Category Archives: snarky stuff

why dance competitions are so freaking long

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Parents, grandparents, aunties, uncles, friends, Romans and countrymen…okay maybe not Romans…but the rest of you, you know how when we are all gathered at pretty much any and every event in the life of our children where they aren’t the only children there like concerts, awards ceremonies, games, graduations, competitions and other stuff where the emcee has to stop every once in a while to remind us all of the rules of the event…the rules that apply to us all at the event. Have you ever thought how much time is wasted when the emcee needs to stop and remind us more than twice, three times, four times..six times…in an hour…of every hour…of every day of the event you are attending?

Have you?

Well I did this weekend, at the event that started Friday afternoon and lasted until Sunday night.

People, THIS is why the emcee at the dance competition we attended Friday afternoon and evening, all day Saturday and all day Sunday had to stop to remind us at the very least four times every hour…in very clear, concise, simple language. At dance competitions like these, public events with our children performing copyrighted choreography on stage it is very clearly prohibited for anyone in the audience to video record a dance…with our children on stage. But that rule must apply to everyone but ME says pretty much every parent, grandparent, auntie, uncle, random stranger who might wander into an open, free, public event.

Ew, to the thought of some random stranger wandering in to a dance competition and taking pictures or recording young dancers on stage!

Ewww!!!

So this is why there is this rule prohibiting photographing or video recording the children on stage and YES it applies to everyone which is why they had to keep stopping…to remind all of us parents, especially the self important ones who were certain that they could not possibly mean THEM, or their iPhone and who were genuinely irritated when kids, my kid actually blocked their view and even more irritated when a staff member of the Rainbow Dance Competition came up to her and told her to stop recording or her kid’s dance would be disqualified.

Yeah, I was clapping. Because self-entitled dance mom you so deserved it.

Seriously, lady, just put down the 12 bucks and buy the damn dvd of your kid’s dance! You want have some person’s shrill voice shouting “You’re actually going to ignore the rules and video record this, aren’t you? Well, aren’t you special!“  and you won’t have people walking into and out of the shot blocking your little darling as she pirouettes across the stage. It is quite good. Note the previous blog post.

the truth about motherhood that no one ever (always tries to) share

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Confession time: I never wanted to be a mother.

I know!

Mother of FIVE children, Mima of two gorgeous babies never wanted to be a mother.

Then I fell in love…HARD. I got married and a few years later the stick turned blue and OMG, I was going to be a mother! Yes, after a brief moment of “oh crap! I’m going to be a mother!!” I melted all over the place because I was going to have a baby…I was going to be a mommy!!

And the first thing someone told me was you’re going to be so fat! Hollie was told the same thing years later…by the same person. I didn’t believe it. Neither did Hollie. But yeah, I did get big…as a house…at least in my mind…while I was pregnant. Good god, who knew one’s belly could stretch THAT much without the skin ripping. But nine months or a little more later after the birth of that beautiful baby who made me as big as a house, I was wearing clothes I wore before I was impregnated. Except for bras. People tell you that your boobs will never be the same again and of course you don’t hear that because who is going to hear such negativity but it is true. Your boobs will never be the same again. In my case, I went from pre-pregnant barely an A cup to a C cup. Funny how I finally got the boobs I always wanted but now I didn’t want them. Take note your mileage may vary, er your boobs will be different after having babies but might not end up like mine.

No one ever tells you that you will never, ever want to go to the bathroom ever again after you push out a nearly nine pound (in my case the first time) human being out of your body…they also don’t tell you that you will likely poop when pushing that human out of your body…at least you don’t hear people telling you that…at your baby shower…at church…in the supermarket. So when your post-partum nurse comes in and happily suggests that you get up soon after birth and go to the bathroom you are thinking “OH HELL NO!!! Did you see what just came out of my now bruised and swollen bottom?1?! That human nearly ripped me apart!!! I am never going to pee or poop ever again!!!” What you don’t realize is that you kind of, sort of predicted your own future…you will never be able to pee or poop ALONE, in private without someone wanting to talk to you right now.

