Have you ever sat at breakfast on a relatively calm and peaceful morning and thought, how could I change this to be a morning filled with screaming and tantrums? I mean really, what’s a morning without a good ole fashioned tantrum?
Well no fear my friends, I have the answer for you. All you have to do is realize that your children weren’t with you on Sunday and so their nails and toenails haven’t been trimmed.
Simply take out the clipper and voila: TANTRUMS AND SCREAMING!!!!!
You are very welcome.
Last night while waiting in line at a Kohls a woman asked me if I was aware that my eye was crossed. Kinda rude, yes. Accurate, yes. But hello, I am 31 years old, I’m quite aware that my eyes cross, since they’ve done it my ENTIRE LIFE!
At first it made me wonder what in the world is wrong with people. Why the heck does a 45 yet old woman have worse manners than my two year old? Didn’t her mother teach her manners? Didn’t anyone tell her what I tell my kids? That everyone has feelings and some things that you think don’t need to be said outloud? ESPECIALLY RUDE THINGS? Apparently not. She’s not alone in this. People have told me about my eyes my entire life. As if they are telling me something new. As if I am somehow blissfully unaware of my own eyes. At times I’ve been rude back, but mostly I just say, yes I am aware and I move on.
It made me wonder though, what is so wrong with the fact that my eyes cross at times? How is it affecting anyone at all? Why does it matter?
The only answer I could come up with, is that we as a culture want perfection. Or the idea of perfection. Your eyes aren’t perfect, fix them. You need glasses, put contacts in. God forbid one should wear those ugly glasses.Your nose is slightly large, make it look like Lord Voldemort’s. Doesn’t everyone want a non-existent nose like Lord Voldemort? You are too thin, eat. You are too fat, starve yourself. You have two grey hairs, you’d better start coloring your hair forever. Grey is ugly, you know?
Why though? Whose idea of perfection are we trying to live up too?
In reality, I could do the surgery. But why? It’s a cosmetic surgery. It wouldn’t help my vision at all. It may only slightly help the crossing. I’ve had the surgery once. It was necessary at three years old for me to be able to see. It’s not necessary now. Why should I have a non-necessary surgery, just to please other people? It can’t really harm anyone’s life that my eyes occasionally cross, right? They act like it does. You should have surgery to fix “that” they say, like I have a third ear.
Why though? Why can’t my crossed eye stay? Why is it offensive to people?
We shouldn’t be made to feel bad about our imperfections. Our imperfections are what makes us, us. We should be allowed to celebrate them. They are a part of us, how can they be so horrible?
I think of mine like battle wounds. I’ll tell you quite honestly I’m proud of most of them.
My eyes cross. Most likely because of how sick my mom was while pregnant with me. I was a full placenta previa. She was on bed rest with me the last three months of her pregnancy and was anemic and bleeding the entire time. Back in those days they didn’t catch it as early and I ended up lacking in key nutrients. That’s the theory at least. My mother and I almost died when I was born. This is my battle wound. My crossed eyes are my battle wound. I’m proud of them. It reminds me that I’m lucky. That I could have no vision. Or something else. My eyes remind me. They remind me when they cross. They remind me when I look in the mirror and see my slightly sagging right eye lid. That eye is the worst. It reminds me and I smile.
I wear glasses, because I hate contacts. I also wear glasses because I like the way they look on me. I have horrible vision. I’ve been told it is a miracle that I can see at all. A miracle that my mom found a child eye specialist when I was six months old, instead of believing the regular eye doc who said my eyes weren’t fixable. I’ve worn glasses since 18 months old. I’m rather fond of them. They remind me of that miracle. They remind me of my mom, who didn’t take no as an answer.
Shoulder scars. Three of them from a surgery to fix my shoulder after a horrible car accident in 2002. I am proud of them. They remind me that I lived. That life is precious. That cars can be dangerous and I always need to be careful. It’s a part of me.
I have a scar on my right hand. Five stitches as a four year old, when my then two year old brother accidentally put the car into drive on a hill. It reminds me of that story. The story about me being bossy and telling him to pull the car over if he couldn’t drive it. Of him yanking on the steering wheel and running us into a truck. The truck that saved us from the very busy street below. Five stitches.
I have grey hairs that I mostly won’t cover. Why? Because I think they add character. I’ve earned them this past ten years. I got the first few after the car accident when the constant ibuprofen gave me bleeding ulcers. They’ve continued to appear since then. Maybe it’s a sign of age. Maybe it’s genetics. Maybe it’s because I worry too much. Yet, I don’t cover them. Battle wounds, you see?
