Tag Archive: random rants

Two Valium and a bottle of wine…

any more relaxed and she’d be dead, he says to me the other night. My brother called me a few nights ago to ask if he was hearing what he thought he was hearing, that my step-mother was kicking him out of the house. She’d said she couldn’t relax with him and the dog there. Mostly she blamed it on the dog. The dog she claims she is uncomfortable around. It’s a four month old puppy. She just can’t stand the noise it makes when it walks. (Which is funny, since her dog clicks on the hardwood floors every time she walks, because they never cut her nails.) She can’t relax. Blah, blah, blah, bullshit.

Mostly, she just doesn’t want him living there anymore. Six months or so ago, when his company started doing poorly, they cut his pay and hours in half. They fired 60% of their staff, so my brother was just happy to still have a job. He had to give up his apartment though and move in with my dad and step-mother. First time he’s lived with them in twelve years, since he was sixteen years old. It wasn’t like he was living their for free, he was paying rent. More than I knew even. Anyway, now he has found some buddies to live with and he’ll be moving out this weekend. The house he’ll be moving into is a mile from his job instead of a 40 minute drive. His company has picked up, he is working tons of hours again. This will be better for him.

I’m livid. Not because of just this. Because of everything. Because it’s just another thing added to the long list of things that suck about them. I’m livid, because they did this to him. I am used to being a low class citizen in their world. I learned at a very, very young age, that my place in the family, came after the fish. I could give you a million examples, but it pains me to write any of them down. They have moments of treating him like that too, but mostly he ranks right above the dog. This is just too much. My dad probably knew this was coming and didn’t even bother to warn him. To give him a heads up. To say, hey son, you may want to start looking for a new place to live. Nope, he wasn’t even home with this conversation happened. She cornered my brother a few days ago. My dad is the biggest freaking wussy in the world. I doubt the man takes a crap without her approving it.

I’m used to being called a bitch, she said to him. He didn’t even call her one. You know what? The word fits. It is her. She’s used to being called one, because she is one. He didn’t even say the Valium and wine line, although it cracked me up when he told me about it. It’s true. She’s an alcoholic. She drinks a bottle of wine a night. At least. She’s a verbally abusive drunk. Then she passes out. It’s what she does.

I’m angry. I’m so freaking angry. Nothing I could do or say would change anything. They’ve already written me off. I am too much like my mother according to my step-mom. Truly, that’s BS. I am much more like my dad, than my mom. Really she doesn’t like me, because I’m a girl. Because I was the oldest and I’m a girl, so I’m a threat. Doesn’t matter that I was a week over six years old when we met. She’s never liked me. Treated me like crap ever since then, while acting all fake and caring in front of other people.

They don’t care what happens in my life. I only talk to my dad once every say six weeks. He only calls me from work. He NEVER calls me from home. The only exception to that is Christmas. I am normally worth one call a year from home. They don’t know my kids. They’ve only met Harrison once. Hell last year, I took my kids to see them, the day after I’d had a miscarriage. They were fine when I was there. When I got home, neither of them called me for three months. Didn’t call to see that we’d made it home okay. Not to say, hey we had fun with the kids. Not even to check on me. I normally call my dad after 6 weeks or so if he hasn’t called me. That time I didn’t. I was depressed and I truly just wanted to see how long it would take him to call me. It took three months.

Even though I technically have a father, he doen’t really exist for me. He is alive and lives in Northern California. But I don’t really have a dad. I have grown used to this. I hate it, but I am used to it. This was just another blow for my brother though, one more thing to show him, that he sadly doesn’t either.

This is rough and I’m sure it makes no sense. I’m not even going to edit it. Today, I am make no sense and I’m a bit rough around the edges. I’m angry. Mostly though, I’m sad for my little brother. He’s only getting shit right now and he deserves better. He deserves the world. I’d give it to him if I could, but I can’t. And that makes me angry.

Three things I know this morning

When someone tells me, I got so jittery from a cup of tea this morning, I don’t know how in the world you can drink that much coffee, I have the urge to smack them. I dare anyone to sleep as little as I sleep and survive with no coffee. Back up off my coffee habit.

