Yeah, we know it’s past Mother’s Day, but we didn’t have the heart to post this in the midst all of the heartfelt sentiment and beautiful displays of affection.

We love everyone in our lives who has a uterus: our mothers, our mothers-in-law, my sister, our children, our aunts, our sisters-in-law, and even each other. Truth be told, we had lovely celebrations on that Sunday, but you know Mother’s Day can make you a little twitchy.

Don’t lie.

Here’s that point of view.

Erin–May has caused Ellen to crack. She has rounded the bend. She has flown off the merry-go-round. She has left the building. 

She just whirled through my house Tazmanian-devil style, and now she is sprawled on my couch like she is paying me by the hour.

Ellen— My calendar is killing me! The activities themselves—they’re pretty wonderful—but they are crammed into my schedule like clowns in a Fiat.

Erin– And they keep coming one after another in a relentless assault on time, patience, and sanity. It can make you feel a little overwhelmed and under-loved.

Ellen–It makes ME feel like I have an elbow lodged up my arse.

Erin– Melodrama much?

Ellen—Where’s the love?  I have a to-do list from here to Tuesday that isn’t going anywhere, and I have shot myself in the foot because I left my ever-loving purse at home. So now I must drive past the nursery, because I can’t even buy my Mother’s Day plants. One more thing unchecked on my to-do list. One more reason to sink into this couch and hide.

Erin- I did offer to give you money…

Ellen- … but your four crinkled dollar bills and Wal-Mart receipt would not have taken me as far as I needed to go.

Erin- You know MacGyver could fashion one beauty of a Mother’s Day gift with a pack of gum and some duct tape.

Ellen – Oh, I know what I could do with some duct tape right now. I’m giving you notice. Forget that other idea we had for next week’s post!

Erin– The one we both agreed was perfect and reasonable, and oh, how shall I say it, sensible?

Ellen– Forget all of it! This is going to be my finest hour.

This is going to be . . .

Erin– Your Alamo. (Ellen’s look of death) Still not helping?

Ellen–This isn’t my last stand. THIS is going to be my “whipping” post.

Erin- Oh, that’s sooo much better (read sarcasm LOUD AND CLEAR) but remember Ellen is fraying at the edges, so let’s just humor her.

Ellen– Mother’s Day is like a snake eating its tail! The celebrated are the celebrators, and the end result: You just get bitten in your ass.

Who are you? The guest of honor or the party planner? We'll tell you WHAT you are! Bitten in the arse is what you are.

Who started this holiday anyway? I think it was a Hallmark Conspiracy.

Erin – There is something kind of messed up about a holiday where you are supposed to be the guest of honor AND the party planner. 

But the cards the kids make are cute and sometimes they give flowers. And don’t forget the chocolates.

Ellen–Oh, yes, they are just the best (read MY sarcasm Loud and clear), says my fat ass. ‘Cause nothing says “I love you” like an extra inch on the derriere.

Erin—This is worse than I thought. She’s turning on chocolate.

Ellen-Where can we stop the honoring?

Erin- Seriously, who gets to wear the tiara on the “big day?”  Since Hallmark pretty much includes any person with lady parts on the list of honorees, it makes it a little tough to figure out. 

Ellen–When you are a new mother, the dirty secret is you don’t want a crown or a scepter, you just want to be left alone.

Erin—Preferably with a box of wine and a book. (Ellen’s raised eyebrow) It’s real wine.

Ellen– I’m sure it is.

Erin- But when you are old, all you want to do is gather everyone to your bosom.

Ellen— It’s a generational tug o’ war. Don’t forget choosing between your family and the in-laws.

Erin– That tug o’war rope might make a lovely noose.

Don’t forget the landmines some of us are sidestepping on this “special day” like death, divorce, infertility, dysfunction, and estrangement.

Ellen- Whoa. I gotta lay down again.

Erin – Do you need a cold cloth?

Ellen- What I need is a scapegoat! Oh magic Google, who got us into this mess?

Erin– Ellen might have left the ranch at this point.

Magic Google brought us here!

Ellen – Check this out! This goes on and on about how this “holiday” has roots in ancient Egyptian, Roman, and Greek culture. I am not buying it. Do not pander to my intellectuality, you Mother’s Day machine!

Erin – Oh. My. Goodness.

