WARNING! This post MAY just offend you! Sorry! I need to get this off my chest.....
Allergies. Since when does every.single.kid on the planet have an allergy? And how come all of a sudden it's not just the kids, but all the moms too!?!?! Dads seem to be left immune to this strange phenomena and continue to drink copious amount of wheat bear and eat large quantities of white bread without ill effect.
No joke, percentage wise on Facebook- 70% of my friends claim to have a food allergy. Uh? 70%?!
If 70% of the population had food allergies, we'd all be dead by now.
I'm not saying that all allergies are made up. Allergies are no joke! Maybe that's why I get annoyed when suddenly everyone I know is allergic to something. Feeling sluggish after eating a loaf of bread is NOT an allergy. If you drink an entire milkshake and then complain of tummy troubles, I'm sorry...you cannot blame it on lactose intolerance.
Talking to a friend who has a real, life threatening allergy to certain fruits (bananas, watermelon, cantaloupe, etc) made me realize how obnoxious these new so called "true food warriors" are. The Dictator was faced with her own set of allergy challenges as an infant. Being allergic to sweet potatoes is a pretty crappy allergy to have these days, since sweet potatoes are the new fad 'allergy free' food. No carrots, no tomatoes, no nothing red until she was nearly 2 years old. How did I know she was allergic? She had an allergic reaction that required medical treatment, and she also had to undergo some pretty awful allergy testing.
To the woman who told me she thought her daughter might have the same allergy because after she ate sweet potatoes she had to burp a lot- Please shut up.
My personal favorite is "My child is allergic to sugar". I'm sorry, but I'm allergic to bullshit. Please stop trying to feed it to me. Your child is not allergic to sugar. Lets take a quick moment to think about why you think this. Sugar, when ingested, releases endorphins. Endorphins are fun! They make you want to run around and be crazy, silly, and well...sometimes hyper. They make you happy. Being happy makes you want to be more outgoing. In small people, the effect is bigger, because emotions are bigger. Getting excited after eating a cupcake does not mean you are allergic to cupcakes. I have a feeling these are the same parents who will tell me in a years time that their child is allergic to plastic, and therefore cannot go down the slide. Slide=endorphin rush=hyper. Not: slide=endorphin rush=allergy!
These 'allergies' also seem to only affect a certain segment of society. White, 30 something, middle class Americans with one to two children living in a house where the mother stays home seem to be most targeted by this affliction. You never hear Jim Bob or Honey Boo Boo's mom complaining that they can't eat too much gluten or they'll get sick. The lower class masses seem to be nearly entirely immune from this epidemic.
I've seen moms nearly starve themselves to death because they are terrified to eat fearing their breast milk will be tainted by these horrific allergens. Seriously! Eat a frigging bagel! Your baby will be fine! Have a cupcake, or two! You might feel so much better you'll forget to worry about 'allergies'!
Hosting a play date these days is beyond ridiculous. Suzy can't eat gluten. Sally can't have dairy. Emily is allergic to all nuts ("no..we haven't had her tested yet, but we have a feeling...."). Frank can't eat any meat. George is pretty much shit out of luck and is allergic to all of the above. What the hell am I supposed to serve for snacks? All of this needless worry makes me want to spike the organic, gluten free, sugar free, vegan cupcakes with red #40.
I'm not advocating we feed our children or ourselves a diet of junk food. I'm all for healthy, fresh, and even (gasp!) organic food when possible. However, please realize that allowing yourself or your children to eat at McD's once in awhile will NOT kill them.
Ok. Rant over. The end.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Get ready
Oh...the injustices of being a woman.
Not only do we bear the burden of pregnancy, childbirth, periods, breastfeeding, and all the other hormonal challenges we face, we are also supposed to look good while doing all of this.
I often lament to the Politician how unfair this is. I give him a ten minute warning before we leave the house. In that ten minutes, he has time to get himself completely ready, get a snack, use the restroom, and he still usually has time left over. He'll throw on some jeans and shirt and cover his messy hair with a hat and voila! He's ready to go.
I, on the other hand, have been in the bathroom the past hour. Shaving, plucking, tweezing, brushing, using things on my eyelashes that I'm certain were modeled after medieval torture devices. After an hour+ of this I should look like a super model. Wrong. I now look fit to be seen in public. After an hour, I'm still not done either. I have to find something to wear.
Another half hour....
