I'm glad people are so enjoying my blog.

This was an actual comment under one of my older posts. Maybe I need to to do those really annoying "type the characters you see in the box" things. I mentioned brutalizing my verb tense in my last post. This guy needs some SERIOUS back-to-basics refreshers on just....the English language in general.

Anonymous said...

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March 21, 2010 7:58 AM

Never a Dull Moment....

Note from Jen: This was written a while ago. I found it cleaning up my computer files and decided to post it. But this did happen a little time past....

Also, I'm so sorry, but I was completely reckless with my verb tense and didn't bother to correct it when I read back over it. Sorry, Mrs. Stev.....Rebecca!:)

So after months of not posting anything I decided to grab some of the tidbits of news and goings-on around here and come up with a nice juicy blog post. I have all these old envelopes and receipts lying around with things scrawled on them to remind me of things or ideas I want to write about, stashed in my computer drawer. There were several topics I was considering, of course all right up the alley of the title of my blog, Musings of an Intellectual. Things like what it's like to clean a bathroom that's used by three members of the human male species, or how Elijah managed to get his leg stuck in his bicycle such that it took five grown men, a toolbox, and an hour to take the bike apart piece by piece to extricate his leg. Or about my night shift guard dog, somebody's very old, very arthritic, very sweet dog in the area hereabouts that comes over to my house only at night and sleeps on the rug in front of my door and eats all my bologna. Or even about how the passenger side floor of my Jeep is currently doubling as a foot spa given the two inches of standing water coming in from somewhere and not going back out anywhere. But as I was pondering this extremely thought-provoking subject last evening, Something Happened.