I’m 31 years old. I am proud of who I am most days. I celebrate my battle wounds. They made me who I am today. Am I perfect? no. But what is perfect anyway?
WARNING: I need you guys to know something before you read this. I am okay. I really am. I’ve started writing these things down, as a way to get them out of my head. As a way to try and process why I am the way I am. For me, writing helps. Writing is better than therapy. It’s almost like a way to release some of this. As I’m dealing with some things that have come up lately, there may be more posts like this. I’ll try to post one and then post other things before posting another. Please know, I am okay.
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I am six. It is my second memory of her. It is morning and there are cartoons on in the background. She asks which cereal we each want and I choose Coco Pebbles. I see the chocolate milk on the counter and ask if I can have that on my cereal. She asks if I do that at home and I say, oh my mom always let’s me. Why I had to say that, I’ll never know. Maybe I just thought it sounded good. Maybe I wanted brown milk.
My dad comes into the room and asks what in the world I’m eating and she tells him what I said. He laughs and then says, she’s never even had sugar cereal, her mom would freak out at this breakfast. I hide my face guilty in my hands. She laughs it off.
She makes me pay for it later.
Years later she still tells the story at times. How funny that she believed a silly lie from a six year old child. She leaves out the scalding hot bath and the clumps of hair she yanked from my head, in brushing it that night. Yep. She always leaves that part out.
***********
I get sick and throw up in bed one night. I may have been seven. I don’t remember the details of what she said and did. I just remember being forced to clean up the mess myself. I remember bathing myself. I remember trying to change sheets myself. I remember setting a beach bucket by my pillow myself. I remember crying myself back to sleep. Wishing for my mommy.
Any time I get sick after that, I go back to my moms. I tell my dad, I’m sick and need mommy. He takes me home. Somehow I think he understands.
***********
She makes a scene one night at a restaurant. We get sent to the car any time we act out in public but she can scream at my dad at full volume. His offense? He’d come and picked my mom and us up earlier in the day when my moms car broke down on the highway. He’s a mechanic. This is what he does. I should have left my children stranded on the side of the 101 because they were with her. YES she screams.
I cry because I picture us next time stranded for weeks. She sees me and starts freaking out even more. Stop crying you little brat she screams. He loves you best, he’d never do that to you. He loves me best huh? He didn’t stop her from grabbing my arm and shaking me to stop crying.
The manager of the restaurant kindly requests us to leave.
At seven I learn to zone out and pretend to not be there every time she screams.
********
For every birthday until I was ten she bought me the most beautiful dresses from Nieman Marcus. Oh they were so beautiful. I could always imagine myself twirling in them. I never got to though. She’d send them home to my moms house. My mom would get all pissed off realizing that the dress was always two sizes too small.
It was all for show. To show my mom what she could do, because she had money. My mom would try to go and exchange the dress. But no, yet again it was out of season and long gone. The replacement dresses were never the same.
********
I get scared in the line for Space Mountain and refuse to go on the ride. It’s really no big deal, the Disney guy tells me. Happens all the time. I stand with him, until the rest of them get off the ride. She belittles me to everyone for the entire day, yet refuses to look at me. You know, lots of kids are scared of roller coasters at nine years old.
********
She is very careful what she does. It’s all underhanded. She’d never let my dad see it. She love to have a row with my mom, but she wouldn’t do things that would leave a mark. Or not a mark one can see.
Sometimes she won’t brush my hair for a week. Sometimes she yanks it out. After a time, I make my mom teach me to brush my own hair.
********
Get your nose out of that stupid book and pay attention to what is happening in the real world. Why would I do that, I said to her, this world sucks. I am ten and we are on vacation. She is shocked in the moment, because I rarely spoke back to her. In fact I had learned to speak to her as little as possible.
The next morning every book I’d brought on our two week trip is gone. She yells at me for not paying better care to my stuff. Because of that, she takes away my snacks for four days and my Game Boy and Walkman for the remainer of the trip.
**********
I am equally scared of her and somehow still want her approval. At times she is very nice to me. At times she compliments me. She likes me. She buys me things. She takes me to the store, just her and I. Sometimes when crossing a street, she holds my hand. At times she tells people I am her daughter, instead of his kid. I know it won’t last, it never does. Yet it keeps me from hating her for years and years.
