What I learned this week…

1. I hate most toys. Especially the ones that GROW. You know, like the bugs and animals and other crap. The little people somehow acquired a new, previously unknown version of grow toy, in the form of marbles. Holy shit they are annoying.
2. The makers of such toys must hate humanity. I bet they laugh to themselves as they send them out into the world, “Ha ha ha! [insert evil chuckle], tiny hard balls that grown into slightly larger squishy balls, serving no purpose whatsoever, offering no entertainment value, existing  in fact only to create messes and drive parents batshit crazy! Yay!”
3. My dad is quite the minimalist. He pretty much keeps nothing. I used to be confused by this. I am no longer confused by this. I have begun throwing things away behind everybody’s backs. I don’t feel bad about it. If they really cared about these items, they wouldn’t be abandoned on my living room floor. Or my car. Or the backyard. Damnit.  
4. Does anybody else talk to drivers in other cars as if they can hear you? You know, like if they pull out in front of you and you respond “Really? Dude. What the hell? My car’s full of kids you royal assface. Why you gotta hate?”
5. So my house is mostly more in order. My mom came over today and once again saved my bottom. (Sometimes without warning I feel compelled to insert non-potty mouth substitutions for swear words.  When I’m really feeling frisky I’ll use “Fudge!” or “Frick!” Yeah it’s nonstop action around here.)
6. Anyway, I must say the room looks really, really nice. It’s bright and airy and clean and we even put in crown moulding – which is totally a big deal. And we didn’t do the “okay we’re bored now” half-assed job we normally do. We did things right.
7. Except for the planning part. But let’s not get crazy.
8. I’m having a really hard time not talking shit about some of the stuff I read on other blogs. Some blogs (like this one or this one or this one) are good and interesting and not judgmental or pretentious or preachy. But there are others. And I want to rip them new ones. But for the moment I’m restraining myself. While I can’t imagine those kinds of bloggers ever reading Renegade Mothering, there is a vague possibility the person in question might read my shit-talking, and then I’d be the mean kid and who wants that? 
9. But damn it would be so fun. SO FUN. And I really really want to. (can you hear it “Mama, puh-lease? Just this once?!”) It just seems like such a plunge, you know – headfirst into cross-blog shit-talking? I don’t know if I have the energy for that. Of course, if somebody did call me out on it, I guess I could just say “Stop writing stupid judgmental shit on your blog and I’ll stop making fun of you.”
10. Plus, when I see this stuff, I only read the blog once (why would I return for such agony?), so at least I’d only make fun of each blogger once, which significantly lowers the chances of their seeing it, right? And what’s the worst that can happen? I piss off strangers? Wouldn’t be the first time. Hmmmm…

Oh right. And since you’re here, please vote for me again. Puh-lease? (There’s a link on the left.) Thanks people, and have a great week.

We’re going to be featured on Hoarders!

No, we are not.

That was a lie.

[But you probably knew that already, because who the hell would excitedly announce online “We’re gonna be on a show featuring sociopaths who collect shit!”? Okay, I know. I know. It’s a mental illness. It’s serious, very sad, what a shame, etc. But it’s a damn funny mental illness. And a weird one. And I make fun of everybody, including myself. Plus, I’m rude. The end.]

Though we didn’t actually get invited to Hoarders, I bet if we sent them pictures of our hallways, living room and kitchen, we might get the green light.

Now you may ask, “Why does your house suddenly appear like one of those whack-job homes on Hoarders?”

Let me lay it out for you in plain English: because my husband and I are fucking psychos.

That was not a lie.

So you all know what my life has been lately, right? Okay, perfect. So the full gravity of the following story will hopefully sink in appropriately: on Tuesday the husband and I went to Ikea (swoon – so much crap! Most of which I can afford! And it looks only like semi-crap once it’s installed in the home! Yay!). No seriously I love that place. Don’t judge.

ANYWAY, so we get there and we’re buying a few organizational items for what will become the homeschool room, and Mac sees these fake wood floors for very, very cheap and announces “Dude, let’s put this in the homeschool room, TODAY.” And since I’ve been asking for non-carpet in there and we’re poor and I’m a total and complete lunatic, I say “for real? Yeah. Good idea.”

