The One Where I Ask You To Help Me Interview My Teenage Boys.

This is sponsored content from BlogHer and LG Text Ed

Earlier I was asked to participate in LG’s Text Ed campaign. I agreed because I have two teenage boys (Two! Teenage! Boys! How am I still alive and walking around this world?) and this topic is relevant to my life.
In my first post on this subject, I made a confession:

I have 2 teenage sons who both have cell phones and who both use those cell phones for texting. I suppose as a responsible parent, one would expect me to say that I’ve had conversations with them about “sexting.” But the truth is, I haven’t.
I have had conversations about what is and is not appropriate to post online. But I’ve never had the conversation about what is and is not appropriate to send via text messages.
I trust my children with their cell phones. They’ve been responsible cell phone users and to my knowledge, have never engaged in sexting. But, I suppose I would never know that unless I checked their text messages.
I do not check my children’s text messages.

This is about to change. As part of the LG Text Ed campaign, I am going to interview my boys on this subject and post that interview here. But! I need your help. Will you help me? I’m looking for suggestions for questions that I will ask my boys. The questions can be anything cell phone related–phone ettiquite, sexting, bullying. Keep in mind that I am open and honest with my boys and that they have an AMAZING sense of humor. So, this will not only be educational, but most likely HIGHLY ENTERTAINING. You’re going to want to be a part of this. Trust me.
Added Bonus: Your comment will help others!
Because this topic is so important for our kids and their futures, BlogHer really wants to get the conversation about texting, sexting and safety going – both with our kids and among parents. It will match LG’s donation of .50 to dosomething.org for every comment on this post.
So, would you please be so kind, so helpful and give me your suggestions on questions for my boys? Dosomething.org will get a $1.00 for each and every one.

More Like The Monte OhHELLNo

Last year we spent our wedding anniversary in Vegas. We had such an amazing time, I knew that I wanted to do it again this year. Except this year was out 20th, so I wanted it to be a bit more extravagant. For us, “extravagant” basically means “willing to spend more than $58 for a room via Hotwire.”
So, last month I spent days searching various websites looking for a good deal on a nice room with a jacuzzi.
Out of all of the hotels and all of the deals that I found, I ended up booking a Spa Suite at the Monte Carlo.
You may be all “the Monte Carlo? BUT WHY?”
You see, last month I stayed there and I had a pleasant experience. The hotel was clean, our room was nice, the staff was friendly and I loved the location. (I’m easy to please. Obvs.)
I was in love with The Room I Booked. I imagined myself sitting in the spa, with a glass of wine in one hand and my husband’s…hand in the other, admiring the beautiful view and flashing lights. I imagined other things that I won’t write here because certain members of my family read this blog now and they’re kind of sensitive about things that involve me talking about sex in any way, shape or form. I swear, I mention my Blow Job Punch Card Reward System ONE TIME.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that I had high hopes for this room, for the spa, for my vagina.
The day after Thanksgiving was Our Big Day. The drive to Vegas started off rough– nothing like dead stopped traffic to test our marriage! But, traffic didn’t last for long and after I apologized for blaming the traffic on my husband, we had a wonderful time! We smiled a lot and talked about how much fun we were going to have (and when I say “fun” I mean, YOU KNOW WHAT, MY FAMILY.)
After we checked into the hotel, we did that really fast walk that people who want to hurry up and get naked so that they can “eat at the buffet all night long” do. We opened the door to our room and, well, it was nice. But the window was FILTHY and the view was not all that sweet and I could feel The Disappointment rising from within my soul and into my eyeballs but I was NOT going to cry about a dirty window with a not so pretty view! Instead, I asked my husband to call and ask if we could get a room with a nicer view.
The person who answered our call was very nice and offered us another room. We picked up our suitcases and headed down to the 19th floor. We walked in and it looked exactly the same as the other room! Except that we could actually see out of the window and the view was pretty sweet. But then I walked over to the tub and that is when I saw it.

