I’m Not a Bitch and Neither are You

I will never forget that moment.

The moment in which I sat in my bedroom, phone cord stretched through the kitchen, across the hallway and into my bedroom.  Stretching just far enough to allow me to close my door, and sit just inside the sanctity of my room in order to scheme with my friend in private.  The exact plans are moot today, but I am willing to bet the farm on the fact that they included alcohol, boys, and post-curfew plans of sneaking out through my bedroom window. As we plotted and solidified our teenage debauchery, the knock came and I heard the words that no teenager wants to hear on a Saturday night.

You have to stay home.

I remember flinging that door open so fast that the phone shot across the kitchen like a bullet from a gun.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN I HAVE TO STAY HOME?  ARE YOU KIDDING ME?  WE HAVE PLANS! I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS!!!!!

She wouldn’t budge.  There would be no gallivanting for me on that delightful evening and I was beside myself with  a weeks worth of pent-up teenage angst.

Didn’t she realize how difficult it was to secure an evenings worth of alcohol when you are sixteen?  Didn’t she know how tedious it was to plan out an all night drink-a-thon complete with a post-curfew pick-up schedule?  She was ruining my life.

I mourned the loss of our illegal evening with my partner in crime, trying to hide in the corner of the room so that my mother couldn’t hear what I was saying about her.  There was no way I was going to show her how much she had fucked up my evening.  I was going to play it cool.

She taunted me:  If you have something you want to say to me, just say it.

I bit my tongue and continued to whisper into the handset.

Why don’t you just say something? Tell me how you feel?

It came out of my mouth before I could stop it:  YOU.  ARE BEING.  A BITCH!

At that very moment time stood still.  I had just called my mother a bitch.  To her face.  I saw my life flash before my eyes.

I had absent mindedly dropped an f-bomb in front of her before, but I had never said such vile things about her where she could hear me.  Sure I had said it behind her back, hello…..teenager.  Never to her face.  NEVER.

I think of the fear I felt.  Not only for my quickly diminishing social life, but for what I had just done to our amazing relationship. I had crossed that line and  the disappointment I felt in myself for calling the woman who gave me life such an incredibly disrespectful name sickens me to my core even after all these years.

If you use a dictionary, you will find that a bitch is defined as a malicious, unpleasant, selfish person, especially a woman.  If you prefer to use Urban Dictionary, you will find that a bitch is defined as a modern-day servant; A person who performs tasks for another, usually degrading in status. 

Sure I am unpleasant at times, I am always a woman, and at times I am selfish.  I suppose if you put that all together, there are days in which the term bitch would define me perfectly. A few days each month, I wouldn’t even argue with you if you placed the term ‘raging’ in front of it.   We all have our moments in which we are being an actual bitch.   Days that we are deserving of the term,  it fits us to a T.

Degrading in status, that is the part that gets me.

Why do we, as women, feel the need to continue to use this word as a term of endearment?  Not just the term bitch, but words like hooker, hoe, slut, and whore.  Do we not think enough of ourselves and the company that we keep?

Some will argue that those words are slang and the definition has changed.  That those words, when used in the proper context, are meant to show other women that we enjoy spending time with them.  That they are our friends.

Maybe in my old age I have lost a bit of my sense of humor and I need to relax a bit.  Maybe I need to grow with the times and get hip with the slang.  Maybe…..no.

I have never enjoyed being called a bitch, and I’ve been called one (and acted like one) many times.  For me it is a reminder to take a look in the mirror and examine my behavior.  That I am acting in a way that is not becoming and that there is a good chance that I have hurt someone in a way that I should be embarrassed about.  That I am in no way, shape or form acting like a friend.

As women, it is up to us to lift each other up.  To encourage and support, to demonstrate to our children how to treat each other.  Not to knock each other down and demean each other with derogatory names, no matter how entertaining we think we are being.  Just like text-speak and poor grammar, the use of words like bitch, hooker, and whore become acceptable terms of endearment only if we let them.  I may be old-school, but I refuse to bend.

Like a tree in the Kansas wind, when we bend our core weakens and before we know it we are broken beyond repair.

I think about that night.   The look of disappointment and the hurt in my mother’s eyes.  Knowing that my use of that one word had cut into her heart like a knife.

Her ability to forgive me only proved that she wasn’t the one being a bitch.  I was.

You Know it Happens at Your House Too: Bitch Please

 

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Anniversary Gifts for That Special Someone

We have now reached the point in our lives in which Bob has put up with my shit for over half of his life.  It’s like he truly does love me.  I should give him a medal or something.  Or at least a gift.  Sonofa….

I didn’t get him a gift.

Our anniversary passed on by and I didn’t buy him a gift.

