Kombucha Wagon

I belong to a few touchy-feely, no-judgment-zone mommy groups online. Mostly they're comprised of kind, thoughtful, well-meaning people, but I gotta say, there are always the outliers. Everybody has their pet issue, like, "I believe you should just be your best self, I don't judge, unless you [fill in the blank], in which case you are a terrible mother and I feel sorry for your children." And look, I'm not about to claim I'm Benevolent Queen Even Keel, doling out support, smiles and sunshine without assumptions or conclusions. I've come a long way, but I still catch myself formulating unfounded opinions about people I know nothing about (and people I know very well). I'm working on it.

To be clear, I'm talking about "judgment" per the modern mommy vernacular. Negative judgment. The snap decision that someone is "less-than" as a parent or a person because of the decisions they make, or their circumstances, or the way they look, act, speak, etc. Judgment in itself - the ability to make considered decisions or come to sensible conclusions - is an indispensable tool. You're going to have a rough time without it.

As I've mentioned here before, I think even the nasty kind of judgyness is somewhat ingrained. We stick with "our kind," we understand them, we trust them, we feel safe with them, they "get" us, we can be ourselves. Conversely, we distance ourselves from "others." It think this is human nature, at least in part. Then again, so is cannibalism. And that's kind of what judgment is. Cannibalism of people's souls.

Just because we're hard-wired for a particular behavior doesn't mean it's right or good.

Honestly, I'm not even judging your judgyness. I totally get it. I always think I'm right. I have, hundreds of times, thought to myself, "Ugh, I just wish I could live that person's life for them because they are DOING IT WRONG! I would obviously do a way better job." But this approach is problematic for many reasons, including, but not limited to:

1) Even if someone is making a mistake, they need to figure that out for themselves. No one is really going to change unless it's their decision to do so. Maybe I just surround myself with stubborn mules, but I have never had someone say, "Wow, you know what Mackenzie? You are so right. I have seen the error of my ways. Thank you for showing me the light. Thank you, Oh Wise One, for guiding me to the path of righteousness." No. If we're being real, telling somebody they're doing it wrong is just a sure fire way to get them to dig in their heels and do it even wrong-er-er.

2) Obviously, if you're using yourself as the rubric for a straight-A report card in Life, everyone who is "not-you" is going to fail. (By the way, I am so not using myself as a rubric. Maybe "Me" circa 2007, or even 2013. Certainly not me now. I would say I am presently a solid C student at Life.) Anyway, you get my gist. People are going to fall short if you're expecting them to do exactly what you would do in any given situation. But guess what? You're not Jesus! Nobody cares "What You Would Do."

Probably the numero uno judgy issue among allegedly "supportive" parenting groups is breastfeeding. I kid you not, even the men get up in arms about it, which I find to be completely asinine. OF COURSE you "strongly believe" women should breastfeed their children! You're not the fucker whose nipples are getting gnawed off!!! How convenient for you!

This one mom literally said "I never judge other mothers for anything, except if they don't nurse their children, because that's basically child abuse." ERRRRRR. WRONG ANSWER. I mean are you kidding me with this shit? That actually dovetails nicely with a recent article on Scary Mommy titled, "If you don't breastfeed your baby, I'm judging you." Well you know what? Fuck you and the placenta-fueled kombucha wagon you rode in on. (Okay, see? I'm being judgy. But really just for comic effect. It's not my cup of tea, but more power to ya with your placenta-burger and your fermented bacterial beverage. I bet you feel really... fortified...? :))

I'm not even going to give credence to the "I'm judging you" post by linking to it here, but I'll give you the Clif notes: She says if you don't have a legit medical or psychological excuse not to breastfeed, and you still choose not to, you suck. One of my "non-judgy" mommy "friends" commented, "Well, she has a point. You should at least try." No. You're wrong. And here's why. I MADE this child. THIS BABY, AND THESE BOOBS, INCIDENTALLY, BELONG TO ME. So back the %&$# off.

We as a society place a great deal of worth on the rights of parents to raise their children as they see fit. This is a monumental responsibility, of course, and it still kind of boggles my mind that we have to take a test to drive a car, or interview to work at McDonalds (which actually seems hard, by the way, especially if you're the person that has to talk and listen at the same time?!) but they just let us walk out of the hospital with these tiny humans and say, "Good luck with that!" However, we trust that (most) parents have their kids' best interests in mind, and they will do right by their kids whenever and however they can. Sure, we're going to screw 'em up a little along the way. But that's what makes us us such interesting, beautiful creatures. That's what makes us human.

