Family Disputes

I have this sister that hates me. No really, she hates me (here, and here).

It's been 2 1/2 years since she ended our relationship. The way she went about it was mean and insidious. 

My family did not come to my defense. My mom implied I was deserving of it. My dad tried to fix the battle. My sister stood her ground. My brothers don't want to get involved, but I have this feeling that they think I'm deserving of it too.

13 years ago I was different. I was a teenager with normal teenage angst. My parents had issues together, and somehow it affected me negatively. I went about binge drinking, shop lifting, ditching school,...just general trouble. I was quick to fight, quick to get upset, quick to leave. 13 years later, I'm quite a different person than my teenage self. I'm settled, I'm calm. I have 3 children, I'm a stay at home mom, I craft for goodness sakes. In support of my husband, I haven't even had a drink in almost 2 years. My family still sees me as this person. It's hard. I hate having to prove myself.

2 1/2 years after sister stood her ground, my parents are still having to choose to decide which daughter to invite to family events. Both sister and I live outside the county lines from which our parents reside. Sister and I are literally 5 miles away from each other. Our children are similar ages. Just recently, my mom stopped at my house after visiting sister and her sick children. Amazingly, my mom was able to transfer that flu virus to my house. My children are sharing sister's germs. Irony.

The holidays are approaching and I'm feeling restless with sister. So badly I want to email her and tell her how much I hate what she has done to me. How much she has pulled at my heart strings. How selfish she is for making my parents choose. How evil she is for verbalizing her disdain of me to my nieces. I hate so much of her. I hate how she makes me feel. I hate that I feel lost in this family and disconnected. I hate that I don't feel grounded. I hate that my mom shows me pictures of the kids. I don't care. I don't want to care. I don't want to know that I'll be missing out on my eldest niece graduating high school. I don't want to know my youngest nephew's personality - of whom I have never met. 

I dream of sister. I dream of punching her. Truth.

I don't know how my husband does it. His dad walked away from him when he was 13. We now share this kindred sadness. He hates sister too. 

I write this here publicly because I can't verbalize it to anyone else. Husband doesn't want to hear my broken record. Parents think I can fix this somehow. How? I've tried and sister bit me again. I want to move and abandon my family. I have my own little family now. Let sister have my parents. Let sister have my grandparents. Let sister have everyone think that she is golden. She, who eloped once after 5 weeks. She who got knocked up the first night she met a man. She who eloped for a second time. She who bad mouths her oldest child's father. She who is money hungry and status greedy. She who...well I could go on.

I'm so angry. I need to yell these things. I need someone to here me. At least I think I do.

Someone teach me to ignore my heart.

Let's Just Give An Addict Prescription Pain Killers

Following my husband's recent roll-over car accident, and in light of my experience in the Secret Society of an Alcoholic's Wife, I have been made very aware of how easily our current health care system has set it up for people to become so easily addicted to prescription pain killers.

I understand my husband is in some bodily pain. His trucked rolled. I get it. The emergency doctors gave him a prescription for 12 Percocet AND 30 muscle relaxers (Robaxin). 6 months ago, Rocky had his wisdom teeth pulled. He received a prescription for 50 Vicodin. Luckily he was so anesthetized that I was able to have the dentist rewrite the prescription for 25 - and even that was hard with a combative, doped up, recovered alcoholic patient listening in - AND attempting to argue with me with a mouth full of gauze.

Because Rocky is an addict, our story is a little bit different. Addicts see the world in a different light - in which the world revolves around them and their addiction. Even when the immediate threat of relapse isn't so pungent,  addicts still breath in a routine toxicity of their own addictive perfume. Rocky has not yet fully realized that he can become addicted to anything - even caffeine. So imagine my horror when the Dentist prescribed him 50 Vicodin. 

I'm almost of the belief that addiction should be placed in a person's medical file much as a heart murmur or type I diabetes is.

The bigger picture though is how easily it has been to get these high count prescriptions. There was NO mention of ice packs and ibuprofen with both the car accident AND teeth pulling.

And yet, I pumped 8-lbs of baby through my vagina TWICE - and somehow survived with several strategically placed ice packs and 800mg of Ibuprofen. I was offered 6 prescription Vicodin with my 1st delivery (which I never filled - because who really wants to go to the pharmacy 2 days after giving birth), and the 2nd delivery I just declined all offerings.

Here's some interesting facts from the National Institute of Drug Abuse:

• -In 2009, 16 million Americans age 12 and older had taken a prescription pain reliever,                 tranquilizer, stimulant, or sedative for non medical purposes at least once in the year prior to being surveyed.
• In two nationally representative surveys, about 2% of mothers with at-home children under the age of 18 reported symptoms meeting the clinical criteria for abuse of or dependence on illicit drugs or prescription drugs that are being misused. 
• Of that 2%, 1.1% (the highest percentage of responders) reported their drug of choice to be PRESCRIPTION PAIN KILLERS.