When the same dam person then tells me that I should drink Kirkland coffee from Costco, as it is the same thing as Starbucks and I could save so much money if I bought that instead, I want to run them over with my car. WTF! Why in the world should anyone care what I spend my own goddam money on?

Two and a half hours of sleep, makes Issa a very mean violent mess. That will be all.

ps. I meant to say this yesterday, but didn’t find the time. (Stupid mistakes a bookkeeper did for my husbands company, that I’ve spent the better part of a week fixing.) My Aunt Bernice came out of surgery. It wasn’t as bad as the doctor thought. The cancer was fully encapsulated in both breasts, so they removed the cancer and they left her breasts. No chemo, no radiation needed. Am so relieved and so, so very happy for her. Thank you all for your good thoughs for her.

Have faith

She says this to me last night, like it’s supposed to mean something to me. Like it should somehow be comforting. Have faith. My mom knows better, but she says it anyway.

It doesn’t comfort me. In reality, it annoys me.

I don’t. I don’t have faith. I don’t see how saying that in a situation is very helpful. I don’t see why bad things keep happening to good people. How I’m supposed to have faith that it will just somehow turn out okay. How I’m supposed to believe that there is some grander plan. How I’m not supposed to just think that it all sucks and life is unfair.

Why can criminals and crackheads have babies that they will just abuse and neglect and eventually leave broken for someone else to deal with, but good, honest, hard working, caring people can’t seem to have a baby to save their life?

How does praying for something, like people surviving the earthquake in Haiti make any difference? Isn’t it more effective to give money, to give blood, to try and help in some way? Is praying better than sending money for food? Does it feed starving kids? Does it make people stop bleeding or able to climb out of the wreckage? No. It doesn’t. THIS, what my friend Stacey is doing, is something that helps. Something that makes a difference. It may seem small, it may even be small in comparison to the whole picture, but it makes more sense to me that just having faith.

How is it some grander plan, for Heather and Mike to have lost Maddie? They are amazing people. Great people who deserved better. They deserve that baby girl they had last week, so much so. She is a great gift to the world. Beautiful baby Annie. However, they deserved Maddie too. Annie deserved Maddie too. They are good people, who deserved both of those baby girls. THIS, their foundation in Maddie’s name is something concrete that helps.

How does faith help? How does prayer help? Why do people say it like it should help? Doing, acting, helping in concrete ways helps more in my eyes.

How am I supposed to have faith, when Anissa had a major stroke, after spending years fighting with everything in her to save Peyton? It’s not fair. It’s not something that makes sense to me.

Have faith? I’m supposed to have faith that my life will one day make sense? That somehow I will someday find it okay that the only man I’ve ever loved, the man I still love, no longer loves me?

I’m supposed to have faith when my great auntie, the one I told you about earlier this week has to have a double mastectomy on Monday? How is that fair? How is any of it fair? How does having faith help any of that? 92 years old and she should have to deal with this too? It’s not fair. It’s not right. I have no faith. I don’t believe that she did anything to deserve this. I don’t believe that it’s some greater plan.

I do believe in her. I came to that conclusion last night. I don’t have faith. But I believe in my Aunt Bernice. I believe she is strong and stable and one of the greatest women I’ve ever known in my life. I know she will be okay, because she plans on being okay. Because she plans on spoiling her two newest great-grand-children when they are born in March. Because she plans on going on a Disney cruise in Spring 2012. Because she’s stubborn enough for me to believe she will make it. I believe in her. That’s all I’ve got to hold onto in that situation.

The funny thing is, I believe in god. I do. I don’t however, believe that god is some big guy in a chair, dictating what we all do and what happens to each of us. I believe in free will way too much to buy that. I believe that something happens after you die. I don’t however, know what that is. Do I believe in heaven and hell? No, not really. But I don’t believe that you are dead and that’s it. I believe in angels. Might seem silly, but I do.

Besides that though, I don’t know what I believe in. Just blindly having faith that it will be okay? Not something I can do. I will worry every single second between now and next Monday afternoon, when I hear that she came out of surgery okay. Because that is all I can do. That and let her know that I love her. That my kids and I adore her and love her, today and forever.

