This is What a Cheese Potato, Ham and Pumpkin Bars With Whipped Cream Hangover Looks Like.

My husband left the house at 3:30 am to hit a couple of sales this morning. He came home two hours later empty handed saying a lot of F Words. Apparently, people are assholes! Especially people trying to get Good Deals!
But you know? This year is tough.
It seems as though everyone is struggling. Everyone knows someone who is out of work, or who has had their pay significantly reduced or who has lost their home, their health insurance.
So, I suppose people are extra excited (desperate?) to get that Good Deal so they’re able to give their family some kind of Christmas this year.
Or, people are just assholes.
Ugh.
Speaking of a’holes.
There is someone hell bent on attacking my son’s physical appearance. That’s right, the person I wrote about in this post felt it necessary to come back and clarify that she didn’t do it to hurt my son, but to help him. I virtually punch her in the teeth! The fact of the matter is I can’t be here to catch the comments at all times and I won’t risk my son seeing such cruel words written about him here. So, comment moderation is now on.
The ONLY time I have done this is when I’ve been attacked my spam. I hate that I have to do it now, but I have to do it now.
I’m sure you understand.
I’m giving away a $30 Amazon gift card (that I will be purchasing with my own money.)(I don’t tell you that to be all “look how nice I am” but because, you know, FTC regulations, full disclosure and all that jazz.) I just feel like ENOUGH WITH THE ASSHOLERY! THE STRESS! THE NEGATIVITY! 99.99% of those of you who read this blog are wonderful people who have helped me through difficult times in my life, who have made me laugh until I physically hurt, have been so incredibly kind to me and my family. I am so grateful. Leave a comment on this post and I’ll randomly choose a winner tomorrow morning afternoon. (am leaving comments open until this afternoon. This morning turned out to be busier than I had anticipated.)
-Comments are now closed. Winner will be announced shortly-
The winner was comment number 45, Julia. But Julia is awesome and she asked that her prize go to Ryley. So, Ryley, check your email. (screenshot of random.org is in extended entry.)

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This Really is a Post About Blog Comments

