So last night was Tuesday...my one day a week where I can watch all my DVR'd reality shows in one shot in total peace...well my version of peace. My dearest happened to be home, and was subjected to the 'incessant cackling from a pack of beat up broads'(he's kind of a smartass), since I REFUSED to change the channel.
So I'm engrossed in the ridiculous drama, enjoying my peace, no toddler kicking me in the face, eating out of the cheeseball bucket like a boss, and the hubs makes a comment- 'Babe, do you REALLY think this is what really happens...this HAS to be staged right?? Who does that to their kids??'
Before I started with my speech about letting me watch my show...I stopped and said to myself...IS this REALLY real? Then I got to thinking about all the insane stories, ridiculous drama and outright back-stabbing that goes on in these shows. Like really, how have none of these moms not slapped Abby Lee Miller right in the face? Who would let their child be talked to the way she does? Who looks so perfect all the time in real life-aka OC Housewives...Who sleeps with every guy they are sharing a house with for the summer, and then acts like nothing happened and there's no 'weird' hanging in the air-aka Jersey Shore...and on and on...
The answer? NOBODY. It's not real yall, this is the modern day Soap Opera. Remember when our moms and grandmas used to watch Days of our Lives, Guiding Light, All my Children, etc... religiously? Talked about the stories like they knew each of the characters personally, got sad for them, got mad for them...the whole nine yards. These old soaps are dying off one by one...Because today's Mom needs something more. Insert 'reality' tv! Original reality tv was the first 2 seasons of The Real World...that shit was REAL. Nobody had ever done that before, acting for the cameras wasn't even thought of back then.
That one show has spawned an new era for tv shows...Almost everything is a reality show, touted as real people going about their every day lives... which is a crock of shit. Take it for what it is...this is the 21st century Mom's Soap Opera, conveniently on at times when we are actually HOME! Full of juicy, crazy plotlines and nasty crazy bitches causing chaos all over this great country! Some shows do a pretty good job of covering their made up plotlines-aka Housewives, Tabitha Takes Over, and a few others I'm blanking out on...but seriously...Mob Wives, Big Rich Texas, Dance Moms, even Jersey Shore...that shit is SO staged, and SO fake, and SO scripted. I mean really-have you SEEN 'My Big Redneck Vacation'??? WTF??? People say 'omg I love this show, you can't MAKE this stuff up!!!' oh honey, yes you can...and they did. So that's my new name for my shows, and I am now my grandmother and must watch my Soaps whenever I get a chance...except I don't have to fool with a VCR...
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Friday, February 24, 2012
People are shameful....But WE WILL make it right!
Check out this blog post on: http://nolafemmes.com/...about a heartless asshole ruining a beautiful child's favorite day of the year. After reading it, check out the bottom, and the movement that has started because of this idiot's stupid words. I for one want to know who he is, and who his momma is so I can tell her what a shit job she did raising this boy....
Each night, after she listed her daily gratitudes and wrote in her diary, she would find the countdown calender drawn on pink paper and dressed in white, silver, purple, and red glitter. With her very special pen, she would carefully cross off one more day, informing me of the new countdown as she called out wishes of sweet dreams. As the countdown slimmed from a month, to a week, and then to days, her excitement grew.
“I don’t know if I should wear a costume this year or not, Mama,” she contemplated in the middle of a lesson on polygons for her sixth grade math class.
“Mama. do you think I will get a shoe?”
“What do you think the floats will look like?”
“Which book should I bring with me to read while we wait?”
“Should I take pictures with my cell phone?”
“I am so excited for beads, Mama!”
She was preoccupied with the parade, the Krewe of Muses, and our Mardi Gras holiday.
Since our first parades as New Orleanians a few years ago, our Mardi Gras holiday has consisted of Muses on Thursday and d’Etat on Friday. Having a spouse working in the restaurant business, Lundi Gras and Mardi Gras were never spent together – he is busy insuring everyone else has their spirits high on these two special days. And because my daughter is a high-functioning autistic child, we stayed away from the crowds of the super krewes. Just in case.