Have faith, she tells me….well sorry, but I don’t. I can’t. It’s just not that easy for me.

Why I should never have to go to the grocery store again

by Issa, my blog title has crazy in it for a reason.

I do most of my grocery shopping at a Super Target, not to far from my house. Mostly, because I don’t like having to go to three stores. It has a full grocery store in it and that makes me happy. Also, I am lazy.

I was waiting in line at the pharmacy. It being Sunday around noon, there was about five people in front of me in line. I wait with the kids for a good fifteen minutes. Right as it was almost my turn a guy comes up, walks right past everyone in line and goes directly to the pharmacist. I just shook my head in disbelief. The woman behind me started to say something, but I can guarantee you this guy wasn’t paying attention. By then their were about six people behind me in line.

I wish I was one of those people who thought of the great one line to say to people, in the moment. I’m not. I’m the, think of a great line at 2am the following morning, when the time for saying it to anybody but Logan, is long gone. I wanted to call the man names, that’s for sure. I DM’ed Liz that I wanted to call the man a fucktard, but it occurred to me that I didn’t want Harrison to learn to say that, not so close to the holidays. It wasn’t even that he took up time, because he was done in a few minutes. It’s that people feel so entitled to cut in front of a line full of people. Because god forbid he needs his medications more that the rest of us.

I wish I’d told him to be careful, that I was picking up my crazy meds and I hadn’t had any yet. It’d of been a lie though. Mostly, I wanted him to not be a fucktard. To somehow magically learn at probably fifty years old that he is not the only human being on the face of the planet. That the sun does not rise and set out of his ass. I said nothing.

I continue shopping knowing I am forgetting things, but I can’t seem to find my list. I am feeling stabby and can’t even remember what Logan wanted to make for dinner. I argue with Bailey about why I’m not buying Rice Krispy treats, fruit snacks and cookies. She can pick one. Then I explain to her why I’m not even looking at Halloween costumes in freaking September. I debate giving Harrison to the kind woman in the isle, when he starts screaming at me, since I took away his pacifier. Instead, I give back the pacifier.

I then leave and go to where I was going to pick up sandwiches for lunch only to stand in a line of 35 people. I know it was Sunday at lunchtime, but I’ve never been there when it was this packed. It wouldn’t have bothered me normally, but I was already feeling grouchy. I’m pretty sure I yelled at my kid for looking at me. Mom of the year, I am not.

Get home and the first thing Logan says is Iss, where’s the charcoal? It was on the list. I wave the list at him, I’d just found it sitting on the kitchen counter. You mean this list?

I then realize that I’m missing peppers, onions and avocados, which were all ingredients we needed for dinner. I decide we are likely having grilled cheese again for dinner, because there is no way I am going back to any store today.

Logan unpacks the last few bags as I go change Harrison’s diaper. He comes in to the bedroom and shows me a DVD. Why’d you get this, he asks? He’s laughing at me. I’d be laughing at me too. He’s holding up The House Bunny. Click on it, if you want. It’s safe for work. However it’s a movie about a play-boy bunny, not a Disney flick.

BAILEY, I yell. What mama, she asks? What is this? How did we get home with this? You bought it for me, she says. I asked you if I could have the Barbie movie and you said yes, so I handed it to the lady.

I did. I told her she could have the Barbie movie. I thought she meant the new Barbie movie. Barbie dwells with the unicorn trolls in the universe of duh. (Yes, I’m sure that’s the name of the new Barbie movie.) I just never looked at the actual movie. I’m sure the check out lady thought I was insane to buy my five year old the Play Boy Bunny movie. In the moment, I’d been trying to get Harrison to relinquish control of my phone so I could DM Liz again. I hadn’t even looked at the movie I purchased.

I’m almost embarrassed to take that DVD back. I’m not sure what to do with it. Giving it to charity, doesn’t seem right either. I don’t think that would be helping anyone.

SO, in conclusion, these are all great reasons for why I shouldn’t ever, ever, ever have to go to the grocery store again.

Or at least great reasons for why I shouldn’t take children with me to the grocery store. Maybe I should limit myself to taking the older, helpful shopper child next time. Nah. I’m done. I quit.