In my defense, we never give each other anniversary gifts. We have a trifecta (Christmas, his birthday, and anniversary) all in a two-week period.  Who in the hell does that?  The queen of poor planning does, that’s who.

We have a tradition that we started way back in the “holy crap we are broke” days.  This tradition has never been broken.  Until now.

This year he broke the no-gift tradition.  He broke the damn tradition and he bought me an amazing gift.

I didn’t get him a gift.

I am an asshole.

I need to fix this.  I mean, he bought me jewelry.  JEWELRY.

This is very serious.  I need a gift.  Maybe a gift basket.

I took my problem to Amazon (because Prime has saved my life) and here are some of the items I’ve been debating.  I present to you, my dear readers, my first ever horrible anniversary gift guide.

Anniversary Gifts for That Special Someone

1. Subtle Butt: disposable gas neutralizers (5 saving graces):

  • In a nutshell…Subtle Butt absorbs and neutralizes odor from flatulence. Yes, our fart filters really work! Does your loved one have smelly gas? Is the passenger in 12C stinking up the plane with his altitooties? Is the dog getting a lot of blame?
  • Take the bad part out of the fart with Subtle Butt fart pads. We combined activated carbon, fabric, and adhesive to create the most effective fart pad on the market.
  • Each pack of 5 Subtle Butt fart pads effectively filters the odor caused by flatulence.
  • Simply stick one in the right place and you’re ready for a chili cook-off or an all-you-can-eat Indian buffet. Giving Subtle Butt as a stocking stuffer is a great gift idea for your spouse, boyfriend or co-worker with smelly farts.

This is number one on my list for a reason.

Subtle Butt

2.  Undies For Two

Because who doesn’t need underwear with FOUR leg holes?  Sharing underwear, especially the same pair at the same time, is truly a sign of a strong marriage.  Getting in them is half the fun!

Undies for Two

3. Willy Warmer

It gets cold when you are working outside in the Kansas winter.  Avoiding significant shrinkage is imperative.

The Willy Warmer

4. Accoutrements Emergency Underpants Dispenser

There comes a time when a man is too far from home during desperate times.  Always be prepared.

Spare Underpants

5. What’s Your Poo Telling You?

Because we take our health seriously.

With universal appeal (everyone poops, after all), this witty, illustrated description of over two dozen dookies (each with a medical explanation written by a doctor) details what one can learn about health and well-being by studying what’s in the bowl.

What's Your Poo Telling You?

6. The Good Wife Guide: 19 Rules for Keeping a Happy Husband

When he returns home from his demanding job, a man rightfully deserves a bit of pampering. A happy smile, a warm kiss, and a pair of cozy slippers are just the start. Here are all the secrets for helping him feel comfortable and content: advice on cooking from scratch, the lowdown on why a clean home makes hubby feel better, and valuable hints on making yourself more attractive to him.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.   I don’t think so.  No need to give them unrealistic expectations that are destined to end in massive disappointment.

The Good Wife Guide

7. Ring for Sex Handbell

Please refer to my description for The Good Wife Guide.

Sex Bell

8. Weener Kleener Soap

Personal hygiene is always important, and like the package (I said package) says:  Large or small or inbetweener, nothing beats a cleaner Weener!

Weener Kleener Soap

9. EZ DRINKER 6 Pack Redneck Beer and Soda Can Holster Belt, Camo Camouflage Design

You never know when you might get stranded somewhere, always be prepared.  *Beer sold separately*

Beer Holster

10. The Bobcat Headband with Hair Mullet

  • Get your life back
  • Full time lady gettin’ mullet headband to wear on a part time basis

Bow-chicka-wow-wow.  For increased odds for a little action, wear with the EZ Drinker.

^^^NOT Farmer Bob

Maybe I should keep shopping????

 

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Are We Going to Be Okay?

Parenting is the hardest job we will ever have.  We’ve been told that time and time again.  None of us are perfect, and those that pretend to be are full of shit.  We all screw up, we all make mistakes, we all pray that we haven’t fucked something up so badly that it can never be repaired.  We all have those days in which we just want to throw up our hands and scream to the heavens “I QUIT!!!”.  

How do we handle this difficult journey of parenthood without completely losing our minds?  We reach out to friends.  We ask them for a kind ear and for some sort of guidance.  All else fails, we hope that they bring over a big ass bottle that we can finish off together.  Sometimes our friends don’t live close enough to share a bottle with, but knowing that a kind ear is awaiting you on the other end of the line (or in this case on the other side of your computer) is just what we need to keep moving on.  To keep fighting.  To reassure ourselves that we are surviving this parenting gig and that it will all turn out OK.

When a very dear friend sent me this story, I knew I needed to share it because she needs to know that she isn’t alone.  That we all have lost our shit at one point (or more) on this journey.  That she isn’t a terrible monster of a mother.  That she will be OK.  She gave me permission to share it here with the hopes that she will be offered support and love.  That she may be offered suggestions that will help her during this hard time.  That we can help build her up, not tear her down.  