What has been your experience with prescription pain killers? Do you think they are overly prescribed, or is there a 100% valid reason for their existence and use?

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We're Talking About Pubes

It's all Caitlin's (Healthy Tipping Point) fault.

This morning on good ol' Facebook, she posted an older article from good ol' Huffington Post called Looking Through the Bushes: The Disappearance of Pubic Hair.

I suggest you read the article in it's entirety to get the full understanding of the sex, porn, cleanliness, femininity issues the article touches on in relation to women's pubic hair; but a brief summary is that it asks the question,

"Is Shaving Pubic Hair a Feminisit Issue?"

Let's completely disregard that fact that this article is written by a man. I'll forgive him...(today). So, the official answer from Mommy Needs An Aspirin - is NO. And here's why:

1.) Have we really run out of enough conversation to discuss in this world that we have resulted to women's grooming preferences in regards to their nether regions? Does it really matter if shaving/not shaving is a feminist issue? No. 

2.) My choice in grooming is not going to effect the emotional confidence in my daughter's own nether regions. I know for a fact that as a child I never stared at my mother's pubic hairs wondering what they were "saying" to me. In fact, I'm pretty certain my focus was on her boobs...yeah, those things, or lack there of...thank goodness I didn't inherit those genes! With fairly good certainty, I'm sure my daughter won't grow up trying to interpret my pubes too.

3.) Why aren't we talking about men's chest hair and it's relation to masculinity???? My husband is hairy - like caveman hairy (which ironically isn't far off from his personality...tee hee). He doesn't just have chest hair, he has a coat of armor: it's dark, billowy, soft, and curly, and sneaks out of the top of his shirts. In fact, my name is tattooed at the top of this black awesomeness, and in some ways, it looks like my name is floating on a cloud of beautiful, manly, chest hair. Yes, I think chest hair is manly. However, that mass of curls are perfect anchors for tiny fists to pull themselves up and around Daddy - even through t-shirts, when one of our little boogers gets a hold of his chest hair - it hurts. So dear husband trims his chest hair (he could shave it, but honestly, it's a lot). Is he less manly? Has his masculinity been diminished? Does it make him metro-sexual? Does it have anything to do with sex and porn? Uuuuummmm, no. Which leads me to #4...

I'm pretty sure he'd hate me for this pic (then again, he took it)
 - but do you see my name peaking out from a top the clouds?
 Obviously he was trimmed here.

4.) Why can't grooming pubic hair be just about grooming pubic hair? Why does it have to be about feminism and sex? I remember the day I chose to trim mine - and it had NOTHING to do with sex or feminism. There was a point in my teenage life that I played a lot of basketball - like every day but Sunday. I grew (har har har) a little tired of feeling like I was braiding my own personal rug for my vagina every time I ran - which is what you do in basketball - run. And *blushing* now you ALL know what I do with my pubic hair!

5.) Whose to say it's NOT about cleanliness? Obviously, the man that wrote this article isn't in his 3rd trimester of pregnancy, where vaginal discharge is at an all time gross factor, and you can't even see your pelvic area regardless. Yeah, gross. I know sexual satisfaction and my husband's preference is not priority numero uno at that stage. And obviously, this man has never given birth and dealt with that after-birth mess. Nor has he worn a tampon, pad, or diva cup.

So now it's your turn to sound off! Do YOU think pubic grooming preference is a feminist issue?

Yeah, we went there this morning. LOL.

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Being a Mom is Kin to Owning A Farm

The minute the doctor handed you 7lbs of precious bouncing baby, you felt like singing "eee iiii eee iii oooo," right? The nurses might have checked your blood pressure to make sure you weren't becoming delusional, but let's face the facts: being a mom is kind of like being Old MacDonald.

Many of us chose to become moms, just like Old MacDonald probably chose to buy the farm. Let's compare. Old MacDonald was up all night birthing a mare, the rooster is still up crowing before the sun comes up. The cows need to be milked, the pigs need to be fed, and the fields need to be plowed. Sometime during the course of the day, the goats got out of their pen and into Mrs.Wilson's flower garden. Now Old MacDonald is fixing the broken goat pen, apolgizing to Mrs. Wilson and explaing to Mrs. Old MacDonald why he didn't come home in time for supper.

Singing "ee ii ee ii oo" yet? My husband leaves for work before the sun even thinks about coming up. My daughter usually crawls into my bed about 5:30a. Around 6:15a I hear brother on the monitor and quietly creep out of my own bed to reheat my coffee, make a bottle and a sippy cup of chocolate milk (warning: I thought I was the cool parent introducing my daughter to chocolate milk...boy was I wrong - there is no going back!) 