For those of you who know me and my offspring, you know that my twins are as different from one another as night and day. If you don't know me, read some of my other posts about my kids and you'll get the idea. Jonathan is like the Terminator, only smaller and with a fake plastic gun. He is into everything, curious about everything, very hands-on and determined to break Guinness World Records for Amount of Time Necessary to Break Shit. So to break up the monotony of what is becoming a VERY long summer, indoors most of the time because of the heat and absence of a pool, I decided in my great wisdom that I was going to be Super-Parent and do something meaningful and educational with my kids to help prepare them for kindergarten, which they're entering in the fall, and I was going to DO IT DURING THE SUMMER NO LESS. How great a parent am I, right? Jonathan has some problems with fine motor skills and his teachers encouraged us to work with him during the summer on fine motor things like buttons, snaps and zippers, and to help him learn to use pens, pencils, glue and scissors. So we have a little bag of all of these supplies, all kid-friendly, including a pair of those plastic safety scissors, SAFETY being the marketing catchphrase here. The boys are really into the mail right now and the post office and envelopes and stamps, and it's like the second coming of Christ when they get something in the mail, like the postcards my dad and stepmom routinely send the boys when they're traveling. So they decided they wanted to draw pictures and cut them out, put them into envelopes with a stamp and take them to the post office to mail to various family members, never mind that the addresses the boys wrote on the front of the envelopes might as well have been written in Israeli. We're all sitting at the kitchen table and I'm trying my best to let the boys do as much as possible by themselves – I'm just a benevolent presence at the table, offering helpful suggestions and praise every few minutes. Jonathan decided to use the kid scissors to cut something out that he had drawn, and I was watching Elijah use half a bottle of Elmer's glue to close his (self-adhesive) envelope (which ended up glued to the table, but that's neither here nor there). Then Jonathan said to me in a perfectly calm voice, as if he were asking about the weather, "Mom, can I have a Transformers Band-Aid?" And I looked over to see what for, and Jonathan holds up his left hand that is literally running with blood, down his hand, down his elbow and dripping onto the floor. So I hustle him into the bathroom to wash it off to assess the damage and the second I hold his finger under the running water he lets out a scream that they probably heard in Apex, and he doesn't stop screaming. He was standing on the toilet seat holding his hand under the water, and he starts flailing and thrashing around, screaming the whole time. I finally get him calmed enough to take a look at the finger, and it turns out that he has actually cut off the top of his left index finger with the safety scissors. That are meant for children to safely use while remaining safe and intact doing safe things inside instead of playing with the garbage disposal or at the sewage treatment plant or in the middle of the interstate. So after leaving the bathroom that looks like the Texas Chainsaw Massacre and soaking an extra-large washcloth with blood that doesn't show any sign of stopping, we get in the car and drive to the nearest Urgent Care. I'll pause here to mention my frustration with the fact that emergencies never happen when I'm in formal evening dress or have just come from a wedding or a recent stint with a plastic surgeon and a shopping spree and makeover at Saks Fifth Avenue. Every time there's an emergency I end up having to rush to the ER looking like Hefty the Housebitch, dressed in ratty spandex and three-day-old t-shirts with no makeup on and my hair looking like I just time-warped from a bad day in 1984. Last night I happened to be wearing an old pair of fuschia-colored spandex cropped pants and the oldest t-shirt I own, a stained white one with old ketchup stains, paint splatters, and holes that says on the front "LAPD Bomb Squad", and on the back says "If you see me running, try to keep up". It's definitely not a shirt I wear in public. I hadn't shaved my legs in a week and my feet were in beat-up flip-flops, and chipped pink nail polish and heels that haven't seen lotion since Reagan was in office were a horror story all their own. So we roll into the local urgent care, Jonathan's maimed finger wrapped up in a bloodstained washcloth, the poor child the picture of patheticness. I hustle both boys up to the check-in desk and give them my insurance information and sign us in to be seen. They call Jonathan back pretty quickly (although he's had just enough time to introduce himself and his wound to everyone else in the waiting room), and get us settled in the exam room. A very nice, very YOUNG doctor comes in, accompanied by another guy, apparently a nursing student studying to be a physician assistant. The first thing the student says when he sees Jonathan's hand is, "Wicked cool!". The young doctor smiles tolerantly and explains the various mechanics and attributes of "the wound" and how it would best be treated, using all kinds of exciting terminology in the process. Meanwhile Jonathan is sitting on the stretcher bed, staring from one guy to the other, back and forth, trying to follow what they were saying and for the love of all things holy were there going to be needles involved? So the Very Young Doctor turns to me and informs me of our options. One, we can insert a needle along several points in Jonathan's finger to numb it and…..I forget the rest because I don't think I even heard him as I was foaming at the mouth and curling into the fetal position. My overloaded brain and my spandex pants couldn't cope with the idea of Jonathan getting a shot, much less multiple ones. Plus at that point he had heard the word "needle" and was trying to tunnel to Outer Mongolia through the wall of the exam room using only his bare hands and a plastic urine cup. The Very Young Doctor saw this and quickly switched gears, saying that we could simply treat the still-bleeding wound with silver nitrate, which would literally cauterize the tip of the finger and stop the bleeding, but would be painful for Jonathan. I assured the Very Young Doctor that my son would joyfully submit to having his eyelids stapled to the wall if it meant we could avoid needles, so let's just go ahead and have the silver nitrate party. So Jonathan at this point has relaxed a bit after being assured there will be no needles involved in this process. Then the Very Young Doctor bends down and tells Jonathan that what he is about to do will stop the bleeding, but it will hurt, most likely with the very noble idea that telling kids something is going to hurt is better than lying to them and saying it won't. Now, I know there are different schools of thought on this. Let me just stop here and say that I am a huge proponent of lying to your kids. Or in my mind, "redirecting". I can see Jonathan mentally girding his loins, preparing for the ordeal. The Very Young Doctor gets the silver nitrate and gently dabs it on the tip of Jonathan's finger, which immediately turns black. He has to do this several times in several places to stop the bleeding. Jonathan just stares at his finger. He doesn't flinch, he doesn't cry, he doesn't do anything, except say after the first three or four dabs, "Mom, can we go home now?". Finally the process is finished and the finger has stopped bleeding, although Jonathan and I both look like we just came from Elm Street and we were the nightmare. The Very Young Doctor informs us that the black part of the skin will eventually fall off and the skin on the tip of the finger will grow back. Mind you, in the meantime my kid has to walk around with the top of his finger looking like the flat-top of Flava Flave. As of this writing, Elijah hasn't had one single occasion to go to the ER/Urgent Care/Poison Control/FBI/NSA/DEA/Secret Service. He is – wisely – learning from watching his brother.