Ellen-  Okay, scrolling down. Here’s my target: Julia Ward Howe. This mess all started with her!  This chick penned the Battle Hymn of the Republic.

Erin – Impressive!

Ellen—And during the Civil War she called mothers to come together and protest the futility of sons killing sons.

Erin- Noble! 

Ellen-  But her execution kinda flopped. She furthered her noble ideas with…parties.

Erin- Fail.

Ellen – Oh but wait, the fail becomes epic. She funded like 18 woman’s groups to have celebrations for several years, but once she stopped the money flow…the holiday fizzled!

See? See!?!

The woman not only had to pay for her own party, but everyone else’s too. And once she stopped driving the gravy train, everyone bailed.

Erin- Sounds familiar.

Ellen- But this Mother’s Day idea won’t die. Fast forward to 1908. Our next perpetrator is  Anna M. Jarvis. She CAMPAIGNED for the creation of an official Mother’s Day in remembrance of her mother and in honor of peace.

Erin—Oh my goodness, who has this kind of time?

Ellen- Well, remember, they didn’t have blogging back then.

Erin- Poor girl innocently started her campaign by giving flowers out in church.

Ellen –But apparently the flowers did what the Battle Hymn of the Republic could not. By 1909, while Mother’s Day was still not an official holiday, 46 states, Canada and parts of Mexico were celebrating it.

Erin – Ole, we made this misery multinational.

Ellen- But now in an extraordinary display of misplaced grief, Anna quit her job to promote this mess.

I don’t know if I can read anymore. (Arm on head, laying in supine position)

Erin – Where were her friends and neighbors to give her a reality check? She didn’t need to take this show on the road, she needed some love and attention. Kinda like Ellen right now. 

Ellen- I’m fine. This is what incredulity with a side of defeat looks like. But it looks like her persistence paid off. She got somewhere. In 1912, West Virginia was the first state to make Mother’s Day official.

Erin—Aww, good for West Virginia. Mad props.

Ellen—And in 1914, Woodrow Wilson made it official.

Erin – Now it’s my turn for some incredulity! In the middle of the whole world war starting? Really?

Ellen—Maybe it was an economic move because listen to this: The Florist Review went so far as to print, “This was a holiday that could be exploited.”

It’s in quotes, it’s on the internet, it supports my point.

Erin–So it must be true.

Ellen—And truth is better than fiction. Now we get to the juicy.

Anna wigs out about all of the commercialization of her precious holiday. By 1923, she was SUING to stop Mother’s Day events.

Erin- Control freak much?

Ellen – It gets better! In the 1930’s, she was ARRESTED for disturbing the peace at the American War Mothers group. She was protesting their sale of FLOWERS. Hah!

Erin-  Are you doing the math? This woman has been wrapped up in Mother’s Day for 2 decades. And now she’s going to jail over FLOWERS!

Ellen- But wait, she apparently has miles to travel before she is completely off the reservation.

The U.S. government chose to honor her mother with a postage stamp and did she just say “Thank you?”

No, she PROTESTED to get the words “Mother’s Day” removed.

Would I offend you?

Erin- Ouch! Way to turn on your creation, Dr. Frankenstein.

Ellen- Maybe she became aware of her freakishness over the flowers, because she moved onto bigger fish: copyrighting the words Mother’s Day.

Erin – There are no words. Were there support groups back then? Was she successful?

Ellen – Hell no! She had spent so much time anguishing over the floral industry that ship had sailed. And speaking of sailing ships, here is one of her last quotes.

[In opposition to the flower industry’s exploitation of the holiday]: “What will you do to route charlatans, bandits, pirates, racketeers, kidnappers, and other termites that would undermine with their greed one of the finest, noblest, and truest movements and celebrations?”

Erin- Wow.

Ellen- But the Florist Review had the last word, “Miss Jarvis was completely squelched.”

Erin- Like a termite?

Ellen –It’s in quotes.

Erin- So it must be true.

Do you want a glass of water?

Ellen – Wait! Here is the most cosmic karma part of it all! Anna Jarvis died in 1948—blind, poor, and childless.

Erin- It sounds like a bad country song. Should I laugh or cry? Those always throw me.

Ellen – (reading slowly) “Jarvis would never know that it was, ironically, The Florist’s Exchange that had anonymously paid for her care.”

