was born, I barely shed a tear over anything. Now, I cry like a baby at the sound of his voice, the twinkle in his eye, or the kindness in his little heart.

I watched him struggle to crawl, struggle to walk, struggle to talk. Now, he's struggling to tell jokes like a professional standup comic. He'll construct an elaborate scenario that makes absolutely no sense to my adult mind, then look over at me, slap his knee and yell, "Get it? Get it?" at the top of his lungs. When he breaks into hysterical laughter, I can't help but fall over myself. His smile is contagious.

That reminds me of a poster my dad bought me when I was about Sunshine's age. It said, "When you smile at the world, the world smiles back." I always loved that saying. I sort of adopted it as a life philosophy until I was a teenager with a fuck-the-establishment attitude. I always thought I knew what it meant. But as I watch this little baby grow into a little boy, I feel it in a way I never imagined. When my kid is happy, I am happy. When he smiles, I smile. When he laughs, I belly-laugh to the point I can feel my lingering baby pooch jiggle a bit. It's a pesky little pooch that doesn't want to go away, but part of me doesn't want it to. It's a constant physical reminder of the life that grew inside of me. It's a life that I can't imagine living without. He has made me into a remarkably better person, and he continues to help me grow every day.

Sure, there are days I want to end. Those are the days that he frustrates me to the point where I want to lock myself in the bathroom and cry. Those are the days when I realize he is so much like me that I can't possibly win our little power struggles. He will not relent. He will not back down. Those are the days I hate it that he inherited half of his DNA from me. I am a stubborn little bitch. I have a very strong sense of what is right and wrong in the world, and god forbid I perceive that anyone has wronged me or my circle in any way. My baby has that strong sense of justice. Sure, it might be about Thomas the Train and the proper placement of a track. Sure, it might be about whose turn it is with a toy. Sure, it might be about the proper story line of his favorite book or movie. But to him, right is right, and wrong is wrong, and you better not cross the line. Later in life, this might be a more desirable trait; now, it's often the debate that turns a good day into a bad one.

No matter what the outcome at the end of the day, I love this little man in a way I could never describe. Every time I start to feel like a worthless human being who's contributing little to society as a whole, I think about how fast these three years have flown. I often get mad at myself that I missed a good bit of his first year of life, because I was shuttling him from daycare to babysitters just to get by. Just when I think I can't handle this stay-at-home mom gig another day, he does something so amazing that I can't imagine handing him over to share those moments with strangers. I'm not judging working parents here. I'm just feeling very fortunate that I have the choice whether to stay at home or work. I never imagined I'd be a stay-at-home mom, but I've learned that I'm just not very good at separating home life and work life. I never was. It was fine before my baby was born, but now, it's not a good way to live. For him or for me.

I work so hard every day to make him into the best man he can possibly be. Some days, I revel in the glory of success. Other days, I feel like a failure, putting my son on the path to prison. If I could love him to happiness, it would be done. If I could love him to success, it would be done. If I could love him to a sense of purpose, done, done, done. All I know is that raising a kid is hard work, harder than my old job, which I thought was pretty damn hard at times. However, this is work that gives me immediate and constant rewards. It is work that brings my heart more joy than I have ever imagined. It is work that completes my soul.

I always knew I wanted to have children some day, but that was almost an afterthought. It would come after taking over the world of television news, snagging the perfect man, and finding our own little slice of suburbia. My Little Sunshine has shown me that I had it all wrong. I was meant to be his mother, above all else. I am on this earth to love and nurture this little man. Do I want a life of my own? Sure. But that life from here on out will always be secondary to what I want for him. He, from the moment of his conception, became the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing I think about at night. He is my world. The rest of it is just gravy.

When I think about it, this whole creation-of-life thing is rock-my-world amazing. It really is a miracle. Even today on the eve of our kid's third birthday, I can't believe my husband and I "made" this little person. The very thought of it blows up my sense of wonder every time. It makes me so thankful for the gift that we have been given. Some days, the thought of it crushes me with the weight of the responsibility. I can't imagine how some parents could walk away from that without a second thought.

I know the next three years are going to fly by just as fast, if not faster. That breaks my heart. I don't want the light in his eyes to be dimmed by the darkness of the world. I don't want the smile on his face to be turned upside down by the injustice he'll inevitably face at some point in time. I don't want his little heart to be broken by some little tart in a mini-skirt, but I know it will happen. It's a tough balance for a parent.