Please read her story, and feel free to leave encouraging comments below.  Thank you all for your support and for being a part of this amazing village.

Yes you will!

Yes you will!

I am at a loss. I don’t know what has happened. I don’t know where I went wrong. I’ve tried to be an involved parent. I’ve tried to be a loving parent. I have been stern when I needed to be. I have given things that weren’t needed, but were wanted….when I felt that rewards were warranted.

I felt blessed with wonderful children. I felt loved. It all felt right. Then, things changed.

My son became a teenager and within a few months, I no longer recognized my child. What happened? I’ve gone nowhere. I’ve changed nothing. And yet, one night, after encouraging him to change his clothes because he was going to the movies with friends, I was treated to the most unbelievable behavior that I have ever seen from him. An explosion of anger that I would dare tell him what to wear. And it escalated to the point to me finally saying, “wear whatever you want. I don’t care. I was just trying to help. See if I give a shit anymore.”, leaving his room and taking a seat in the living room.

The next thing that happened forever changed me.

My son walked into the living room, with a large knife in his hand and said, “you know what, since you don’t give a shit, I will just slit my throat right here and you won’t ever have to worry about me again.” How did it go from me encouraging him to change clothes to him threatening suicide? He then turned around and went into his room. I was so terrified that I was unable to move….for 30 seconds. And then I jumped up, ran into his room, took the knife from his hand and we both sat down in the floor and cried.

I cried because I was terrified and relieved and confused and angry and everythingallatonce. He cried because he knew he upset me and that he was just so mad, he knew that was the best way to get my attention. He knew that I had a dear friend whose 13 year old son had shot himself in the head (details as to what/why and how are few and far between because it was a good kid, he was alone in the room and no one knows what happened) and how that had a profound effect on me, watching my friend go through that. My son knew of my reaction to that news, so he had a pretty good idea of how I would react to his threat.

We talked about suicide and how it was not something that you threaten people with. We talked about did he really feel like doing that? The answer was no, but that he just wanted to get my attention.

We talked about how so many kids just “wanted to get someone’s attention” with that and that the consequences were that they were dead and may not have really meant to be, but that they were. And that they left behind people with so many questions and such confusion as to what happened. I played out a scenario for him. He wanted my attention after arguing. He threatens to slit his own throat. He attempts it. He succeeds. I couldn’t save him. He dies in my arms. I am crying uncontrollably. His sister walks in the room to find me covered in his blood, him lying in my arms. And all I could do was cry that we just fussed over him having to change clothes. I didn’t know this would happen. That is how that scene would have played out. And I would never have been able to get over that I caused my son to do this, simply by having an argument with him…an argument, this time, over clothes. We talked about how nothing….NOTHING….is worth suicide. Especially not getting into argument over clothes.

We talked about how things, when we are teenagers, seem SO MUCH BIGGER than they actually are and that when you have feelings like it would be better to end it all, you need to talk to someone. He told me that he just sees so much on tv, about teenagers committing suicide over bullying and that suicide for teenagers just seems to be everywhere and that when he or his friends get upset that is what a lot of them think of first, because they hear of so many kids doing that. I couldn’t believe that this was something that he and his friends talk about, but dang if I wasn’t glad that he was sharing that with me.

We got past that point, but not without me worrying about every little fuss we had, whether or not he was thinking of suicide. I’m telling you, when your kid threatens something like that, it stays with you, permanently.

Then right around Thanksgiving, he had approached his dad and I about allowing him to have his cell phone past 9:00 PM. He pleaded his case. He felt that he should be able to keep it all night, as he was now a teenager and was responsible. We listened. After discussing it, we told him that we would extend it by one hour, but that wasn’t good enough for him. And instead of accepting what we offered, it turned into another huge argument. There was never any yelling or screaming during the negotiation of his phone, but it wasn’t going his way and he had such a defiant attitude and refused to listen to our reasoning, because it wasn’t what he wanted to hear and so it kept going on to where he looked at his dad and said, “I don’t know how you put up with that crazy, fucking bitch.” Now, let me tell you….my son has never seen me be a crazy, fucking bitch before and neither has my husband, really….until that night. I come up off my chair and got up in his face, pointing my finger and spitting while trying to coherently scream at him and I lost control.

The smirk on his face caused me to lose it and I slapped him.

And then I couldn’t stop hitting him.

Until my husband had to literally pick me up and pull me away. I have never, ever had that happen to me before, but I knew that it was there inside of me, because it was how my father was with me and I have worked so fucking hard to not be him and in a matter of seconds, I turned into him. Only it wasn’t my father…it was me. And I was devastated, because I just gave my children a memory of me, that I never wanted them to have. Ever.