Squeezing myself into skinny jeans I curse the man that invented them. It had to have been a man. No woman would do this to another woman. Why aren't yoga pants in fashion? Sigh. I long for the olden days of Juicy Couture track suits. Those were my wonder years. After a half hour of smashing my body and contorting my internal organs, I now am dressed and ready to go.
Oh no...I'm not. I have to pack my bag! I forgot, I'm not supposed to just wander around and look pretty, I'm supposed to also be a pack animal at the same time. Sippy cup, snacks, wallet, giant make-up bag, little toys, and a zillion other things must be found and deposited into the giant bag I call a purse. At this point, my purse borders on an 'I'm backpacking across Europe' backpack.
Now that I'm finally ready, it's time to get the Dictator ready. Tears, bows, shoes, "I want to wear my pink sparkly boooooots! and mismatched (on purpose!) socks later, we can now leave the house! 2 hours after my 'start time'!
The Politician is merrily playing a computer game. I want to smack the hat off his head and force him to shave his legs, but I don't. We just don't have the time.
A couple weeks ago I finally got fed up with it. I decided I was going to rock my yoga pants, throw my hair in a pony tail, go without make-up and throw caution to the wind.
As we're getting ready to leave for the day, the Dictator asked me "Momma, why do you look like Ursula today?" Ursula....the SEA WITCH from the Little Mermaid.
Sigh....back into the bathroom I go!
Not only do we bear the burden of pregnancy, childbirth, periods, breastfeeding, and all the other hormonal challenges we face, we are also supposed to look good while doing all of this.
I often lament to the Politician how unfair this is. I give him a ten minute warning before we leave the house. In that ten minutes, he has time to get himself completely ready, get a snack, use the restroom, and he still usually has time left over. He'll throw on some jeans and shirt and cover his messy hair with a hat and voila! He's ready to go.
I, on the other hand, have been in the bathroom the past hour. Shaving, plucking, tweezing, brushing, using things on my eyelashes that I'm certain were modeled after medieval torture devices. After an hour+ of this I should look like a super model. Wrong. I now look fit to be seen in public. After an hour, I'm still not done either. I have to find something to wear.
Another half hour....
Squeezing myself into skinny jeans I curse the man that invented them. It had to have been a man. No woman would do this to another woman. Why aren't yoga pants in fashion? Sigh. I long for the olden days of Juicy Couture track suits. Those were my wonder years. After a half hour of smashing my body and contorting my internal organs, I now am dressed and ready to go.
Oh no...I'm not. I have to pack my bag! I forgot, I'm not supposed to just wander around and look pretty, I'm supposed to also be a pack animal at the same time. Sippy cup, snacks, wallet, giant make-up bag, little toys, and a zillion other things must be found and deposited into the giant bag I call a purse. At this point, my purse borders on an 'I'm backpacking across Europe' backpack.
Now that I'm finally ready, it's time to get the Dictator ready. Tears, bows, shoes, "I want to wear my pink sparkly boooooots! and mismatched (on purpose!) socks later, we can now leave the house! 2 hours after my 'start time'!
The Politician is merrily playing a computer game. I want to smack the hat off his head and force him to shave his legs, but I don't. We just don't have the time.
A couple weeks ago I finally got fed up with it. I decided I was going to rock my yoga pants, throw my hair in a pony tail, go without make-up and throw caution to the wind.
As we're getting ready to leave for the day, the Dictator asked me "Momma, why do you look like Ursula today?" Ursula....the SEA WITCH from the Little Mermaid.
Sigh....back into the bathroom I go!
Monday, January 14, 2013
Creepy
Sometimes, little kids are just plain creepy. I realize they are living in a world that is half fantasy and half reality. Their gullible little minds eager to believe that at any moment a carousel might spontaneously appear in the backyard, or that Sesame Street really is just right down the road and you just have to know which way to turn. Little kids are the eternal optimists. And it's cute, and fun, and magical, until it's creepy. Then it's not fun anymore.
The Dictator has told me some things that have made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
She told us for a very long time, starting at 18mo old(!!), that she didn't like being in her room at night because the "Doctor" would come and stand over her bed and look at her. Uh....are you creeped out yet??
When probed about what the "doctor" looked like, the Dictator responded "Black wispy shadow with no eyes. He comes out of the closets if you don't close them all the way." I did not sleep for a week after that, and you can bet I checked EVERY closet in our house before bed. The showers too. Just in case. The Dictator slept happily in bed with us not knowing the reason she was allowed to do so was because Mommy was scared out of her mind! I think even the Politician was freaked out. I noticed he carefully closed her closet doors the entire way after that conversation.