Somehow you manage to pee and poop and survive sleepless nights and cracked nipples and vomit and potty training temper tantrums and snot…so much snot. And if you are a fool, like me, you forget everything everyone told you and that you have lived through and you do it again, and again, and again. At least I was able to go to the bathroom with no trauma after Daniel was born. Eventually, you get to the point where that precious human is ready for school and you think, “Hurray! I am going to be free!”

Heh-heh!

You foolish, foolish mother!

There’s the school drop-off and the pick-up and the PTA (that just might judge you and reject you) and T-ball and soccer and homework…so much homework. You thought you were done with math homework…heh-heh. The added bonus is that small human who changed your body and disrupted your bathroom habits and sleep yet you adore because you are the center of their universe replaces you! You, my dear, are no longer the center of that child’s universe…and you never, ever will be again. There will always be a teacher or a coach or a best friend who they will worship before you. Yes, you were told this. I’m telling you this now. But you won’t believe it.

Just you wait.

Then when you finally have adjusted to life with a school aged child and all that comes with that even managing to eek out some time to yourself something else happens.

Dun-dun-dun!!!

HORMONES!!!

You thought pooping and peeing right after giving birth was traumatic.

You are knee deep in stinkiness and emotions and anger and eye rolls and heavy sighs and slamming doors and closed doors and on and on and on. You are also, clearly, the dumbest person on the planet…EVER. Wine and the fact that god made these children cute so you wouldn’t kill them are the only thing that gets you through this period. Take note if you have three teenagers at one time in your home you will need LOTS of wine.  Trust me, I know. You are certain that you (and your child) will never survive this time and of course you don’t believe it when your friends with adult aged children come along side of you and promise that you (and your child) will survive and you might even be smart again. If you are really lucky, you will become the wisest person they know…the one they tell their young adult friends to talk to because you are the smartest person they know. They also try to tell you that when that child of yours turns eighteen and is an “adult” you are not done…that you will NEVER, EVER be done. Yeah, they tell you that but you don’t hear them, which is why you foolishly post on your Facebook page how you can’t wait until your little darling’s eighteenth birthday because then you will be done and free at last.

Heh-heh-heh!!!

Why doesn’t anyone tell you this, you wonder?

Why?

The thing is everyone told you this. Everyone. They tell you this maybe to prepare you but I think they tell you with wicked delight because they remember just how naive they were back before they became parents…back when they KNEW they would be so much better and never, ever go through any of this crazy joy ride that is motherhood because, for them it would be different. They tell you with a warped, wicked glee that foolish you have no idea what you have gotten yourself into for the rest of your life. You have no clue…no clue at all. Just you wait.

It is a wild crazy and ride.

Thank goodness for the joy…and, if you hang in there, the grandbabies…and the joy of witnessing your mother’s curse upon your child that they will have children someday just like them come true.

I told you so.

I did.

Happy Mother’s Day!

overheard under the Big Top #322

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At a 7-11 near you:

Is that your son?

Um, no. This is my brother.

Now I realize that among a certain ethnic population here in the Central Valley it is not uncommon at all for a girl like my 16 year old daughter to very likely be a mother of one, perhaps even two children…very young children. I know this because I am in the business of catching and caring for babies here in the Central Valley. But come on…let’s think about this real hard.

Silly, silly people!

Jodie and Daniel, May 2002

moms and Hot Wheels

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Moms and Hot Wheels go together like?

Um…

According to Matt Petersen, a vice president at Mattel, they don’t go together because moms just don’t get Hot Wheels. He says that moms never played with them. Moms don’t get why cars, engines, and all the shapes and crashing and smashing are so cool.

I bet he believes that moms don’t think flames painted on the sides makes the Hot Wheels cars even more awesome.