I need that approval. I try and earn it. I get good grades. I am in general, a pretty dam good kid. I volunteer to read to the boys, to help them learn to read. I always do dishes there and clean up after myself. I never back talk or cause trouble. None of it really matters.
When she’s nice, she’s nice. When she’s evil, she’s evil. It can and does change in seconds.
****************
It’s the summer of our big US adventure. 18 states I believe. We saw 18 states in a month. I’m twelve. This had actually been a better vacation than most. Her daughter was allowed to bring a friend. Paula. Sweetest girl my step-sister was ever friends with. Her dad had died suddenly that March, so we invited her on vacation with us. She needed distraction. Her mother needed some time. Paula being there made it easier for me. Everything is about appearances, you see. Appearances for appearances sake, kept me safe that summer. Safe from her. Safe from her monster of a son.
Yet one day, I get my period. First time ever. I remember that a few years prior she made a big deal of her daughter becoming a woman. I tell her and she smacks me. I’m lying and I just want attention. Don’t I know that nothing is about me this year? Suck it up was her response. I spend my video game money buying tampons. Thank god I read instructions well.
The following month, I am at home with my mom. Hey mom, guess what? I got my period!!! She is so happy that she cries. My baby, a woman. She buys me a phone for my bedroom, with my very own line. We celebrate.
*************
My step-mother hates me. She always has, she always will. I am a reminder that my father had a life before her. I am also a girl and she’s not fond of girls. I have little to no contact with her anymore. I rarely speak to my father. It’s sad, but it’s better for me.
She’s a functioning alcoholic. I’m not saying that to make excuses. It’s just fact. She’s a hateful horrible alcoholic. She takes good care of my dad though. This will sound really bad, but in my head I think, if she dies before him…which she will, as he’s not a drunk…maybe then I can have a relationship with my dad.
I miss him. I miss my dad. Every day.
First, before you read this, please take a few minutes and go read the Wall Street Journals oh so lovely article on Why Chinese Mothers are Superior.
Did you read it? It’s okay…I’ll wait.
So. What did you think? Aren’t you glad that woman wasn’t your mother? I know I am. Thrilled in fact. I’m also happy to report that I’m not a superior mother either. My kids will one day thank me, I’m sure. **makes mental note to save article to share with kids one day in their teens**
Being a superior mother, seems like it’d be way too much work. I’m really okay with just being on the good mother level. Some days, even the fine mother level. It’s much more fun.
Don’t get me wrong, I expect a lot out of my children. I expect them to try hard in school. I do not expect perfection though. I expect them to respect others and themselves. I expect them to try at things, even when it’s hard. Mostly though? I expect them to become good, productive, responsible members of society one day. I don’t think that’s a horrible way to be.
I don’t need them to be the best mathematicians for them to get my praise. They don’t have to be brain surgeons one day, for me to be proud of them. Yesterday? I praised my son for throwing up in the bucket the second time and not all over his bed again. This morning, I thanked my oldest daughter for getting dressed without argument. I praise my children for things big and small. I encourage my children. I tell them how smart and amazing they are. Because they are. I tell them multiple times everyday, how much I love them. I didn’t hear it enough as a kid, I often wondered if my parents loved me at all. I won’t make that mistake with my kids.
I would never, ever tell my children that they are garbage. I don’t think that it’s a successful parenting tool. Personally, I think that breeds insecurity and low self-esteem. But what do I know, I’m not superior.
I want my children to be children. My girls have tried different sports. They’ve done art classes. Currently the favorites are dance and gymnastics. When that changes? I will gladly sign them up for whatever they want to try. As long as they are having fun, I’m okay with it. Begin a child, should include fun. Lots of fun. My girls will not become horrible ax murdering, non working people, because they don’t play soccer. Or the violin. Dude, have you heard a kid playing the violin? It’s horrible. I’ll pass on that one, thanks.
My kids go to sleepovers. We go see movies. They play wii games and watch *GASP* television. They get invited to way too many birthday parties and spend their weekends jumping around at Pump It Up and playing Cosmic bowling. My son is only two and he gets to have play-dates. See, I think it’s good to get them out of the house. I find it nice. Pleasant even. Mostly though? I’d like my kids to lead full lives. Full lives includes having friends.
I don’t see anything wrong with pushing your kids in school. To a degree. Not every child can make all A’s. To suggest it, is ludicrous. What does all A’s in school prove anyway? That you can learn in that one way. Great. Truly, that’s awesome. But it’s just one small piece of life.