And so my day is off: laundry, bills, diapers, baths, lunches, snacks, post office. Somewhere in the mess I forget about what to make for dinner and my husband hits traffic and comes home an hour late even though my son is teething and I am about to pull my hair out. While I am having my first adult conversation of the day my daughter has found the baby powder and dusted her brother into the blizzard of 2011. Now I am rushing to wash his sheets before its bed-time, and forgetting to shut the bathroom door so Houston is munching on a nice meal of toilet paper. Eeeee iiiiii eeeee iiiii oooooo.....

Old MacDonald wakes up everyday promising that today he will work harder than yesterday. He has goals for himself and for his farm, yet he is tugged every direction by the needs of others, whether it be human or animal. In the end he just wants to be a succesful farmer with a successful crop. Sound familiar?  Next time you see a mom with a toddler throwing a major temper tantrum in the middle of Wally World, or a new mom struggling to pull coupons out of her wallet as her newborn screams in hunger, think about what's happening on their farm.

Honor Thy Construction Worker

I don't know what it is about construction workers.

Hard working, dirty, rough handed, foul-mouthed construction workers.

Maybe because my husband is one?

Or maybe that's just chance?

But they are hot!

And I'm NOT talking about THIS type of construction worker:

or even this type:

I'm talking about the real men that are out there working on roads, hanging from building scaffolding, sweating under the hot sun, doing the work that most of us wouldn't choose to do.

Send me a man with a pair of Red Wing boots, orange shirt, reflective vest, hard hat, Levi's with a hole in the knee and the pocket torn off.

My dad is a business man.

Came home in a tie every single day.

He was out there selling his products to million dollar companies.

He worked hard.

He's handy around the house.

He's strong.

So I know there is nothing wrong with a man in a suit.

They aren't less manly.

But business men are what's in the media.

Bing Image results for "businessman:" 1,020,000

Bing Image results for "construction worker:" 431,000

Construction workers in the media have given us 

Tim "the Tool Man" Taylor from Home Improvement,

and Jim Belushi in According To Jim

Construction work is often not a high paying gig.

And for those that want a traditional American household - 

you know:

home ownership,

stay-at-home-mom,

2.5 kids,

health insurance, 

yearly vacation - 

the climb to reach those things is a steeper path

than for a man with say, a college degree.

So to honor my hard-working,

dirty, foul-mouthed, rough handed husband,

I'm thinking, this:

or maybe; 

but don't be surprised if you find me on the side of the road, 

doing this:

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12 To-Do's Before APRIL 2012

Lots of bloggers posting Top 12 New Year Resolutions of 2012 (man, what did we do in 1999?). However, we have one BIG agenda in 2012, and that's to have Welch #3 in April...so everything after that kind of just seems like faded grey fuzzy stuff followed by lots of wincing, and "oh, what did we do to ourselves?" 

So I thought I'd give Jake's Top 12 To-Do's Before APRIL 2012 - because let's be frank, there is just a LOT to do before introducing a 5th (five, cinco, funf, holy-crapoly-my-right-hand-has-run-out-of-digits) family member (the non-furry) kind to the household.

1. Landscape the backyard: I'm expecting having my hands tied. I dream of having a perfectly manicured yard - flowers, fountains, and all, to release my children into. Self-entertainment. Let the neighbors listen to them scream while I enjoy breastfeeding bliss on my patio.

Before my husband discovered a chain saw and a 135 lb lab  -
in no particular order.

After the mammoth lab killed our grass, and husband
cut down the fruit trees, and the deck, and the planter box...

2. Potty train Houston. I think he's ready? Really I just want to see him run around in Cars underwear - and the idea of washing 2 in cloth isn't really that exciting to me.

Got some Cars underwear and carpet cleaner.
I'm ready!

3. Set up a rewards/discipline program for Georgia. Call me military mom, but seriously! Some days I ask myself, "why am I arguing with a 3 year-old?" Her teenage years are not looking promising.

Sticker rewards used to work...not anymore.

4. Set-up pre-school curriculum for Georgia. I tried this before, but on the flip-side of military mom, I'm kinda a self-admitted slacker mom too. Because her birthday is in July, she falls into this weird category of being 5 when she starts kindergarten...which means she will be 18 when she starts her senior year - and because of the above (see #3), I'm not THAT excited about having an 18 year-old senior. Hoping for her to test early into kinder...hope springs eternal!

5. Finish Georgia & Houston's combined room. I really only have 4 things to do to be finished - everything else is just fluff; finish the binding and quilting on Georgia's quilt, start AND finish Houston's "matching" boy quilt, purchase a twin-mattress (the air mattress is doing a phenomenal job), and buy a bed-rail that doesn't attach to a box-spring.