Or how moms could possibly enjoy setting up Hot Wheels’ tracks to race the Hot Wheels cars on…even with a missing piece of the track. Moms could not possibly appreciate just how freaking cool it is to race the cars anyway only to race uncontrollably off the track plummeting to an imagined, but acted out loud, crashing fiery end complete with awesome sound effects…screams of terror are optional.

Moms could not possibly get how important it is to have a place for the cars…like the older sisters’ cast off pink Barbie’s Dream House…or every shelf of a book case or more…and the top of the dresser in their son’s room…and their night stand…and every spare square inch of their closet floor…and stacked in over-flowing in plastic toy bins.

Hot Wheels cars sales are significantly down because moms just don’t get Hot Wheels.

Not.

At.

All.

To address its “mom” problem, Mattel is making an effort to reach out to moms, who are known to do most of the toy shopping in the house these days. They’re hosting events for mom bloggers and expanding their website to include content explaining the benefits of playing with toy cars (they’re great for hand-eye coordination) and tips on how to play with them (you can use them to play math games). Mattel thinks moms won’t buy a toy unless they understand how it works and see its benefits.

Thank goodness!

Whatever.

Daniel and I are going back to playing with his Hot Wheels cars…the cars that his MOM bought for him.

that awkward moment…

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Having been a somewhat shy and definitely awkward person most of my life I have had more than my fair share of awkward moments…

Waaa-aaay more than my fair share!

My most recent bugged the hell out of a few people…or perhaps they couldn’t see the humor in what I had to say. Then again my darling husband has often warned me that I am lousy at telling jokes. It’s the awkward in me. But yes, I insulted a few people…dare I say pissed off perhaps one. I’m only guessing given the reaction of others in our circles.

It was awkward.

Even more awkward was when someone reached out to me, in a gesture of friendship during that awkward moment of mine. Willingly, I accepted because we move in the same circle. Why not accept their friendship? This is what people do sometimes, you know when they move in the same circles and share common interests or activities.

Right?

Of course.

Usually.

Until, after reaching out with an offer of friendship they then proceed to do something completely unexpected. Um, actually it was kind of outrageous and downright rude. Unless it is cool to publicly attack your child. Yes, YOUR child. Oh and cast judgment on parenting skills…because of their obvious qualifications.

I was once a super parenting expert too…before I had children and when Hollie was a small one. I knew EXACTLY how other people should be caring for their children…especially if I didn’t know them very well. Then I got busy raising my five children, weathering through adolescence and hormones times FOUR and seeing three make it to adulthood. Yeah, I was an expert too uniquely qualified like that until shit got real.
Humbling…very humbling.
That’s Karma.
But now it’s gratifying. Really gratifying. Especially when I see my kids show integrity, honesty and loyalty when others aren’t looking…like one did that ultimately led to my bad joke that started all of this awkwardness.

Sorry, my snark is showing just a little.

What can I say? That was a pretty awkward moment. A REALLY awkward moment.

It gets you to thinking late at night…

wondering…

What the hell was your motivation when you were “making friends” with me?

How did you even know about that awkward attempt at humor? Sure it was public but you weren’t there to witness my attempt at humor. You came after the fact…after you extended your hand in friendship

No, I won’t judge whatever motivated you. I won’t even judge you for what you imagined was a justified public attack against MY child. After all you did reach out to apologize to her. Thank you for that.

I will wonder why you couldn’t just ask me what the hell was my problem joking around like that? Calling me out, not my child, for the thing that I said would likely be acceptable because you seek to back up someone we both know. Someone whom we both regard as a friend…a GOOD friend.

Then I will ponder why those who might have been hurt and pissed couldn’t just come to me on their own because I thought that we were friends. We certainly have been pretty close the last eight years. We’ve done business together for those eight years…good business. We’ve grown close, shared laughter and tears and confidences…you know, the way friends do.People who have been that close for that long certainly could call on one another when such awkwardness happens…and possibly hurts.

Awkward.