I’d really like my kids be individuals. To be whoever it is, they are going to be. Will I push them to achieve things, yes I will. I won’t however shove them into a box and expect them to be only one way.
I have this line that I use, one that my dad used on me as a kid: You are my kids and you will not behave like that. I say it, when I stop them from doing something that they know they shouldn’t be doing, that other kids around them may be doing. I am considered strict in some ways. I call my kids on their shit. I don’t give in to public tantrums. I do expect good behavior. Are they perfect? Nope. I don’t expect that. I know there will be tantrums. I know they will whine. I know sometimes they make me so angry that I yell. This makes me a parent though.
However, I’m not “superior”. Heck, I’m probably not superior at anything, so I’m guaranteed I’m not at parenting.
I’m okay with it though. In fact, I prefer it. So, how about you. Anyone superior around here?
ps. I on purpose am not touching the race issue that was apparent in the article. I just won’t go there.
I have a bone to pick with you. On Saturday, December 18th, I was in a grocery store when I saw these:
Cadbury EGGS!!!! A week before Christmas. To make matters worse, they were right next to a display of these little babies:
More Eggs. This time in the form of Peanut Butter Goodness.
See, in general, I wouldn’t care much about these candies. Except that they are formed and marketed as eggs. The holiday coming up? Not the right holiday for eggs. It’s Christmas. You know: trees, Santa, presents, jingling bells and reindeer with blinking red noses. Christmas. If your products had looked like any of those things, I wouldn’t be as grouchy with you as I am.
But no. You can’t leave well enough alone. You had to take the opportunity to put candy out for a holiday that is FOUR EFFING MONTHS AWAY. You do realize this, right? I mean, you people own calendars, correct? Easter is the 24th of April next year. WTF is your problem?
Why can’t we celebrate the holiday that is this month? Why can’t you let us only think about one thing at a time, instead of making us think about something so far away? What is so wrong with only marketing to the holiday of the month? Why can’t you let us just enjoy truffles and Christmas candy?
Also, you are forgetting that there is another major candy holiday before Easter. Valentines Day. Did you forget? It’s smack day in the middle of Christmas and Easter.
Here’s my real problem. Holidays are loosing their magic, because of you. Because of you and Hallmark and everyone else who markets it months in advance. By the time a holiday shows up, I feel like I’ve had to deal with it for three months. At that point I just want it over.
You market Halloween in July. You start marketing Christmas in September. Apparently now, you are okay with bringing up Easter, before I’ve even managed to finish wrapping my kids Christmas gifts. It’s gotten out of hand. You people, have gotten out of hand.
If I can get special, Easter only candy, in December, how is it special anymore? Then it’s just as normal as M&M’s. It looses it’s magic. It looses it’s appeal.
Do you see what you are doing? You are making holidays just another day. You really should re-think this.
Signed,
A grouchy tired mother who will not be buying Easter candy until April.
If so? Don’t bother buying tickets. It’s a waste of money.
Years ago, I believe in 1999, Logan and I were on vacation in Colorado when one of his cousins had extra tickets to the Lilith Fair. We were thrilled to get to go, since we’d tried to get tickets to see it in Los Angeles and weren’t able too. It was an all afternoon/evening outdoor concert at Fiddler’s Green. We had grass seats, which was totally fine. There were about twelve of us who went. We got there around 2pm and hung out on the grass. A few people we were with had real seats but they were still allowed to sit on the grass with us during the day. We spread out blankets and played cards. We bought food and drinks and took them back to our little area in the grass. We could hear the bands that were playing on the smaller stages, even though no one played on the main stage until say 5pm.
There was a huge area that was filled with different food booths. You could buy t-shirts, get hemp tattoos, see weird art. Whatever. It was an experience. The smaller stages were filled with lesser known women bands, but I remember knowing some of them.
When the concerts started on the main stage it was amazing. We, in one night, saw Sarah McLaughlin, Sheryl Crow, Indigo Girls, Shawn Colvin, Lisa Loeb and my all time favorites, the Dixie Chicks. It was five or six hours of non-stop concerts. Sheryl Crow came out in the middle of an Indigo Girls song and jumped up on their piano. Lisa Loeb ran across the stage while someone was singing with a kite. Sheryl Crow told jokes before she sang. The Dixie Chicks were freaking amazing. At the end they all did a few songs together. It was huge and it was fun and it still goes down in history as one of my all time favorite concert events ever.
Fast forward to this spring.