We have always watched the parades along the extended route, sometimes called the family zone, and it has been an enjoyable experience. We have reconnected with old friends, exchanging Mardi Gras wishes while catching up with the latest changes in our lives, and have met many new friends. My daughter has played along strangers, created art while patiently waiting for the show to start, and read her first Nancy Drew book along the parade route. Through the challenges that we sometimes face throughout the year, issues dealing with social and sensory issues, Mardi Gras and Muses was the moment of the year where it all faded away, where we were a normal family embracing the culture in our new city, creating memories of our new life.
As we sat on the sidewalk along the parade route and patiently waited for start time, we talked about what we thought we would see, which bands we loved listening to best, and whether Elvis would make an appearance on his moped. We watched Pussyfooters pass by on foot, 610 Stompers in full uniform, and a few Bearded Oysters with high hair weaving through the crowd. As parade time approached, as cliche as it sounds, there was a sparkle in my daughter’s eye and a smile so big, it made me wish that she could spend her life this happy – always.
And then they came. Despite sitting on the ground, our feet on the street, they came in front of us, a gaggle of college kids holding to-go cups full of booze, cigarettes in hand, f-bombs flying out of their mouths with no care who was around them. Once the parade started, we stood, them still in the street. Then the first marching band hit the road, forcing us all to back up, my daughter getting lost in a sea of twenty-somethings drinking a little too much. Some were local, others were not. She looked at me, her eyes tense.
“Mama, I can’t see. And that guy keeps touching me with his beer.”
Despite her 5′ 6′ frame, she was surrounded by young adults too involved in gossiping about who was going to be screwing who, which picture they had on their phones that were “too epic’ to not post on Facebook, and preoccupied by the booze pouring out of their red SOLO cups.
One boy, over 6 foot, came dangerously close to starting my daughter’s hair on fire. Only one float had passed by.
“Excuse me, Sir,” I said, ” do you think you could move over a bit. My daughter cannot see, you’ve spilled some beer on her, and you almost got her with your cigarette.”
He looked at me blankly, then looked at her. He looked at my daughter from head to toe, staring at the patch on her coat that would indicate she was autistic to medical personal should an emergency arise. He sneered at me before laughing in my face.
I put my arms around my daughter, warming her up, protecting her, whispering in her ear.
The tall man with the bear hat on his head paid no mind to us. He didn’t move, either.
“Hey, man! I need to move. This woman is bitching at me because her retard daughter can’t see the parade!” he shouted to a kid a few feet away.
He turned back to us, looked my daughter in the eye, and shouted to no one in particular. “This retard is making watching the parade a challenge.”
My daughter looked at me, knowing he was talking about her, and tears formed in her eyes. I wrapped my arms around her a bit tighter and whispered in her ear that the man was drunk, didn’t know what he was saying, and sometimes the best thing to do is to know the truth about yourself and ignore what other people say.
My words didn’t matter, though. By then, she had heard what he had said, knew what he was implying about her, and she wanted to go home. Had she not been with, I may have had a few choice words of my own, but I knew it wasn’t the time and certainly not the place.
A night she had been looking forward to, planning and anticipating for a few months, had just been marred by that bad behavior of a grown person.
“Mama. please, can we go home? He told everyone I’m a retard. I’m not a retard, am I, Mama?” she asked. The grin was gone, replaced by a quivering lip. The sparkle in her eyes had dispersed, and they were now filled with a flow of tears falling down her full, pink cheeks.
“Are you sure, honey? We could walk somewhere else and watch the parade. We could move.”
“No, Mama. I don’t think that would be a good idea. People there will probably think I’m a retard, too. People don’t want people like me at parades. They won’t let us in to watch the parade. I just know it.”
I tried to comfort her with my words, encourage her, but the more I pushed, the more this man’s words hurt.
We packed up the bag holding the the goods that had entertained us for the two hours we sat on the sidewalk, waiting for our special night. The bag that held my daughter’s snacks, sketch pad, books, and blanket. I took her hand, and led her to the car to go home.
She cried in the car on the way home, having seen exactly two floats from Muses and having exactly zero throws to show for the verbal attack that she endured just trying to watch her favorite parade.
“Honey, I am really sorry about what happened. Maybe we can try tomorrow night. Maybe we can go to a different spot, ” I said, trying to encourage her and save the rest of our Mardi Gras.