An owl tree and paint doesn't do much if Houston
can't sleep on his big boy bed.

6. Knock down a wall. Ok, maybe not SUCH a little thing. Our kitchen is enclosed. I want to be able to spy on the little boogers. Something about a newborn in a bouncy seat and 2 un-supervised kidlets makes me reeeealllll nervous.

7. Become a freezer-meal goddess. Hubs can't cook. He thinks he can. But really, he can't. I'd rather depend on my own re-heat and serve skills.

Is there a nice way to give him the
Complete Idiot's Guide to Cooking 101?

8. Eat more Raw meals. We already enjoy eating Plant Based (with a few sneaks here and there). One of my fav bloggers and inspirational chefs, Amber Shea Crawley from Almost Vegan has her 1st cookbook coming out March 15. Waiting on her book has been my excuse for NOT eating more Raw meals. It's being released before April...what's my excuse now?

9. Provide a supplemental income. Right now I watch a lil guy 3 days a week for $25/day. It's not much, but it pays for my husband to fill up his gas tank every week. Hoping to meet AND exceed that. Small feat - but I'll be a mom of 3, three and under...sooooo...?

Well maybe not that much...

10. Find a recipe for home-made veggie raviolis. This one has been on my list for awhile. 2 failed attempts at pumpkin raviolis has me scared off my search. They can be frozen (see #7).

Just say no to Tofu.

11. Buy something truly AWESOME for myself! Right now, buying something for myself consists of Wal-mart nursing bras - buy 2 for $12.99. THAT'S a great day when FedEx shows up. Pretty sad when I think buying something for myself is cloth diapers, or a new cook book so I can feed my family...I want something AWESOME...but what??

12. Budget for and GO to my local Farmer's Market: Farmer's Market is on Wednesday. Pay day is Thursday. Usually by the time Wednesday comes, money is a little tight. I'm all about supporting local farmers and eating seasonally - better put my money where my mouth goes - or, er, something like that, right?

What's your new year's top 12? Hook up with Baby Rabies and let everyone know what your big plans are for 2012.

Don't forget to follow via Google Friend Connect located on the sidebar. Or find me on Facebook @ Mommy Needs An Aspirin.

25 Weeks, 14 To Go!

Danielle over at Happenings of the Harper Household  had a fun idea of linking up a pregnancy journal for all of us pregger bloggers (there's gotta be a way of combining that name, like Brangelina) to spill the beans. So I thought I'd join in the fun and give it the ole Mommy Needs An Aspirin finesse.

25 Weeks

Symptoms:  I have 14 weeks left. Can my belly really stretch that much farther? Why do I feel like being pregnant is having that feeling of "coming down with the flu" for 9 mos?! I want to be Michelle Dugger.

Weight Gain:  6.5lbs total. What? What? Plant based eating!

Cravings: Do I have time to have cravings? With my 2 previous kids it was french fries, with this kiddo in the beginning it was spinach. But now that I feel like a walking boat with legs, merely the thought of packing up two hoodrats in the car for a french fries trip is exhausting!

Food Aversions: Too much caffeine. A hot cup of coffee makes me nauseous.

What made me cry this week:  Holly's post over at A Mommy's Blessings. *sigh* She lost baby #7 in her second trimester, and is now expecting again. Bittersweet.

Medical Stuff:  Nada. Apparently having height makes it easier to carry babies without complications (and birth them too) despite being uncomfortable and stricken with the usual pregnancy glamour of hemorrhoids, heartburn, and heathen children.

Thoughts from Georgia:  3 year olds apparently can have babies in their bellies too. Hmmmm...

Something I am excited about:  After-birth energy. I already have sleepless nights - thank you sciatica and scrunched bladder. At least I'll get quality stretches of sleep when the peanut arrives.

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Friendly Debates With the Danielles - Regifting? Heck Yeah!

Thank you Danielle from We Don't Have it All, But Together We Have It All and Danielle from Happenings of the Harper Household for giving this momma something to preach about!

Question of the week: Re-gifting, yay or nay?

Answer: Heck Yeah!!

I'll give you a point blank example of re-gifting gone good. In a conversation with my sister-in-law (who happens to be ANOTHER Danielle - geesh!) about making homemade jam for Christmas baskets, she mentioned that her husband goes wild for Plum Jam. Actually, Danielle's words, and I quote, "he get's a boner."  So there ya have it, he loves it THAT much. It's not plum season - so making plum jam for my bro-in-law wasn't an option.

However. Da-da-daaaaaa! My awesome neighbors came over a few days before Christmas bearing homemade jam from their...wait for it,....wait for it....PLUM TREE! Call it rude, I call it excited, but I told my neighbor right then and there,

"Please don't take offense to this, but I know someone that will get a boner for this jam. Do you mind if I pass it along?" 