Other People’s Pubes.
I kind of freaked out.
“LOOK! PUBES! THERE ARE PUBES IN THE SPA! PUUUUUUUUUUUUUBES.”
PigHunter rushed over to have a look.
He saw the pubes (that wasn’t the only one.) I started to cry.
“There is a pube in our spa! I can’t go in there. I will never be able to go in there!”
He picked up the phone and actually said the words “there is a pubic hair in our spa. My wife is crying. This is our 20th anniversary. Can we get a room with a nice view and a clean spa that does not have pubic hair, please?”
The person on the other end of the phone apologized. Then, he offered us a new room and a free buffet for the two of us. I didn’t care about free food. I just wanted a Pube Free Spa.
We picked up our things for the 2nd time and headed to our 3rd room.
The first thing I did upon entering room #3 was run to the spa to check for OPP. I was relieved to see that the spa was clean and Pube Free. I took a look around and everything seemed to be fine. So, I put all of my things down, took off my shoes and went to sit down on the sofa.
Except that just as I was about to sit, I noticed a rather large stain. I remained calm while I pointed it out to my husband.
“That’s not blood, is it?” I asked.
“I hope not.” He replied.
I hope not was not the answer I wanted to hear. I wanted him to say “hell no that’s not blood! It’s chocolate!”
Within the next 5 minutes, we discovered the following:
A half empty bottle of Coke. Something sticky all over the nightstand. Stains on my pillow case.
PigHunter made another call to the front desk. They sent someone up to inspect the room. They cleaned up the room while we stood there and watched (aaaaawkward.) The hotel gave us a $50 food and drink comp for the inconvenience.
Once the drama was behind us, we were able to relax and have a great night.

We enjoyed our free buffet. Played some slots. Went back up to the room to chill for a bit, fell asleep, woke up and laughed about how old we are, freshened up and went out for some drinking and dancing and some laughing and some kissing and some arguing and some more dancing and some walking through the hotel lobby angrily while I said things like “I DON’T WANT TO TALK TO YOU RIGHT NOW!” and then some apologizing and some cuddling and finally some [edited for family] bible study time.
Four hours later I wake up to the sound of water dripping. I hope it’s just a dream because am so tired from all of the dancing. It’s not a dream. The sound of water is real, but where the eff is it coming from? I get up and look to see if our shower was leaking. Nope. I check the toilet. Nope. So, I go back to sleep.
A few minutes later, PIgHunter wakes up.
“I hear water running.” He says. “Do you hear it?”
We look around the room. PigHunter goes “Oh my God.” I turn around and see this:

Water, pouring from the ceiling down the wall next to our bed.
What! The! Hell!
I call the front desk to let them know that “Hi! There is water pouring into our room from the ceiling!” PigHunter tries to keep me calm while I go on and on about the possibility of the ceiling crashing in on us and five minutes later, there’s another person in our room, inspecting things while we stand around and watch.
HAPPY ANNIVERSARY TO US!
The water situation is fixed, PigHunter leaves to go get us breakfast. While he’s gone, hotel security comes up to take pictures. He asks if any of our personal property was damaged, I was like “do hopes and dreams count as personal property because if so, YES! PERSONAL PROPERTY HAS BEEN DAMAGED!”
Two minutes after Security Guy leaves, there is a knock on the door. There is a dude standing there with a stack of towels. I was confused. “Ohh, did you come to clean up the water?” I ask. He was confused. “someone called up for towels.” Hmmm. Maybe PigHunter called up for the towels? I don’t know, but I want this guy to leave because I’m sick of Random Hotel Staff all up in my room so I take the towels and set them on the counter.
When PigHunter came back with breakfast, he noticed the towels on the counter.
I told him that some dude dropped them off. “I thought maybe you had called and asked for towels?”
My husband, who is one of the most level headed, kind, calm people on the face of the earth, lost his shit.
He started ranting and raving. “Oh, do they expect US to clean up the mess? Do they think we’re going to spend our anniversary trip drying up all of this water? OH HELL NO THIS IS NOT RIGHT I’LL BE RIGHT BACK AAHHHHHHHHH!
He had every right to be angry. The water leak? Not their fault. But you know, it happened and they didn’t call to check on us or offer to move us to a room that did not have soaking wet carpet. Instead, they sent up a stack of towels so we could clean up the mess ourselves? Um, no.
The hotel offered us another room (#4!) and a $100 food/drink comp.
So, we had to pack up our things again and move to another effing room.
When we made it into our 4th! room (which, by the way, was pretty much perfect) I plopped my over fed ass on the bed and sighed the loudest sigh I’ve ever sighed in my entire life time. This was not the get away I had hoped for. This was nothing like I had imagined it would be. It was stressful and annoying and I wanted a do-over. I allowed myself to sulk for a bit (why do these things always happen to meeee? Why can’t things ever go right for me?) then I sucked it up and vowed to make the very most of the little time we had left (to use the mofo spa) together.