My son ran into his room, I ran outside, my daughter was crying, my husband didn’t know who to go to first.

I did this to all of them.

I did.

What the hell happened? Now, I know there will be some people who say that I was 100% in the wrong. I accept that. I make no excuses for what I did. I am the adult. I should have had more control of myself. Then there are some people who will say that he deserved it because he never should have said that. Do you know what my kid said when I went into his room to apologize profusely, after calming way down, yet still crying? “Mom, I deserved that. It wasn’t your fault. Please don’t cry. You weren’t wrong. I hit you first, but in a different way.” Then I cried even harder, because, yes, he hit first, verbally, but I still had no right to that reaction. No right. And here we are, two months later…well, almost….and we still fuss and I still feel like I have no idea where my sweet, young, loving boy went.

I wonder will I ever get him back.

I wonder how much damage I have done from that one night.

I wonder how I got here with him.

I see news reports about a local 17-year-old boy, killing his dad and sister, because he felt like he was abused and although, I don’t know the background of that story, I wonder, Oh god….could that happen to me? Every parent thinks that they are doing a good job raising their kids. No parent thinks that they are raising one that does stuff like that. And yet, they did. And I wonder is that a possibility with mine? Or is it all just hormones and normal teenage angst?

Are we going to be okay?

And I pray that we are.

 

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One Little Toy

She opened all her gifts with a smile upon her face. She was truly grateful and excited to wear the new clothes, and try on the new boots. To model the new earrings and slip into those new jammies. The pile at her feet consisted of most of the items on her list, yet I could tell by the look in her eyes that she was disappointed.

Why on earth would a child be disappointed on Christmas?  What did I do wrong?

Oh. My. God. It hit me like a ton of bricks and took the air from my lungs.

No toys. Not one. single. toy. Nothing for her to play with that came bearing her name.

Who doesn’t buy their child a toy for Christmas?

As I looked at her face, the one that appears to be older than its actual age, I held back the tears as I realized that I am the one that failed to buy their child a toy for Christmas. I am the one that forgot that my oldest child is still exactly that. A child.

In my defense, her list was limited.  In my defense, she didn’t express too much interest in toys.  In my defense…..nope.  Not this time. No excuses.

I dropped the ball.  Screwed the proverbial pooch.  I failed.

While I often look at her and see a girl who wants the responsibility of an adult, I forgot that she’s still a little girl.  A child.

While she struggles with asking to do “grown up” things, she still enjoys playing with Barbies and assembling Legos.

While I struggle with her asking to do “grown up” things, I forgot that she still enjoys playing with Barbies and assembling Legos.

I frequently catch myself wondering when these kids are going to grow up a bit.  Wishing they would stop acting so childish.  Hoping for a little bit of maturity.

What in the hell am I doing that for?

The time is coming, sooner rather than later, for grown-up behavior.  Before long there will be dances and dates, tears over a broken heart and requests for gas money.  There will be jobs (oh yes, there will be jobs) and there will be bills and there will be adult responsibilities.  There will be too many activities and not enough hours in a day.

Who looks forward to that?

Now is the time to bathe in their innocence.

To drink from their fountain of youth.

To live vicariously through their young eyes.

To savor the carefree lifestyle of being a child.

To play with all the toys.

To truly LIVE.

Because we all know that being a grown-up is severely overrated.

You Know it Happens at Your House Too: One Little Toy

 

 

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A Christmas Wish

This year I had to beg my kids to make lists.  Yes, BEG.

Please write down your Christmas wishes.

Did you make your lists yet?

I’m going shopping tomorrow, MAKE A LIST OR YOU GET WHAT YOU GET AND YOU CAN’T THROW A FIT!

They made the lists.

I watched them around the table, discussing their wants.  The older ones helping the younger ones with proper spelling and maybe dropping a few hints along the way.  I watched them write, then erase, then write some more.  I saw the excitement in their eyes at the possibility of finding their dreams  under the tree on Christmas morning.  I smiled as I listened to them discussing between the five of them what they hoped to find waiting for them on what will most likely be a very early morning.

As they handed me their lists and walked away I couldn’t help but giggle a bit as I read their requests for new socks, water bottles, Santa hats and one rubber boot.  They had a few bigger ticket items on there, don’t worry about that, but for some reason their requests for the simple things brought a smile to my face.  Knowing that they didn’t require all the hottest toys to make their Christmas complete brought a wave of relief to my heart (and my bank account).

As their attention turned more toward what we were going to be wrapping up for others this year, I took a moment to take a deep breath and enjoy the moment.  To see their true concern for what was to be wrapped up for others this year, to read their meticulously made list of teacher gifts, to know that they are finally thinking about others instead of just themselves.