“No, Mama. I don’t think I want to do Mardi Gras anymore. Not ever again.”
A year ago, I asked my daughter what she most loved about Mardi Gras, expecting her to say the throws, the beads, and the pretty costumes. Her answer surprised me: “I don’t feel like I am different than everyone else during Mardi Gras, Mama. During Mardi Gras, everyone is a little weird like me.”
That night, she didn’t want to share her daily gratitudes, shrugging her shoulders and telling me she didn’t really feel grateful for much. She didn’t write in her journal, only wanting to forget the night had even happened. Her countdown calendar peppered the floor in tear-soaked pieces. A night that he had probably already forgotten by the next morning; a night that her broken heart will never let her forget.
Now this is what's going on:
http://www.r-word.org/
a movement to stop the use of that nasty word...
and check out on Facebook...my favorite girl Fleurty Girl...and all the support coming for this little girl!
https://www.facebook.com/FleurtyGirl
Lit Up Like a Parade
Thursday marked the end of a countdown my daughter started on January 6: Muses.Each night, after she listed her daily gratitudes and wrote in her diary, she would find the countdown calender drawn on pink paper and dressed in white, silver, purple, and red glitter. With her very special pen, she would carefully cross off one more day, informing me of the new countdown as she called out wishes of sweet dreams. As the countdown slimmed from a month, to a week, and then to days, her excitement grew.
“I don’t know if I should wear a costume this year or not, Mama,” she contemplated in the middle of a lesson on polygons for her sixth grade math class.
“Mama. do you think I will get a shoe?”
“What do you think the floats will look like?”
“Which book should I bring with me to read while we wait?”
“Should I take pictures with my cell phone?”
“I am so excited for beads, Mama!”
She was preoccupied with the parade, the Krewe of Muses, and our Mardi Gras holiday.
Since our first parades as New Orleanians a few years ago, our Mardi Gras holiday has consisted of Muses on Thursday and d’Etat on Friday. Having a spouse working in the restaurant business, Lundi Gras and Mardi Gras were never spent together – he is busy insuring everyone else has their spirits high on these two special days. And because my daughter is a high-functioning autistic child, we stayed away from the crowds of the super krewes. Just in case.
We have always watched the parades along the extended route, sometimes called the family zone, and it has been an enjoyable experience. We have reconnected with old friends, exchanging Mardi Gras wishes while catching up with the latest changes in our lives, and have met many new friends. My daughter has played along strangers, created art while patiently waiting for the show to start, and read her first Nancy Drew book along the parade route. Through the challenges that we sometimes face throughout the year, issues dealing with social and sensory issues, Mardi Gras and Muses was the moment of the year where it all faded away, where we were a normal family embracing the culture in our new city, creating memories of our new life.
As we sat on the sidewalk along the parade route and patiently waited for start time, we talked about what we thought we would see, which bands we loved listening to best, and whether Elvis would make an appearance on his moped. We watched Pussyfooters pass by on foot, 610 Stompers in full uniform, and a few Bearded Oysters with high hair weaving through the crowd. As parade time approached, as cliche as it sounds, there was a sparkle in my daughter’s eye and a smile so big, it made me wish that she could spend her life this happy – always.
And then they came. Despite sitting on the ground, our feet on the street, they came in front of us, a gaggle of college kids holding to-go cups full of booze, cigarettes in hand, f-bombs flying out of their mouths with no care who was around them. Once the parade started, we stood, them still in the street. Then the first marching band hit the road, forcing us all to back up, my daughter getting lost in a sea of twenty-somethings drinking a little too much. Some were local, others were not. She looked at me, her eyes tense.
“Mama, I can’t see. And that guy keeps touching me with his beer.”
Despite her 5′ 6′ frame, she was surrounded by young adults too involved in gossiping about who was going to be screwing who, which picture they had on their phones that were “too epic’ to not post on Facebook, and preoccupied by the booze pouring out of their red SOLO cups.
One boy, over 6 foot, came dangerously close to starting my daughter’s hair on fire. Only one float had passed by.