She gave me the nod of approval and away it went into my gift basket for my in-laws. Come to find out, my brother-in-law's grandmother used to ship him homemade plum jam every summer from her house in Oregon. Taste alone isn't solely why he loves it - nostalgic thoughts of grammy are stirred up in every bite. I made sure to tell my neighbor the details of the re-gifting - how cool to make something that has cherished memories attached to it!

So I say heck yes to re-gifting if done with the right intention. Don't just give something away you'd never use or don't like. If you know someone else could benefit from it - I say pass it along. However, I would be careful in telling the original gifter. In my case it was just plum jam - I couldn't imagine re-gifting a costly or time consuming present (like a hand-sewn quilt).

So what do you say? Yay or Nay?

Don't forget to follow via Google Friend Connect located on the sidebar. Or find me on Facebook @ Mommy Needs An Aspirin.

Friendly Debate Suggestions: 

-Baby Showers for 2nd, 3rd pregnancies

Appropriate Uses of FML

FML.

I despise this phrase. I HATE this phrase. I am disgusted by this phrase.

For those that don't know - FML, stands for F* My Life.

Horrible right?

What I think is even worse than the term FML is the USE of the term FML.

I need gas. FML.
Babysitter didn't show up. FML.
Working 6 days this week. FML.
My period started. FML.

Really, F* Your Life? A little over dramatic, don't ya think? However, this morning - in my early dawn crabbiness, I actually found a few needs for FML.

My 2 year old fed my 1 year old fish food and now he's breaking out into a rash. FML.

My 1 year old learned how to open the fridge and empty out the entire inside door of condiments. FML.

I just found out I needed glasses and can barely write this post. FML.

I'm pretty sure that by the way my almost 3 year old rolls her eyes, that she is possessed by demons. FML.

The threat, "Wait Till Daddy Gets Home!" has no effect in this house. FML.

My lab sharts in his sleep. SHARTS! FML.

Someone threw a non-rinsed poopy diaper into my load of clean cloth diapers (and sadly it is very possible I did it and can't remember). FML.

I'm pretty sure my 1 year old has learned that sticking his finger in the light sockets feels good. FML.

When praying, Georgia turns "Amen," into "Demon," and laughs. FML.

I'm certain that if Houston found poop in the toilet, he would play with it. FML.

A day without a bruise just doesn't cut it around here. FML.

My morbidly obese lazy cat prefers using our brand new green grass as his litter box. Gotta love amonia killed yellow grass. FML.

I'm going to the San Diego County Fair tomorrow and I'm pretty sure this year I will have to split my corn dog 3 ways. FML.

I kid! I kid! FML for nothing!!!! But really, can we stop over dramatizing the use of the term and move onto something better. Holy Cow! Crikey! Jiminy Crickets! Ugh! Gosh Dang it!

You get the idea.

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I'm A Hippy, He's a Hippy, Are You A Hippy Too?

Originally I was going to write this post about how cloth diapering made Rocky and me crunchy granola hippies. Then I realized it wasn't cloth diapering that made us crunchy granola hippies, but having kids that changed our inspirations for life.

Okay, I'll admit, cloth diapering was the catalyst that set the stage (but couldn't we say that we wouldn't be cloth diapering if we didn't have kids?). It introduced us to ideas and terms that we hadn't previously even given ANY thought to: using cloth napkins, re-purposing plastic bags, and just recently, attempting to be semi-vegan, or at the least vegetarian.

Gasp! Vegan you say?! Yes, we have officially begun the decent into crazy-town.

Documentaries are my  favorite form of movie watching pleasure. They are moving, and passionate, and often inspire me in ways I never thought possible. If you haven't seen Food, Inc., you are missing out! It's not horrible, or devastating, or even grotesquely graphic. I wouldn't even say it's shocking - it just widens your eyesight a littler further than you have admitted to seeing.

One thing the documentary points out is our addiction to corn (much like our addiction to gas!). The cows are fed corn, the chickens are fed corn, even the farm raised fish are fed corn. We can't escape corn, and it is in essence a big cause of why so many Americans are fat. The thing that scared us the most though was the realities of meat related diseases. 70% of ground beef in this country has an ammonia filler in it to kill the E-coli that is rampant in cattle because of their living (I wouldn't even call it living - surviving is better suited) conditions. I don't know what's worse, feeding my kids E-coli, or feeding them small amounts of ammonia (yes, I'm sure it's been tested for safety, but why is cancer and autism on the rise?). Among other things, Rocky has had high blood pressure since he was 24 - let's start adding reasons to the pile.