Dang it, I need milk. Hmmm, I see a trip to the store in my near future.

Not welcome anymore

Hold your head high, don’t ever let them define the light in your eyes. Love yourself, give them hell. You can take on this world. You can stand and be strong. And then fight like a girl. With style and grace, kick ass and take names. –Fight like a Girl by Bomshel

I have always joked about inventing troll be gone spray. In comments for years, I have joked about how we needed this. How awesome it would be to have some sort of spray that got rid of trolls. Problem is, this is the Internet. Obviously a spray isn’t going to cut it. Who’d want to spray their computer? Not me, that’s for sure.

I’d like to do the next best thing. I’d like to start an anti-troll movement. To let them all know that they are not welcome here. Not just here on my site, but on any of our sites. I’d like us to take back our space. To stand up and say, we are not going to let this happen anymore; we are not going to sit here and take your crap. You are not welcome anymore. Shoo.

It’s gone too far. Especially lately. It seems like every day someone who I love is being attacked for no good reason in their comments. I’ve done my share of troll taunting and attacking, this I will admit to. I despise my friends being attacked though. I’ve gone on the defensive more times than I can count. All it gets me, is more trolls attacking me. It has to stop.

I’ve tried the ignore tactic. Heck people, I moved my blog to WordPress, in hopes that would help, but I still got one on my post about my SIL. Yes, I deleted it. No, I didn’t respond first. It’s still not okay. Nothing about this is okay anymore. It was never okay, but it’s gotten really bad lately. Every day it seems someone is being attacked in their comments by trolls.

It used to be where they attacked because you talked about a certain subject. You discussed breast feeding, circumcision, c-sections, your views on the president, whatever. It still wasn’t okay, but it was generally people who were fanatics about that certain subject. Now, they’ll attack just to attack. Just to be trolls, just to see if they can bring you down.

I don’t attack people in their space. If I read something I don’t like, as long as it isn’t an attack on my friends, in their comments, I hit that bright red X at the top of the screen. How hard is that to do?

It seems like it is very hard for some people.

I want to do something about it. The problem is, I don’t know where to start, what to do exactly, but I know something needs to be done.

Obviously we can’t stop people from commenting. But we can stop dealing with them. We can all agree to delete and block and not respond to them, if we see them elsewhere.

That’s my idea anyway. What do you guys think? Are you in? Any ideas?

Why it bothers me

You write a post about silly nonsense, the first real post in a month and get told that you are a sheep and should kill yourself. By a person with no name, but none the less, some person who felt that was the right thing to say.

As bloggers, we are supposed to not care about this. We should get used to it. You have enough hits to your site, you are bound to get some trolls. We are supposed to harden our heart and not let the stupid comments bother us. As a seasoned writer in a public forum, I am supposed to just let this roll off my back. It doesn’t matter, it’s just some asshat troll. Delete and ignore. We’ve even come up with the blogging terminology to describe these people; the people who attack in comments, the people with no names.

But it does hurt and it does sting. Even after all these years of doing this, it bothers me. Intellectually it doesn’t bother me. But the heart and the brain don’t’ always feel the same way. You just don’t say that to someone. That is something that I can’t just brush off. The, you should kill yourself comment. The rest of it can be ignored, but that one stings. I’m not sure why. Maybe because I had a friend who did kill himself. In some ways it bothers me more when someone attacks a friend of mine, than when they attack me. I am always willing to defend a friend and luckily I didn’t have to say anything yesterday, as all of you were kind enough to defend me.

After the multiple comments and then the attacks on all of my friends, it almost seemed funny in some way. This person who so wanted to be known as the troll of the day. It seemed less personal after that, which was nice. But that one comment sits under my skin and eats at me. Because I wonder why someone would say such hateful things to a stranger. I wonder what I said to provoke him. Did my talking about Disneyland or my kids last day of school, provoke such a hateful response? Am I just an easy target?

It’s not me. I’ve been told that two dozen times, by people I adore. I know they are right, yet I still feel responsible.