Last week something really awesome happened to my son.
I sent the link of a review my son wrote to Tony Hawk via Twitter. I didn’t expect he would actually read it, but of course, I hoped he would.
A few minutes later, I saw this reply:
tonyhawktweet
And then I screamed, ran down the hall and said “OH MY GOD EEEETHAN! You have to see this!”
He read it. His eyes got big. “Is he talking about my review?”
“Yes!” I replied.
He tried to remain cool and calm about it.
Then, he smiled the biggest smile I’ve ever seen. I got up and hugged him. “How awesome is that? Tony Hawk just called your review ‘the best one yet!?'”
“Pretty cool.” he said. “I’m glad he liked it.”
I tweeted it, dm’d a few people, called a few people. I was happy for my Son. He had been nervous about writing the review, wondering if people would like it or not. But he had received great feedback in the comments and then? He got approval from Tony Hawk himself. It meant a lot to him. He was feeling pretty damn proud of himself.
Later that night, I got an email notification of a comment from someone named “Poop.”
If there is one thing I’ve learned in the 7 years I’ve been blogging it’s that any time someone named “Poop” leaves a comment on your blog, it’s not going to be good. (Same goes for “Nunya, Anon and SUCKMYDICK, fyi.)
I opened it up and as I read the cruel words that were meant solely to hurt my son, I could feel the rage rise up within me. I was pretty sure I knew who it was, but hard to know for sure because blogger does not note IP’s. (HATE YOU, Blogger!) I was so angry that I started to cry. I can take all of the assholery in the world directed at me. Call me whatever names you want, but my kids? Aw Hellz Naw.
I panicked because I did not want my son to see it. I deleted it as quickly as I could and immediately turned on comment moderation.
I’m still angry about it. I don’t understand that kind of behavior directed at an innocent child. What is so bad about that person’s life that drives her to do such a thing? And I don’t mean to be all “YOU’RE JUST JEALOUS, HATER!” But to stoop that low, to be that cruel, there has to be something sad about your life. There just has to be.
I’ve wanted to write about this before, to hear the different perspectives on the subject and I feel like what happened on my son’s post is the perfect time to bring this up.
Deleting comments.
I’ve never thought twice about deleting negative comments directed at my children. They come down immediately and the commenter is automatically blocked. But when it comes to comments directed at me? I leave them up. I’ve had friends email me and ask me why I allow such comments up on my site. My answer usually is as follows: I don’t really care if complete strangers think I’m fat or ugly or *insert insult here* It’s meaningless to me. With the exception of a very, very few Asshole Comments (And when I say “asshole comments.” I don’t mean “negative comments” or “disagree with me” type comments. I mean “crazy, obsessive, cruel, has absolutely nothing to do with the discussion” comments.) I don’t delete comments.
I’ve always felt like removing the comments is dishonest. I don’t want it to appear as though I only allow the kind comments and shut out any and all negative feedback. Not everyone appreciates, likes or tolerates my writing and I’ve always been okay allowing people to express their dislike. (Again, with the exception of the extreme assholes and by “extreme assoles” I mean “Christine in Alabama.”)
I have friends who don’t agree with the fact that I leave shitty comments up. Stefanie, for example. “It’s YOUR blog. You don’t have to allow people to be disrespectful or cruel in your comments.” She once said to me.
And I really couldn’t come up with a good response to that. Because it’s true.
Except that I can’t seem to get past the idea that deleting negative comments is dishonest. And please understand I’m not talking about dissenting/different opinions. Let me give an example.
I write a post about marriage and how it can be difficult at times. What I write makes some people upset.
Jessica writes: I think you are being incredibly selfish by not giving your husband blow jobs every night. Maybe if you tried that, he may be more willing to help you around the house.
POOP ON YOUR FACE writes: Your husband is so ugly and so is your stomach. No wonder he likes to have sex with you because your both SO UGLY. P.S. PUT THE BEAN DIP DOWN YOU FAT COW.
One comment is not very supportive, but appropriate in that NOT EVERYONE LOVES THE WAY YOU DO MARRIAGE WITH YOUR HUSBAND. Also? if you put it out there, people are going to have an opinion! And those opinions may not always be something you want to hear! The other one is just… assholery. The other one shouldn’t be allowed to stay, but if it were a real comment on a real post, I’d leave it up.
I’m not afraid of The Hate. The Hate doesn’t control me or effect my life. Like my good friend Jenny once said while drunk and wearing a wig “Celebrate The Hate!” (And trust me, The Hate can be HILARIOUS. See: WINNERS DO THE MATH!)
But the more I think about it the more I wonder. WHY? Why do I allow that kind of negativity here on this blog (that I pay for)? Not sure if I’m doing the right thing by allowing and condoning that kind of ugliness here.
What say you? How do you handle hateful comments on your blog?

The Finalist

One of my favorite episodes of The Office is the one where they play basketball in the warehouse. Do you know which episode I’m talking about? Yes? Okay. So, you know how Michael assumes Stanley is going to be really good? Because he’s black? But then Stanley gets the ball and he totally sucks and Michael is all “are you KIDDING ME?”
Well.
Tonight E played in his very first drum competition. There were 4 different divisions. In the last division (teens) There was a girl there who looked like a rocker. Big, spiked hair, ripped jeans, concert t-shirt. One look at her and I was all “She is gonna TEAR THAT SHIT UP.”
Then, she got on the drums.
I could not believe what happened.
She hit one drum at a time.
Dum. Dum. Dum.
Then again.
Dum. Dum. Dum.
Then again.
Dum. Dum. Dum.
I took out my phone and texted The Teenager who was standing right next to me. “I totally did a Michael Scott. I thought she was going to kick ass.”
“So did I.” he wrote back. And we both tried really hard not to laugh because, while there was nothing funny about what she was doing on the drums. (dum. dum. dum.) It was funny that we assumed she’d be all kinds of drum awesome because of how she looked.
Never judge a drummer by her hair! EVER!
Anyway.
What I REALLY wanted you to know is that my son made it to finals.
But so did the other 3 boys in his division, so that kind of sucked in that I couldn’t be all “IN YOUR FACE, OTHER DRUMMERS.” But, still. FINALS! We’re all very excited and proud. It was his first every competition and he did awesome. (Says his Mom.)
Next weekend.
I predict he wins.