I heard Sarah McLaughlin was re-doing the Lilith Fair. I waited. I watched for signs that it was true. She announced her line up. It was highly impressive. You can see it here if you’d like. I signed up to be notified early, so I could buy tickets when they came out. They finally went on sale. When I saw that Sheryl Crow, Sarah McLaughlin, Sugarland, Court Yard Hounds and Miranda Lambert were all going to come to the Denver show, I bought two tickets. Pricey. Expensive. $135 a piece tickets. I figured maybe I’d get my mom to come out and we’d go. In the end though, I decided to give the second ticket to my friend, for her birthday. Which was today. Figured a concert on her birthday was a good present. She was thrilled.
She and I both re-arranged our schedules. We made sure our kids are covered, took time off work, both of us even found people to go walk our dogs at some point. Then we get there. We stand in line to get in. No biggie. We have to toss our sunscreen because it’s in a spray can. Which was fine, our bad. We go to the small stage area and there is no place to sit. It’s all rocks. You could only stand….I mean unless you like rocks up your butt. There are only like 6 booths and they are only giving out samples of crap. A coupon. A teeny spray deodorant. Nothing to do. Nothing to see. We’d seen it all in three minutes flat. There was no place to sit and absolutely no shade. Then we saw the sign. The bands listed sign. The, this is when people are playing sign. NONE of the people we had come to see, besides Sarah McLaughlin were listed on it. She wasn’t going to play until last. We literally only knew one other person on the list and neither of us are fans of her. We walked over to where you could buy food. There were three drink booths and two food booths. Ten bucks for beer. Six bucks for a hot dog. Those were basically the only choices. Hot dogs, cheeseburgers, crappy beer or water. You can buy better food at the Costco food stand. Heck, I can buy better food outside the Home Depot on Saturdays. That guy sells brats and churros and crazy shit. Not that we went to eat or drink, I’m just saying, it was seriously limited.
We bought five dollar bottles of water and tried to find some spare concrete to sit on. Because, hi, guess what, nothing is on the main stage till 5pm, so we aren’t seating until then. Yeah. No place to sit and they wouldn’t let us go to our seats early. More and more and more people started filling into a tiny confined space. It was hot. There was no place too move and hundreds of people wondering why we couldn’t just go sit in our seats. This one woman kept inching closer and closer to me. I told my friend, if she gets any closer, she will soon be in my lap. It wasn’t even her fault, there was just that many people there.
We started asking people around us about the other bands supposedly showing up. Oh they’re not, one woman said. Yeah, I guess it wasn’t doing so well so some of them bailed. So I paid $135 a pop, to wait around until 9pm, on a weeknight, to just see Sarah McLaughlin? Whose CD I wasn’t impressed with enough to buy? Yeah, pretty much.
We sat there for about 45 minutes fuming, before we finally decided to leave. That it wasn’t even worth the time. The money was a waste, but to waste our time and be grouchy on top of it? To see shitty bands we’d never even heard of? Not worth it.
We were not the only ones either. We walked out with six other people. The people who’d been sitting next to us had been debating it. There were six of them. We had people leaving in front of us and people leaving behind us. We were offered tickets, free tickets, by eight other people. I offered my tickets to five different people in the parking lot and each of them said, no, we’re thinking about leaving too. I came so close to handing my tickets to the homeless guy at the freeway entrance.
Sarah? You have lost my business. Forever. I will never again buy your albums. I will never again believe anything you say. I may never again go to an outdoor concert that supposedly has multiple acts. You pretty much just ruined it for me. Maybe you don’t care. Maybe you will never see this. It’s more than the money. It’s the principal of it. You sold something and what you sold was a lie. I’m upset. As much for the friend whose birthday I just ruined as for myself. The money? Well it’s gone and I’ve wasted money on stupider crap before. It was a lot of money to waste though. I’m not exactly rolling in it, you know? I’m a single mom with three kids who just lost half a day of work and $300 on top of that.
I’ve been to better free concerts than this. Heck, a few years ago….the only time I’ve even seen Sugarland in concert, it was a free outdoor concert at night in freaking Palmdale, California. I remember driving up there wondering if we were being dumb. I showed up, with my husband and my little girls and we had an absolute blast. We ate tons of great food and sat on the grass and watched a two hour free concert.
This? Didn’t even come close to a free concert at a fair. It wasn’t worth the gas to drive there, much less the money I spent. I’d of stayed tonight if ANYONE you said was going to be there had been there. Just one of them. But no, it was all a lie, so we left.