Holy fuck why can’t we just  be like normal people? You know, the kind who plan shit?

Why isn’t there a little voice in my head that says “MAYDAY JANELLE MAYDAY!! – redoing the floors requires moving everything out of the room in question and all that furniture and stuff will be in your hallways and living areas and it NEVER takes one day to do projects like this you steaming pile of idiot! SAY NO SAY NO!”

 But I say “yes.” Because there is something wrong with me.

So for the last 5 days you have to walk sideways down my hall and there’s a piano in my entryway and we’ve all been eating in little huddles on the floor, where there’s space. The best part is trying to carry the baby down the hall, sideways, so she’s facing the photos hung on the walls…and grabbing for them. So you have to like DART quickly sideways down the hall.

Somebody please shoot me.

Because it’s even worse than previously indicated. Once we got the floors down I realized I hate the wall color with the floors. So.we.painted.  But while at Home Depot buying the paint for the walls I saw crown moulding and said to myself “well now looky there! Ain’t that pretty?!” So we bought some. But it had to match the base boards. So we painted all.of.that.too.

And now? We’re running like hell to put this together and I ask you, from the bottom of my heart, “WHY DO I DO SHIT LIKE THIS?”

Perhaps more importantly, “Why do I never LEARN from doing shit like this?”
Because I can guarantee you the next time we do work on our house, the circumstances will be just like this time.

And it will suck just as bad.

Though in our defense, it looks damn good (I’ll post pics when it’s done). Plus, we’re having a really good time making up “caulking” jokes [read: “cock-ing”]. Yes, we’re classy.

[To cheer me up, please CLICK HERE (or on the badge on the right) to vote for me for CBS Sacramento’s Most Valuable Blogger Award. I’ve never been nominated for anything, let alone won anything. So please. Hook it up, friends.]

I’m a real blogger now.

Know why?

Because Courtney at JudithShakes Designs created for me a real blog and a real logo (and, therefore, a real identity). Thanks, Courtney, for that.

Not only does the woman [obviously] create badass websites, but she has a brilliant wry sense of humor, an approachable, totally not annoying communication style, and I’m sure if she didn’t live in whatever god-forsaken humidity-ridden state she’s currently residing in we’d totally be BFFs. Or some bizarre derivative thereof.

And not only that. I also have a Facebook page – you can also get there in the LOGO – how rad is that? (And I’d really really like it if you’d like me. Please like me. I need you to like me. I’ll die if you don’t like me. I’ll camp on your front lawn and weep until you like me. (I’m practicing my codependent routine. How was it?)).

Okay but seriously I only have 29 “likes” – kinda pathetic, especially considering I KNOW I have AT LEAST 33 readers.

Ha.

And you can follow me on The Twitter – (oh hells yeah I have a custom one). I go on The Twitter occasionally to say really profound shit in 140 characters or less. Actually it’s more like 136, since 4 are automatically taken up with the F word.

Or you can subscribe. Since I’m a real blogger now you probably feel compelled to subscribe or follow. No worries. Just go with that.

Also, since apparently when cool things happen they happen all at once…my new best friend nominated me for CBS Sacramento’s Most Valuable Blog Award…please vote for me by clicking the badge on the left or THIS LINK. I’ll owe you my life. Apparently you can vote every day. That would be totally fine with me.

And… I’m done with the shameless self-promotion. You’ll never ever see it again.

I lie.

But seriously, what do you think of the new digs?

P.S. If you hate it, I’ll tell you it’s fine and that I appreciate the feedback while simultaneously planning ways to quietly destroy you. (That’s my passive aggressive codependent impersonation. You like?)