I understand that "breast is [probably] best," from a purely nutritional standpoint. And of course we all want to do what's best for our children. But if breastfeeding makes you want to slit your wrists or throw your baby out the window... if it is, quite literally, making you crazy, the equation gets a little more complicated. Add the wracking weight of guilt that has been institutionalized by the freakin' American Medical Association, the abysmal state of paid parental leave in the United States, the fact that you're a social pariah if you DON'T breastfeed, but you're an amateur porn star if you do it in public, and a crunchy granola whackadoodle if you do it too long, etc etc etc, and we're talking some complex calculus and shit. It's just not as simple as "they" make it out to be.

In the wise words of JJ Keith, "You can't win at parenting or homemaking. If you think you're winning then everyone else thinks you're a dick." Anyone who denies making compromises and concessions is a dirty, rotten, liar-face. Maybe, like me, you failed at breastfeeding, and fed your kid Monsanto formula. After that, perhaps because of the internalized formula-guilt, you lovingly spoon-fed your littles nothing but homemade, organic baby food. Then, possibly, the pendulum swung back too far in the other direction, and your children's diet now consists primarily of pizza, dino nuggets, and things that are orange.

Maybe you exclusively breastfed your first child for four years, but your second survives solely on condiments and food he finds on the floor of the minivan. Maybe your child has never watched TV in her life, but you use - GASP - sunscreen with PARABENS in it. Maybe you home school your kids and they're fluent in three languages but they binge on Netflix every night (in Japanese). Maybe your munchkins are violin virtuosos but they wear inorganic poly-blend clothes made by tiny children in Bangladeshi sweatshops. Somethin's gotta give, you know? (Okay, seriously though, Bangladeshi sweatshops are effed up.)

Here's another funny example. The other day a friend posted a picture of giant vats of Ranch dressing and nacho cheese at Smart & Final. I sheepishly admitted that I was pretty sure that was the same size Ranch that we regularly cycle through at our house. "Plus," I said, "look at those verdant valleys on the label! It's obviously super healthy! Who doesn't want industrial-sized nutrition in a bottle with a handy, spill-proof cap?" Someone commented "You should really look at the ingredients, that stuff is crap!" My reply: "Ignorance is delicious ;)" She responded "Ignorance will land you 6 feet under!"

Listen. The world is full of potential threats to life and limb. There are things that might kill you quickly (planes, trains, automobiles, texting and driving, fucking sharks (I mean darn sharks, not sex with sharks, but both are probably lethal). Other things will kill you slowly (cigarettes, sleeping pills, not-sleeping, BPA, parabens, sulfates, nitrites, gluten). And let's be honest, we're probably all going to rot away from thumb cancer in thirty years anyway. I admit, Ranch is probably pickling our organs. But. Of all the terrible ways to die, Death by Ranch Dressing is not the worst. ;)

I feel like this is such an apt representation of online interactions in general. Not to be rude, but, why do you care that a stranger on the interwebs is eating Ranch? I mean, thanks for the concern, I guess, but, there have got to be more productive outlets for your time and energy.

Colby and Jack's fights are actually a tiny microcosm of the internet. Jack inherited his mom's pesky trait of perpetual right-ness, and we keep having to remind him that it doesn't [fucking] matter, dude. We're like, Buddy, how is it a personal affront to you if your sister believes that Leonardo is the purple Ninja Turtle?

(Side note: remember this nanny I interviewed that said Ranch dressing was toxic and suggested I make it from scratch? Lady. I haven't washed my hair in days. I am single-handedly supporting the market for dry shampoo. I don't think I've peed since Tuesday. My kid is eating something green! So what if it's floating in Ranch Soup? Cut me some slack!)

Anyway. Bottom line: You gotta do what works for you and your family. Nobody is winning all of the time. It's a juggling act and sometimes you drop some balls.

Why can't we just trust that we are all doing the best we can with what we have, and leave it at that?

Parenting Math

* Symptoms may vary.

[Stay tuned for Part 2 of this post. It was getting too long, even for me!]

update: i'm still a judgy B

I was late to pick up the kids yesterday. This hasn't happened in almost a year but it still makes me feel like nearly 5 years of motherhood is reduced to the 7 minutes late that I am. The kids seemed mostly unfazed though. I said, "I'm SO SORRY guys." And Colby replied, "Sowwy for what, Mama?" So it's not like they were locking this terrible memory away to be shared with therapists twenty years down the road. Or at least, Colby wasn't.

Jack: Mommy, I wish you and daddy didn't have to work on the other side of da fweeway. Den you wouldn't get stuck in twaffic jams. Wouldn't dat be so nice for you?

Me: Yes buddy. That would be amazing. Daddy and I would like nothing more than to live and work right here so we didn't have to get stuck in traffic jams. 