We learned two things from this incident. One, "children's safety scissors" is an oxymoron, like "nonalcoholic beer" or "Microsoft Windows functionality". Two, there is absolutely nothing in the world of a 6-year-old boy that can't be cured by a Wendy's Frosty and the promise of zombie video games on the Xbox, maimed finger notwithstanding.

@!@#?>!

I am thinking and speaking in symbols things not lawful to be uttered.

Note to Self: Have tubes tied at first opportunity. Also sue Crayola. Buy more Woolite.

Things I Have Learned as an Adult

Things I have discovered as an adult:

• Owning a couch with removable cushions while raising toddlers is directly associated with facial tics and premature balding.
• Never underestimate the intelligence, resourcefulness, and tenacity of a child capable of any sort of movement.
• Never assume that my $100 vacuum can pick up Froot Loops. (It can’t and live to tell about it.)
• WD-40 gets gum and all manner of sticky crap off of other crap.
• Advil works better than Motrin or Tylenol at relieving headaches fast.
• Never let the words "fart" or "dog poop" slip out around your child. It will come back to haunt you.
• If the oil in your car’s engine looks and feels like beach sand, it’s time to change it.
• Never leave popcorn in the microwave for the time printed on the bag. There’s like a millisecond between being done and oh-my-God-open-the-windows-and-wave-the-broom-under-the-smoke-detector done.
• Being a vegan is impossible.
• How fantastic it is to be a kid.
• Pregnancy changes your body irreparably, and no amount of underwire or Spanx changes that.
• Fighting a pretend battle with the monsters in your kid’s closet is so much more effective than trying to tell him that monsters aren’t real.
• Kids can get stuck in just about anything.
• Ketchup should be its own food group.
• It is nearly impossible to substitute decaf for regular and live to tell about it.
• Kids are instinctively driven to eat dirt the same way that dogs are instinctively driven to eat grass.
• Spray paint and sandpaper are the best (and cheapest) decorating items for a quick change.
• Microfiber couches + children = four bottles of Woolite and six hours of fruitless, back-breaking labor.
• Necessary items for carrying around in the car if you have kids: WD-40, coloring books, crayons, Van Halen CDs, trash bags, baby wipes, Goldfish, water bottles (full ones for drinking and empty ones for peeing), extra clothes, scissors, and duct tape.
• You can buy a new printer for the same amount of money you would spend on new ink cartridges for the printer you already have. Seriously.
• Never speak the words "Christmas", "Santa Claus", or "Gigi's house" until 30 seconds before it actually happens.
• Boys will pee on anything and everything just because they can.
• Your metabolism grinds to a screeching halt as soon as you hit 21.
• They will have elliptical machines in Hell.
• If I was stranded on a desert island and I had only a few things with me, those things would be: Bear Grylls (because then I could actually get OFF the island on a boat made from oyster shells and braided armpit hair), Frances (my personal waxer, and that has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Bear Grylls would also be there), Zoloft, and Mountain Dew.

This is So Important - Please Read!!

First of all, I'd just like to apologize for not posting in such a long time. Sometimes I just get so disillusioned with writing (I'm my own worst critic) that I just don't have the energy or chutzpa to write. Plus I feel like I work so much of the time, I hardly have time to breathe (or shower) much less post to my blog. Having said that, this post is going to be a little different than my other ones. Something's come to my attention recently that is so frightening and so monumental as to render the mind unable to comprehend it. Let me preface this writing by saying that I do not consider myself to be overly involved in politics or government policy. I'm a dedicated voter and I try to pay attention on what's going on in the political world, but as a rule my thoughts on that are that the administration is nothing but a slimy bureaucracy of even slimier politicians who use U.S. policy as a means to fatten the wallets and the egos of the wealthy government "officials" who stand to profit from the demise of the American working class. Call me uninformed, call me whatever you like. I won't get into my stand on some current political issues because I'm not in the mood for inflammatory political debate. However, I feel absolutely, fervently obligated to post here and now my total and all-encompassing objection to a piece of legislation that was, for all practical purposes, virtually tiptoed into the Senate by the Clinton administration behind the backs of the American people. This little piece of sunshine is known as the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child (UNCRC). Because this issue has unfortunately just come to my awareness, I'm going to use some quotes from various websites to help me expound on this subject a little better, along with paraphrasing some of the concepts as well.