I couldn’t help but ask myself a few questions (because I’m the only one that listens to me and answers questions when they are asked):  Are we actually making progress?  Are we going to succeed at raising caring, loving, fully functioning adults?  Did I fall asleep standing the kitchen and this is a dream?

All my questions were answered as I watched the Boy place the final touches on this card:

Merry Christmas

I couldn’t have said it any better myself.

It was at this very moment that I realized that we truly are on the right path. That we are doing something right.  While I am certain that the path ahead will still have curves, bumps, and detours along the way at least I know that somewhere and somehow we made the right turn and the final destination looks incredible.

A Christmas wish granted indeed.

 

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The Lone Ranger; A YKIHAYHT Review

Today is DVD release day, so I figured why not remind you as to why you need to buy this movie.  It will make a GREAT stocking stuffer (or early Christmas gift <hint, hint Farmer Bob>)

Editor’s (who also happens to be the author) note:  FYI: I’m not a professional movie critic, but I AM a professional opinion giver.

This may come as a big surprise to my long-time readers, but  I saw The Lone Ranger this weekend. Twice.  Oh yes I did.  I wasn’t going to write about it because if you peruse these interwebs you can Google that shit and find a review by every Tom, Dick, and Harry that experience actually write that kind of drivel for a living.  I broke down for the sake of “research” and did just that last night and I gotta tell ya, I was bored to tears.  BORED.  Stab my eyes out with an ice pick bored.  Movie reviews are snooze-fests.  So technical and usually the complete opposite of what I think, so it was then I decided why the hell not write something?  Surely I can come up with something a little more exciting than the crap reviews I read.  I can’t promise anything spectacular or even grammatically correct, but I can at least promise to try to make it more relatable and less technical.

The Lone Ranger

SEE THIS  MOVIE.  How’s that?  Too short?  Not descriptive enough?  You need more than that?  Read on.

When I go to a movie, I expect to be entertained.  I want to laugh/cry/scream/have my heart go all aflutter.  I want to imagine that I am actually IN the movie.   I don’t go for the complex plots and the outstanding costume design.  I don’t analyze character development or the historical accuracy of the script.  I don’t compare the actor’s performance in this movie to his performances in previous flicks.  It isn’t because I lack the intelligence to process it all, but movies are an escape.  A chance to exit my reality of wiping asses and stepping on Legos and to enter a world that I would never experience outside of a theater.   A couple of hours to forget about the two-hundred loads of laundry and five kids whining for more food awaiting me at home.  Some time to just  sit in a seat with my over-priced drink and the snacks I snuck into the theater in my purse and watch with the expectation of being entertained and the hope that I don’t have to get up to pee halfway through.

As I snuggled down into my comfy reclining seat (just after a good bladder flush), the lights dimmed and I anxiously waited for the previews for movies that don’t even come out until freaking Thanksgiving to end.  I have to be honest, I went into this movie blind.  I didn’t read any reviews, no script synopsis, nada.  I knew that I would have my ass parked in that theater no matter what, so all I had done to prepare was to watch the trailers and of course, as painful as it was <cough, cough>, I caught JD on a few late night shows.  That’s right, I’m playing the stupid card here.   Anywho, I went in blind.  Blind to the plot of the movie that is, I was quite visually aware of what I was going to be watching if you know what I mean <wink, wink>.  (Spoiler alert: Johnny Depp is shirtless through the entire movie)

Here we go, my seven (because remember, I suck at lists) reasons why you need to go see The Lone Ranger:

1.  Johnny Depp:  Duh.

2. The scenery:  When  I say scenery I’m actually not referring to Mr. Depp.  This movie makes me want to pack up all the kids, throw them in the car and travel west.  Yes, I said it.  Pack up all five kids and travel.  In the car.  Driving for hours.  Did I mention with five kids?  That is how beautiful it is.  Crazy beautiful.

3.  Armie Hammer:  He is perfect in his role as the Ranger and his chemistry with Tonto is remarkable.  He is also not too bad on the eyes.  Speaking of eyes, his are delightful.

4.  You will feel a range of emotions: You will laugh, you will feel fear, you will feel anger, your heart will palpitate, you will laugh some more.  It is a great mix, and to quote my friend I Want a Dumpster Baby, you will FEEL ALL THE FEELINGS.  You know, if you don’t have a stick up your ass which prevents you from doing so.

5.  The rest of the cast:  That’s right, there is more to the flick than just the Ranger and Tonto.  It would be a pretty pointless movie without the villains and all the supporting roles. With actors like Tom Wilkinson, Helena Bonham Carter, William Fichtner, and some pretty amazing animals, you really can’t go wrong.  Simply amazing chemistry.