Lately, I've been replaying a line from Sunshine's favorite movie, Finding Nemo. Marlin, the dad, was lamenting that he promised Nemo that he'd never let anything happen to him. Marlin's friend Dory tells him that it was a silly thing to say to his son, because if he never let anything happen to him, nothing would ever happen to him. It was a deep thought for a Pixar animated film. As much as I want to protect his little man from the world, I also want him to experience the beauty and the lessons it has to offer. In order to experience the good, you sometimes have to wade through the bad. I want the world for him. I want him to smile at the world, and I want the world to smile back.

Happy birthday, little man. Your mama loves you more than you'll ever know, until you have a child of your own.

Labels: Birthday, My Little Sunshine Memorable Moments

If you have any good karma to channel, please push it on over toward the Cleveland area. My beloved friend and sometimes surrogate husband Uncle Ted has a daddy in the hospital there.

Doctors diagnosed Papa Chuck with bladder cancer recently, and now he's undergoing some pretty serious stuff to kick it. I cannot begin to tell you how much we love Uncle Ted and his family. They are good people. It sucks when bad things happen to good people. Plain and simple.

Mama G is a tough cookie. She'd kick the cancer's ass herself if she could, and I wouldn't put it past her to find a way. She loves her boys, and I dare anyone to try to fuck with them, even cancer. It breaks my heart that she's having to watch Papa Chuck go through all of this. I know it hurts her almost as much as it's hurting him.



Papa Chuck is a tough guy. He's still got a lot of living to do, and I know he's going to do it. Please send up some good thoughts that he'll be able to get back to living his life sooner rather than later.

If you'd like to check in on Papa Chuck, the family is updating a blog pretty regularly. Feel free to leave them some encouraging words while you're there. We learned from experience just how much every one of those words means. Some days just knowing that people out there care gives you the strength to fight another day. It means the world.

Labels: Cancer, Chuck, Uncle Ted

So MGM asked me in the comments of my last post if I was freaking out that My Little Sunshine is about to turn three. In short, yeah. Hell yeah. Time has, as they say, flown by freakishly fast. I don't know who the they is, but they sure are insightful, those guys. I've found myself lamenting a lot of things lately. I woke up and realized I don't have a baby anymore. He's a little boy. One with a big spirit. A big heart. A big imagination. Whoa! The imagination!

I think my husband and I might have screwed up with our Friday night plans. We took Sunshine to a movie. It only took about 30 minutes for Sunshine to decide he IS Underdog. Oh, and I'm Polly or Molly or whatever the bitch, er, female dog's name is. He originally cast his daddy as Mean Dog, but after some coaxing, he agreed, at least temporarily, to allow daddy to play the role of Jack, the teenage boy. Some might call that typecasting, but don't yell at me. I'm not the casting director. The kid is.

Now, you might think that Sunshine playing this character is a really cool thing. And it is. Don't get me wrong. My kid is incredibly entertaining. However, Soul Mate and I are having a really tough time keeping up with our workload. I mean, we're not professional actors. We're parents, and we're certainly not professionals at that. See, the kid starts out with the character acting from the moment his little eyes pop open in the morning. His latest resume includes Violet (daddy loves that one), Baby Jack Jack and Dash from The Incredibles, Murray from The Wiggles, Artie from Shrek the Third, Nemo from Finding Nemo, Buzz Lightyear from Toy Story, and quite a few others that I can't keep up with. It's one thing for him to go into character. It's an entirely different thing for our home to become a movie set with a three year old lead actor/director. That is in a word EXHAUSTING.

See, each character Sunshine chooses comes with a cast of supporting characters. You have to know what role to play at every moment of the day. Don't even dare refer to yourself as something as silly as Mommy. Oh, no, no, ma'am. Mommy went the way of the Dodo Bird a long time ago. And don't dare screw up your lines. That will get you kicked off the set in an instant. Sunshine has taken to directing the daily conversation. "Fiona, say, 'Artie, you are the new king of Far, Far Away,'" he directs. "Artie," I say, "you are the new king of Far, Far Away." "No, Fiona. Don't say it mad like that. Say it happy," Sunshine delivers in his notes to the cast. The cast is tired, but it complies. It has no choice. It is working for its dream director.