I think in some way, they must be jealous. Jealous of our families, jealous of our friendships, jealous that they have no name. That must be really sad for them, to have no name. I doubt they’d walk up to a stranger on the street and spew such hatred, as they are apt to do online. I wonder what makes someone feel that this is okay? That the words they type are any different than the words they say aloud. Words have power, whether you type or say them. Maybe they don’t care, maybe I am such a horrible person and I deserve it. However, I doubt it, because I’ve never in real life, had someone attack me like this. You want to know why? Because I am a nice human being. I am kind to others, even people who don’t deserve it. I say please and thank you. I donate money and time to help the less fortunate. I don’t tailgate, nor flip off strangers who cut me off in traffic. I’ve never taken a thing in this world that did not belong to me. I am a hard worker and a responsible human being. I take good care of my children. I am a good person.

But they don’t see that. They don’t seem to care to see that. They don’t care that telling a depressed person to kill themselves is just plain wrong. He doesn’t care, because it doesn’t affect his life.

It bothers me, this lack of caring. The ability to spew filth and not care what you’ve put into the world. It makes me wonder about the world. And I don’t like that feeling.

This person, who taunted the blog world yesterday, doesn’t care about people. Doesn’t care about people’s feelings or emotions. Most likely it was a ploy for attention. There have been others before and there will be more after. Eventually they move on, because truly, why would you continue to read blogs written by parents, if you hate parents and children? (And hi, don’t you have parents, weren’t you once a child?)

It hurts me as much as it does, not really because of the 23 words this person said, but because I am still fragile. I am the first person to admit, I’ve had a hard ass month, which has come after a hard ass eight months, following a rough couple of years. I have my good moments and my not so good moments. Yesterday was the first time in a month when I hadn’t been depressed and this is what I get. Yesterday, by the way, was the four week mark. I lost the baby four weeks ago, last night.

I have been depressed and trying to be okay (and doing a dam good job of it) for a month. I’m fragile and I can’t handle this without talking about. I can’t ignore it like I should probably do. I can’t just let it go.

Which is why I’m writing this. Not because I want to give this person more attention. I have deleted and will continue to delete all of his comments. I am not going to link to his site, nor will I ever click on it again.

I am writing this, because I have to. I have to say all of this. I have to write that this isn’t okay. That I am not just some random stranger behind a computer screen. I am a person with feelings. I am a wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend and dog owner. I am a good person.

I am taking a stand. I am saying to the world, to all the trolls out there, that this has gone on long enough. Go find a life and stay the hell out of mine. Leave my friends alone. No one cares what you have to say. Shoo.

I am done justifying it

DONE. I am done justifying what I spend my money on to people. I have had no less that four people (one online and three at the school) say to me, in the last three days no less, you go to Starbucks every day? Why yes, I do. And what the hell does it matter? That just seems like a waste of money, they’ve all said. Think of the things you could buy with that money. It adds up. Have you ever thought about that?

I’m sure it does add up. But I don’t care. And I really want to know why anyone would care? You want to know what I spend a week at Starbucks? $20 freaking dollars. Add that to the $20 my husband spends a week and you’ve got $40 dollars. Holy crap. $40. Breaking the bank there I guess.

Could I make my coffee at home? I’m sure I could. I am certainly capable, in fact I own an espresso machine.

What I want to know is, why the fuck is it anyone else business where I spend my money? I don’t buy expensive purses. I have one Coach purse that I use every single day, but I’ve had it for over four years. I don’t buy expensive shoes. In fact, I don’t really buy shoes for myself. I prefer the same pair of shoes that I’ve had for two years. Whenever I can, I wear flip-flops. I don’t buy expensive clothes. I do buy new clothes for my ever growing children, but hey, they can’t exactly walk around nekkid. Also, I live right near a great outlet mall.

Logan and I live within our means. We always have. We are smart about our money. We started out buying a condo, then we sold it and bought a house. We have savings, that we add money too every month. All three of our kids have a college fund. We have a house, two paid off cars (which we bought used) and absolutly no debt. If I can’t pay for something, or I know I won’t be able to pay it off at the end of the month, I don’t buy it. Plain and simple. Yes, we’ve been lucky. But I’ve been working my ass off since I was fourteen years old and I’ve always been good with money. Am I rich, hell no. I will most likely never be. But I can afford my freaking Venti Non-Fat Mocha with whip cream from Starbucks. Every day, forever, if I want too.