J: It would also be gweat if you guys could just have work but no meetings. Den you could finish your work faster and den me and Cowby could be da fuhst ones to get picked up instead of being da last ones all da time. :(((

And just to seal those gems into my Mother of the Year crown:

Text to DM: 6:07. It's gonna cost us some scarred psyches and $30 bucks. And now I am going to buy them In-N-Out and send them to bed bathed in french fry grease.
DM: Sounds like what I would do.
Me: Well, parental continuity is very important for children.

Anyway, this post is not really about that. It's about how I think I'm a nice person and a reformed judger but I'm not, I'll always be "in recovery."

So, as I pulled up to the school at 6:07pm, another car screeched into the spot next to me. She started running to the door but I was closer so I got there first. As I repeatedly tried to open the door with my fob, she angrily complained, "Oh my GOD, c'mon!" I told her she was welcome to try her hand at it, so she shoved herself in front of me and started jabbing her keys at the fob-reader thing, unsuccessfully. Apparently, it doesn't work after 6pm. One of the preschool teachers walks over and lets us in and this woman just brushes past everyone and grabs her daughter, saying (to whom?) "I have two other kids to pick up! We have to go!"

Apparently this was her first rodeo because she didn't realize that if you arrive even one second after 5:59:59, you start paying by the minute, and you have to sign the "consent to charge me for sucking at motherhood" form, in triplicate, before they will let you leave. (But, you get to keep the yellow copy to put in your Shitty Mom scrapbook!) This lady was huffing and puffing and getting seven sorts of pissy and I was having extremely unsympathetic thoughts toward her during this interlude. She was wearing riding pants and boots that had obviously just been used for their intended purpose, and I thought to myself, "Woman, you need to chill. Why are your jodhpurs in a bunch, anyway?! Because your riding lesson on your faithful steed at your fancy stable in Del Mar ran long? Puh-lease."

Then, this woman's face crumbled...  it just folded into itself, on no volition of its owner. And she began to cry. She scribbled her name on the charge slip, choked out "I just hate this!" and ran out the wrong door, dragging her daughter behind her, setting off the fire alarm in the process.

And I felt like a giant dick.

Why is my lateness any more righteous than hers? Who cares if she was getting a luxurious spa treatment and I was stuck in rush hour traffic after working all day? The truth of the matter is, I chose to be late. Or at least, I allowed that to be a possibility. Don't get me wrong, sometimes shit happens that is beyond our control and we're late and that sucks. But usually it's because we know good and damn well we're probably not going to make it in time, and we decide that whatever we're doing right now is worth the risk of tardiness. Yesterday, I looked at Google Maps. I saw that traffic was atrocious (because of the goddamn horses at Del Mar, incidentally). But two of my bosses came in to talk to me at 4:51 and 4:59, respectively, and I made the conscientious decision that the chance of disappointing my kids by being a few minutes late was a lesser evil than disappointing two senior partners in one fell swoop. Because I feel like as soon as I open my mouth to explain, 'Yes, I have been staying later but today I can't because my husband had a hearing in LA and my kids have to be picked up by 6 and traffic sucks balls because of the races and this CRAZY ASS weather and by the way WHY are So-Cal people fundamentally incapable of driving in the rain?! Even like, mist totally fucks them up..." I'm dead in the water. Just stamp "MOM" across my forehead, stuff some sticky used tissues and Hot Wheels in my purse and call it a day. And ultimately, it doesn't matter who/what/when/where/why. I let my kids down. So did she. We both lose.

But, the good news is, they'll probably survive. And, again, life is life and we have to make tough decisions and do our best to navigate these shark infested waters...

Wait. Dude. Sharks. Holy fuck.



Also this:

Sharkaphobia solution for our upcoming vacation to the Outer Banks.

Okay. Sorry. Got sidetracked for a minute there.

ANYWAY. My point is, I am a recovering a$$hole. And you and me and she and we are not so very different from one another. Do you ever blow it, as a parent, partner, employee, whatever? And you just feel so ridiculous and ashamed, and then that makes you feel defensive and angry, and all of these feelings are just fighting in your face and then it implodes and these dumb embarrassing tears and weird choking seal sounds come out of your head and everything is terrible? Ten times more so because everyone is LOOKING AT YOU like, "Uhhh, is everything alright?" And/or, "Do you need immediate medical attention?" Well, I at least know one other person with whom I share this unfortunate tendency. And I can tell you from experience she is judging herself harshly enough, she does not need that shit from me or anyone else.