6.  The music: The William Tell Overture.  Movie. Made.  The other music is fantastic as well but let’s be honest, it wouldn’t be The Lone Ranger without that one piece.  It brings a smile to your face,  makes your toes tap, and you heart skips a beat.  If it doesn’t,  you have a lonely, boring  heart that needs more music in it.

7.  Did I mention that Johnny Depp is the star?  I do not hide my admiration for, or my desire to meet, this man.  I am not about to sit here and analyze his role as Tonto.  I’m no expert on these things, nor will I ever pretend to be, I just know what works for me and this role works for me.   Contrary to what many critics say, it’s not Captain Jack, it’s Tonto and in my very un-professional opinion it is very well done.

If you want to be entertained for over two hours and escape the monotony of life, then GO SEE THIS MOVIE.  Will it sweep the Academy Awards?  Probably not, but those movies that do usually aren’t the ones that I like anyway.  If you are looking for a great movie that can run the gamut of emotions, go buy it.  If you like a western complete with a couple of charming heroes and a sense of humor, saddle up and go on the ride baby.     I enjoyed the hell out of this movie and I feel bad for the critics that didn’t.  It must really suck to not be able to sit back and truly enjoy a great movie because you are too busy analyzing every word, every part of the plot, every character, every song, every actor.  Sometimes it is just sitting back in a quiet room and allowing the music, the scenery, and the actors to take you somewhere far away from boogers and Barbies that makes a movie really spectacular.

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.” -Theodore Roosevelt

Just buy it.  You know you want to.

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Regular Guys are Sexy

In old news, Adam Levine has been named the “sexiest man alive” by People Magazine.    Because I have nothing better to do <sarcasm font>, I had a few thoughts and came up with an idea:

1.  I’m hungry.  Maybe that is because while I do find Adam delightful (so don’t you dare  go off sending me hate mail), I feel as if I should offer him a cheeseburger or something to fatten him up a bit.

2.  I really need to go get that new tattoo that I’ve been wanting.

3.  I understand that they have to give other guys a chance, but um HELLO???? WHERE IS JOHNNY DEPP?

4.  What constitutes “sexy”?  Sure Adam is easy on the eyes, but how do we know he isn’t a total prick?  (I’m sure he isn’t, but since I’ve never met him I cannot say for sure either way).  What about Johnny Farmer Bob?  No one showed up here to measure Bob’s level of sexiness.   Does Bob not make the list because he isn’t a guy with millions of adoring fans or have millions of dollars?  I see that Bob is at a massive disadvantage here.

5.  I’m still hurt over the Johnny thing.  I mean come ON.

6.  Who decides these things and why was I not consulted?

7.  WHAT ABOUT BOB?

I say it is time.  Time to show that our regular guys are sexy too.

Damn it, celebrities aren’t the only sexy men.  Our “regular” guys can compete with the likes of Adam, Idris, Jimmy, Luke, and of course Johnny. They CAN fortheloveoftatersandgravy!  After all, we married them/live with them/made babies with them/share a dog with them/haven’t killed them in their sleep to make the snoring stop so we must see something incredibly sexy about them.

While it is common practice to consider one “sexy” just based on what our eyes see <ahem, Johnny>, is that truly what makes them attractive?   Did you choose your husband/boyfriend just based on their looks?  Doubtful.  You chose him for his heart.  For the father you imagined him to be.  For the man you saw in him.  And yes, of course you chose him because his looks made your heart go all a-flutter.

That’s right ladies and gents, I want to see your sexy men.  I don’t just want to SEE them though, I want to know what makes them sexy.  What about him gets you all hot and bothered?  Don’t be shy, this is your chance to show off your man.  Follow closely my friends, there are rules and I need you to follow some directions. There may be a test.  Let’s start with some examples:

From my friend The Underachiever’s Guide to Being a Domestic Goddess:

DG’s husband, also known as the Greek God Adonis is sexy because he is able to laugh along with her daily at the basic, every day events in their family, he’s kind, generous and has a steady base that she can lean on. He comes home and immediately starts entertaining the kids while she gets dinner ready and is right there to help clean up and get the kids ready for baths. When he’s not working, he spends his extra time building Legos , fighting in epic light saber battles, and coaching the boys’ lacrosse team. He doesn’t mind getting up in the middle of the night to be there for the kids, he makes a mean breakfast, and he can fix anything that needs fixin’. He loves to play on his over 40 league lacrosse team called the Rusty Bones where, in each game, he demonstrates exactly why it is called that. He is even sexy when icing knee injuries and other bruises from playing like he’s still in high school. The sexiest thing of all is the way he loves his family with all his might and supports, encourages and cheers on everyone in his life.