We finally did make it into the spa (to pray, of course, my family!) late Saturday night. We turned the water on, got in (in bathing suits!) poured the bubbles and settled in (on opposite sides of the spa!) I poured some bubbles in and pushed the button to turn on the thing that makes the water all bubbly? The jets? The power nozzles? THE WHATEVER THE EFF THEY’RE CALLED. Anyway, I pushed the on button.
Nothing.
I pushed again.
Nothing.
I pushed it again, held it down for a few seconds.
Nothing.
I could feel the anger rising within my soul.
“It’s not working!” I said, in a voice that sounded kind of satanic because… ANGER! RAGE! ANOTHER THING IS WRONG!
Tony jumped to his feet and leaped out of the tub.
“I am going to call them right now!” He shouted, all angrily. “This is not okay! IT IS NOT OKAY!”
And then I remember reading somewhere that in order for the spa jets (?) to work, the tub had to be filled to a certain point. So I told my naked (kidding, family!) husband to get back in and wait for the tub to fill up a bit and we’d try again.
Sure enough, it worked.
After we stopped laughing, we um, you know, “relaxed” until we couldn’t “relax anymore.”
In the end, I didn’t have the Anniversary Getaway I had planned or dreamed of, but we made the best out of the situation and managed to have a Few Moments of Awesome together. So, it’s all good.

She Is Her Mother’s Daughter

Yesterday was my sister in law’s wedding. I wasn’t sure which dress I wanted to wear, so I put each dress on and asked my husband and my daughter for their opinions.
My daughter loves to give fashion advice and it’s usually better than any advice my husband gives me. (Which is usually something like “I don’t know, if YOU like it, then I guess it looks good.” Or “I bet it would better on the floor so take it off and let me see!”)
While I was modeling the different dresses that I had bought, my daughter made a suggestion.
“Mom, you should try wearing a shirt that shows your belly! Those kinds of shirts are so pretty.”
(I’m getting more and more concerned that she may actually follow through with her dream to “work at Hooters” when she’s a teenager because “they wear really short shorts!” )
“NO way!” I responded.
“But mommy, why won’t you wear shirts that show your belly?”
I stopped myself from opening my mouth. I thought carefully about how I would answer her question. Because this was One Of Those Moments That Mattered.
Before I read the Life Changing Words, I wouldn’t have thought twice about my answer. I would have blurted out something like “Because my belly is fat and ugly and there are stretch marks and I hate it so much!”
But I know better now. I know my daughter is listening, watching, learning from from me about how how she will relate to her body. I understand that the way I speak about my body will have an impact on how she feels about her body.
Just as I was about to answer her question, she followed her question with a statement.
“Your belly isn’t ugly, so I don’t know why you don’t want to show it!”
I didn’t argue with her. I didn’t try to convince her that my belly is ugly. I just smiled and said “I know it’s not ugly, I just like to keep my belly private. Some girls like to show their belly, but mommy is shy about showing her belly.”
“Ohhh.” she said, as if she totally got it. “Well, I’m not shy about my belly and when I’m a teenager, I’m going to wear shirts that show it.”
I smiled. I smiled so hard.
Later that night, as the music played and the lights flashed, I watch my daughter glide around the dance floor, paying absolutely no attention to what anyone thought of her as she ran and twirled and rolled around on the floor.
“Just like her mama.” people said.
I can only hope that I can continue to be a positive influence to my daughter as her image of self continues to take shape. I can only hope that she always dances.
And I hope that when she’s old enough. (30? 40?) she still feels confident enough to wear a shirt that shows her belly.

A Part Of Something Special

I used to have a neighbor who would invite me to go out dancing all of the time. My answer was always something like this: “I’ll go when I lose x-amount of pounds or when I am less than x-amount of pounds.” I never got down to the size that I thought was acceptable enough to go dancing out with my friend. I was 150 pounds.
I am now 179 pounds and I’ve danced more in the past 6 months than I’ve danced in my entire life.
I know that I’m still overweight, I know that I’m not society’s idea of a “beautiful woman.” But I dance anyway.

I can feel my arms jiggle when I raise them up in the air. But I dance anyway.

My jeans are a size 16. But I dance anyway

I have a double chin. But I dance anyway.

What changed? I made a choice. I chose to stop believing the lies I would tell myself (you’re ugly. You’re repulsive. You don’t deserve to enjoy your life) I chose to stop measuring my worth on the stupid numbers on a stupid scale. I made a choice to believe and trust the people in my life who love and care about me. For many years I disregarded the loving words of my husband. I found it hard to believe that a man could find my body attractive. He would tell me that I was beautiful, that he loved every inch of my body. I would tell him he was lying. I stopped calling him a liar and made a choice to accept and embrace his love and desire for me. For my body. I made a choice to stop believing that I have to be a Certain Size to enjoy my life.
This hasn’t been an easy process. It’s taken me many years and many tears to get to this place. I still have days where I contemplate NOT doing something because “I don’t have anything to wear” or “my stomach is SO BIG!” It’s still a struggle– but I am DETERMINED to live the rest of my life to the fullest. No more regrets. No more sitting at home wishing I had gone, wishing I hadn’t said no, wishing I didn’t feel so alone.
I don’t believe I could have arrived at this place of peace with my body without the words of encouragement and wisdom from the women I’ve met through blogging. And that is the reason why I said yes when I was asked to be a part of new project– Curvy Girls Guide. I feel honored to be a part of something so positive, so encouraging, so…real. I hope you’ll join the conversations we’re having over there. I think it’s going to be something truly special.