Practice makes perfect :)

cheetos for breakfast

I'm in rehab. For judgyness. Now, I've held court on this subject before. And I still basically believe what I wrote then - that we all judge, it's human nature, and perhaps even an essential part of our social interaction. If you claim you never judge, I'm gonna call shenanigans on that shit. But it's how you react (or don't react) to that initial kernel of judgment that really matters. (Kernel of judgment? Seed of judgment? How about judge-nugget? That has a nice ring to it ;)) Lately, in light of my personal "mommitment" not take part in the "Mommy Wars," I've been making a concerted effort to curb my knee-jerk judgyness. We don't have to be BFFs or anything. But I pledge to give you the space and respect to do your thang.

So, for you, a short list of things I have, in the past, been judgy about, and my new and improved attitude on these matters:

* Feeding kids Cheetos for breakfast. Hey. At least you fed them breakfast. Bottom line: I got your back when it comes to orange cheese dust.

* Letting little tiny girls wear high heels. You know what? They're wearing two matching shoes which is more than I can say for my own progeny this morning. Mad props.

* Moms who look perfect all the time? Good on ya. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little envious, though. Please, show me the magic of your ways. Sprinkle some of that glittering unicorn juice on your less-fortunate, saggy-sweatpant-clad mommy brethren.

* In that same vein, moms who are dressed like they’re going clubbing at soccer practice at 9am on a Saturday morning. More power to you. If my gams looked like that in a mini skirt, I might just rock one too.

* Grannies who dress like they're going clubbing. In Tijuana. I'm just kidding. I never judged these people. I want to adopt them, until I'm old enough to be them. I cannot wait to be idontgiveafuck-years old.

* People who have botoxed the shit out of their face and thus look like Apathy Barbie at all times. Hey girlfriend. If YOU feel pretty, then more power to you. I myself have a couple strategically placed sacks of silicone and they don't look too shabby in a bikini, if I may say so myself. So I won't judge.

* Smoking pot while pregnant or breastfeeding. Better than crack, right? Crack is whack. And according to Bob Sagget, "Marijuana is not a drug." A couple people have even assured me their doctors told them to do it. I am curious about these "doctors," I wonder if their medical credentials are from the same university as my own (a.k.a. Google U). Still. We all have to do a careful balancing act between "the shoulds" and our sanity. And I'm not going to put my thumb on your scale.

* Speaking of sanity and "shoulds" - parents that let their kid have a pacifier until he's in, like, 6th grade. Listen. Whatever you need to do, my friend. I sucked my thumb (aka human pacifier) well beyond a socially acceptable age. My parents even sent me to some kooky "specialist" that taped my thumb into a splint, covered it in cayenne, and made paper cranes to watch over me at night (and peck me to death with their origami beaks if I caved? I don't know. No wonder I'm fucking terrified of birds). Anyway, I guarantee they're not going to go to college with it. Probably not even high school. Though I will warn you, what you save in drama now, you will repay in orthodontist fees tenfold.

* I used to assume that people with lots of children (and by lots I mean more than two), were Mormon, Catholic, and/or slightly insane. I would look and them and think, Um, pardon me, but, may I provide you with a quick tutorial on how babies are made? However, I have dear cousins and a best friend with passels of kids, and they're mostly normal ;) And anyway, why do I care??? It's not me birthing yet another baby through my already tattered vagina, enduring double the laundry, or paying four college tuitions! Lately, I think of it like this: you're doing your part to populate the Earth with wonderful little people to help counteract all the yuck in the world. How can that be a bad thing?! (I just hope someone figures out how to power cars with our husbands' farts and sanitize our urine into potable water before the Earth reaches its carrying capacity and spontaneously combusts. Yes. Concerns like this literally keep me up at night.)

* Those crafty bitches who treat a three year old birthday party with more pomp and circumstance than your wedding day, with themed and color-coordinated snacks, desserts, kid crafts, and those god. damn. goody bags. You perfect pinterest princesses are a pain in my… Oh.. wait… I’m one of those Bs. Nevermind ;)

* People who give their kids weird-ass names. Guilty as charged. Your kids are allowed to hate you. But I don't.

* I used to say (before I actually had children, of course) "I could never be one of those moms who gets a nanny and then goes out to get coffee and a mani/pedi." Well, obviously I was smokin' the whack-crack because you, madam, are a goddamn genius. Hook a sister up. My new goal in life is to find a sugar daddy. Or a sister wife. Preferably both.

* I remember thinking along the same lines when my mother-in-law said she was basically raised by her live-in-nanny, more of a governess really, and she and her sisters only saw their mother for a short while each day while they were on their best behavior. I was like, aw, that's so sad. Ummm, sad for WHOM? The kids? Possibly, but they seemed pretty stoked on their nanny (along with their cook, driver, laundress, gardener, and personal shopper). And they still loved their mom and knew her as such. Now I think Moms had the right idea. I would be SUCH a good mom if I only had to deal with the happy parts of parenting, and could skip over all the bullshit like laundry, cleaning, shopping, cooking, and getting them to eat, brush their teeth, and go the F to sleep.