Erin – It WAS a conspiracy. This is exactly why I want to drive the karma bus. Otherwise, you could end up under it.

Ellen – Yeah, I’m not paying you for this session.

Erin – You don’t have your purse anyway.

Ellen – But I’m getting the duct tape now.

Hope your Mother’s Day was just grand! Here are some happy pictures of us on the big day with our kids!

Ellen's Crew

Erin's Army

Aren’t our kids the cutest?? ; )

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Maybe your brain is "blogged." You know, like clogged. ~ Jellybean

Jellybean (11) quipped this after I announced that not only did I send her prepared water bottle off to school with her sister, this meant that Coco (13) had not one, but two water bottles in her lunch bag.  I do blame blogging.  Ellen

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It’s Monday, but not just any Monday—it’s the Monday after Mother’s Day. Hopefully, you were treated like a queen, but if you weren’t (and let’s face it, there’s a 50/50 chance some of you were washing dishes or doing laundry yesterday), you deserve something sweet. And what is sweeter than revenge?

Our weekly dues to the Cool Kids’ Club over  at Stasha’s Monday Listicles this week are 10 Things We Want to Delete. These movies sprang to our minds immediately because it was a crime against humanity that they were released. Sweet vengeance will be ours.

We usually like to talk movies, but these movies are sooooo bad they deserve nothing better than being gutted, filleted, and served up at their expense for your enjoyment. In retribution for sucking minutes of our life or life from our souls, we are taking this crew downtown and showing them no mercy. We split the list down the middle: Erin’s picks are italicized, Ellen’s are not.

If you saw them, sorry. If you haven’t, thank your lucky stars. If you actually LOVE these films, we are at a loss for words.

1. Showgirls—Forget the really bad casting decision to have the cute cheerleader from Saved by the Bell as one of the leads (Poor Elizabeth Berkley).  Forget that the movie poster alone could serve as soft porn. But do not forget that this movie is so awful that even some gratuitous nudity couldn’t save it. 

This movie is zero-fun where it had some chances to be and just pretty darn uncomfortable in other places. It’s so mock-worthy, but then you have to feel bad for mocking. Really, why the heck pay money for this? The poor girls at the heart of this movie aren’t sophisticated or privileged or even in on the mean-spirited jokes at the heart of this film, so you just feel kind of uncomfortable and icky watching the scenes unfold.

After Nomi, the character played by our hapless gal Liz, climbs her way to the top for her one moment of glory as a Vegas dancer, she says, “I just hope I am as good as the show.” Well, in THIS case, you certainly are. 

2. Pirates of the Caribbean at World’s End— Poor Johnny Depp. When you are so beautiful and talented, you apparently forget that you are also human and make mistakes. Now, I can concede that the first in this series of movies was a bit of a romp and good fun. I can even agree that the second, while worse than than the first, still had some enjoyable moments. But THIS movie I cannot forgive, because you are Johnny Depp—you are deep and artistic  and full of integrity  and MONEY. And THIS movie is what happens when you have too much money and no brains. Steve  likes to say, “Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.”  Sorry, Johnny, we all love you, but this one’s a stinker and even your infinite charms can’t keep it afloat.

3. Beverly Hills Cop 3—This is a really old movie, but I remember it breaking my heart a little back then. The first two BHC movies were funny, campy, and just good old-fashioned movie FUN. Some might even argue that the first two movies are the stars in the crown of Murphy, but this soulless, joyless piece of drivel even seemed to break Eddie Murphy a little. Has he ever looked so spectacularly uncomfortable anywhere?  The other movies were comedies with a little action, but this one was an action movie with a little comedy. They dropped the formula and thus rendered it nearly unwatchable. Eddie Murphy was never the same after this film and, for that, we all lose.

4. Glitter–When I told Ellen this was one of my picks, she said, “It has Mariah Carey, and it is called “Glitter”, what did you expect?”  I should have known better. Truly. But it was kind of like a train wreck, I had to see just how bad it was.  It’s abysmal. Three things pop immediately to mind: The chemistry between the leads would not power a lightbulb, the writers never met a movie cliche they didn’t like, and Mariah was incomprehensible  unless she was singing. My main memory was hiding in my popcorn bowl every time the least hip man on earth said things like “you got no food in yo crib”.  At least the popcorn was yummy.

