BOBS

The thing about judging other people for choices they make that are not like choices YOU make is this…
You never know when you might end up making that same choice, the one you SWORE YOU WOULD NEVER MAKE because you’re so great and superior.
Let me give you an example.
I had a friend who had a baby 3 months before I had my first. We both breastfed our babies, but I had to stop breastfeeding my baby at around 6 months because I developed a kidney infection and had to go on strong medications.
My friend continued to breastfeed her baby throughout her first year, then into the second year. I went to visit her one afternoon and the baby was now “2”. As we sat on the couch talking, her daughter crawled up onto her lap, lifted up her shirt and said “I WANT EAT…NOW!”
Whoa. I was all “you’re STILL breastfeeding? The HELL?” She seemed somewhat ashamed and said “I don’t know how to stop. She cries so hard, so I give in.”
“Well, I’ll NEVER let my children breastfeed to the point that they are asking for it by name! NEVAH!”
I meant it at the time, man.
Let’s talk about what just happened in my house 15 minutes ago.
My 15 month old daughter sits on my lap, pulls up my shirt and says “BOBS BOBS BOBS BOBS.”
And I give her The Bobs.
If I had never judged my friend (or my cousin, because, when I found out she was still breastfeeding her two year old, I said “she’s doing it FOR HER! BECAUSE SHE DOESN’T WANT TO GIVE IT UP! She’s not doing it for the baby, she’s DOING IT FOR HHHHHERRRRRRRSELFFFF.”) then I wouldn’t be so ashamed to admit that “I have a 15 month old daughter who crawls on my lap and asks for The Bobs and who still gets The Bobs when she asks for it.”
People aren’t happy that I still breastfeed Gabby. In the past week I’ve had THREE people tell me that I need to “Stop. Now. COLD TURKEY. JUST STOP IT ALREADY.” I hang my head in shame and nod in agreement. “I know, I know…” (because, remember, those people sound JUST LIKE I DID before I become one of “those mothers”.)
I want to tell these people to mind their own damn business, I want to tell them things like “DON’T JUDGE ME.” Or “But, she’s my last baby and it’s really hard on me emotionally and I’m not sure I’m ready to give it up yet.”
But how can I say those things when I WAS one of those people? When I have judged people for doing the same thing I am doing?
I’m feeling very conflicted about this issue now. How old IS too old to breastfeed? And what if your motives for continuing to do it are because of YOUR feelings? Does that make it “wrong” or “inappropriate”? Does that mean I should “Put that tit away NOW?”
Everytime someone finds out that I’m still breastfeeding, I feel like I have to justify it. “Well, I only nurse her in the morning and at night. It’s not like she’s downing the tittymilk all the time.”
The truth is, I’m still breastfeeding her partly out of laziness. Do you know how awesome it is for me to have that option available when The Girl wakes up at 4am? I can whip out The Bobs, lay her next to me and go back to sleep! I’m not ready to give that up yet. Also? I love that time with her and knowing she’s my last baby, I’m having a hard time “letting go”.
What I really want to know though is THIS…
Why is it ANYONE’S BUSINESS how long a woman breastfeeds her baby?
Why did I think it was ok to tell my friend to knock that shit off already? Why did my neighbor think it was ok to tell me that I needed to “Just stop cold turkey NOW.”? I could understand if Gabby was 5 and I was stopping by school on her lunch hour at kindergarten to let her partake of some “Bob” goodness, but she’s NOT EVEN TWO YET.
I wish I had never judged my friend, or my cousin for their choice to breastfeed for longer than a year. Or, at least, I wish I would have kept those judgements to myself. Because now, a decision that should be totally personal and without regard to what ANYONE ELSE THINKS is tainted with feelings of guilt and shame.
(edited to add: I do not feel shame about the fact that I’m still breastfeeding, but because it’s hard for me to tell people to SUCK IT when they get in my face about it because of the fact I had been judgemental of other women in the past. Live and learn, people.)

“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE IF YOU ARE DARK SIDED, BUT IF YOU BELIEVE IN JESUS YOU CAN STAY!!” (because who said titles must be relevant to the actual post?)

I’ve been contemplating buying a new camera. Ok. I’ve actually been obsessing about getting a new camera. (I even started a “new camera fund” which had $5.00, until this morning, when I decided that I’ll start a new fund next week because…I drove by a Starbucks)
I love my camera. It takes great pictures and it’s very easy to use. However, I want a camera that gives me more control and allows me to manipulate a shot.
While researching cameras, I decided to read up a little bit on the one I own. And, um, wow, that “owner’s manual” would have been a great thing to read when I bought it over 2 years ago because, DID YOU KNOW IT CAN SHOOT IN BLACK AND WHITE? Neither did I! But, in that “owner’s manual” that’s been collecting dust under my bed, it said that ,and it even showed me how to do it.


