Using My Big Words

One of the most difficult things about being a stay-at-home-mom is not having a daily source of intellectual stimulation.

No, Sesame Street doesn't quite cut it.

I spent many years in College and Graduate School, surrounded by the pursuit of intellectual greatness. That sounds so smart ass, I know, but that's exactly what was going on. We were traversing intellectual frontiers, forging pathways in our chosen field and dreaming up groundbreaking research that would make a name for ourselves. Beautiful afternoons were spent huddled in dark research libraries, noses stuck in academic journals, pockets full of change for the copy machines. Even a social get together at a local pool hall resulted in intellectual discourse about competing theories in our field.

It was intense.

And I loved it.

The professional world wasn't quite as intellectually stimulating, but it still kept me on my toes. Whether I had some large scale analysis to conduct or a college course to prepare a syllabus for, I still used my intellect and felt...smart.

I try to stay connected.

I keep up with various professional organizations in my field, and try to stay up on timely matters and controversies. But all too often I end up closing a tabbed article because I've had it open in my browser for a week and haven't had time to read the first paragraph.

I fear my brain is going to atrophy.

Use it or lose it.

I know as the kids get older I'll have more time for intellectual pursuits. Logically, I know this. I just fear I'll forget how to learn by then. I fear I'll forget all my big words.

And I really like big words.

Mom, Yes. Blogger? Not So Sure Anymore.

There are a gajillion ideas swirling in my head. Different things I want to write about and things I want to spread the word about. Trips we've made and recipes I've discovered.

But.

I have kids.

And a husband.

And I don't have time.

When I had just one kid at home it wasn't difficult at all to find time to write. He napped or played quietly by himself, and I was able to get some screen time.

Now there are two kids at home.

Only one naps. They never play quietly by themselves at the same time. And I rarely get more than two seconds of screen time during the day.

I have to carve out an hour or so on weekends where I disappear in my bedroom just to get my paid writing gigs taken care of. When I finish those I have no creative juices left to come here and write. I'm brain dead from forcing so much content out of my brain at once.

Other women tell me they write in the evenings. Well, I prefer to spend my evenings with my husband instead of my laptop. So what time does that leave?

This blog, which used to be such a big part of my life, is now an afterthought.

I told ya, priorities are shifting around here.

Mama Has a Potty Mouth

I had a real potty mouth when my husband and I first met. It might even have been worse than his. But sometime after our son was born that changed. When our son was a few months old it started feeling weird to cuss in front of him. It didn't feel right to sing along to my Eminem CDs anymore or to watch Rescue Me while he sat in his infant swing. Maybe I was afraid this would happen:
(Subscriber, click through to view video)

Beyond the potty mouth concerns, I found myself using other words less frequently. Words like stupid or idiot. Thank you so much Charlie Brown for your incessant use of those words, by the way. I still catch myself because calling something stupid just flows off my tongue so easily. But I cringe when I hear my son say it, and it's not really a word I want him to get in the habit of using.

Lest you think I've fully cleansed my potty mouth, let me assure you I am far from a saint. I've slipped up a time or ten and my son has repeated whatever scandalous word he's heard. I just ignore it. No, really. I don't even acknowledge what he's said, and it works! He doesn't get a rise out of me, so it's not any fun, and he stops saying whatever it is. Dealing with him repeating my slip ups is the easy part. The hard part is coming up with creative substitutes for some of my favorite words.

Do you know how difficult it is to have a fulfilling argument with your spouse while refraining from saying something as benign as damn? Telling my husband he made me mad just doesn't get the point across as well as telling him he really pissed me off. And what about driving? When someone does something really really ridiculous on the highway, it's just not very satisfying to call them a silly giraffe. So my solution is to do a  lot of cussing in my head. Seriously. I can scream WTF all day long in my head, or call someone an asshole while plastering a smile on my face. Unless my son develops some intense telepathy I think my plan should get me by.

But I still can't play my damn Eminem CDs.

Keeping it real: Evenflo has just released the Momentum 65 DLX Convertible Car Seat, with features that help make safety, installation and use as easy as possible for parents. Evenflo and JuiceBoxJungle sponsored me to write this post.

Safety Nut? Who? Me?

I cut corners in many ways. I buy most of my kid's clothes at consignment shops or off clearance racks, I use coupons at the grocery store, and I have an ancient not-so-smart cell phone. But when it comes to safety I don't take chances. I researched car seats for weeks when I was pregnant. I spend extra for organic dairy and meat. Is there really such a thing as being too safe when it comes to your kids?