I wasted my time, my money, my energy and my faith in concerts. I’m disappointed. I’m grouchy. Mostly though? I wish I’d gotten what I paid for. That would have been cool. Shrug. I won’t make the mistake again.
You lost two fans today.
I’ve had Sirius Satellite Radio for six or seven years. Maybe even longer. I’ve loved it. I’ve moved my service from one car to another. Logan has too. We are very good customers. This is a service we have been glad to pay for.
Then I buy my new car. Which is awesome. Which I adore. Whose name is Harper I believe. Anyway, it has an XM radio built in. Which is fine in my mind, since oh two years ago, the two merged. Which was about the time all the stations started saying, SiriusXM Radio. Or something. They changed all of my stations when they did that. But whatever, I remained a loyal customer.
Yesterday I go online to transfer my service to my new car. No where online am I able to figure out how to do this. Which annoys the shit out of me to begin with. I sit on hold. Lalalalalalalalala, tons of minutes go by. I just hate elevator music. Can I tell you how much it annoys me? I want to gorge my own ear drums out. I finally get a human. Oh we can’t help you, you have to call XM, she says to me. WTF? Seriously. Yes.
So I do. 25 minutes later I get a person. MORE ELEVATOR MUSIC. I’m about to go postal on my cell phone, when I get a human being. Well XM and Sirius have technically merged, but we’re two separate things still. So the stations are the same, but you have to cancel Sirius, buy new XM service for the new car and we will have to charge you a start-up fee.
*Issa’s head explodes*
You’re telling me I have to cancel, then start-up a new contract for THE EXACT SAME STATIONS?????? The exact same price too?
Well, yes.
Great. Fine. Whatever.
I do it.
Mostly because I despise regular radio. It’s worth the start-up fee and the 15 bucks a month to not have to listen to those morons. They give me road rage. Truly. I am a much more relaxed, not probably going to shoot someone driver, when I have good music. And NO TALKING HEAD IDIOTS. KYGO? I’m looking directly at you. Possibly flipping you off as well.
But really, wtf SiriusXM? You merged. You now only have one set of stations. I’ve been a customer for years and years. How is this okay? Can anyone else see why you had to merge? Because your customer service BLOWS!!!!!!!!!!
Then of course I have to re-call Sirius to cancel. Another 25 minutes of elevator music. God forbid you can cancel online. She tries to sell me other products before canceling. Doesn’t understand why I’d want to switch to XM. Can you just explain to me why? BECAUSE I HAVE NO CHOICE AND YOU ARE THE SAME COMPANY.
Oh but we’re not. Not really.
Okay fine. You’re not. Am I canceled now?
Yes. Would you like to take a survey about this call and how helpful I’ve been today?
*click*
Look at my bank online a few hours later? My new fees? Charged by one, SiriusXM Radio. Same exact company as last month.
*headbang*
Great. So thrilling for you. You are the mayor of McDonalds. Wheeeee. You are now at Starbucks. YAY you. You are at Target. Why is this entertaining? I go to Starbucks every dam day. It’s not tweet worthy. Promise.
FourSquare, for those of you who don’t know, is a form of social media. You sign up for the service and it connects to your Twitter and Facebook. You set up a profile, that is public, (at least for other FourSquare users) with your information. It also keeps all of your previous locations. The more you use it, the more points you get. What they are for, I don’t know. No one seems to know. Why anyone should care? I have absolutely no idea. Doesn’t stop people from playing it.
Anyone remember Mafia Wars? It was an annoying game on twitter. It lasted about two months. This is more annoying and doesn’t seem to show any sign of stopping.
In the two minutes of searching (to give those who have no idea what I’m talking about, an idea) hundreds of tweets kept popping up. Very awesome tweets like:
I’m at Independent Fire Company No. 1 (1601 Burlington Bypass, Wedgewood Drive & Fountain Avenue, Burlington)
I just unlocked the “School Night” badge on @foursquare
I’m at taco bell.
I’m at McD’s.
I’m at Panera Bread 540 East Betteravia Road, College Drive, Santa Maria
Why doesn’t Subway give a discount to Mayors? That would benefit me.
WTF. Really??? We should care? We should need to know this? All of these, by the way, had a link to the location. Hundreds and hundreds of them popped up in seconds.
Normally I find it aggravating. It pollutes my twitter stream. I could care less were anyone is and it’s annoying to constantly see, oh I’m at Target. I find it very stupid and I’ve said it more than my share of times.