This irritates me. People judging me, telling me how I should live my life, irritates the fuck out of me. I don’t judge others for what they spend. I happen to know that one of the people who said what she said to me, drives a freaking top of the line huge ass SUV when she only has two kids. Another goes out to night clubs every weekend and drinks long island iced teas like they are water. That can’t be cheap. Either way, I don’t care, so why the heck do they?

Friend’s don’t let friend’s go to play dates

First off let me just say that if one of you lived here and we had a play date, I’m sure it would be fine.

I? Am not a play date type of a mom. I am spoiled. This is what comes from your best friends having kids at the same times as you. Built in best friends, second generation style. No need for silly things like random play dates with parents you don’t know.

I should have known, should have remembered; that I’m not a play date person. I should have never said yes. This woman, whose demon spawn…I mean child, is in Baileys class, has been asking me to have a play date for a while. I don’t hang out at the school much. I mean, I volunteer, but I don’t spend the whole time my kid is in pre-school talking outside with the other mothers. Some of them do and that’s fine, I’m just not one of them. Because when my girls are in school, I tend to have very important things to do. Like blogging.

So, this woman had been asking me for a play date and kept telling me that our girls play together so nicely, so I finally agreed. We went over to her house on Friday afternoon.

First, her demon child kept hitting my kid. Oh she had a cookie today, was the mom’s response. Ok, because that is a great response to your kid whacking mine upside the head. Don’t bother to stop her from doing it a few more times. A child who has had a cookie, can’t ever be told to knock it off, I suppose.

Then she started talking, non-stop. The mom, not the kid. The kid is behind in speaking. Most likely because her mom talks incessantly. About absolutely nothing. No joke, she’d ask me a simple question; like, how old is your baby? Then she’d interrupt me two words in to tell me about some random story about her life. Because her kids were almost five months once and they… I don’t know, ate a lot? Then it led to a story about when she was a baby and then about her mom’s life. Also, every story somehow led to Scouts. I guess her son is in scouts. She must be the most annoying scout mom ever.

Small tangent here: I hate scouts. Every one of them, girl, boy, cub, whatever. What they stand for; their homophobic attitude; but mostly, I hate the cookies. I know, I may be the only person in the world who hates girl scout cookies, but I do. I despise that they are at every grocery store in the state right now, hawking those nasty cookies. Dude, if I wanted your cookies, I would have bought them from the 6 little girls in my neighborhood who each came by and rang my door bell early Sunday morning, for six weeks in a row. No, I don’t want your dam cookies, now let me in the god dam store. End tangent.

So, I heard about the scouts. Then she went and on about her Unity church and how amazing it is. How rainbows shoot out of every ones asses after they go there. Then how she just can’t believe we don’t go to church. We don’t go to church. Period. We don’t belong to a religion. Period. And what the heck is a Unity church anyway? Wait, don’t answer that. I don’t care if I know. If I was planning on choosing a religion it would be one of the ones in my family.

I started getting desperate, so I sent out this Tweet from the bathroom:

Somebody save me. I am in playdate hell. Can one of you DM me and i dont know be in labor or have ebola? Something. Please

Then nothing. Crickets. Chirp.

I waited, hoping someone would see it. But nope, nobody was on to see it. Then I sent a text to my BFF Kate, saying pretty much the same thing. She texted me back, I told you not to do play dates. You never listen.

Am looking for a new BFF by the way.

Eventually we left and as we did, Bailey says to me, Mommy why did we go there? I don’t even like that girl.

Great kid, just great. You couldn’t have told me that earlier? Play dates are not for the weak at heart and they are definitely not for me.

Things I don’t understand

Why someone will have their hand down their pocket, scratching, in public. Like in an elevator. Then they stop for a second, only to start up scratching again. Dude, that is what bathrooms were invented for.

People who look around, before picking their nose in traffic. If it is daytime and you are picking your nose in your car…someone is watching.