Ok, ok, so you don't want to hear me rant about beef. But! After we watched this documentary, we started considering our children's safety in regards to food. I started researching being vegetarian, and then found vegan was not far off. I even discovered, that if you eliminate meat from your meals, you can increase your fresh produce budget by A LOT. I hope to prove this point in the coming weeks, as for now it seems like a hope, not necessarily reality. Our small, short term goal is to eat meatless meals 3-4 days a week. Long term, we'd like to transition to some form of Vegan (I think I'll survive if I eat honey). I read if you put it in writing, for all to read, then you are committing yourself to the process. So here it is! I'm writing it down. You all have been witness to it!

I apologize in advance if I start posting wacky-ash ****, and you're like, "really Jake?" But just like with anything else in life, gotta start somewhere - why not blog about it?! 

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I Drive a Mini Van & I Rock!

Chrysler Group has announced that this April is mini-van month. Perspective buyers can take advantage of unique limited-time offers on the Chrysler Town & Country or the Dodge Caravan. Since I am the happy owner of one such Chrysler Town & Country and LOOOOVE IT, I thought I would let everyone in on our decision to drive a mini-van (for all the haters!), and why we rock it like it's hot.

This is my house. That is the mini. Welcome to Suburbia.

Before babies, I worked my way up the ladder in the auto industry. I started as a receptionist, became an office assistant, and eventually did a helluva lot of stuff in the business office of an automotive dealership, including accounts receivable, accounts payable, DMV, & contracts.

I had access to the know-hows of the dealership world, inventory prices were at my finger tips, and my credit union was more than willing to continually finance negative equity into new loans.

Among the vehicles that I have owned:  '98 Ford Escort (totaled), '91 Ford Ranger with 300k miles (sold), brand spanking new 2004 Chevy Cavalier (traded-in), 2003 Ford Explorer Sport Trac (traded-in), 2000 Toyota Celica (my most cherished car - traded in), and our current 2007 Chryster Town 'n Country Mini-Van.

We could have owned an SUV. In fact we did for about 24 hrs. Georgia had arrived into the world, and we were sporting a Toyota Celica, and a Toyota Tundra. Neither of which had ample room for a 6fter, an infant car seat, and/or strollers, groceries, and the what not. One drunken night, Rocky (tired of constantly switching vehicles to accommodate baby and activity), decided to take the Celica in to inquire about trading it in.  He came home with a GMC Yukon Denali with a monthly payment of $666. The thing had so many buttons on it, I couldn't figure out how to turn on the radio, roll down the window, or recline my seat. I demanded a cheaper price tag, and had him return the car to the dealership the next day.

He came home with the Chrysler T&C Mini-van...our favorite car to date!

Admittedly, I was a little sad when I saw the minivan. I felt like I instantly aged 10 years, grew a mom-butt, and started wearing scrunchies. Then I filled up my first gas tank (compared to the Tundra that had become my daily commuter), and I started falling in love.

Georgia was 20lbs at 4 mos old when the rainy season hit. I could no longer carry her in her infant carrier to and from the car.  Everyone loves buckling an infant into their car seat in the rain, right? However, my mini has 3 remote controlled doors, creating my loved, "push, run, jump, push, buckle, climb, and drive" routine. Hahaha Rain! I laugh in your face!

Store-'n-Go Seating? How about hell yes?! ALL 5 of my rear seats fold into the van turning it into a cargo area. Great for drive-ins, moving (also in the rain), camping, and purchasing large items without depending on Rocky's truck - think Kiddie pools, plants, Playskool outdoor toys, etc.

I catch hell from all sorts of people. I hear a lot of "I wouldn't be caught dead in a min-van." Well, I won't be caught in the rain, or with an empty gas tank, or driving with my chest to the steering wheel (try needing to drive with the seat all the way back, and a car seat behind you). In fact, if we would have kept the fancy Denali, our debt-to-income ratio would have been too high to purchase our house.

And "I wouldn't," always translates into eventually you will: eventually you will pick up poop out of the bathtub with your bare hand, wipe someone else's boogers on your shirt, eat spit soaked soggy cookies because it makes your 1 y/o laugh. *sigh* The things we do for our kids, like drive mini-vans, or endure sleepless nights, or commit to not dying our hair (love is seeing your over-grown roots in the mirror and  ignoring how utterly cool it looks).

So next time someone wishes to degrade my choice of vehicle (and inevitable my self worth) - just remember, I LOVE my kids, I acknowledge the mistakes I made in re-financing into new vehicles, and if driving a mini-van is a sacrifice I have to make, then hell; laugh, gloat, brag, bully, and snicker all you must. Its your insides that are looking ugly, not mine.