* Women who pontificate on the pleasure of an at-home bathtub birth with nothing but patchouli and prayers to the Goddess of Unimaginable Physical Pain to get you through. And on the other end of the spectrum, women who schedule their C-sections between conference calls. Hey. You made a human being, right? And brought it into the world? And have managed thus far to keep it alive and fed and clothed and more or less happy by generally accepted industry standards? Then you, mama, deserve a fucking medal.

* People who take Segway tours around the city..... I’m trying really hard here. Just… just give me a minute. Okay. You're tourists, right? Cool. Sally forth on your Segways.

* People who "vape." I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that not knowingly giving yourself cancer trumps looking like a total toolbox. Go you.

* People who take selfies with iPads or Selfie Sticks. I admire your...um, self confidence. Carry on.

* Same for people who run/workout with an iPad mini, er, I mean, an iPhone 6 XL, strapped to their bicep. Right on. Now, if you need to make an emergency spreadsheet or send a TPS report mid-workout, you've got that shit covered.

* People who drive minivans. Hey, they even come with extra-large climate-controlled cup-holders to hold your dignity. I kid. I kid. I'm not gonna lie. The idea still horrifies me. But really on the long list of shameful things you do for motherhood, minivans are a minor, as well as luxurious and convenient (headrest screens and automatic sliding doors whaaaat), offense.

* People who cannot park a car between the f*cking lines. I should be more sympathetic because I am an astoundingly bad parker. Honestly, I hit a parked car once twice. I am just the worst. But, dammit, I will do a 397-point turn rather than park like an A-hole. Still. I'll cut you a break. Just like I do when I'm on the freeway and someone is driving like a twat-waffle, I imagine that they're my grandma or grandpa, and then I just want to give them a big hug instead of going Monster Truck on their ass.

But, I will still give mad side-eye to the following:

- People who do not like children, yet work with children.

- People who are mean to wait staff and retail employees.

- People who do not know how to read traffic signals before they jaywalk.

- People who don't know the difference between "your" and "you're," and "their" and "they're" (and "there!")

- People who try to use religion as an excuse not to support equal rights. (I apologize for "going there," but I "can't even.")

Maybe acceptance of these categories is further down in my twelve-step-program. We shall see.

May I interest you in some fresh-picked, organic produce? Remember, baby eats what you eat. 

Bitch, please. Hand over the good stuff.

 

judgy mcjudgerson

i got into a big ol' argument with my brother the other day. the topics were broad and far-reaching but the over-arching theme was that of judgy-ness.

let me back up a bit. my brother was in town for a couple of weeks. he and DM and i embarked on a super wild thursday night of drinking bourbon, folding laundry, and watching the season finale of project runway which actually ended like 6 months ago. i mean, i would be remiss if i didn't share with my young, single brother the siren song of domestic life.

so, i was folding laundry, holding up a northface fleece and my brother says, "EW. i have come to the conclusion that anyone who wears northface who is not actively climbing the face of a mountain is basically a terrible person."

me: "wow. that seems like kind of an over-generalization. especially since i wear northface when it's 65 degrees in san diego."

brother: "nope. sorry. it's pretty much true down to the last person. except you, of course. northface and lululemon. very reliable indicators of bad character."

at this point, tim gunn of "project runway" fame comes on the television and my brother says, "did you know tim gunn is asexual?"

DM: "yeah. that's just weird."

me: "i read that too. he seems like a nice guy but that's a bit strange."

brother: "strange? that's rude. my friend so-and-so is asexual. do you think she's strange?"

me: "um, yes, for that among other reasons. i mean, i like her a lot, but she's definitely a bit peculiar."

my brother then became extremely offended on behalf of his dear friend so-and-so. phewwwww-eeeee. he was not happy. he tied it all back to another concept he recently educated me on - "sex positivity," a.k.a. any amount of sex you want to have with other consenting adults (or, in this case, not have) is okay, and people shouldn't be shamed because of it. and i'm all for this, in theory, though in practice, i do think the issue of "consent" gets a little sticky (no pun intended). but anyway. yeah. brother was in a rage. he told me that i was a judgy bitch and none of his friends like me.