(and for the record, THAT one is titled “When Evil Babies Attack..in black and white“)
I’ve posted black and whites before, but they were edited to be that way. I can actually “shoot” in black and white, and this makes me so excited that my mouth is actually watering.

(The smile on my face is 25% “I love my daughter” and 75% “OMG! I’M SHOOTING IN BLACK AND WHITE. YEEHAAAW!”)
But, not only can I shoot in black and white. I can also shoot in sepia and “black board” and “White board” and OMG! I CAN DO TWO PICTURES IN ONE!

Tony’s been asking me to read that damn manual for the past 2 years and I’ve not done it because “I KNOW HOW TO USE IT I DON’T NEED TO READ IT! I AM “GOD’S WARRIOR”! (Sorry, I had to work that into this post somehow because…It was only the greatest moment in the history of television!)
I think I’ll still start saving for a new camera (d-slr), but now that I know these totally awesome settings exist on my camera, I’m not feeling so obsess-ish about it, because, you know, TWO PICTURES IN ONE!
You can view the rest of the “black and white” photos HERE.

Because of that picture, I can finally forgive my mom for not coming through on Crazy Hat Day.

I’ve always been somewhat jealous of “creative” type people.
Especially Creative Moms.
I’m talking about the mom’s who can make their children halloween costumes, the kind moms who can decorate their children’s rooms and make them look like something out of a magazine. The moms who take unique, beautiful photographs of their children.
The kind of mom I certainly am NOT.
Not for lack of trying. Lord knows I try. But, I am just not a creative, artistic type person.
Of course, this is my mother’s fault.
My mother, Bless her fart. She, like me, did try. But the woman didn’t have a creative or artistic bone in her body. One look at the way she decorates her house and it’s obvious the women is creatively challenged. I always dreaded the “special event days” at school because I knew whatever it was, I would SUCK because my mom wouldn’t have a clue on how to help me.
I’ll never forget “Crazy Hat Day” in the 6th grade. All of my friends talked about how Wild n Kahraaaazzy their hats were going to be. Surely, I could out do them! Me and my mother would think of something that would make their hats cry.
Um, WRONG.
The morning OF Crazy Hat Day. My mom still had not come up with any ideas for my hat. In an act of desperation, she ran out to the front yard. “I know!” she said. “We’ll pick some ivy and wrap it all around the hat with some sticks! That’s CRAAZZZZZY.”
I started to cry. “That’s not crazy! That’s dumb! I’m not wearing Ivy on my head!”
But that was all she could think of. In her totally uncreative mind, Ivy + Sticks = CRAAAZY.
Needless to day, I didn’t participate in Crazy Hat Day. Instead, I moped around all day, envious of all the other children and their Crazy Hats.
Had I known I would grow up to be JUST LIKE MY MOTHER, I wouldn’t have been such an ass about her inability to be creative.
How was I to know that I would one day think “My baby boy is going to be a clown for Halloween and I will paint his face just like a real clown and he will be so cute and everyone will love him because he will look just like a real clown because I know how to paint clown faces!” And then, years later, find the picture and realize that “OH MY GOD. THAT IS NOT WHAT A CLOWN FACE LOOKS LIKE! My poor child, I took him out in public like that and I bet the people were laughing at me because…. HAHAAAAAAAAAAA. It doesn’t look like a clown face at all, but, like, he tried to eat my lipstick and HOLY CRIZAP, I am my mother!”

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RESPECT…. The Wave

Our 15th wedding anniversary is just around the corner. I want to put a little scrapbook together with pictures of “just the two of us”. Unfortunetely, we haven’t taken many pictures together over the past 15 years. It makes me a little sad, but, there’s nothing I can do about it, other than make the best out of what I’ve got.
In my quest for pictures, I came across quite a few gems. And by “gems” I mean “hilarious pictures to mock on the internet.”
I wish I had time to post them all, because, HAAAAAAHA I was a dork. (I said “was.” haaa.) Lucky for me, Tony had moments of Dork too. And even luckier for me? He once sported a perm.

The good ol “Man” perm. The mom given permanent wave.
I have to admit, I find it somewhat sexy in that “Man, I want to have Perm sex because Curls are HOT.” kinda way, but, I find it mostly TOTALLY HILARIOUS because MY HUSBAND HAD A PERM.
And? He wore that perm to the prom and he accented that perm WITH PINK HIGHTOPS, but, lucky for him, I ripped that picture up in a fit of jealous rage, because his ex was kind of trying to ruin our lives at the time.
God. I love that man. Whether he’s sporting a perm, or, his current “Do” (which, I like to call the “dr.phil lite” because, it’s not THAT bad…YET, but, it’s totally “little in the middle but he got much back, and sides”)
(And, in all fairness, if he could respond, he’d probably say something like “God. I love that women, whether she’s a size 5 like she was when I first met her, or whether she’s sportin’ her current size 16 ass and saggy boobs!)