Look Who Just Walked Through Our Front Door and Into My Heart

PigHunter walked through the front door with a card and a beautiful bouquet of flowers.
“Happy anniversary, baby.” He said as he kissed my forehead. “20 years, can you believe it?”
We stood there, gazing lovingly into one another’s eyes.
Then, the weirdest thing happened.
I looked down and there was the most adorable dog standing at my feet, looking up at me. Me and PigHunter looked at each other, confused because is that really a dog looking at us and where the eff did he come from?

I looked over and realized the front door was wide open.
The dog started walking all over the house, as if he had been here before.
A liiiiiiiiittle part of me was like “It’s an Anniversary Miracle!” But the rest of me was like “first thing tomorrow morning I will put up signs and also find out if he has a chip so we can get him back to his owner. But if we can’t find his owner, HE IS ALL MINE FOREVER IN MY HEART OMG! PRECIOUS DOGGY!

Real Things That We Fight About

This is “The Place Where We Hang Our Towels.” I have made this clear over and over again. “We hang towels here, we do NOT hang hats here.” My husband, however, refuses to acknowledge that this is For Towels Only and is constantly hanging up his dirty work hats. I have asked him time and time again to PLEASE STOP DOING THIS. And every time, he’s all “I can hang my hats there if I want to!” Which, fine, hang your hats there. WhatEVER.
But this morning, when I went to grab my sweatshirt in the morning, this is what I saw:

Empty hooks all over the place and he put his sweaty, greasy dirty hat on *top* of the towel I am going to use to dry my delicate, tender, pure, almost holy like body parts.
This is CLEARLY an act of Marital War.
Related: THIS.

The Walk Home- Would You Say Yes?

My daughter.
Oh, my daughter.
Just 6 years old, but ready to take on the world by herself.
Miss. Independent.
Her independent spirit is both a blessing and a curse. It’s been challenging as a mother to learn when to step in and say “enough- you NEED HELP” (usually when we are running late and there isn’t another minute to spare for her to figure shit out) and when to step away and let her work it out.
Another challenge I face is the “is it too soon for her to *fill in the blank*?” You see, she wants to do things that I do not feel she’s ready for at 6 years old.
There is one thing in particular that she wants to do and has been begging me to allow her to do for the past 2 weeks.

Walk home from the bus stop all by herself.
Each time she has asked me this question (every day, for the past 14 days, multiple times each day OMG.) my answer has been “No.” And her response has always been “but why not?” And my response is always “because you’re too young.” And her response has always been “but I know that I need to stay on the side of the road and watch for cars and not to get in a stranger’s car!”
My response?
“Even still… no, child.”
Her response?
“When are you going to let me grow up, mother?”
Sigh.
Today, I was sitting at my desk, working while Rhianna blasted on my iPod. It was 1:25pm, 45 before I had to leave to pick up kid #1 from school. I thought I heard the door bell ring. I ignored it at first, because I usually don’t answer the door if I’m not expecting someone. But then it rang again. And again. And again.
Ding dong. Ding dong. Ding dong.
Who the HELL?
I got out of my chair, tip toed to take a look through the peephole.
I didn’t see anyone right away.
Huh, I thought. That was weird.
But then the bell rang again. This time, I saw what appeared to be MY DAUGHTER.
I opened the door. Standing in front of me was my little girl and she had the biggest smile on her face.
I was confused for a second or 12.
“I did it, Mommy! I told you I could do it! Thank you for letting me walk home all by myself!”
I didn’t let her walk home by herself. What I had done was forgotten that it was early dismissal because of parent/teacher conferences.
I started shaking and I know that sounds dramatic but it felt dramatic. I had forgotten that my daughter got out of school early and she had WALKED HOME FROM THE BUS STOP ALL BY HERSELF.
Right after it happened, I did what any digital mom would do. I posted about it on Facebook.

My daughter has been asking me to let her walk home from the bus stop for the past 2 weeks. My answer has been “NO!” She’s only 6! Just now, the door bell rang. It was my daughter. Apparently, it was early dismissal & I didn’t know it. I feel like a horrible mother, but she is SO PROUD.

