Bring Back the Lethal Weapons!

Back in the good old 70's, our moms packed our pb and grape jelly sandwich, bag of fritos, three Chips A'Hoy cookies and a thermos of milk in this:

A metal lunch box and coordinating thermos embossed with the television heroes of our times. These lunch boxes rocked because they had pictures on all sides. Some of them featured characters who were slightly raised so that in moments of boredom, you could trace their figures with your fingers.

In those days, the best part of back-to-school shopping included standing before the lunchbox aisle in the five and dime and carefully weighing the pros and cons of each and every lunch box. Your mother stood there telling you to hurry up and just pick one for goodness sake, but you made sure to examine each one, looking at all the pictures on the sides, tops and bottoms and checking out the thermos inside. It was an agonizing decision, but finally, finally, you selected the one you were sure was the coolest lunch box there.

Your lunch box was a source of pride and entertainment. In the cafeteria during lunchtime, you would take your place at the long brown table with the attached round orange seats, open your lunchbox and prop it up in front of you so that it was on display for everyone to see. You would take out your thermos and pour your milk into the little cap that conveniently turned into a cup. Then you and your friends would entertain yourselves for the next 25 minutes by looking at everyone else's rig. You compared them. You envied them. You judged others by their lunchbox.

The sweetest and nicest girls in the class carried this:

The kid that loved to cream everyone in dodge ball carried this:

The girl who chased the boys around the playground, wrestled them to the ground and kissed them carried this (on account Bo and his hotness):

The cute blond boy carried this:

The cool girl whose parents let her watch adult TV shows while the rest of us were restricted to Zoom and Sesame Street had this one:

Some time during the early 80's a group of parents started an uproar about the danger of metal lunch boxes and they fell out of fashion. Seems they could be a "lethal weapon."

So manufacturers turned to plastic and vinyl and lunch boxes began their descent into boredom.

The hard plastic ones were still marginally cool. This was one of mine. I have a longstanding love affair with Star Wars. I had Star Wars bedsheets. I believed I was in love with Luke. When my mother got us lost while driving to my uncle's house I told her, "The stars will guide us."

I also had a vinyl Wonder Woman box. The only drawback was that it got a very funky smell after a while. Seems that sour milk permeated the plastic. Yuck.

Nowadays, kids carry nondescript thermal bags.

I can't help but think their lunch hours are less interesting for it.

Come On, You Know You Want One Too

Some guys have tasteful armbands.

Others have cool monochromatic celtic or tribal shit.


Some dudes prefer crazy-assed skulls.

Others wear their religion on their back.

Some unleash their inner animal.

Others are just plain freaky.

And beyond freaky.

My guy, he rocks a Happy Meal tatt.

That's why I love him.

Maybe I Should Run Away and Join the Circus

Just the other day, I read another one of those ubiquitous articles by a stay-at-home mom re-entering the workforce. You know the article, you read them all the time and may have even lived it yourself. Mom decides to go back to work and embarks on the difficult and treacherous journey to finding a job. In interviews, she is asked how devoted she will be to her job. Will the career or the children win out in the battle of deadlines versus 105. degree fevers? Will she be willing to stay late or does she need to be home to read Goodnight Moon to her lonely toddler? She is questioned on her ability to contribute to the workplace after a long absence. Has she kept current on trends and developments? Does she know the latest software or has her mind gone to mush watching too many hours of Sesame Street?

We all know the story.

Today, as I was driving home from the Sisyphian battle of carting my always sick daughter to the pediatrician, wrestling her flailing arms and limbs for yet another ear exam and throat check, putting her in a headlock for a breathing treatment and then running from pharmacy to pharmacy to find one who keeps small nebulizer masks in stock all while trying to keep she and my son separated so they won't kill each other and my son's greedy hands off of everything he sees in the store, my mind floated away to the near future when I will be employed and transported from all this madness, at least for a few short hours a day.

I contemplated my choosen profession of teaching and realized that motherhood is probably going to make me a better teacher. In fact, there are probably quite a few professions which would benefit from some mothering skills. Hmm, I thought to myself. In which professions would a mother really excel?

And then it struck me.

Circus Freak.


Our lives definitely resemble Barnum and Bailey's finest. And if pressed, I think we mothers could easily fill a pair of over-sized goofy looking clown shoes or, in the right outfit, be mistaken for a juggler.

Here are some of the positions tailor-made for us.

Ringleader: Because we all know it is us who make the trains run on time in our homes.

Lion Tamer: Because anyone who has stared down a little boy at the moment right before he flings his spoon of cereal at his sister's head or tried to change the diaper of He-man cleverly disguised as a toddler can face down a little ole lion with no problem.