Baby Drama


When pretty butterflies get pissed.
That girl, she’s such a dramaqueen. It’s hilarious, and at the same time, NOT hilarious. I wanted to get a few pictures of her in her beautiful costume and by the 3rd photo, she was shaking her finger at me, throwing herself back, trying to rip the flowers off of her head, whilst screaming and crying. I tried EVERYTHING I could think of to make her stop crying and smile for mama, but, she was not having it.
Tony’s favorite thing to say is “I WONDER where she gets it from!?”
My favorite response is “from yo’ mama.” Because being mature is the only way I know how to be.
Just think of the fun I will be having on halloween night, people!
I can hardly wait.

jumpy

‘Er since finding out that a mouse is indeed in our house, I’ve been “on edge.”
I’m extremely paranoid. Every noise literally makes me jump. Just now, as I was taking a dump, a pincher bug scrawled across the floor and I threw my feet up and screamed! SCREAMED! How was I supposed to know it wasn’t a mouse?! It could have been a mouse!
I feel violated. Violated and all vomity inside. My life was fine and dandy until they showed up. I could actually walk in the kitchen and look in the cabinet for something to snack on without putting on a pair of boots and carrying a flashlight.
I refuse to open the cabinet below the sink, so I made Tony put all the “essentials” on the counter top. (like the dishwashing detergent, the windex, trashbags.) Also, and this is our little secret because I think Tony would feel justified in slapping the shit out of me if he knew this, I take a kitchen chair with me when I need to open the fridge and I stand on it before opening the fridge because that is where the mofos are running to hide. And WHAT IF ONE RUNS OUT WHILE I’M SEARCHING FOR SOME MAYO?
I’m sure this is giving you the impression that I’m a big fat (ha! ha!) wimp, and, I’ll fully admit, when it comes to certain creatures, be they a potato bug a MOTH, or A misquito (ok and/or Aaron Neville.) I am a frightened little girl. But I think the fact that I once chased a purse snatcher in a dress and heels AND gave birth twice without an epidural should TOTALLY cancel out the fact that I have been standing on a chair in order to take the milk out of the fridge.
When my dad came to remove the dad mouse from my house a little while ago, he was somewhat disgusted at my behavior. I gave him a trash bag and screamed “DO NOT MOVE IT UNTIL I AM OUT OF THE ROOM I CAN NOT SEE IT.”
“Mija! It’s just a mouse! Stop it!”
I feel so misunderstood.
I am honestly and truly freaked the hell out by this mouse business. Amy described it perfectly when she said “it’s like you can feel them crawling all over your body.”
I have to move. Move to a place far away from the mice.

Crispy Fish and adult conversation…. Just what my dreams are made of

Yesterday, I met Amy and her baby girl, Vivian , for lunch.
Man, was it great to get out of the house and have some adult conversation.
And some fish tacos.
One would think I’d have behaved and “acted” like a member of Weight Watchers, but, I lose all control with the fish tacos. (HA! HA! HAA!) Creamy white sauce and crispy fish, a greater combination does not exist. So, I had THREE. That’s right. I ate up all of my points for the day right there in front of a blogger who could have totally wrote bad things about what a pig I am on the internet. And if it wasn’t bad enough that I ate THREE fish tacos, I also tried to get Gabby to do her “fart on command” trick at the table while eating those three fish tacos AND I totally picked up my straw from the ground and used it because I’M GROWN I CAN DO WHAT I WANT.
It seriously blows my mind that people aren’t lined up to hang out with me.
You notice how I started out talking about meeting Amy for lunch, but then I end up talking about MYSELF for the next 20 minutes? That’s pretty much what I did the entire lunch. Talked and talked and talked about myself and my kids. That’s a really bad habit that I have that I SWEAR TO GOD I’m not going to do everytime I meet someone new, but, once I get around another adult, I’m overcome with excitement and I’m like “blahblahblahMEblahGabbyBLAHFARTGABBY!blahblahblah) I was SO mad at myself the entire way home. Why can’t I shutup for five seconds and let the other person talk?
I blame Bush.
I discovered something very profound about my daughter while watching her with Vivian. She acts JUST LIKE ME. She, like myself, has this obsessive need to hug and touch people.
Proof:

She’s all “awwww, look, a baby! I must pet the baby. I must let the baby know I love her and how pretty she is. Pretty baby.”