so, to sum it up, drawing conclusions about a person's character based on what they wear = okay. expressing a personal opinion about someone because they abstain from sex = not okay. my brother says this is because choosing what to wear is not an essential, important decision (though apparently it can still dictate whether or not you are a good person), while what you choose to do in your bedroom is THE most important, and most private, decision that there is. i'm not sure i agree it is THE most important (or if there is a most important), but i'm with you that it is important, and it is your right, and what you do in the privacy of your bedroom is none of my business. unless you share that information with the national media. i'm sorry, but if you tell US magazine that you can only get off by sticking a purple dildo in your ear, i reserve the right to think that's "a bit strange." not that we can't be friends or anything. whatever floats your boat. just don't stick it in MY ear.

the argument then devolved into religion, evolution, creationism, and dinosaurs, with DM playing devil's advocate and throwing punches from whichever side caused the maximum number of tail feathers to be ruffled, as he is wont to do, particularly when he's been drinking. i'm not going to get into the specifics but DM definitely said something like, "God and the science behind carbon dating both require 'faith' and who are we to say that 'faith' in science is 'better' or more reliable than faith in God?" (which kind of reminds me of this poem by matt cook in the book "nuyorican poets café" titled "science was invented by a bunch of guys who were so ugly they couldn't possibly believe in god.") at this point my brother went through the roof, but at least it took some of the heat off me and my newly minted title of queen bee-atch.

so yeah.

things I learned that night:

1) do not stay up until 2:30 am drinking bourbon with your 23 year old brother when you have to work at 7:30 am.

2) do not argue politics, religion, or sexuality when intoxicated, or really, ever.

3) do not attempt to "season" cast iron over the gas range after engaging in the behavior referenced in numbers (1) and (2), above.

4) everybody thinks they're right.
4a) your age and your level of thinking-you're-rightness are inversely proportional.

okay. first. about asexuality in particular. you can't deny that to be asexual is to stand out in comparison to your average vanilla, missionary position, american. this is evidenced by the fact that my brother thought it was a characteristic worth mentioning in the first place.

telling me you don't like sex is like telling me you don't like cheese or alcohol. my first impression is going to be that you don't like to be happy. i may be wrong, i may be right. but hey, at least i'm being honest here. maybe there is a reason for your decision. maybe lactose makes you sh*t your pants and alcohol makes you an asshole. maybe something happened to you that turned sex into a negative thing. maybe you're just wired differently. i don't know. all i know is that, like cheese and alcohol, in my book, if you're abstaining from sex (like, on purpose), you're missing out.

now might be the time to point out that i didn't say, "tim gunn is an insane freak of nature and i wouldn't let him within ten yards of my children." i said "he seems like a nice guy," but the fact that he hasn't had sex in twenty years is "a bit strange" (to me). i don't know tim gunn. it's a little silly to be using someone i've never even met before as an example. but just for the sake of argument, i don't even think strange is a necessarily negative adjective. i consider myself quite strange. to me it means out of the ordinary. i like strange. ordinary is... well... ordinary.

what is that dr. seuss quote? "we're all a little weird and life's a little weird and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love."

yes. that.

DM has another way of putting it: "you're my kind'a asshole." that works, too.

okay. so, second, the notion of judgyness in general.

i myself have decried the judgy bitches of the world. it's not nice when someone decides that because you're different from them, you are somehow less than. but when you break it down, judging, in and of itself, isn't really all that bad, is it?

judge: v. form an opinion or conclusion about.

judgment: n. the ability to make considered decisions or come to sensible conclusions.

sounds pretty reasonable to me. when you look at it like this, judging others is actually kind of inherent and perhaps even essential to human interaction, wouldn't you say? i mean, maybe you are super evolved and whenever you form a judgment you immediately, thoughtfully contemplate and analyze said judgment and refrain from allowing it to inform your reaction or behavior. but i'm calling bullllllllshit on anyone who says "i don't judge." it's like those people who say "oh, i don't see skin color." ummmm, unless you are legally blind, you do, in fact, see skin color. i would hope that you would not let your perception of skin color affect whether or not you treat that person as a fellow human being worthy of your kindness and respect. but to say you don't see or notice it is a load of crap.

anyway, i'm not saying you shouldn't be you. i'm just saying you being you may or may not mesh with me being me. ya dig? with family, you're stuck with what you were given. but we get to choose our other fellow passengers on the plane of life, and the further i travel, the pickier i get. i used to want people to like me. even people i didn't know. i cared what "People" thought. but the older i get, the less time and patience i have for bullshit. i don't have a whole lot of room in my life, and if i'm going to make space for you, you damn well better be worth it. it's like dating when you're 20 versus dating when you're 50. at this point in my life, i need the mom-friend courting process to be as efficient as possible. i just want to cut right to the chase. it's like that book, "the rosie project." have you read it? it's cute. anyway, the guy tries to make a scientific survey to vet potential wives. [spoiler alert] in the end it turns out that love trumps the scientific process, but i totally understand the intention there. we all deserve to be around people that love us despite our little peccadillos, that make us happy, that bring out our best selves. not people that upset us, stress us, or put us on the defensive. and it would be awesome if there was some sort of application process to weed out the rejects before we wasted any more time.