DG

Mr. DG appears courtesy of DG

From my incredible friend Craughing:

The sexiest thing about The Fixer is his confidence in being a man. In a world overwhelmed with technology, money and being fake The Fixer shows his heart easily and with confidence. He is not overly concerned with looking tough and has somehow learned the perfect balance of being strong and sensitive. Somewhere along the way in his life, he learned that in order to be a man being open and loving is necessary and masculine. He is not afraid to try new things, admit when he is wrong, or show the world love and compassion. He strives to be a better person every day, and to make those he loves know they are adored. He also has a wicked sense of humor and laughs easily. Overall, his confidence in himself is what makes him the sexiest man I have known, that and he loves me well.

Craughing

The Fixer appears courtesy of Craughing Girl

I Want a Dumpster Baby thinks Dumpster Husband is sexy too, here are her thoughts:

What makes my husband sexy? Simple. He makes me laugh harder than anybody I’ve ever known. That’s the sexiest thing ever. That, and he has a great ass.

DH appears courtesy of IWADB

DH appears courtesy of IWADB

From the beautiful Blissfully Discontented:

Ordering dessert even though I said I didn’t want any, asks for two forks, and turns it toward me for the first bite…at the risk of losing it all to my ravenous sweet tooth.
His ability to laugh at himself…and see the funny in just about anything.  If I didn’t have him to make me laugh I know for a fact I would get sucked into my depressive oblivion as I’m known to do.  Also…he can quote stupid-funny movies like a mofo.  This is what first attracted me to him.  Hand to God.
He doesn’t always get why I need certain things in my life…like my need for sunshine and the shoreline.  But he gets ME.  He knows I operate on a solar-powered battery.  And although having his feet in the sand does absolutely nothing for him he knows the impact it has on me.  He holds my hand and walks countless miles up and down the beach.  He sits with me facing the tide for hours on end.  And he does it with a smile.  Means more to me than any jewelry in a fancy little box could every provide.
Most importantly, he is an excellent dad.  You can see the admiration and love in our kids’ eyes when they look at him.  He is firm but loving.  Silly but focused.  Even when life gets hard and work is overwhelming he puts it all aside and remembers what is important.  Aside from his ability to quote Chevy Chase or Adam Sandler…his ability to connect with kids is what truly attracted me to him.  When we first met we were camp counselors for a summer camp.  The way he interacted with his campers…I knew he was a catch then. I wanted to watch him grow into the man and father I knew he would one day become.  I thank God that he picked me to share this life and these babies with him.
The Gentleman appears courtesy of Bliss Dis

The Gentleman appears courtesy of Bliss Dis

And finally, here is what makes Farmer Bob sexy.  That’s right my friends, you finally get to see Bob.  Here is what makes him even sexier than Johnny:

Being an amazing father is what does it for me.  The way he isn’t afraid to show them his silly side, or his sensitive side, or his angry side.  The way he shows them every single day that he loves them whether it be playing a game of football in the front yard, helping them with homework, or showing them how to put a part on a tractor.  Throw in his never-ending support for me and my goals as a mother and as a woman/writer/person, it’s a wonder we don’t have more kids.  He puts up with me when I’m grumpy, when I’m being redonkulous, and when I’m being over-the-top silly.  He builds my confidence and reminds me that I am beautiful even when I disagree.  He makes me smile when he walks in the room and cheese on a cracker this man deserves a peace prize or something. Thankfully he settles for cookies instead.

Yes, that's really him. <3

Yes, that’s really him. <3

So here is the challenge, think about your man.  Really think.  Write down what makes him so irresistible to you.  What are the qualities that you see in him that maybe he doesn’t see in himself?  What makes him sexy as hell?

Once you have it nailed down (not your husband, your words)  I want to read them and I want to see your man.  Post a picture (keep it clean, the kiddies are watching) along with your words on my Facebook page or share it with me on Instagram (tag me @YKIHAYHT and use #mysexyman). I will give you until December 11 and then  I will assemble all the photos into a Facebook album for all to see and if the response is overwhelmingly positive, we will see where to go from there! <looking for some sponsors for some manly prizes maybe?  HINT, HINT>

Now don’t be shy, let us CELEBRATE our amazing men because the “regular” guys are sexy too!

*Stay tuned ladies and gentlemen, depending on the success (or utter failure) of this experiment you will (hopefully) have your turn to return the favor for your lady in the near future.*

 

 

She Is Someone’s Child

We have all done it.  We have all watched someone who is “different” from us.  Maybe it was that boy in the wheelchair.  Maybe it was the girl who kept her eyes to the floor and spoke only to herself.  Maybe it was that woman sitting in the doorway with only a blanket and a thin coat.  Maybe it is that family that is struggling to just get by at that exact moment. Maybe it is that child throwing a fit in the grocery store.

You think you are doing no harm.  That your stares, your whispers,  and your finger points go unnoticed.  That they are harmless.  What you don’t realize is that someone sees you. Someone feels those stares and hears those whispers. 