“Excuse me, Sir,” I said, ” do you think you could move over a bit. My daughter cannot see, you’ve spilled some beer on her, and you almost got her with your cigarette.”
He looked at me blankly, then looked at her. He looked at my daughter from head to toe, staring at the patch on her coat that would indicate she was autistic to medical personal should an emergency arise. He sneered at me before laughing in my face.
I put my arms around my daughter, warming her up, protecting her, whispering in her ear.
The tall man with the bear hat on his head paid no mind to us. He didn’t move, either.
“Hey, man! I need to move. This woman is bitching at me because her retard daughter can’t see the parade!” he shouted to a kid a few feet away.
He turned back to us, looked my daughter in the eye, and shouted to no one in particular. “This retard is making watching the parade a challenge.”
My daughter looked at me, knowing he was talking about her, and tears formed in her eyes. I wrapped my arms around her a bit tighter and whispered in her ear that the man was drunk, didn’t know what he was saying, and sometimes the best thing to do is to know the truth about yourself and ignore what other people say.
My words didn’t matter, though. By then, she had heard what he had said, knew what he was implying about her, and she wanted to go home. Had she not been with, I may have had a few choice words of my own, but I knew it wasn’t the time and certainly not the place.
A night she had been looking forward to, planning and anticipating for a few months, had just been marred by that bad behavior of a grown person.
“Mama. please, can we go home? He told everyone I’m a retard. I’m not a retard, am I, Mama?” she asked. The grin was gone, replaced by a quivering lip. The sparkle in her eyes had dispersed, and they were now filled with a flow of tears falling down her full, pink cheeks.
“Are you sure, honey? We could walk somewhere else and watch the parade. We could move.”
“No, Mama. I don’t think that would be a good idea. People there will probably think I’m a retard, too. People don’t want people like me at parades. They won’t let us in to watch the parade. I just know it.”
I tried to comfort her with my words, encourage her, but the more I pushed, the more this man’s words hurt.
We packed up the bag holding the the goods that had entertained us for the two hours we sat on the sidewalk, waiting for our special night. The bag that held my daughter’s snacks, sketch pad, books, and blanket. I took her hand, and led her to the car to go home.
She cried in the car on the way home, having seen exactly two floats from Muses and having exactly zero throws to show for the verbal attack that she endured just trying to watch her favorite parade.
“Honey, I am really sorry about what happened. Maybe we can try tomorrow night. Maybe we can go to a different spot, ” I said, trying to encourage her and save the rest of our Mardi Gras.
“No, Mama. I don’t think I want to do Mardi Gras anymore. Not ever again.”
A year ago, I asked my daughter what she most loved about Mardi Gras, expecting her to say the throws, the beads, and the pretty costumes. Her answer surprised me: “I don’t feel like I am different than everyone else during Mardi Gras, Mama. During Mardi Gras, everyone is a little weird like me.”
That night, she didn’t want to share her daily gratitudes, shrugging her shoulders and telling me she didn’t really feel grateful for much. She didn’t write in her journal, only wanting to forget the night had even happened. Her countdown calendar peppered the floor in tear-soaked pieces. A night that he had probably already forgotten by the next morning; a night that her broken heart will never let her forget.
Now this is what's going on:
http://www.r-word.org/
a movement to stop the use of that nasty word...
and check out on Facebook...my favorite girl Fleurty Girl...and all the support coming for this little girl!
https://www.facebook.com/FleurtyGirl
Friday, February 17, 2012
The Mommy Wars and Why I'm About Done With Facebook
I remember the early days of Facebook, when we used it to keep in touch, and laugh, and watch each others kids grow up. Now it feels like an all out war...every topic is up for debate, everyone has an opinion, on EVERYTHING. At simple post about being upset for a friend turns into a heated debate. People are so DEFENSIVE on everything and everything gets taken personal. News flash to those that assume everyone's updates are directed at them...get a life PLEASE.
My biggest annoyance is what I have dubbed 'The Mommy Wars'....every child rearing topic post turns into out right name calling and 'my parenting is better than yours' shit. Seriously? when did THAT start becoming ok? Why do people think it is ok to berate a perfect stranger for doing what THEY feel is best for their kids?