“Why is the pretty baby not letting me pet her? Why is she walking away? Does she not know that I am the center of the universe and that I am the Princess of Everything and I want to pet her and hug her?”

“I want to hug the baby. I WILL hug the baby.”

Mission accomplished.
It’s kind of scary how similar we are, scary but yet, in those photos? So very cute. Poor Vivian. She’s such a gentle, sweet little girl, and seemed completely overwhelmed by my little ham, but that didn’t stop my daughter from gettin’ all up in her PREFACE. (inside joke that isn’t really funny to anyone but me and Joelle, so, I really should stop saying it here, but I can’t because it is hilarious to me)
Meeting Amy reminded me of why I love “blogging”. I love the connection I make with people whom I never would have met were it not for The Internet. Incredible, kind, passionate, beautiful women. I know people who don’t blog do not understand it, and that’s fine, I can accept that not everyone will ‘get it’. As I drove away from our lunch, I felt so lucky to have this outlet in which I can express myself and, in the process, meet the most amazing, beautiful people.

Can not think of a title because AAAAAHHHHHH.

If my neighbors read this blog, then they are about to find out that I AM CALLING THE HEALTH DEPARTMENT ON THEM AS SOON AS THEY OPEN TODAY.
I don’t care if they know I’m the one that called. I’ll wear I shirt that says “I called the health department on my neighbors.” for the rest of the week.
I’ll shout it from my rooftop.
“I called the health department on your dirty asses!”
Just so we’re clear, I’m not calling on the one’s who Slice each other. I’m calling on the ones who are sick, disgusting, filthy, nasty PIGS. The one’s who let a man live in their RV for over a year and TAKE SHITS IN A TOILET THAT CAN’T FLUSH FOR THAT ENTIRE YEAR. The ones who collect junk and have junk, trash and more junk in every room of their house, piled so high and so wide that you literally can’t find a place to sit. Because they enjoy DIGGING THROUGH TRASH CANS TO FIND “TREASURES”
Those neighbors.
So, why am I FINALLY calling the health department on them? Because, yesterday, their son tells us that they’re going to sell their house and buy property up in the desert (which, I’ll believe it when I see it. They’ve been saying they’re going to put a new roof on for the past 8 years. ) Anyway, as he’s talking to us, he’s telling us how disgusting their house is, how it’s full of junk and casually he mentions that it’s so bad, “they have mice in the house.” He then says “My dad will set a trap, and he’ll catch 5 or 6 mice IN A NIGHT.”
Did ya get that, people? Half a dozen in one night.
If you understand how much I hate all things bug and rodent related, you’d understand the sickness I felt in my stomach at that moment.
And, you’d understand the pure terror, disgust, fear and OH MY GOD I HAVE TO MOVE THIS VERY MINUTE right this minute after hearing my husband say “Honey, we need to buy a mouse trap… I just saw a MOUSE IN THE KITCHEN.”
I immediately began to cry and panic.
“You’re joking right? PLEASE TELL ME YOU’RE JOKING BECAUSE I WILL NOT BE ABLE TO LEAVE THIS ROOM IF THERE IS A MOUSE IN THIS HOUSE.”
He got all pissed at me, like “get a grip, woman.”
But he was more pissed at our FUCKING NEIGHBORS because this is all their fault. They have infested the ‘hood with mice. And now there is a mouse in my house and I seriously do not know how I am going to get the courage to get out of my bed and walk around this house, not knowing when a mouse may run across the floor.
We’ve never had a mouse in this house. We’ve had ants (because this neighborhood is built on a freaking ant hill),we’ve had potato bugs.) But mice? NEVER. (Ok, we HAVE had a rat in the garage, but that’s different. THAT’S OUTSIDE, NO WHERE NEAR MY FEET OR MY CHILDREN.
I’m freaking out so hard about this, that Tony asked if he needed to stay home. Inside, I was like “yes, you do, you need to stay home and hold me.” but I know he has to work so we can pay the bills (and now, THE EXTERMINATOR) so I sucked it up and told him he could go to work, that I would be ok, but that I could only hope the mouse didn’t attack our daughter whilst she casually strolls through her home that SHOULD BE FREE OF MICE.
I feel sweaty and my heart is racing because it is time for me to get off of this chair and wake up the kids. If I see the mouse, I will scream and I will cry. Is this normal? To be so upset and freaked out by a mouse? A MOUSE THAT IS WONDERING AROUND MY HOUSE?
How will I function today? I am literally paralyzed with fear right now. I should have already had the boys up, but here I sit, unable to move for fear of seeing The Mouse.