For those of you who are not aware, the UNCRC is basically a collection of concepts and directives designed to ensure "positive means of holding countries accountable to protect children". While I understand and appreciate the need for children to be protected and nurtured, the UNCRC is very much more than that. Basically the UNCRC takes upon itself the right to define the relationship between the child and the state, and the right of the government to determine "the best interests of the child". On the website parentalrights.org you can find the following: "Article 3 of the UNCRC states that 'in all actions concerning children, whether undertaken by public or private social welfare institutions, courts of law, administrative authorities or legislative bodies, the best interests of the child shall be a primary consideration.' In other words, policies affecting children at all levels of society and government should have the child’s best interest as the primary concern. The trouble occurs when this principle appears as a guiding principle for parents in article 18(1), which states that 'Parents or, as the case may be, legal guardians, have the primary responsibility for the upbringing and development of the child. The best interests of the child will be their basic concern.'"

In the last thirty years or so there's been the emergence of "nouveau parenting", which is based on the garbage that’s continually spouted by psychology professionals and "child-rearing experts" advocating, in short, the "democratic family". Child advocacy groups and educational institutions have seized on this psychobabble and made it their soapbox. Almost every old-fashioned tenet of discipline and parental authority has been undermined by this new child-rearing movement. Basically the idea is that anything that might be construed as "damaging" to the child's self-esteem be officially recognized as such and thus made taboo, with definitions of "damaging" being formulated by institutions outside of the family. If you're interested in more of this subject, I highly recommend the book A Family of Value by John Rosemond. There are some pretty amazing and in-depth discussions of the psychological, political, and educational ramifications of this type of "nouveau parenting".

These same child advocacy groups and psychology circles are pushing hard for the ratification of the UNCRC. To date, every member country of the United Nations has signed and ratified this treaty except for the United States and Somalia. Senators in the U.S, of which Jesse Helms was at the forefront, have stated that "this treaty marked a significant departure from the originally constituted relationship between state and child. They found, in fact, that it was literally incompatible with the rights of parents to raise their children as well as a wholesale giveaway of U.S. sovereignty". American family law has always held that parents typically act in the best interest of their child and so the government has no place in defining those best interests. "Except in cases where a parent has been proven to be “unfit,” American law presumes that the parent is acting in the best interests of the child, and defers to that parent’s decision."

I really don't want this post to be ridiculously long-winded and involved, but this issue is so important and so explosive that it demands the attention of the American people, parents in particular. In a nutshell, the UNCRC would enforce "government-supervised parenting", complete with new bureaucracies formed with taxpayer dollars to investigate, observe, define, and enforce the government's position on the "best interest of the child".

"Any parent who claims that other interests might just be more important than the state’s characterization of the “best interest” of the child could end up battling the state to protect their rights as a parent."

In effect this completely pulls the rug out from under parents and will allow children (key word here is "children") to dictate their own rights and make their own decisions regarding such things as freedom of expression, what does and does not constitute "abuse", i.e. spanking, restriction, loss of privileges, etc. This whole idea of damaging a child's self-esteem by using firm guidance and requiring the child to be accountable for his or her behavior, and allowing children equal decision-making rights within the family is preposterous. John Rosemond has a lot to say on this subject and he's so worth reading.

This piece of legislation, if ratified by the United States, would have absolutely devastating consequences to the traditional American family and would put the power to determine what's best for our children into the hands of the government and the children themselves. I for one will not stand by and passively let my children's needs and interests be determined by some dispassionate government entity determined to usurp my rights as a parent and as an American. Our kids have already been damaged enough by being forced to carry the responsibility of raising themselves and making decisions they are not equipped to make. If you love your kids, as I do, you know that guidance, discipline, and great love make happy, healthy kids who grow up equipped to be independent functioning members of society with respect for adults and peers and for themselves. If the UNCRC is ratified, the United States would then be required to report every few years to the U.N. and provide proof and explanations regarding how this treaty is being enforced and regulated, and children would be required to be registered at birth in order to be monitored and observed to conform to the directives of the treaty. Parents would essentially be baby-sitters for the state.