The comments kind of surprised me.
They ranged from “I would need someone to hold me.” And “I think I’d have a heart attack!” to “Free range kids, baby!” And “God took care of cutting the umbilical cord a little more today.”
Which got me thinking… is 6 really too young to walk home from the bus stop alone (the bus stop is around the corner from our street, not far at all.) Or am I being overprotective, smothering mother who is not letting my child be the independent child that she wants to be? Would you (do you) let your first grader walk home from the bus stop all alone?

Spinning Round and Round

This Is Pretty Much The Only Thing Stopping Me From Eating a McRib

Last week, I did something stupid.
I waited for 4 days to see my doctor when I knew I had a UTI.
I was busy with work. With kids. With life.
So, I drank glass after glass after glass after glass of water and cranberry juice, hoping that it would magically cure the infection raging in my body.
It did not work. (Crazy, right?) And on Tuesday night, I found myself in urgent care doubled over with pain on my insides and burning with fever.
The doctor did the tests that they do when they suspect one has a UTI and determined that yes, I did have one and that infection had traveled into my kidneys. They wanted to give me a shot of an antibiotic that is so strong and so painful, it is mixed with a numbing medication of some sort. I was terrified because the nurse was saying things like “needle” “will hurt” and “burn.” She got me so riled up,by the time I turned over to take a needle to the ass, I was crying. A small cry, but still, crying.
It burned, but wasn’t as bad I expected. That was good.
I was asked to stay for ten minutes for observation for a reaction to the shot. The nurse said “if you feel itchy or if you feel your throat START TO CLOSE UP.”
Of course, that sent me into an Unnecessary Panic because my throat never closed up and I was fine.
I went home with instructions on how to care for a kidney infection, pain medication and a bottle of antibiotics.
When I returned home, I was greeted by a not so pleased husband.
“Don’t ever wait that long to take care of yourself again. That was NOT VERY SMART.”
About an hour after returning home, I felt pain in my back. This is what the pamphlet about kidney infections referred to as “flank pain” and I had been ordered to call a doctor if that happened.
The pain intensified. I got scared.
I got the chills and started to shake.
I made a call and was instructed to go to the ER.
I had to drive myself because the kids were home and PigHunter had to get up for work at 4am.
The ER was IN.SANE. Blood. Puking. Police officers. People everywhere, line out the door.
Two hours later and one scolding from the doctor who said my infection was “pretty bad” and instructed me to stay away from pretty much every food and drink that I love and to drink water water water so much water, I was on my way home, pretty confident I wasn’t going to die. Or lose a kidney. (But still very much in pain.)
And that’s pretty much all I’ve done since Tuesday– drink water.
(And pee.)
(And pee some more. Again and again and over and over again.)
If this experience has taught me anything it’s that cranberry juice does not cure infections and also, that I need to always must remember to take care of myself properly. Having a job and kids and a husband who loves my body won’t do me any good if my kidneys fail and I die.

Our (Cringe Worthy) Love Song

My mom recently had our wedding video converted to DVD. This was perfect timing as our 20th wedding anniversary is approaching (it’s on the 17th of this month.) I thought it would be fun to sit down with our children and watch our wedding together.
it’s no secret that our wedding was pretty awful- I’ve written about it here before. But, until you see it with your own eyes, there’s no way to truly understand just how bad it was. Here are just a few comments that my WONDERFUL children made last night while watching:
“You guys were so corny.”
“What was wrong with your teeth? Good thing the dentist fixed them.”
“How many of those people are dead now?”
“You had a HARPIST? But… why?”
“Did you really think that was a good idea, Mom?”
“When I get married, I’m going to make sure I marry someone who doesn’t wear big glasses.”
“Wow, the dresses you picked out were pretty ugly.”
I love that I can laugh about my wedding now. I suppose a lot of people look back on their big day and wonder “What were we thinking?” Especially 20 years later. Maybe most people don’t regret pretty much EVERY choice they made, like I do, but surely most people wish they had done their hair differently, or wish they hadn’t HIRED A HARPIST.
There is one thing about my wedding that I wouldn’t change, even though it was Pretty Awful.
The part where we sang to each other.
Our love of singing is what brought us together. We loved to sing together. We sang at Other People’s Weddings. We sang at church. We sang in my parents living room. It just seemed… right to sing at our wedding.
The idea itself was lovely. The execution of the idea? Not so much.
But don’t take my word for it– watch for yourself. (Oh, yes. I recorded it for you. And I promise you that you will NOT be disappointed.)