What I learned this week…

1. The older kids teach Georgia all kinds of important, meaningful things. For example, this week they taught her to point to her nose when asked “Where are your boogers?”
2. We were all so proud.
3. Ava is pretty much exactly like me. I asked her how her first day of 4^th grade went, and she said “fine, except for the lunch situation. We all have to sit at these big tables together and most of the kids have really really, really bad manners. It was gross. The only thing that didn’t disgust me was the wall.”
4. Our idiot dog Pete knocks his water dispenser over pretty much every day, almost as soon as we fill it. So then, he has no water. Jackass. I don’t know what to do with a dog that dumb. I try letting him go thirsty so maybe he’ll connect the two phenomena, but that’s asking a lot from such a beast. Ideas?
5. Things like #4 fall into the “I Really Don’t Have Time for This Crap” category. Or the “Trivial Problems that Will One Day Push Me Over The Edge For Real” category. I mean seriously, it’s the little nagging things that assassinate me – the things that don’t have immediate answers, but matter, but not enough to be a priority…so they just sit in the back of my mind, bothering me.
6. Why do some people Capitalize The First Letter Of Every Word They Write? Is every sentence they write a TITLE? I mean even if you didn’t get that such behavior is weird, there would be so much effort involved. Why people WHY?
7. I’m so excited to go back to school I feel like throwing myself a back-to-school party. I know this will make some of you cringe, but I freaking LOVE school. I love it all. The classes, the campus, the desks, the notebooks, the highlighters, the weird-ass theory we’re forced to read, the crazy conservative born again student who just can’t help but integrate Pro-Life arguments into every discussion no matter what the context, the egotistical professors, the thwarted intellectuals, the hallways, the all-night writing sessions. I love it all.
8. In exactly 2 months, which will be one month after school begins, I will forget #7 completely and wish I still worked at the office.
9. I’m trying to remain calm about the fact that my son will be 6 years old next month and still only knows 2 or 3 letters by name and doesn’t know a single sound any letter makes. I’m trying, but it’s hard.
10. I realized I’ve been a real asshole for not responding consistently to comments on my blog. I was doing it regularly, and then I stopped. I am amending that behavior immediately.

Speaking of blogs, the super badass designer JudithShakes Designs (http://www.judithshakesdesigns.com/) finished my new blog and we should be launching it in the next couple weeks. Hope you like it. I do.

I wish I could do deep meaningful shit with my kids all the time. I do. I wish that.

But I can’t.

I wish when we spent special time together it was to knit and garden, sew pants out of upcycled wool, build things out of repurposed tires, visit abstract art museums. Paint, dance, frolic.

But I can’t.

I mean I CAN. Physically, I can.

But I can’t. Mentally. Ya feel me here?

Sometimes, I just need to pay money and do something easy with the kid – a guaranteed win. An outing that’s an “in the bag” kid pleaser with very little work on my part.

You know, like going to the movie theater to watch Transformers with your 5-year-old son, after purchasing on his behalf a large, buttered popcorn, one Sprite, one package of regular M&Ms and one package of Sour Patch Kids.

So it’s a PG-13 movie.

So it cost $40.00 we really didn’t have.

So he ate enough preservatives, sugar, additives and chemicals of unknown origin to destroy a few million brain cells.

So we didn’t really talk. Or learn anything of any use AT ALL (except, perhaps, that hot women can run full speed through a burning Chicago, dodging falling buildings and Decepticons, while wearing 3-inch spiked heels! Okay, seriously people, I gotta write a blog post about the way women are depicted in those damn action films. I’m vomiting a little just thinking about it.).

So it wasn’t deep or profound or particularly meaningful.

And I felt a little guilty that our special date together – our just he & I time – was a few hours sitting in a theater, watching large metal machines beat the shit out of each other and long-haired women with big lips dodge bullets and squeal.

But there was no preparation. No thought. No arguments. No cajoling. No disappointment when the child in question gets distracted after 10 minutes – more interested in gluing his finger to the table than furthering the objective of the well-thought-out, Waldorf-life craft project.

So it was perfect.

And halfway through the movie he crawled on my lap. And he sat on my lap the whole time. And I smelled his head and kissed his cheek and rubbed his bony little arms. And I watched him laugh when they laughed and get nervous during the fight scenes because you never know – this could be the first time the good guy loses…

And in the car we talked about who’s better: Optimus Prime or Bumblebee, and he reenacted the fight scenes and I realized I finally know the Transformers’ names like his daddy does, and he finally got an hour of uninterrupted mom-lap time.

And I gotta say, the whole thing blew wool-felting right outta the fucking water.

Well, yes. It was a really crap movie. Like bad.