Here’s where the issue for me comes in. Someone who I was following on twitter tweeted that they were at an elementary school picking up a kid. A kid that isn’t theirs. It tweets the name and a link to the location every time you use it.
So basically one is publishing their child’s school address. On the internet. For the world to see.
It makes me angry. It makes me sick to my stomach. I am making a big ass deal of it because I think it needs to make into one. It’s not okay. Tweeting names of kids elementary schools and locations is NOT okay. It’s just not. Schools should not be listed in FourSquare. It should never, ever, ever be something that gets randomly tweeted. It’s unsafe.
Lets think about this for a second. You post or tweet your kids names, or you don’t. You post pictures, or you don’t. I don’t really care either way. I used to, I don’t now. Your choice. But you, if you have kids and a blog, probably talk about them. You tell funny stories. If you don’t post photos, as I don’t, you probably have friends you have emailed photos to over time.
Then you tweet the location of your child’s elementary school on twitter. All in the name of a social media game.
Now, instead of being worried about the known dangers, about crazy family and people who pop up on registry’s for sex offenders, you are facing the unknown. Because hey, you wanted a few points or whatever, so why not tweet the location of the school?
Know why you shouldn’t? BECAUSE IT’S A SCHOOL. Where children play. Small, innocent children. That you’ve just put at risk. Maybe I’m being paraniod. I will take that risk. Me paranoid is a fine risk to take. A child’s safety? Is not.
I don’t care who it was, I don’t care if it’s your kid or someone else’s. Either way? I find it deplorable. I have unfollowed people before because of it. Those times? It was their child. What made me livid about it this time, was someone doing it, who was picking up another persons child.
I went so far to say if that was my sitter doing that, I’d fire them. I would. In a heartbeat. Does that make me an asshole? Maybe it does. Fine, hi, I’m Issa and I’m an asshole. Unfollow/unfriend me. I don’t care.
My kids school address doesn’t belong on Twitter and Facebook. Ever. No kids school does. Personally I think FourSquare should take that off. It shouldn’t be allowed to be tweeted. Ever. The end.
I made a blanket statement on Twitter, one that I am sticking too. I am hereby unfollowing any single person who tweets the location of an elementary school.
I think it’s totally irresponsible.
Yes, a school’s information is public record. You can drive by any school and see kids. Pervs can drive around and find schools. But they generally don’t know what your child looks like already, do they? They probably don’t know that you call your son, sport or bruiser. Or that your daughter’s stuffed tiger is named Flutter. They may not have known that before, but they can now.
Do you see where I’m going with this? That kind of information is what predators use to lure your children. Think I’m paranoid. Think I’m horrible. Then go search the web for missing children. Look at the numbers. Look at what happens to children taken from schools, even if they are returned to their parents. Do you see how this could make me angry? By tweeting a childrens school location, you are inadvertently putting children at risk. Mine, yours, all of them.
You may think you are anonymous. But you really aren’t. Not if you use now or have ever used any form of social media.
Why make it easier for them? Why put your kids at risk, for a stupid silly annoying game that most of us wish would die?
I’ve sat here with this page open for ten minutes just hoping I could find some words. Any words. Writing normally helps me. It focuses my mind, helps me find my words, but so far, no go. I am having trouble with words right now. I don’t know what I think. I don’t know what to say.
Not to you all, who deserve them, for all of your amazingly sweet comments.
Not to my husband, who I am having trouble talking to at all. When we do talk, all we do is yell, argue and name call.
Not to myself.
This weekend has been horrible. I was wishing for Monday, by noon on Saturday. It hasn’t improved since then. Nothing I have tried to do has worked. Everything I have touched has turned to shit. Every word I have said has been perceived as mean.
This year has just sucked. If I could press a button and make it the week of New Years, I would. Next year just has to be better. It has too. I can’t handle another year like the way this year has been. I am not strong enough to handle another year like this.
When I look at my life, I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what I want. I don’t know how to make things better. I don’t if I can make things better or if I just need to learn to accept that this is as good as it gets.
What I do kow is that something has to give. Something good has to happen.
I feel so lost right now. I don’t even know what would make things better. I would love to blame this all on not being pregnant, but it’s just not that simple. That’s just the last straw on this year.
I am barely keeping my head above water. I think I’ve lost myself this year. I only hope I can find myself next year.