We need to fight this treaty tooth and nail. So far the Senate refuses to ratify the Convention, though President Clinton signed the treaty in 1995 (with one of the most fervent supports of the UNCRC being First Lady Hillary Clinton). There are some great informational sites where we can go and be fully educated and informed, one of them being parentalrights.org. On that website you can also sign a petition to oppose this Convention. The UNCRC is the most insidious attempt yet at the government worming its way into constitutionally protected family life, and to dictate what values should and should not be taught to our children whether we agree with them or not.

Please go and inform yourself on this issue because if this treaty is ratified, the effects would be catastrophic. I apologize if I've misquoted any information, but that's why I'm sending you to other websites and books to inform yourselves.

Okay, I'm done now.

I Got Tagged! Seven Random Things People Would Just as Soon Not Know About Me

Here are the rules:
1. List 7 random things about yourself that people may not know.
2. Link the person who sent this to you, and leave a comment on their blog so that their readers can visit yours.
3. Post the rules on your blog.
4. Tag 7 random people at the end of your post, linking their blog. Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

I got tagged by Cousin Lu, so here it is. My only thing is that I don't actually have seven random people to tag. I'm not that sociable.

1. I still sleep with my baby blanket. Yes, I am mother of two myself and I still sleep with my baby blanket. It’s a large blanket that my great-grandmother, Mom Broggie, made for me as a baby gift for my mother before I was born. She used a Sesame Street fabric and sewed the batting and the hem herself. It has a lot of sentimental value to me and it still gives me a lot of comfort when I’m upset or can’t sleep. Plus it makes a really great head wrap when I have a migraine. It’s not that I have some weird unresolved childhood issue and I can’t live without it, because I could. I just like it, so bite me.

2. I have seven tattoos. Most people know that I have tattoos, but some of them are not as, um, visible as others. So I will now document the location, type and meaning of each of my tattoos. My first tattoo I got was on my right hip. It was the letters “gha”. I will not say whose name these letters stand for. Suffice it to say that it was someone I thought I was going to marry when I was young and impressionable and phenomenally stupid. That tattoo is now covered by a Chinese dragon and three Chinese symbols for peace, the ocean, and strength. My pregnancy with the twins completely ruined this tattoo and the dragon now looks like a condor. Because I learn life lessons by the two-by-four method, I then proceeded to get my second tattoo several years later on my right shoulder blade of someone’s initials, yet again, except this time it was “BTG”. I won’t say whose name this is either, but again, someone I thought I was going to marry and was in fact engaged to. I really do have lots of common sense. I just choose to ignore it. My third tattoo was a series of Chinese symbols on my right ankle meaning “one love for all of your life”. This was during my optimistic, rosy-spectacled phase before I became the pessimistic, cynical individual I am now. My fourth tattoo was yet another Chinese symbol on my right forearm meaning “ocean waves”. The beach is the be-all and end-all of my life and I feel closer to God and home there than I do any other place on earth. My fifth and sixth tattoos were also on my right forearm. One is another set of initials, but I will love and be loyal to this man for the rest of my life. That man is J.R.R. Tolkien. I have a passionate and undying love for The Lord of the Rings trilogy and have had since I was seven years old. The sixth tattoo is an Elvish word also from LOTR, “namarie”, which means “farewell with blessings”. The Lady Galadriel says this to Frodo when they’re leaving Lothlorien to go to Mordor. I look at that one and think of blessings for my life with each new day. My seventh and final tattoo (for now) is on my left hand between my thumb and forefinger that has the letters E and J hooked together, the J attached to the E. These are the first letters of my sons’ names, and they’re twins, hence the attached letters. So that’s all my tattoos for now, but I’m seriously considering another one. They really are like crack.

3. I read. A lot. I know this was supposed to be random, and anybody who knows me knows I love to read and have since I was four. But what people may not know about that is that I read seven to eight books a week. I’ve been told that I read really fast and how can I get the information if I’m reading so fast, but seriously, I don’t think I read fast. Or if I do it’s not fast to me. It’s just….reading. I love it and I devour books alive.