Men who make comments about why breastfeeding is so simple and they don’t understand a woman who wouldn’t do it. Ok, then, you try it. Asshat.

Why anyone would look at a newborn and say, oh what a pretty girl? When the BOY in question was wearing a dark blue onesie that says baby brother on it. If you don’t know, don’t just assume. I’d way rather someone say, oh what a cute baby, then try to guess.

Why a group will come out with new songs; put them on a “greatest hits” CD and then not let you just purchase those three freaking songs. No, you must purchase the CD full of songs that you already own for three little songs. Egotistical much?

Why I bother to pay for professional photos of my children, when they come out looking all weird. Why it is that my sweet little daughter thinks a camera is going to steal her soul. Why my son can be happy all day, but put him in front of a camera and he gets all grouchy and starts crying, like I told him he was being returned to sender. Why my oldest suddenly believes she is on the cover of some fashion magazine? Is one good photo at Christmas too much too ask? My house is filled with photos of the kids. Almost none of the ones that are up, were professionally taken.

Any of you have something you just don’t understand? I’m full of them these days.

Dear airport bitch,

Remember me? I was the one singing Van Morrison (quietly I might add) to my newborn son in the airport on Sunday. You must remember me. I was the one you were looking at like I was insane. Oh you remember now. Yeah that figures. You said to your friend/relative and I quote “That’s not appropriate to sing to a baby.” Really? Because lullabies are so f’ing great? Let’s ignore your rudeness and bitchiness for just a second and talk about lullabies. The oh so appropriate lullabies people should, in your mind, be singing to their newborns.

Bah Bah Black Sheep….lets just sing about stealing from an innocent sheep. Plus, this is 2008. I live in a major metropolitan city. Sheep are something my son is likely to see three times in his childhood and always in a zoo. I doubt any of them will be black sheep. Plus, my son has no master and the boy in the song gets no wool. Why in the hell would I want to sing my son this screwed up song?

Ring around the rosie: Pocket full of posies, ashes ashes we all fall down. Oh yes, lets sing about the freaking plague. This is what I want Harrison to know about. Sweet dreams son.

Rock-a-bye Baby: Do we even need to discuss the baby in a tree song? Baby in a tree? Falling down, baby and all? Why don’t we just call CPS and get it over with?

Babies don’t care what we sing to them. They don’t care if our voice creaks. They don’t care if we make up words. Do you know that my daughter Morgan sings to Harrison all the time and he coos at her? When he’s cranky and I’m trying to finish dinner or something, I send her to sing too him. She sings whatever song she has stuck in her head, the ABC’s, or some silly made up song about Mama eating his cheeks. Last night she was singing her multiplication table to him. He just loved it. He could care less what it is, he just loves the way we sing to him.

Van Morrison, Days Like This? Is hands down a better song for my son to hear. I’d rather sing him anything besides kid music. You know why? Because my kids don’t own that crap. They have never in their life owned a Raffi CD, or the Wiggles or even a Barney-Dora-Issa is poking her eyes out type of CD. Everyone who knows me, knows not to buy this stuff for my kids. I won’t give it too them. I’d rather them sing the songs on the radio. I love that they know which Satellite radio station they want to listen too each time we get in the car. I’m rather proud of the variety of music my girls like. They request songs by artist and title. You haven’t really lived until you’ve witnessed Bailey singing and dancing to Hey There Delilah by the Plain White T’s. You should watch my kids when Pink’s, So What, comes on in the car. They go nuts, they love it. They are not being harmed in any way by not having a Raffi CD.

There are so many things I could say too you. So many horribly mean things I could put out for the world to know about you. I am very observant. I’ve thought about it for three long days. However, I’m a nicer person than you. I may judge people I see, but it’s always in my own head. I don’t judge people out loud in a crowed airport for the whole world to hear. If this had happened last year, I’d have likely snapped your head off and fed it to a shark. Just count yourself warned. Not everyone would have continued singing to their son and then walked away.

My son, is not being harmed by me singing whatever song I have in my head too him as a lullaby. In fact, I think he is perfectly content with anything I sing to him.

So eat that, Biotch in the airport.

Hugs and stuff,
Issa