I shouldn’t publish this. I know. I know it will worry some of you and for that I am sorry. But I’m going to anyway. I need to, for myself. I need you all to know that I will be okay. In two days, maybe a week, I will see something positive and be okay. Right now though, I am not seeing it. I am not seeing the good. I have had a really bad weekend that has made me question everything, including my marriage. And that breaks my heart.
I will be okay. I always am. I have gotten out of bed every day and I will continue too. But I am going to publish this. So that I remember. When that day comes this week, next week or next month; so that I remember how much has changed.
Yesterday was a big day o’ Fail. Can I just name it that for the rest of time? August 26th, 2009 can now officially be, the day of fail. Let me start at the beginning and you all can decide if I can claim this.
-Tuesday night, well really Wednesday morning, I sleep from midnight until about 1:30am when the baby started screaming. After finally getting Harrison back to sleep at 2:00am, I fell asleep about 3:15am and managed to sleep until 4:30am when he woke up again. At the time I thought he must be teething. He had a low grade fever and was generally just a big ole mess. I finally got him back to sleep, but then I couldn’t sleep and laid awake looking a the ceiling until Logan’s alarm went off at 6:30am. (We really need to paint our ceiling.)
-After taking the girls to school, where I ended up yelling at them both for things that most days I would have ignored, I went to Starbucks to get my coffee. Unfortunately, I grabbed the wrong coffee cup. Got home before I took a sip of it (What? It’s a weird thing of mine. That first sip of coffee is the best.) and realized it was some nasty vanilla and raspberry flavored caramel machiato or something. I have no idea what it was really, but it’s not coffee. I did the only thing a coffee addicted woman could do. I strapped my crying son back in his car seat and drove back to Starbucks for a new coffee.
-I pulled out a dining room chair, to sit down and pay some bills, only to completely smash it down on my foot. The bruise is killer and I swear to you, I must have bruised the bone.
-I called my mom to ask her what time her flight came in on Thursday, the day before Labor Day, so I could make sure I had someone to pick up the girls from school that day. She was all confused. Turns out, I had my holiday days confused. Labor Day is a Monday holiday, not a Friday holiday. So instead of my husband and I getting a much needed two day vacation, while both of our mother’s keep our kids at our house, we will be hanging out at home with our kids and both of our mother’s. I had completely booked the wrong two days away. It being a…you know, holiday weekend, now there is not place nice to stay. We’ll still have a fun weekend and maybe even get a date night, but still, we needed that time away together.
-Last but certainly not least is my sick baby boy. About four yesterday afternoon I realized that Harrison wasn’t getting any better. In fact he was getting worse. He was lethargic, grouchy and basically a crying sad little smooshy heap on my lap. When I took his temperature, I found that is was 102. I did what any good mom does, I asked the advice of the lovely Twitter peeps. My question was should I take him to Urgent care. The answers were amazing. I have a love/hate relationship with Twitter these days. However I appreciate everyone who answered me last night. You guys were awesome. I hadn’t even considered alternating Tylenol and Motrin. It’s funny how a four year gap in between my last two kids, has made me forget some things. Although, honestly I’m not sure I ever knew that one. Morgan can’t tolerate Tylenol. It’s like giving her speed or something. Makes her jump out of her skin. Bailey can’t tolerate Motrin. I was thinking that Tylenol just wasn’t working on him. But I think it does, I just think it wasn’t capable of making him magically better last night. Ha. (Thank you big time to my friendly Internet Pediatrician for the helpful fever advice. Truly, no one has ever explained fevers that way to me before.)
I decided to go with my mama gut and take him in. Which was a good decision since my ear thermometer is crap. The boy had a freaking 103.8 temp when we got there. Two antibiotics (one inner and two outer ear infections and possible tonsillitis) and some Motrin later and his fever started to go down.
-After I put the baby down and got the girls settled, Logan and I sat down to watch Top Chef, which we had DVR’d. We were ten minutes into it, when I hit some button and deleted it. Now, I have it sitting on there again already, since it was showing again late last night. But still, come on now. Really?
Today, is better. This morning, Harrison is doing a bit better. I slept extraordinarily well, since I slept in the guest room, while Logan was on baby duty. I needed sleep. I can not tell you how much, I needed sleep. The girls both seem to be fine, although I will be Lysoling our house and changing sheets and toothbrushes today, just to be on the safe side. Oh and today, there was donuts for breakfast. But oh boy yesterday just sucked.
What do you think? Does yesterday qualify for the day of fail?
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