4. My cars (thanks Lu!) are also named, albeit not with the Wizard of Oz characters. My first car was a red Volvo 940 and my sister christened it something that I can’t remember now because I’m old and decrepit. My second car was a green Acura Vigor and we christened that one the Green Goblin, especially after a fender bender coming home from ASU one weekend and having to stop at some hokey Wal-Mart in the mountains to buy bungee cord to keep the hood from flapping up in front of the windshield like in Tommy Boy. I was really mad about this. My sister thought it was hilarious. My present vehicle is a black Jeep Grand Cherokee and it is my mechanical pride and joy. My sister (who has christened all of our cars) named this one Black Booty. I decided not to get a vanity plate with this on it because it sounds like a really bad multicultural porn. Of note, my sister’s first car, a silver Volvo, was named the Silver Bullet. The Silver Bullet just got consigned a few months ago to a salvage yard with many tears and a goodbye party. My sister then purchased a little tiny Yarus go-cart and named it the White Virgin, aka Little Moo.

5. I snore. Really bad, apparently, or so I’ve been told. Like, hold-on-Bessie-the-tractor-trailer’s-gonna-crash type snoring. I’ve been told that I actually choke myself at night and I’ve woken myself up before because I can’t breathe. This is what’s called sleep apnea. My dad also has sleep apnea and has to sleep with a CPAP machine that pumps pressured air into his nose and mouth to keep him breathing and not snoring. It’s been recommended that I start this too. I told my boyfriend about it and once he finished laughing uproariously and picked himself up off the floor (at the thought of me in an oxygen mask at night), we decided this might be a good idea and a fantastic method of birth control to boot.

6. I’m a huge fan of the Ladies Man. I loved this skit with Tim Meadows on Saturday Night Live and when they made the movie I was thrilled beyond words. Ladies Man: Hey, baby, can I buy you a fish thandwich?” Lady: “C’mon baby let’s go back to my place.” Ladies Man: “Well, um, we could take my car, but it is nonexithtent.” I love it!

7. I anthropomorphize my houseplants. It’s true. I have a philodendron that was given to me five years ago as a Christmas gift. His name is George and he sits in pride of place on top of my entertainment center. George is great because you can talk to him and he just listens quietly and doesn’t give you advice. He doesn’t eat much but he grows really fast and grooming him is a very relaxing task. He has graduated from the little plastic pot he came in to a slightly bigger terracotta pot, and now to a nice big stone planter with little green leaves stamped on it, and a plant stick in his soil that says “Live your Dreams”. George is awesome. My boys say hello to George every morning and fight over who’s going to water him. My sister’s philodendron she got for Christmas five years ago died and so George, being an organ donor, gave us a little bit of root and stem to put in a jar with some water and try to grow George Junior. My sister killed that one too.

Problems

So I'm standing outside the other night by the side door of my house, smoking a cigarette. My porch light, despite having a light bulb purported to be invisible to bugs and therefore won't attract any, attracts bugs like a magnet, regardless of the season. Lately I've seen one or two of those gi-normous "garden" spiders that I was told by my very competent exterminator are "harmless". I'm sure you know what I'm talking about - those massive, striped freaks of nature that build those huge ropey webs that stretch literally six feet across. I feel like I need a spear and a machete and Kevlar body armor whenever I go outside. Since I don't have any of those things readily available I go outside armed with my broom.

Well, there's been one of those spiders hanging out right in the corner of the house next to the door where I smoke. A spider that looks like it crawled out of Chernobyl. Jay is outside with me on this particular night. I'm all Mission Impossible 4 trying to keep my eye on it so I'll know exactly where it is the whole time I'm out there. So I take my eyes off of it for one second because Jay is teasing me about my arachnophobia. Which, admittedly, I do have.

It was only for a second. A split second. And that was all it took. I look back up and that decroded piece of crap spider is gone. Vanished. And Jay is like, is this a problem for you that you can't see where he went?

This is a problem like herpes is a problem. Like climbing Mount Everest in a string bikini and stripper heels is a problem.

I still haven't found it. I'm so getting a machete.