mine would look something like this.

do you (or have you ever) (check all that apply):

have nice things
knit your own washcloths or churn your own butter (okay, actually, i take that back. if you churn your own butter i definitely want to be your friend)
abstain from cheese or alcohol
talk about crossfit
use a netipot in the women's restroom at work
think epidurals and/or formula are "poison"
take up more than one parking spot at a time
think taco bell is mexican food
say "the F word" instead of fuck
believe eggplant is fit for human consumption
believe sarah palin is fit to hold public office

now. it bears mentioning that i have loved ones and dear friends who would check one or more of the above boxes. it's not like you're automatically disqualified. think of it like the college application process - if you bomb your SATs, you better have a kick ass GPA and some standout extracurricular activities. think of it as affirmative action for our friendship. the only one that is an automatic red flag for me is being against gay rights/gay marriage. that, to me, is like flunking out of high school. basically, at that point, you're relying solely on nepotism to get yourself a spot.

on the other hand, you can earn extra credit if:

"you like pina coladas, gettin' caught in the rain....
you're not much into health food, you are into champagne"
you like the idea of working out
you like yoga and diet coke
you would not refuse a cold glass of Tang if it was set in front of you, FD&C Red #3 be damned
you love day drinking
you love naps
you think most anything is better with cheese and hot sauce
you prefer books to television
you have a library card
you have a passport
you love adventure, but realize you're too old for hostels two-star hotels
your "style inspiration" (and basically everything else in your life) comes from target

the term "judgy" has become shorthand for thinking you're better than somebody else. but that's not what i'm talking about here. i'm talking about picking up on cues about other people based on thirty-four years of human interaction. going with your gut. finding common ground. i do it every day, and i'd be willing to bet you do, too.

finally, please keep this in mind. just because our particular brands of strangeness don't jive doesn't mean you are any less deserving of my respect or basic human kindness. i generally believe people should be allowed to think and do and be whatever they want, as long as their thinking and doing and being doesn't infringe on the rights of others to do the same. and being a grown up citizen of humanity means you have to be able to coexist with people who might not believe what you believe, and, in the words of tim gunn, ya gotta make it work.

truth.

C U Next ... Wednesday

my grandmother always told me, if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all.

sorry, grams.

daycare. those people have really hard jobs. i mean, REALLY hard. there are like 497 other jobs in the world that i would rather do. and i'm so glad that there are some people patient/kind/crazy enough to do this job more or less willingly. we really are so "#blessed" to have found a daycare provider where colby is loved and well-taken care of. she really loves "matty," as she calls him, and linda, the father-daughter daycare team. when i drop her off she is happy as a clam. honestly. drop offs with jack are like a bad high school break up, every single day. colby does not give even a single shit. she's like, peace out! and though she's usually excited to see me, the other day she started SOBBING in the car because she didn't want to leave "her linda," which made me feel AWESOME, believe you me. but, while it did sting a bit, it also made me thankful, because growing up i was lucky enough to lurve our after-school daycare lady and i think it made the whole working-parents thing that much easier on me.

but. i must admit. linda occasionally gets on my nerves. i have a feeling it's one of those situations where she's already under my skin so everything she does is just disproportionately annoying as shit, though she is guilty of a couple of legitimate transgressions. in any event, this occurrence really chapped my hide. am i overreacting? most likely. but i'll let you be the judge.


hate is too strong a word. i just didn't feel like making a new e-card.

as you may or may not know, DM and i are currently getting our a$$es handed to us by Life. as such, we asked one of our date night babysitters to help us pick up some of the slack this week. when I dropped colby off monday morning, i informed linda that jenny, the babysitter, would be picking her up that evening, as well as the next two days. linda makes this face:

and says, "really? wow. hmmm. okayyyy." then she yells into the kitchen at her father: "hey dad! did you hear that? apparently colby's getting picked up by a babysitter this week." ummmm, yeah. sorry that i have a job and an employer who is not my father and silly little things like bills to pay and mouths to feed. thanks though! what i really needed this sunshine-y monday morning was for someone who is 29 and does not have children and lives with (and is employed and provided room and board by) her parents to sit in not-so-silent judgment of my parenting prowess.