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The Boobie Monologues

To breastfeed or not to breastfeed? I despise this subject entirely. But I feel as if I need to address it for the non-judgemental community.  There are 2 groups in this world; those that breastfeed and those that do not. Or as I like to address them as the "haves" and the "have nots". I unfortunately was a have not. While pregnant with baby #1 I foolishly could not understand why my neighbor gave up breastfeeding after 3 weeks. What insanity! How stupid! It had to be because she was a lazy mom that wanted to resume her partying ways. Man, if I knew then what I know now, I would have marched right over to her front door and given her a big hug and let her know that she and baby would be okay.

I failed twice at breastfeeding, yes, TWICE! My first daughter had horrible problems latching on. I was inexperienced, without help, and unaware of resources that would truly, truly help. Both my mother and eldest sister were experienced, super breast-feeders, and couldn't understand my difficulty with it. They were baffled and not shy of hiding their confusion. My daughter's 1st pediatrician recommended I supplement because her initial weight gain was slow. That was the end of breastfeeding Georgia, the bottle was just too easy and we kind of gave up on each other.

In fact, my confidence was further destroyed during our short experience with my highly loved (eh hem, I hope you can read into my HUGE sarcasm here)WIC program. Rocky suffered a short bout of unemployment. Though it only lasted 3 weeks, it was enough to bring us down from middle class to poverty over night. Why not take advantage of my tax dollars and utilize programs that I pay into? 7 months pregnant with baby #2, I was required by WIC to take a breast feeding class because I did not nurse my 1st child the "mandatory" 6 weeks. I understand the idea behind the requirement. However, I wasn't about to allow a state agency that told me I couldn't feed my child raisans or 2% milk (but would allow for peanut butter, tortillas, juice, Kix, honey nut cheerios, and whole milk) teach me how to breast feed. In fact, the local WIC office had a huge poster board declaring how bad formula was - according to WIC, it lead to cancer, diabetes, obesity, and enhanced genetic diseases and slowed brain development. Wow?! Right?

Houston arrived and was great at breastfeeding, but I was unconfident, and then the colic kicked in. If anyone has ever had a child with colic, you don't know it's colic till about the 2nd week in. Before we knew the colic diagnosis, I assumed I had an inadequate supply (did I mention I was unconfident), and began supplementing. Once again, we were done breast feeding.

Yes, I failed at breastfeeding 2 babies. I am a horrible mother, or am I? I am a smart, confident, woman, why did I fail?  I don't fail at anything. We can examine all the reasons that breastfeeding didn't work for me, but that is either here nor there. I think what the breastfeeding community doesn't understand about us "have not's" is that we all want to provide what's best for our darling dears. We understand that breast is best. Our babies are still receiving the same love, adoration, and well-being. Yet there is still a community of moms out there that think we are weak, lazy, and living without a conscious. I know they exist, I have read the message boards.

And for those that assume it's "easier" to bottle/formula feed...it's not. When society tells you something is so wrong, yet allows for it's sale in every store imaginable, you become a little bit insane. What's right? What's wrong? Why is she succesful at this, but I'm not? When is it acceptable to stop? Is IT acceptable to stop? How will my mother/sister/best friend think of me? I can still remember bawling my eyes out in the shower, accepting my failure breastfeeding Georgia. To this day, it leaves a lump in my throat. Had society's expectations been so high (and brutally opinionated), would I not have felt so miserable? And why am I still so embarassed to admit I failed at breast feeding? HUGELY embarassed!

So where do you fall? Are you a have or a have not? Do you have compassion and understanding for either side? Or is it simply unacceptable to "give up?"

I say, if you are a successful breast feeder, pat yourself on the back - whether it was luck or pure determination - we, the have nots, truly honor your accomplishment. While you're patting your back, reach over and pat the bottle feeding mama next to you and let her know that she's a great mom too. We are all walking the same road in trying to raise happy, healthy human beings.

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Your Baby's Daddy Doesn't Do Do-Do?

What kind of daddy is your baby's daddy? Is he super involved and rushes you out the door so he can change dirty diapers and give a bath? Or does he cringe at the thought of poop? Does he only pick baby up when asked?  Or do you have to tell him to quit hogging the baby? Have you saved the the US Health & Human Services Promoting Responsible Fatherhood website to your favorites tab?

Did you know that it's okay to have either daddy as your baby's daddy as long as it is alright with you?

When I became pregnant with Georgia, Rocky and I decided not to know what we were having (that would make a fun post). My entire pregnancy, Rocky kept hoping for a boy. At one point, he told me, "if it's not a boy, I'm demanding they put it back and bake it longer." I was nervous he would be uninvolved if it was a girl. So out a girl popped! During our required 24 hour post-partum stay with Georgia, I did not change a single diaper. Rocky - who had never changed a diaper in his entire life - changed every one of her diapers. I even think he would of breastfed her if he could. I thought, "man! I am so lucky, he is going to be so involved."