5. Deadringers-– Okay this was billed as a psychological thriller, but  it was just psycho in the worst possible way. It didn’ t make you think, “How clever!” It made you desire brain ajax to scrub the memories away.  I usually purge the  details of movies as soon as I see them or else I would never remember crucial things like my shoe size or where I stashed the chocolate. This movie was released decades ago, but it is burned into my neurons. I’ll share the trailer playing in my head: twin gynos (creepers) obsess over a woman, one goes off the reservation and starts mutilating woman (where’s the medical board!?!), he convinces his brother to go under his knife (WTF), disembowels him with a homemade torture chamber retractor (WTF!!), and then inexplicable curls up in the excavated corpse ‘s arms and dies. Yeah. 116 minutes of my life I would like back, please.

6. The Crying Game—I don’t dislike this film, because of the infamous reveal. My opening weekend seat in the front row, with my neck cricked back at a 90 degree angle, DID give that scene a whole level of intimacy I could have done without, but that is not the point. I felt punked, because the IRA action film I THOUGHT I was watching in the beginning dissolved into a lot of angst and, well, crying. I kept waiting for the action to return and it. just. never. did.

7. District 9— This movie stunk like the pile of bug guts that littered its landscape. It started out with such promise: the mockumentary was intense. And then. . . it just fizzled. Social commentary faded away. While the Crying Game could have done with a little less reveal, this film needed one. Big time. This thing might have been passable as a video game, but my popcorn didn’t come with a controller. If only it had come with a can of Raid.

8. Boxing Helena–I hate myself for even seeing this film, because I was warned in the title. I went into this movie with the idea that it was a romantic drama. Oh HELL no. This movie is romantic in the same way having pink eye is sexy: NOT AT ALL. Kim Bassinger had to pay over $3 million to renege on her contract and not star in this film. Best money spent. Ever.

I’ll cut to the meat (pun intended): Crazy doctor with mommy issues quadruple amputates a woman so annoying and nasty you don’t even feel sorry for her. And get this! Turns out it was all a dream. No pithiness. No resolution. The directors must have realized this movie was so twisted nothing could mitigate it, so they just obliterated it. And thus, more minutes of my life stolen.

9. Vanilla Sky—What is this movie about? I don’t know. I don’t know. I DON’T KNOW!! I could not remember the exact plot of this film, just that I hated it. A lot. So being the responsible blogger that I am, I looked up a synopsis. Yeah, I still don’t know what the movie was about, but I found this quote from the film that just about sums it up.

10. Twilight—I might be bringing a whole world of hurt down upon my head, but I am just going to say it out loud: This is a BAD movie. I know it caused teens and Moms alike to lose their ever-loving minds. I saw the t-shirts (Go Team Jacob!), I heard the soundtrack, I read the book. I get the appeal. I understand the fervor. This is just a bad movie, and I won’t pretend otherwise. Most of the main characters’  movie acting consists of looking hot and gazing angstily (it may not be a word, but it fits perfectly) at each other. And don’t even get me started on the special effects. When I am reading, I am willing to suspend my disbelief—it’s part of the writer/reader contract—but when I am seeing it on film, it’s a whole new ballgame. In this case, the ballgame especially brings into crystal-clear and sparkly focus just how unbelievable it all is. And don’t even get me started on the sequels.

But we have a little sweet surprise for you. There is a cure for that which ails bad movies, and that, my dear bloggy friends, is Rifftrax. I was already a big fan of my BIL Dan and my sister Karen before they introduced us to Rifftrax. After we sat through our inaugural movie night in which the team from Rifftrax brought down the classic “Jaws”, Karen and Dan skyrocketed to the top of our Christmas list (you see the way to our hearts!) Now, Steve and I are true believers. Rifftrax’s tagline is “we don’t make movies, we make movies funny”, and they deliver BIG TIME. You can follow the link to check it all out, rent a riff, and even the DVD you want to mock. 

So here is our Mother’s Day gift—a little Rifftrax preview takedown of “Twilight”.

 <

Happy Mother’s Year! Let’s make it the best one yet!

“I would rather sit through Ricky Bobby every day for a month, than sit through any of these for 15 minutes.” Ellen

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So breastfeeding made the cover of Time. Well, how lovely..wait a minute, why is everyone so riled up on Twitter? Why is my phone blowing up? Oh, because this is the picture…

Source

So what side does a Sensible Mom take? Are we repulsed, gratified, offended, justified, enlightened or dismayed?