then she says, "well, make sure you tell her to come around the side gate because last week when your sister came [because you suck at motherhood and you couldn't pick colby up yourself then, either (okay, she didn't say that part, that is my own internal mom-guilt generator speaking)] she came to the front door and rang the doorbell." *GASP* THE HORROR.

then, i go drop jack at school and tell the school's administrator that our babysitter will be picking jack up from school through wednesday. i informed her that i wasn't sure whether or not i'd included jenny on the original "not a kidnapper" list. so we go back to her office and she's flipping through the big binder and she says, "bella, bella... what's bella's last name?" me: "um, it's jackson, actually." her: "oooh yeah! jackson! jackson....." me: "cheeseman." her: "got it! the reason I thought you were bella's mom is because she's pregnant, too!"

i'm not pregnant. i haven't been pregnant in two years. i didn't think i looked pregnant. i was wearing a sweatshirt with a kangaroo pouch and i had my keys in it so maybe it just looked like i had a tiny lumpy baby in there. i don't know. maybe i need to lay off the cheese.

so that was fun.

and while we're on the subject of mom guilt. i just texted my sister, who is the room mom for my nephew's kindergarten class, and told her to make sure that she doesn't make working parents feel like assholes. this was prompted after receiving the fifth email in 48 hours from the self-appointed room mom from jack's class regarding the "book faire-with-an-E" at the preschool and the need for volunteers. don't get me wrong. i think it's super duper amazing that people have the time and energy and inclination to help out for nothing other than crooked smiles and crappy coffee. but, i'm not not-volunteering because i'm having a spa day. i'm working. and i have used every single "get out of work free" card i have, and then some, over the past weeks and months for various and sundry momergencies. when i emailed back to let her know that it's really hard for either DM or I to help out during business hours, she replied that the 5 o'clock slot was available. oh. i'm sorry. i meant lawyers' hours. not bankers' hours. and when i finally do arrive to pick J up, it's with my littlest curly dimpled lunatic in tow, and they both need SNAAAAACKS and mama has to make DINNERRRRRR while fending off the restless natives, then force-feed said natives said dinner, then give them baths aka water torture... so unless YOU want to watch my kids while i volunteer at the book fairE ... no, i apologize, i'm not going to be able to swing it this time.

can you tell i'm a little grumpy? well. it's partly because i've been mostly single-momming it for the past little while as my fancy lawyer husband is furiously busy doing fancy lawyer things. which is really freaking hard. in my opinion, single parents are the strongest bravest people on earth. BUT. have you ever noticed that when you are forced to do everything yourself, and you know you just have to f*cking handle it, you're actually better at it? like somehow, by taking away the crutch of relying on the other person, you get superpowers? not to mention negating any resentment you might normally harbor when your partner doesn't live up to your fairsy-wairsy expectations of the parenting quid pro quo. i find it very interesting, BUT IN NO WAY DOES THIS MEAN I WANT IT TO BE A REGULAR OCCURRENCE. i think, in part, it's also easier because i know it's going to end in a day or a week or whatever. if that was the status quo i might just die.

another reason i'm a crabby patty is that i haven't been sleeping because, in addition to my crazy ass insomnia, we have dreadful DEVIL BIRD living in the tree outside our bedroom. i think it's just one even though is sounds like the f*cking philharmonic of the amazon rainforest. seriously. and it only sings the songs of its people between 1 and 3 am.

i am seriously going to kill a f*cking mockingbird

i'll end on a high note though! coming home to happy little children who have already been fed and bathed and pj-fied and are playing contentedly in their craft corner? best. thing. EVER. i wish i could afford to do this EVERY night! it's funny. my mother-in-law grew up in a wealthy family in iran. her dad had multiple wives and the whole bit. she tells some awesome stories. they had a "staff," just as i've always dreamed - shopping, cooking, cleaning, gardening - DONE. and she had a nanny/nurse who basically raised her. her mother generally only dealt with them when they were on their very best behavior. before i had kids i remember thinking, oh, that is so sad, i would never ever let someone else raise my children. and of course i still feel that way. except when i don't.

sometimes, sometimes, i am well rested and well fed and my "to do" list isn't 13 miles long and i can afford to see the ugly parts of parenting for what they are - dips and curves on this wild rollercoaster ride that i wouldn't trade for the world. or better yet, i have the energy and creativity and wherewithal to expertly sidestep at least some of the potholes. but other times, i feel as though it would be quite nice to outsource all the crappy parts so that i could just be fun mom. happy mom. attentive mom. snuggly mom. let someone else handle the cooking and the cleaning and the dinner diplomacy and the bedtime battles. i will do family snuggles and story time and sunday mornings and summer evenings and beach days and backyard adventures. and naps. i am AWESOME at naps.