Today I am honored to share with you a post from my dear friend Jessica from Four Plus an Angel.  Jessica has felt those stabs, and wrote this beautiful piece to remind us that those stares, those whispers, and those finger-points are painful and that they make more of an impact than you realize.  

You Know it Happens at Your House Too: Someone's Child

Her hair is coarse and thick, dark brown and wavy.

My own is thin and fine, blonde with roots I’m trying to hide.

She has never worn a drop of makeup and is broad-shouldered.

I spackle my dark circles daily and am sometimes told I could be knocked over by a gust of wind.

I am her mom, but you didn’t notice.

I was in her classroom when you didn’t ask her to play.

I was in front of her a bit when you whispered to your friend to look at her as she stomped her feet.

I was behind her two steps when you looked back because you hadn’t stared enough.

I was far enough away that you didn’t realize we were together when you ran over to your co-worker to gossip about her staring and turning in circles.

She doesn’t know you said a word or did a thing, not a single one of you. In fact, she probably doesn’t see a difference between any of you and herself. If she did it might be the color of your shirt and she would tell you she liked it.

And I hope you would be embarrassed if she did. I hope her kindness and complete naiveté makes you feel ashamed of your stares and your words and your eye rolls.

We have done this for 18 years. For 18 years I have been next to, in front of, behind, deflecting ignorance with a silent evil eye that I hope gives off my intolerance for your behavior.

She may have never noticed but I always have. It may have bounced off of her but it has seeped into me.

At some point you decided that it doesn’t matter, that your right to stare or make a comment was more important than her right to be herself.

But you could not be more wrong. It does matter and the ripple of your actions hits mothers like me every single day.

She is someone’s child. She is mine. You might have thought no one was looking but someone was.

I haven’t missed a thing, but I wish I had.

Jessica Watson is mom to five, four in her arms and one in her heart. In addition to being a writer, she is a professional juggler of children, coffee and sanity. You can find her blogging at Four Plus an Angel, on FacebookTwitter and always on Pinterest.

 

Pumpkin Bars with Cream Cheese Frosting

I had Pumpkin Bars for breakfast. That’s right, I said it. Pumpkin Bars with Cream Cheese Frosting. I figured it has grains and dairy and fruit (pumpkin is a fruit isn’t it?) so why not. Then I thought that it just wasn’t fair to eat it and not share the recipe with you. Because you deserve a healthy breakfast too.

Now before you get all up in my grill about posting a recipe, let me be very clear….I AM NOT A FOOD BLOGGER. I won’t even pretend to be.  My reasons are simple: I only cook because I like to eat and food blogging looks hard.  Too much prep, too many pictures.  I’m way too unorganized for that biz.  Not to mention the fact that when I cook I use technical measurements like “a little bit”, “some”, and “oh shit, I used too much”.  I’m not meant for the food blogging business.

What I do know is that these bars are freaking delicious and I want to share them with you.  I have no fancy pics because I just decided to write this as I was shoving one in my pie-hole this morning.  I suggest you just print the damn recipe and bake some up yourself.  Sharing them is optional.

Wait.  Share the recipe.  I mean sharing the actual bars in all their deliciousness is optional.  However I would suggest you share them if you want to be able to continue to fit into your pants.  Unless you are still in your pajamas like I am.   Elastic is a wonderful thing.

See why I can’t be a food blogger?  Here’s the one picture I took and the damn recipe.  Enjoy.

Pumpkin Bars with Cream Cheese Frosting

Pumpkin Bars with Cream Cheese Frosting
A pan full of fluffy pumpkin deliciousness.
Prep Time
10minutes
Cook Time
25minutes
Prep Time
10minutes
Cook Time
25minutes
Pumpkin Bars with Cream Cheese Frosting
A pan full of fluffy pumpkin deliciousness.
Prep Time
10minutes
Cook Time
25minutes
Prep Time
10minutes
Cook Time
25minutes
Ingredients
Servings: Depends on how big you cut them. If you are selfish, it serves 1.
Instructions
  1. Mix dry ingredients in a large bowl. I wisk them to get rid of clumps. Make a well and add pumpkin, oil and eggs. Mix until smooth. Spread batter evenly in a greased jelly-roll pan. Bake at 350 for 20-25 minutes. Cool and spread with a thick layer of cream cheese frosting.
  2. Throw the butter and cream cheese in a bowl. Beat them together until they are friendly and dump in some powdered sugar. Keep beating, you won't go to jail. Add a little bit of milk to keep it moist (I said moist). Alternate powdered sugar and milk until it's like you like it then cover those pumpkin bars. Don't be shy, use it all up.
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Pumpkin Bars with Cream Cheese Frosting

A pan full of fluffy pumpkin deliciousness.