This calls for strong words to convey strong emotions and here is mine: DISGUSTED.

Disgusted that we, as women, as mothers, are being manipulated once again for the noble cause of saving a magazine from fading into extinction.

Disgusted that our anxieties about mothering are being twisted so that some of us have to be right and some of us have to be wrong, pitting Sister against Sister.

Disgusted that we are half the population, but we carry the lion share of judgment on our shoulders for earthshaking things like how we feed our children.

To be crystal clear, I am outraged by this blatant and careless toss of a match from the media onto the tinder of our insecurities to ignite a flame under the sales of their magazine.

I can just envision the meeting that took place to develop this cover…

“Hey, Ted, the Mommy Wars are on again. There has to be a way to spin this to increase our sales. Print media is dying, man.”

“I heard Kate is writing an article on attachment parenting. We should be able to get something stirring with that. You know there is no one a woman hates more, than another woman, who is not parenting the exact same way she is.”

“Oh, yeah. So attachment parenting is about breastfeeding, right? Should we champion the rights of women to breastfeed?”

“Dude, we’re trying to sell magazines, not improve the world. Get your head in the game.”

“Well, what about making bottle-feeding moms feel badly about themselves?”

“Why piss them off? They have money too. There has to be some angle where we can rile breast –feeders and bottle-feeders. Think.”

“I got it! Let’s find some hot chick to put on the cover nursing a three year old who looks like an 8 year old! Nursing an older kid should ignite the maximum number of mothering types!”

“We just need a title that implies that mothers are doing it wrong”

“I got it: ‘Are You Mom Enough?’”

“Well, it’s not exactly subtle, but we don’t want anybody to miss our point.”

Your point, Time Magazine, was to sell your sub par product.

Here is this Sensible Mom’s point–If your kids are safe, tended to, and raised with love, then you are indeed, Mom enough.

And Time, I am smart enough to see what you are doing, and I am banking that a majority of my Sisters are too. Don’t take the bait. Let’s cut bait and rebuke the manipulation.

—Just my two cents, Ellen

For another thoughtful take on this issue, read Ado at The Momalog.

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A tender moment while snuggling with Eddie (4) at bedtime . . .

Eddie – You didn’t feed me dinner.

Erin – You totally had dinner when we went through the McDonald’s drive-thru on the way to pick the big kids up.

Eddie – It doesn’t count if we don’t sit around the table and I get to share my stories.

Thank you for reading this edition of When Your Own Words Come Back and Bite You In Your Butt.

 

Thank you and did you remember to Supersize my side of guilt?

Finding the Funny

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We announced to the world, on our Monday Listicle a couple of weeks ago, that there were certain children’s books that we would, well, like to throat punch. Now it is our turn on  The Character Assassination Carousel hosted by the hilarious and industrious Nicole Leigh Shaw over at Ninja Mom Blog. Time to turn the flame up to full roast!

Robyn at Hollow Tree Ventures came before us and skillfully poached Babar. Treat yourself by checking out her post, after you’ve finished reading ours of course! Christine of Naptime Writing is up next. Can’t wait to see what book she targets.

And speaking of treats, do we have one for you!

This is a Read-Along Assassination!

To hear our voices soothe you off to Dreamland, click the media player and get started.

Erin: It’s the close of another juice-cup-filling, nose-wiping. . .

Ellen: lunch-packing, homework-crunching, dinner-slopping. . .

Erin: sports-hopping, bath-drenching day. Little Darling cuddles in for his evening storytime and hands me this little gem.

Ellen: Oh, joy! A book without words that your crazy, artsy friend gave you at your baby shower. Because nothing will top off an evening like this more than making up your own story.

Erin: I hardly have enough energy to brush my teeth tonight,  but sure I can make up a humdinger for you. It only takes me 25 edits to write a blog post.

Ellen:  Truth be told her story sucked, but now in the new light of day with a little sleep, she remembers how funny WE are.

Erin: So we decided to make lemonade out of this lemon.

Ellen: We present for your enjoyment…

Erin: …and ours too if we are totally honest…

Ellen: the victim of this week’s Character Assassination Carousel, Fox and Hen Together by Beatrice Rodriguez.

Erin: Henceforth to be referred to as Fried Kentucky Shore as lampooned by Erin and Ellen.