Since then, The Dictator has told me equally frightening stories.
One evening, while driving in the car, the Dictator yelled "Look out Momma!" I, of course, freaked out and hit the brakes. Nothing was in the road or appeared to be wrong. The Dictator said "Didn't you see that man in the road? He was crossing the road! When you hit him, he disappeared! Why did you hit him!" I actually considered getting out and looking under my car, but really....I think I would have heard a thump. *Shudder* When we drove off I carefully looked behind me and on the sides of the road. I even checked my car when we got home.
The most recent scary stuff from the Dictator has come in the past week involving mirrors. I noticed while we were getting ready she would say "Hi!" to herself and talk to herself in the mirror. Like she was having a conversation with a real person. She'd tell me how the other her liked to wave and smile back and talk to her. I thought it was kind of cute. She'd tell me that "other Momma" liked when we talked to her too and so I started waving and smiling at myself in the mirror. Well....after this morning....NO MORE!
While brushing the Dictators hair and getting her ready for school, she was talking to her "mirror self". When she was all done and we were leaving the bathroom she said "Bye other me! Stay in the mirror today! You are not supposed to come out. I don't like when you come out and play with my toys! Sometimes you scare me!" I don't think we need mirrors anymore. Yeah. Those have to go. Next time you see me, if I look like a total sea hag, please just ignore it. I'm literally a little paranoid about being alone in my house and going to put my make-up on!
If my two year old can make me this scared, I can only imagine what she's going to do to me as a teenager. I don't stand a chance. I should probably take more cardio classes at the gym to get my heart ready!
The Dictator has told me some things that have made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
She told us for a very long time, starting at 18mo old(!!), that she didn't like being in her room at night because the "Doctor" would come and stand over her bed and look at her. Uh....are you creeped out yet??
When probed about what the "doctor" looked like, the Dictator responded "Black wispy shadow with no eyes. He comes out of the closets if you don't close them all the way." I did not sleep for a week after that, and you can bet I checked EVERY closet in our house before bed. The showers too. Just in case. The Dictator slept happily in bed with us not knowing the reason she was allowed to do so was because Mommy was scared out of her mind! I think even the Politician was freaked out. I noticed he carefully closed her closet doors the entire way after that conversation.
Since then, The Dictator has told me equally frightening stories.
One evening, while driving in the car, the Dictator yelled "Look out Momma!" I, of course, freaked out and hit the brakes. Nothing was in the road or appeared to be wrong. The Dictator said "Didn't you see that man in the road? He was crossing the road! When you hit him, he disappeared! Why did you hit him!" I actually considered getting out and looking under my car, but really....I think I would have heard a thump. *Shudder* When we drove off I carefully looked behind me and on the sides of the road. I even checked my car when we got home.
The most recent scary stuff from the Dictator has come in the past week involving mirrors. I noticed while we were getting ready she would say "Hi!" to herself and talk to herself in the mirror. Like she was having a conversation with a real person. She'd tell me how the other her liked to wave and smile back and talk to her. I thought it was kind of cute. She'd tell me that "other Momma" liked when we talked to her too and so I started waving and smiling at myself in the mirror. Well....after this morning....NO MORE!
While brushing the Dictators hair and getting her ready for school, she was talking to her "mirror self". When she was all done and we were leaving the bathroom she said "Bye other me! Stay in the mirror today! You are not supposed to come out. I don't like when you come out and play with my toys! Sometimes you scare me!" I don't think we need mirrors anymore. Yeah. Those have to go. Next time you see me, if I look like a total sea hag, please just ignore it. I'm literally a little paranoid about being alone in my house and going to put my make-up on!
If my two year old can make me this scared, I can only imagine what she's going to do to me as a teenager. I don't stand a chance. I should probably take more cardio classes at the gym to get my heart ready!
Friday, January 11, 2013
Moving
We found out this week that we are going to have to move. :(
Sometimes, being a renter really just sucks. I'm a permanence, deep rooter,
sentimental type of person at times, and I tend to become attached to where I live.
I take time and care to decorate. I've spent nearly two years decorating our house and I was just getting started. All while knowing it's just a rental and I'm going to move someday. I can't help myself. It becomes a compulsion.
When the Dictator heard we were moving, she didn't quite get it at first. She thought we were going on vacation. She asked if we could live in the castle at Disneyland with Cinderella. She also asked if we could eat ice cream and turkey legs every day. Her poor little sad eyes when I said no were only trumped by my own sad eyes. I'd love to live inside Disneyland!