I no sooner get into full-fledged Fiona mode when it's time to switch gears altogether. I have to turn in my ogre princess wardrobe and check out a cowboy getup. It's a tough transition from kingdom to cowbells, I tell you. It is certainly taxing my International Thespian Society skill set here.

Today, my son introduced himself as Murray to four different people at the pool. At least two of them were people who I might like to get to know further, so I had to quickly point out that we were in character, but if they'd like to speak to him in the future, they could address him as Sunshine. He may or may not respond, but I thought they should at least know his actual name.

So as Shrek, er, Sunshine nears three years old, I'm cherishing these moments as tiring as they can be. There will come a time when he will not want to be in the same room with me, let alone beg me to participate in his elaborate productions. No matter how dog tired I am at the end of the day from running like Dash, dancing like Greg, or swimming like Dory, I'm going to keep doing it as long as he'll let me. I think he's building my character through this game as much as he's building his own.

Labels: My Little Sunshine

It's so easy to get wrapped up in this little box in front of me. Posts, comments, numbers. It's not why I started this blog in the first place, but to be perfectly honest, it feels good that people care enough to read about the minutiae of my hum-drum everyday life. It's nice to know that some people are trying to stay afloat in the same boat that is sometimes sinking faster than I can plug the holes. It's nice to know that some people out there actually get me. However, sometimes, I feel like my "real life" is in such a state that I need to crawl into a hole and stay there until I get everything worked out. I'm slowly finding my way back to the light.

It's the way I am in "real life," too. Some of my closest friends often bark, "Why didn't you call me" when they find out weeks or months later that I've been weathering a nasty storm. I know it's not a healthy way to deal with things. I know that I should lean on my friends. I know I should ask for help when I need it. I'm a problem solver, though, and I tend to try to figure out things on my own. And even though I'm an open book about most things, and I don't have any trouble sharing some parts of my life with the entire universe on this blog, there are some things that even I don't like to discuss with anyone but myself. There are parts of my private life that are private and always will be.

When the balance is off, I tend to get stuck until it's level again. I fixate on every little thing that's tipping the scales and run it over and over in my head until I know which path to choose. It's a gut feeling that leads me, and I always follow it. My gut isn't always right, but it is right often enough to go with it 99.9% of the time. It's the best method of problem solving I've found thus far in my 32 years of life (Oh, while I was away I had a birthday. Ugh.). My gut is telling me it's OK to come out of the hole. It's telling me the balance is almost where it should be. It's telling me that I need to write again.

The real shame is that I've had a lot of interesting things that I've wanted to share this summer. I've gone on a lot of trips, taken a lot of fun pictures, and dug up some old memories worth writing about. Maybe I'll get around to sharing those some day soon. For now, I'll try to get my creative juices flowing again. I've been in lockdown mode for so long now that I'm making more typos than coherent thoughts. That's pathetic. I pride myself on my typing skills.

During my blackhole period, I also stopped using the internet for anything more than checking my email. I needed some time to focus on my life and my life alone. It might be weird, but I get really wrapped up in everyone's stories. I think about your challenges, your adventures, your families. While I was focusing on my own life, I missed reading about many of yours. There are quite a few blogger-types (some I have never met) who have crossed my mind all summer when it wasn't cluttered with the madness that is my life. I hope you're all doing well out there. I've got a lot of catching up to do. Before I can do that I have to figure out how I royally fucked up my Bloglines feeds. Somehow, all of your blogs are showing up in the same thread, and that's pissing me off. It's not letting me save the individual entries I want to go back and read or reread later. My husband says he can help me fix it, and I hope he can. I kinda got addicted to the ease of Bloglines reading. If he can't fix it, I'll go back and do it the old fashioned way. Everything looks better that way anyway.

So, to all of you who wondered if I was on the brink of disaster, thanks for your thoughts. I am hopeful that this train is back on track and that it's headed in the right direction. No matter what happens, I'll be fine. Just know if I need to get out of this box and climb back into my hole for a little while, I'll climb back out. I might break a couple nails on the way, but I don't really give a shit about that kind of stuff anyway. Unless it's my toenails in the summer. Then I'll be pissed.

Labels: Blogging, Real Life