Ellen: It’s a beautiful day on Fried Kentucky Shore. Some might say it is an unusual day because Chooki has put down the bottle and is nursing her maternal instincts by rocking her egg to a techno-beat.

I knew Poultry magazine had it all wrong. Chooki is going to be one fine feathered motherclucker.

Erin: But Southern Coop Living had it all right! Look at those tacky PDA photobooth pictures on the wall! And that empty fridge.

The Foxuation grunts, “Yo, Chooki, where’s the eats?!?”

Chooki says, “We only have half a bottle of Stoli and this champagne you swiped from the wedding you valeted.”

Pauly C, the mooch, chimes, “This is bogus, man, I haven’t had anything to eat since I hit the floor after those jeigerbombs last night and landed in that pile of pretzel crumbs.

Chooki says, “You’re such a bottom feeder. I got this, you losers.”

Erin: So she does what any chick in a den of slacker boys would do. . .

Ellen: And we do mean slack-ers! The Foxuation lost the car in a gambling spree, and Pauly C used all their extra scratch for GTL…

Erin: (Look it up in the Urban Dictionary, losers.) She takes care of business herself with the only thing she has left—a fishing rod.

Ellen: I think she thought it was a whip.

Erin: I think if she had more brains she would see that Pauly C looks like a good appetizer . Just saying.

Ellen: Hold on a minute, Erin. Are you just skipping over the tender ménage à troi farewelling  to the egg? Back it up for a minute and REALLY look at those tacky love pictures on the wall.

Erin: Alright, let’s humor Ellen and all look at the pictures on the wall. Wait a minute, who has this chickie been chucking?

Ellen: That‘s what I’m saying. This is no-teach-a-chicken-to-fish-and-the-menagerie- eats-forever story.  It’s a “Who’s Your Baby Daddy: Fried Kentucky Style”.

Erin: I see warning signs a-flashing à la Dr. Phil. The Foxuation is the ultimate bad boy: he’s foxy, he’s needy, and he is an ever-loving ACTUAL predator.

Ellen: Run, Chooki, run!  Do not walk! And do NOT take the creepy crustacean sidekick with you!

Erin: Ellen, focus your inner Winnie the Pooh, we are only the narrators.

Ellen: So let’s focus on the Springer in this story and skip to the fight scene. It all starts when FUGLY steals the fish.

Erin: FUGLY?

Ellen: Falcon of Unknown Genealogical Lineage…Y’all.

Erin: Oh, him. He drags our Chooki and Pauly C, who is hanging on her tail feathers like the backpack he is, and unceremoniously dumps them in the drink. But the Ch-itch still has her fish.

Chooki screams as the FUGLY flies away, “ You ruined my blowout , Motherclucker. It cost me a Benjamin. But, you’ve messed with the wrong chick. I won, ‘cuz I got the fish.”

Ellen: Chooki thinks she’s won, but her screeching rouses the Guido from his hole.

Erin:  He is pissed because some skank slinked off with his gold chains this morning. He is coming off a bad night, and he is just looking for trouble.

Ellen:  But instead he finds himself presented with a tasty snack of Filet o’ Fish with a side of nuggets and crab claws.

Erin: Little does he know that he has actually found trouble with a capital T, and it is spelled Chooki.

Ellen: Chooki is spelled with a C, but anyway, she is one tough…

Erin: Primo Poulet

Ellen: Um, are you serious? We’re going a little more street than that. This is a Jersey Shore spoof. Who needs to focus now?

Erin: But anyway, Chooki is bringing it Kentucky Shore style.

Ellen: She’s on the left.

Erin: She’s on the right.

Ellen: And she’s down.

Erin: But not for long.

Ellen: She hog ties that mouth-breathing-chain-wearin’-gel-sloppin’ Guido…

Erin: …and shows him “Who’s Your Daddy.”

Ellen: I like how you channeled your “street” there, much better, but “Daddy?”  Don’t you mean, “Who’s Your Momma?” Chooki owns this; Pauly C. was as useful as a trap door on a canoe. In fact, let’s cut that poser Pauly C out of this.

Erin: In fact, let’s cut to the disturbing ending, shall we?

Ellen:  Sure. The lighting is soft.. . .

Erin: Good lord, you and your soft lighting.

Ellen: I just appreciate the scene being set. Anyway, it’s spotlighting the broken egg.