I could tell that the news was starting to sink in and she has been slowly absorbing it and finding her own level of understanding with it. She started telling people "We are moving!" "I don't know where to!" I laugh, because as of right now, I don't know where to either!
I told her to consider it a game and a new adventure. That's what you're supposed to say, right? Yes...I think I read that on a parenting blog somewhere.... It seems like sound advice. I also told her that she could paint her new room pink. SHE could pick which color pink she wanted and SHE could help paint with her own brush. Suddenly, moving became much more lucrative and exciting. Every shade of pink we've seen the past few days has sparked much discussion over whether it's 'the right pink' or not. I can tell this is going to be a difficult decision and I anticipate many tense hours spent pacing the paint section at Home Depot looking at little swatches.
I never really realized though, that my daughter, who rarely takes after me at all, is also a decorator.
While using the potty today, she pointed up the large wall in our bathroom and said "Where did the butterflies go?" We had some butterfly art in frames that we had just taken down the night before as a start to operation:We must pack quickly or die trying. I told her they were packed for the new house and we'd have to find a new space for them. The Dictator said "But Mom! They go on that wall in this bathroom! They will not look right somewhere else! We should put them back!"I could see the OCD wheels turning in her head, because I too, worry that they will not look right anywhere else. In the end a compromise was reached and we put one frame back up, because "The bathroom looked naked without pictures."
I'm anticipating that the Dictator and I are going to have many decorating wars in the new house.
I was also anticipating that the Dictator might have a hard time adjusting to the idea of moving, and may get stressed when we do relocate. My fears were somewhat put to rest today though when I overheard her talking to her fish "Belle". Who is a male fish. Who lives in a pink castle. It's a sad life for Belle.
She told Belle- "Belle! Guess what?! I get to move to a new house! I get to paint my room pink!! I can't wait! I hate my room! It's sooooo ugly! Now I don't have to sleep in it! I get to sleep in pink!"
Sometimes, being a renter really just sucks. I'm a permanence, deep rooter,
sentimental type of person at times, and I tend to become attached to where I live.
I take time and care to decorate. I've spent nearly two years decorating our house and I was just getting started. All while knowing it's just a rental and I'm going to move someday. I can't help myself. It becomes a compulsion.
When the Dictator heard we were moving, she didn't quite get it at first. She thought we were going on vacation. She asked if we could live in the castle at Disneyland with Cinderella. She also asked if we could eat ice cream and turkey legs every day. Her poor little sad eyes when I said no were only trumped by my own sad eyes. I'd love to live inside Disneyland!
I could tell that the news was starting to sink in and she has been slowly absorbing it and finding her own level of understanding with it. She started telling people "We are moving!" "I don't know where to!" I laugh, because as of right now, I don't know where to either!
I told her to consider it a game and a new adventure. That's what you're supposed to say, right? Yes...I think I read that on a parenting blog somewhere.... It seems like sound advice. I also told her that she could paint her new room pink. SHE could pick which color pink she wanted and SHE could help paint with her own brush. Suddenly, moving became much more lucrative and exciting. Every shade of pink we've seen the past few days has sparked much discussion over whether it's 'the right pink' or not. I can tell this is going to be a difficult decision and I anticipate many tense hours spent pacing the paint section at Home Depot looking at little swatches.
I never really realized though, that my daughter, who rarely takes after me at all, is also a decorator.
While using the potty today, she pointed up the large wall in our bathroom and said "Where did the butterflies go?" We had some butterfly art in frames that we had just taken down the night before as a start to operation:We must pack quickly or die trying. I told her they were packed for the new house and we'd have to find a new space for them. The Dictator said "But Mom! They go on that wall in this bathroom! They will not look right somewhere else! We should put them back!"I could see the OCD wheels turning in her head, because I too, worry that they will not look right anywhere else. In the end a compromise was reached and we put one frame back up, because "The bathroom looked naked without pictures."
I'm anticipating that the Dictator and I are going to have many decorating wars in the new house.
I was also anticipating that the Dictator might have a hard time adjusting to the idea of moving, and may get stressed when we do relocate. My fears were somewhat put to rest today though when I overheard her talking to her fish "Belle". Who is a male fish. Who lives in a pink castle. It's a sad life for Belle.
She told Belle- "Belle! Guess what?! I get to move to a new house! I get to paint my room pink!! I can't wait! I hate my room! It's sooooo ugly! Now I don't have to sleep in it! I get to sleep in pink!"
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