Just for clarification, this is me (and this ME is subject to change at anytime, because PARENTING is subject to change at any time!!!):
*I am a BIG advocate for breastfeeding- I did it for a year with The Boy, and having failed to keep up with it after the baby (I went back to work after 12 days!) , and feeling so terribly guilty about it, I try to support anyone who is struggling with it as much as possible. Try finding support for being a 'quitter'. Negative. I got a lot of 'you are a bad mom', 'if you loved your child you would make it work', etc... REALLY? Listen Miss Judgy McFatty, kiss my ass, I did the best I could. And these same people troll up and down in chat/support groups slamming anyone who doesn't do things the way they think they should. Who DOES that? And WHY????? Ladies who think it's normal to do this" you were not put on this earth to save the world from formula, you will not get a special award for it, and frankly, most people look at the mean and hateful shit that you type and roll their eyes. Get a life. Go clean your house. Do something other than berate other moms for not breastfeeding. Get over it.
*I am also a big believer in natural birth, VBAC, and NOT inducing labor. This brings on an entire other set of creeps behind keyboards...Although I do not push my beliefs on anyone, I'm always willing to talk about it...yet you have this whole other set of moms who call people stupid, uneducated, and sheep for doing their birth THEIR way. I would love for everyone to have a natural, un-traumatic birth, but shit, that just doesn't happen very often. Momma and baby's safety are always priority one, and to see someone rip a new mother to shreds for having a c section because her blood pressure hit the roof is disheartening and makes me want to punch that bitch in the throat. Who died and made you the birth queen please??? Everybody does things differently. I put up a status yesterday about how bummed I was that a friend was induced, which ended in an emergency section, and not getting to hold her baby for HOURS. that's a sad situation...and then I got jumped on by a ton of people telling me how wrong I was and THEY didn't have problems etc...etc... Whatever happened to 'sorry about your friend, hope everything gets better quick'. Why is a status now an invitation for you to tell me what you would do or what I'm doing wrong.
*I vaccinate my kids....this is a touchy one with some of the CRAZIEST people on BOTH sides of the issue. We vaccinate because we think it is the best thing for US. We are an active family, we are always at the ballpark, daycare, school, schoolbus, etc....germs are everywhere, disease is everywhere. People's kids are in my kids faces, we are shaking hands with people at work. It's the safe thing for us to do. We did our research on each and every vaccine we let our kids get. BUT, according to the crazy ladies with foil hats(NOW, this is not ALL of non-vaxers, but the loudest, so therefore the ones that stick in my memory)...I am all part of a huge conspiracy with the government to weed out the population and pay more money to 'Big Pharma'. I have been called stupid, a sheep, and uneducated about my kids. I have been told that my children will die, turn into zombies, have been injected with tracking devices, and that my kids DESERVE to die for what I have done to them. Wow. Do you have nothing better to do all day than tell people that? How dare you. Am I calling you a retard for NOT vaxxing your kids? Because I have LOTS to say about that...like how I think you are risking the safety and health of an entire nation every time you people add another non-vaxxed kid to the mix, or how I think that your 'born free' kid could very well get my baby sick. Or that I am terrified for your kids that they will catch something that they can't fight off and DIE. But I keep that to myself because it IS just a matter of opinion. Did I ASK you for your advice or opinion on vaccines? NOPE. So why do people think this is ok? Why is this acceptable behavior to sit at a computer all day and look for people to put down, and crucify? Does it make you feel powerful? I think it makes you look like an idiot.
It's insane the amount of time people are wasting being so judgemental and making it their world mission to convert everyone to their side...you know the ONLY side.
My new thing on FB is going to be only happy happy joy joy posts on my personal page...i'm so sick of getting sucked into debates. People cannot handle hearing views other than theirs. I'm not commenting on shit anymore, it's just not worth it.
Whatever happened to mind your own business? Why do so many people think that their opinion matters and is the only one that anyone should have? How about everyone mind their own business, and offer respectful, non-judgemental, and honest advice...when it's ASKED for.
Just a thought.
My biggest annoyance is what I have dubbed 'The Mommy Wars'....every child rearing topic post turns into out right name calling and 'my parenting is better than yours' shit. Seriously? when did THAT start becoming ok? Why do people think it is ok to berate a perfect stranger for doing what THEY feel is best for their kids?