Juggler: Try holding a squirming child on one hip, the hand of a three year old, one back-pack, one over-sized purse that is necessary because you must take everything but the kitchen sink with you where ever you go, two sippy cups, one half-eaten lollipop, one free Kroger cookie, one discarded jacket, all while talking on the phone and trying to check out at the grocery store. Three bowling pins? Piece of cake.


The bearded lady: Let's face it. Who has time for meticulous grooming? We've all had those days when we've looked in the mirror to find a inch and half of roots, wrinkles the size of the Grand Canyon, and a mustache rivaling our husband's sprouting on our upper lip.

Trapeze Artist: Hell, I fly by the seat of my pants everyday.


Man, er,Woman who can turn her head half-way around her body: How else would we know that child A is sneaking pop shots at child B in the back seat, or that the unintelligible whimpers coming from the rear seat are demands for the dropped lovey?


The 800 lb. lady: What pregnant woman has not felt this way at 9 months? Or post-partum, for that matter.

Speed eater: I haven't enjoyed a leisurely meal in 4 years. There is always something that is too hot or too cold, a dropped fork, spilled milk, screaming child, child who needs my lap, child who wants to run around the restaurant, requests for more, etc. etc. You very quickly learn to inhale your food.



Contortionist: I put these great skills to use this morning trying to get my daughter to hold still for her breathing treatment. One harm around head, one wrapped around her arms, both legs up and wrapped around her body Indian-style, squeezing with all my might, while perched on the edge of the seat and leaning back on the exam table. My inner thighs are still burning.


Poop cleaner-upper: People poop, dog poop, cat poop. I am a poop expert.


And last but not least, clown: Because we have an endless bank of stupid-human tricks we can perform at any given moment to prevent our children from freaking out in line, in the restaurant, in the doctor's office, on the plane, etc. etc.


So, in the event that my teaching gig falls through, I'm calling Barnum and Bailey. I am sure they have a spot for me.

Stop the Insanity

I have an odd habit for a lefty liberal; I sometimes listen to conservative talk radio. Not every day, but fairly often. I usually listen to it in the car on the way to and from my son's preschool or on one of our practically daily trips to Kroger or the library. Some might call me a glutton for punishment. I think I just like to marvel at the stupidity so evident in the discussions and also get a peek into the conservative mind.

Today, I caught about 10 minutes of the master of right-wing rants, Rush Limbaugh. Now, I really, really dislike this guy. Occasionally one of the other talk jockeys will make a point that I can see at least a shard of truth in, but never Rush. He just spews irresponsible lies and divisiveness. I usually just switch the station because he gets me so hot and bothered.

Today, though, distracted by traffic, I kept the drivel on. I have read and heard about Rush's appeals to conservative voters to vote for Hillary in an attempt to throw the Democratic primary. Today I got to hear the man himself proselytize about this "Operation Chaos," which he says is his attempt to create chaos in the Democratic party.

Some in the media have speculated that Rush's sermons and call to action actually did have an effect on the Texas and Ohio elections. Rush's listeners are the kind of folks who actually show up to vote, so he very well may have had a hand in Clinton's victories. Just the other day, I heard on another station that someone has filed a complaint with the FCC over Rush's crusade.

I hate what Rush is doing. However, in the US, we have a little thing called the free press. This is a good thing. However, journalists should also act within ethical standards and perhaps Rush has overstepped that line. He's not really a journalist, but he is a media personality and shouldn't he be held to some standards? Hasn't he in fact, encouraged voter fraud?

Some folks in Ohio, seem to think so. The Election Board in Cleveland is investigating voter fraud by the thousands of voters previously registered Republicans who switched to the Democratic party prior to the primary in order to vote for Hillary. This fraud is a fifth-degree felony.

It is one thing for media to cover actual news events and to commentate on people and events. It is another for a media outlet or personality to encourage untruthful and fraudulent behavior in citizens. I think someone needs to pull the plug on him for this.

Talk Talk

Do you have a secret language with your friends and family? Terms that you and they alone understand? I think it would be entirely possible for my college friends and I to have a conversation that is unintelligible to an outsider. We have just that much lingo. My friend Bob Frawg has compiled an entire lexicon. If we had all put as much energy into academic pursuits as we did flapping our jaws, we could all be Noble prize winners today.

My family is also guilty of having our own little dialect. Here are some examples:

My sisters and I all refer to my mother as "The Mom." As in, "So, I talked to The Mom the other day and she said she adopted a seventh cat." This came about one summer vacation long, long ago when my sisters were out on the balcony waiting for my mom to return from the bakery with croissants for breakfast and my sister, C. shouted, "There's the Mom!" She has been "The Mom" ever since.