Sometimes I feel like I'm in the minority though.

I don't let my three year old play outside by himself. Why not? Snakes. Fire ants. Wild animals. The possibility of him wandering into the swamp or running out to the road.

I keep the bathroom door closed, with a childproof door knob cover. Why? I'd rather just eliminate the  possibility of danger, as opposed to fishing toys out of the toilet fifty times a day. Or cleaning up shower gel that's been squeezed all over the floor.


I don't shower when I'm home alone with the kids. Why not? I don't trust the impulsive nature of preschoolers and toddlers. The ten minutes I'd be in the bathroom is plenty long enough for someone to get into a heap of trouble, break an arm, or worse. Why risk that when I can wait until my husband gets home and take a nice leisurely shower?

Some may call me paranoid or overprotective. Maybe I am. But I put a high priority on my kid's safety. It takes just a second for a child to wander out the door and into a busy street. It takes just a second for a curious toddler to pick up a snake and get bitten. It takes just a second for a child to fall into a toilet and drown.

Call me a Safety Nut if you will. I prefer to think I'm just nuts about safety.

Keeping it real: Evenflo has just released the Momentum 65 DLX Convertible Car Seat, with features that help make safety, installation and use as easy as possible for parents. Evenflo and JuiceBoxJungle sponsored me to write this post, and talk about what child safety means to me and my family.

The Blue Box

Eighteen years ago I found a blue shoebox and started filling it with love notes.

Handwritten notes, on lined notebook paper, eagerly passed in the halls between classes.

The petals from a dozen red roses were sprinkled in the blue box, along with deflated balloons and florist cards.

Movie ticket stubs.

Ride coupons from the County Fair.

A menu from a fancy restaurant.

The other half of the pair of earrings he wore to Prom.

Lists of baby names, with our favorites starred.

An engagement ring.

Letters from Boot Camp.

Wedding rings that were never worn.

I wanted her to know he meant something to me. I wanted her to know she was created out of love, as much as one knows what love is at fifteen. I wanted her to know that we were a family once, all those years ago.

That blue shoebox has traveled the country with me, from the East coast to the West and back again. The flowered wrapping paper I had covered it in years ago finally ripped to shreds, leaving just the plain blue cardboard showing.

She'll be eighteen in January.

Her father initiated contact with her in the last year, so there's been some closure. It was time.

Today the blue box came out from under my bed and I brought it to the couch. I pored over the letters, remembering. I found myself on the verge of tears a number of times. He broke my heart.

When I felt ready I handed the blue box to her, with tears in my eyes. She gave me a hug and if I'm not crazy, I think she held me a little tighter than she usually does.

The blue box is a big deal.

For both of us.

I'm Big Time, Baby!

This here little ole blog made the local paper.

Okay, not the local paper because if it made the local paper then maybe like ten people would read the article and it really wouldn't be something I'd feel the need to let you know about.

So let's try again.

This here little ole blog made the big city paper. 

Two other local-ish bloggers are featured as well, so be sure to head on over there and check us out.

A few of my posts were mentioned in the article, such as a post on domestic violence, the Gulf oil spill, and why I boycott a certain fast food chain. My review blog is also mentioned.

(I'm a Blogger. We dig links.)

I'd be happy to autograph printed posts. Leave your mailing address in the comments and I'll accept e-mailed gift cards as payment.

/sarcasm

The Blogger's Dilemma

I've spent the last few days writing a post.

I've cut, copied, and pasted. I've added new lines and deleted others. I've edited the damn thing so much that I don't even know what it says anymore.

So.

I think I need to just delete it.

Sometimes what sounds so eloquent and insightful in my mind just doesn't translate into text. The meaning gets lost, or I get carried away on a tangent and lose my focus.

Then I try to read my words through your eyes...all of you who read my words. Some of you I know, and I know you'll get where I'm coming from. Some of you I don't know, and I don't know if you'll understand me. I over analyze my written words; does this sound too self absorbed? Does this make me sound like a snob? Does my sarcasm translate well or do I sound like a bitch?

I have to constantly remind myself this blog is about me. It's supposed to be self-absorbed. Really. It's not about you.

But sometimes the things I most want to write about are the things I'm most afraid of hearing your reactions to.

Blogging. It ain't always easy, my friends.