Just for clarification, this is me (and this ME is subject to change at anytime, because PARENTING is subject to change at any time!!!):
*I am a BIG advocate for breastfeeding- I did it for a year with The Boy, and having failed to keep up with it after the baby (I went back to work after 12 days!) , and feeling so terribly guilty about it, I try to support anyone who is struggling with it as much as possible. Try finding support for being a 'quitter'. Negative. I got a lot of 'you are a bad mom', 'if you loved your child you would make it work', etc... REALLY? Listen Miss Judgy McFatty, kiss my ass, I did the best I could. And these same people troll up and down in chat/support groups slamming anyone who doesn't do things the way they think they should. Who DOES that? And WHY????? Ladies who think it's normal to do this" you were not put on this earth to save the world from formula, you will not get a special award for it, and frankly, most people look at the mean and hateful shit that you type and roll their eyes. Get a life. Go clean your house. Do something other than berate other moms for not breastfeeding. Get over it.
*I am also a big believer in natural birth, VBAC, and NOT inducing labor. This brings on an entire other set of creeps behind keyboards...Although I do not push my beliefs on anyone, I'm always willing to talk about it...yet you have this whole other set of moms who call people stupid, uneducated, and sheep for doing their birth THEIR way. I would love for everyone to have a natural, un-traumatic birth, but shit, that just doesn't happen very often. Momma and baby's safety are always priority one, and to see someone rip a new mother to shreds for having a c section because her blood pressure hit the roof is disheartening and makes me want to punch that bitch in the throat. Who died and made you the birth queen please??? Everybody does things differently. I put up a status yesterday about how bummed I was that a friend was induced, which ended in an emergency section, and not getting to hold her baby for HOURS. that's a sad situation...and then I got jumped on by a ton of people telling me how wrong I was and THEY didn't have problems etc...etc... Whatever happened to 'sorry about your friend, hope everything gets better quick'. Why is a status now an invitation for you to tell me what you would do or what I'm doing wrong.
*I vaccinate my kids....this is a touchy one with some of the CRAZIEST people on BOTH sides of the issue. We vaccinate because we think it is the best thing for US. We are an active family, we are always at the ballpark, daycare, school, schoolbus, etc....germs are everywhere, disease is everywhere. People's kids are in my kids faces, we are shaking hands with people at work. It's the safe thing for us to do. We did our research on each and every vaccine we let our kids get. BUT, according to the crazy ladies with foil hats(NOW, this is not ALL of non-vaxers, but the loudest, so therefore the ones that stick in my memory)...I am all part of a huge conspiracy with the government to weed out the population and pay more money to 'Big Pharma'. I have been called stupid, a sheep, and uneducated about my kids. I have been told that my children will die, turn into zombies, have been injected with tracking devices, and that my kids DESERVE to die for what I have done to them. Wow. Do you have nothing better to do all day than tell people that? How dare you. Am I calling you a retard for NOT vaxxing your kids? Because I have LOTS to say about that...like how I think you are risking the safety and health of an entire nation every time you people add another non-vaxxed kid to the mix, or how I think that your 'born free' kid could very well get my baby sick. Or that I am terrified for your kids that they will catch something that they can't fight off and DIE. But I keep that to myself because it IS just a matter of opinion. Did I ASK you for your advice or opinion on vaccines? NOPE. So why do people think this is ok? Why is this acceptable behavior to sit at a computer all day and look for people to put down, and crucify? Does it make you feel powerful? I think it makes you look like an idiot.
It's insane the amount of time people are wasting being so judgemental and making it their world mission to convert everyone to their side...you know the ONLY side.
My new thing on FB is going to be only happy happy joy joy posts on my personal page...i'm so sick of getting sucked into debates. People cannot handle hearing views other than theirs. I'm not commenting on shit anymore, it's just not worth it.
Whatever happened to mind your own business? Why do so many people think that their opinion matters and is the only one that anyone should have? How about everyone mind their own business, and offer respectful, non-judgemental, and honest advice...when it's ASKED for.
Just a thought.
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