Oh me Lordy---As one collapses on the couch after an evening of toddler-wrangling, one sighs and exclaims, "Oh me Lordy."

Car Car--"Let's get in the car, car."

Terrible Bad-- When something is truly awful, it's "terrible bad."

Too much Santy--When everything is overwhelming or just too much, you say "Too much Santy." This expression is most suited for Christmas, as it means too much Santa Claus, but it is used year-round.

Alligator Sandwiches--ice cream sandwiches. We always got a stare from people in the grocery store when we asked for alligator sandwiches. I have no idea where this came from.

Happy Fatso--self-explanatory

Our betters-- Anyone that has more money than us

Out amongst'um--Whenever my sisters and I were going out for the night, we were going "out amongst'um."

Umbrellos-umbrellas

Tortillars-Tortilla-- based on the time way back in the 60's when my Texas-born grandmother moved to SC and had to special order tortillas from the local grocer and he referred to them as "tortillars."

Koogo-Kroger as coined by my son.

All elephants are Dumbos at my house.

If something is tastes bad, it is "not much good." This one was contributed by my husband's grandfather.

My family also has odd names for grandparents. My great-grandmother was called "Tookie," and my son has named my mom, "My," for no apparent reason at all.

So, what are your odd expressions?

August Can't Come Soon Enough

In four months, I will be going back to work. I agonized over the decision for a long time. Back when I was in therapy for postpartum psychosis, my therapist tried very hard to get me to plan to go back to work that fall. I wasn't sure that it was the right decision at the time and didn't do it. Then, last October, I finally decided that this would be my last year at home. I just can't do it anymore. It was a hard decision, but the right one. Sometimes I still have moments of doubt, but I have noticed that the universe often gives me little reminders of why I want and NEED to go back to work.

Two such reminders occurred this weekend. On Saturday afternoon, we were all driving home from the library, my husband at the wheel of my car. He was playing around and accelerated quickly to entertain my son. I jokingly asked him to please be careful with my car. He replied, also laughing, "Well I paid for it."

Now I know that this was all in fun at the time, but that comment really irritates me. There have been other occasions when he has said it in a completely serious manner, so he does really mean it to a certain extent. It bugs me because first of all, it is not true. The car was paid for in part with a trade in from my old car bought before I even met him. And for the first year we had the car, I was working.

Second of all, we made the decision for me to stay home jointly. He knows I don't love being at home, but it was important to him for me to stay home at least while the kids were very young. He knows that I do a lot of work at home, taking care of the kids and the house. When a married couple makes this decision, it seems to me that the income coming in still belongs to both of them. And to hold it over my head that he makes the money makes me feel like I am beholden to him and that I am somehow less of a partner in the marriage. It implies that I am dependent on him, just as the children are. That I should be grateful to him for providing a car for me. That he ultimately controls things. So I will be very happy when I go back to work and he can no longer say nonsense like this.

The second incident happened yesterday morning while I was trying to get ready for church. The problem was that I really have nothing to wear to church. We have not gone much since Ladybug was born and I lost a lot of weight postpartum. I am thinner than I have been in years and my old clothes don't even come close to fitting. I can get away with some of the tops, but the pants, skirts and dresses are impossible for me to wear now. Even if I could wear them, they are all 5-10 years old and some are noticeably out of style and pretty worn because I really haven't bought much since I quit working.

Because money is tight now, I have not been able to buy replacement clothes. My parents and in-laws generously gave me some money for Christmas and my birthday and part of that went to new clothes, but there were others things we needed first. Our double stroller had to be replaced, we needed a new vacuum and we had to pay a large deposit on the condo we are vacationing in with friends this summer. I also needed a couple of pairs of new shoes. So, the money leftover didn't go too far, especially with clothes prices as high as they are now. And I know that my husband worries all the time about money and he makes it known he is not happy when he thinks I spend too much on stuff for the kids or groceries or whatever, so I have not felt that I should spend any money on new clothes. I don't want to cause even more worry for him.
So, yesterday, trying to find something to wear on Easter, I got upset and we got in a huge fight that pretty much put a damper on the whole day.

It's not like I will make a ton of money teaching, but it really is becoming clearer to me that we can't make the sacrifices anymore. We simply need the money and I need the independence. I think we will all be happier for it.

Happy Easter!

Go forth and gorge yourselves on Cadbury Cream Eggs. I have a secret stash calling my name.