On Dealing With Little Bullies

Yesterday when I picked up my daughter from school, she was quieter than usual. I could tell something was bothering her.
“How was school?” I asked.
“I can’t remember.” She responded.
Not the answer I wanted to hear. In the pit of my stomach, I knew something was wrong. I didn’t want to push the issue, so I thought I’d allow her to unwind from her day before I asked any more questions.
Later that afternoon, I was in my room finishing up some things for work. She started to scream at her brother and had a bit of a meltdown. I had no choice but to put her on time out for her behavior. After she had served her time (ha) I asked her to sit down next to me so we could discuss her behavior towards her brother. I couldn’t help but think that her behavior was related to whatever it was that may have happened at school. Before I could get a word out of my mouth, She threw herself into my lap and started to cry.
I asked her what was wrong.
“B and I were being mean to me at school.”
“What did they do?” I asked.
“They kept pushing me in the chest and making me sit in the wood chips.”
I could feel the anger sweep over my entire body. I asked some more questions, she gave me more details. She said she ran away but they followed her.
“Did you tell the teacher? The proctor?”
“No. I was too embarrassed and scared.” She replied.
I had to take a few deep breaths.
“Tomorrow, you need to tell the proctor and you need to tell your teacher. And if they put their hands on you again, you need to tell them TO GET THEIR HANDS OFF OF YOU.”
She started to cry again.
“But I don’t want to go to school tomorrow. I’m afraid they’ll hurt me again, Mommy.”
Heart, broken.
I’ve always tried to let my children figure things out first. I don’t want to jump into help solve their problems, I want them to learn to handle things on their own. I want them to be able to fight their own battles, so to speak. However, there are times where I have to step in. There are situations that require for me to step in and do something. I feel like this is one of those times. I feel like this is a situation that can and most likely will escalate if I don’t intervene now. Maybe it was a one time thing, but then, maybe not. Either way, I feel like I need to speak up RIGHT NOW so that things are handled right away.
Today, I will walk my daughter to class. I will tell her to go play while I talk to the proctor, keeping my eye on her all the while. I will tell the proctor what happened. Then, I will make my way to the classroom to tell the teacher what happened. Then, I was stand back and watch my daughter play from a distance to make sure no one puts their hands on her. And if they do? That’s where I’m going to need the Lord God Almighty to sweep me up with his strong, loving arms and hold me back. Because, you know, RAGE.
If you’ve had a child who has suffered at the hand of Little Bullies, I would love to hear how you handled the situation. Any advice you have to offer would be appreciated.

What 34 Pounds Gone Looks Like IN MY FACE.

What a difference of 34 pounds looks like
I thought I’d be under 200 pounds by now. But I’m not. I’m still stuck at 203. This is PISSING ME OFF SO MUCH YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW, but I keep reminding myself that there is progress and that’s what matters. (or so I tell myself so as not to cry or put a hole in the wall.)
I need to get to at least 150 before my endocrinologist will take me off of met*formin and I really need to get off of met*formin because it is RUINING MY LIFE with the “side effects” and by “side effects” I mean “unpredictable ass explosions.”
I’m going to change a few things in my diet this week as well as kick things up a notch at the gym. I’m hoping this does the trick to get things moving again weight loss wise.
199, here I come. Let’s hope it happens before the end of the year. Or I will cry. Or put a hole in the wall.

And the Rockets Red Glad…

About 2 weeks ago my daughter asked me to teach her The America Song, (aka The Star-Spangled Banner.)
When your kid wants to learn The America Song, you freaking teach them The America Song.
So, for 2 weeks straight, I have been singing it to her. Every morning. Every evening. Every car ride to school. Every car ride from school.
She finally started to get the hang out of and asked me to “please not sing it with her anymore!” because “SHE KNOWS IT NOW SO STOP SINGING IT, MOM.”
And while I am very proud that my 5 year old (sort of. Almost. Kind of) knows The Star-Spangled Banner, I am maybe going to lose my mind if she doesn’t stop singing it EVERY MINUTE OF THE DAY THAT SHE IS AWAKE.
She’s supposed to be taking a nap right now, but guess what’s she’s doing?
SERIOUSLY! GUESS!
As annoying as it can be after hearing it for the 800th time in a single day, it really is the most precious thing in my life right now and I am very proud of her.
Here she is, singing it 5 minutes after she woke up this morning. Enjoy.

Bokeh Wednesday- Love edition

.love bokeh wednesday.
“I love you, mama.” she said as we walked hand in hand.
“I love you too, baby girl.”
“And I love daddy. And my brothers. And I love myself.”
I love myself, she said.
There was no conceit behind that statement. No ego involved.
Simply her truth.
She loves others as she loves her self.
As a woman who grew up feeling shame about most every part of who I am, it was comforting to hear my daughter say those words. Those words were music to my ears, my heart, my soul.
Because it is my hope that by loving who she is, caring for herself and living to her full potential, she will always be able to fully love others in that same wonderful way.