The 1st time Rocky gave Georgia a bath (approx 4 mos old). Scrubbing her ears was one thing, but he refused to scrub between her legs. We had to work up to that.

As the weeks started passing, Rocky became less and less involved in our little bundle. Should I be asking him to help me more? Should I DEMAND he help me more? Is it because she's a girl? Up until Georgia was 9 months old, Rocky had the fortune of never having to get up in the middle of the night with her. We both worked full time, and she was bottle fed - there was no reason he couldn't get up with her. I just felt it was my duty.

For a long time, I did all of Georgia's care by myself. I bathed her, I fed her, I completed her night time routine. Sometimes I felt frustrated, and even angry. Then Houston was born. Suddenly Rocky was forced into sitting on the floor and playing with Georgia, reading her books, washing her hair. But he was uninvolved with Houston. What the heck? Wasn't he super man....couldn't he do it all?

My birthday 2010. Rare moments of trying to be super dad were caught on camera.

In fact, Rocky didn't become super involved with Houston until Houston was about 6 mos old (right about the time I started cloth diapering -tee hee hee). It took me two children, 2 years, and reading several miscellaneous blog articles to realize that I didn't need to EXPECT Rocky to be this uber-involved-super-dad. There were many other women out their talking about how their husband's weren't involved with their teeny tiny babies either. In fact, some husband's even refused to change poopy diapers (mine changes poopy cloth diapers, so I'm must be really lucky), or even wet diapers.

Though biologically linked to their children, men don't give birth. That makes a huge difference in how they may "connect" with their offspring, along with their childhood upbringing. Men sometimes aren't the emotionally deep creatures we hope to see them as - holding a sleeping micro-blob isn't nearly as fun as playing catch with an over-active two year old.

So what is an acceptable level of involvement? Well, it's defined by YOU! What's okay with you? What's not okay with you? What areas in the home do you need him involved most? What is most important to your child's development?  What benefits your marriage most? There are many levels of fatherhood involvement, and they vary greatly! Just like mompetitions, we can't become involved in pop-a-titions: comparing the strengths and weaknesses of our husband's, as if they will be hoisted onto the shoulder's of all man-kind, trophy raised above their heads in a moment of glory.

There is no trophy, no moment of glory - only the satisfaction of a happy home. So go pat your man on the back next time he's changing a diaper, or NOT changing a diaper, and thank him for participating in your lives (as defined by you!).

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Things I'd Tell Expecting Moms

I love moms expecting their 1st child because I was once one.  I truly adore the sweet innocence about expected realities of a first time mommy - I wish I could still see motherhood in the same light as before I had kids. There is nothing horrible, or suprising about becoming a mom - it's just different (at least from what I expected). I had the luxury of working at my mom's sewing store when I was pregnant with Georgia. I was surrounded by mothers, grandmothers, and great-grandmothers; all willing to volunteer their battle stories of motherhood. Some advice was just utterly stupid, like "don't climb stairs," or "don't pick up anything heaver than 15 lbs" (this one was my favorite because the elderly woman insisted that it was an actual law in California). Some were just mean, "I birthed babies so big that my vagina swelled shut."

And in the midst of all of this wonderful advice, I became aggravated and started telling myself that these women didn't know what they were talking about. If you didn't sleep for 5 years, then why would you have any more children. Why would women keep reproducing if this all was such a horrible, awful experience? Looking back, there are some honest truths I wish someone would have sit down and told me.

1. You won't sleep for 5 years, but your body will amazingly learn to cope.

2. Baby products are over-rated, but really cool.

3. Disposable diapers and formula are a privilege. Don't take either for granted.

4. Believe the crazy birth stories, you might have 1 of your own!

5. I really don't want to buy you a $150 baby shower gift, so please register for something practical, and don't be afraid to buy your own items.

6.  You can never hold your baby too much.

7. Ask! Someone is always willing to give advice or clothes, or even hold your baby so you can brush your teeth and pee.

8. Don't get caught up in "mompetitions."

9. Attend a birth class and parenting class. Though I think labor classes don't help with actual labor, they teach the fundamentals of labor and delivery, and wonderful resources are always available.

10.  ABSOLUTELY send your baby to the nursery EVERY night your entire stay at the hospital. They will return him/her to you every time to feed, but you will be tired, exhilerated, sore, and the next several weeks you will hardly sleep, so take advantage of great nursing staffs. Your baby won't remember you didn't keep them in the room their first couple days of life...I promise.

The greatest advice (and I'm not really sure you can call it such) someone ever gave me was that, "giving birth is like taking a giant, warm, wiggly, poop. It's not so scary." I have to admit...she was right!

If you are a experienced, new, or expecting mom, what's the best AND worse advice anyone ever gave you?

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