Erin: Chooki is horrified.  She picks up the frying pan like a weapon.

Ellen: I’m horrified too! How is her first thought that her Chuck Buddy was snacking on her chick? And why does a chicken have a frying pan ANYWAY?

Erin: She totally went to, “Motherclucker ate my baby, WHAT?”   She is going ALL Loretta Bobbins.

Ellen: What the heck are you talking about?  Do you mean Lorena Bobett?

Erin: Yeah, you know, the chick that sliced and diced her husband’s package.

Ellen: Disturbing. Um, adjust your glasses, Granny, she is taking it to the next level. She is about to end the Foxuation for good.  She knows she picked a lowdown scoundrel. She watches Maury Povich every afternoon.

Erin: And speaking of Maury Povich, the master of the paternity reveal, are you really looking at that offspring?

Ellen: What is that thing?? There is no creature like that in nature.

Erin: It’s got fox ears and wings. It’s the Frankenstein of babies.

Ellen: It’s not a Frankenstein baby. It’s a FICKEN.

Erin: There’s no such thing as a frickin’ Ficken. You made that up!

Ellen: Ya think? There are no words for that biological fail.

Erin: But the most important part of any children’s book is the happy ending.

Ellen: And what is happier than toasting a weird-ass newborn creaturewith a little ALCOHOL and the conquered roasting on a spit?

Erin: Wait! But there also has to be a moral!

Ellen: So what kind of moral exactly are we finding in this train wreck, Pollyanna?

Erin: Don’t chuck a fox or you could be raising a Ficken.

Ellen: And that there is your Sisterhood Secret. Sweet dreams, Mothercluckers!

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Erin: We are such fans of Stasha’s Monday Listicles because they always seem to coincide with things going on in our lives. Or maybe it’s just that between the two of us, we always have so much stuff going on that we can pretty much twist any topic to fit.

Ellen: This week’s topic was presented by Stacey from Mothering Moments in support of her wonderful new link up called ‘An Hour In A Day’.  We were asked to make a list of ten things that happen in an hour of our lives.

Erin: I started to list what happened in an hour of my day and I just couldn’t go on. Didn’t have the stomach for it. Didn’t want to see it in writing.

Ellen: So I took this puppy over because ALL OF THE HOURS of my past week have been consumed by making the #BloggersDance Party video for Kerry @HouseTalkN.

Erin: She is being soooooo melodramatic. It was only 30 hours.

Ellen: So without further ado,

TEN THINGS THAT TOOK PLACE DURING ANY RANDOM HOUR WHILE PRODUCING OUR VIDEO

1. Consult teenage daughter on how to make a movie in Movie Maker. Teenage daughter points out that I have yet to download any of my video clips. Good point.

2. Plug phone into the computer to download videos. Two of them will not download. Swear repeatedly as repeated attempts fail.

3. Resort to emailing the clips to myself off of my phone. Wait 1 hour because I have sporadic 3G coverage at my house. Yep, you read that correctly, that is one hour burned right there folks.

4 Spend hour waiting for email from myself by listening to scads of copyright free music. It ain’t all good or pretty, people.

5. Call Erin about sending her video clip to me.

6. Finally start making video. Realize that 3:54 minutes is an enormity of time to fill. Start to panic.

7. Call Erin for her video clip, AGAIN. Conversation starts with, “I don’t understand..” Realize I may just have to cut bait and move on.

8. Call friend to email me a compromising picture of Erin. Mary emails me the photo in five minutes. Mary moves to the top of my “Favorite Friend” list.

9. Cannot save video because I have maxed the memory on my computer. Spend three hours managing memory on my computer. Consume a glass of wine. Or two.

10. Long story immensely ( and blessedly) shortened: the video was produced and saved, uploaded to You Tube, and presented here for your viewing pleasure! Please let us know that the effort was worth it. Lie if you have to. We’re totally okay with that.

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Ellen – “No” is the Brussels sprouts of the world of language.  But it’s not them, it’s you. People don’t know how to cook them!

My mommy doesn't know how to cook Brussels sprouts

And people don’t know how to use the word “No.”

Erin –  We are here to tell you to embrace Brussels sprouts.

Ellen – Ok, Green Grocer, what we are really here to tell people is to embrace the word “No.”

Erin – “No” is the ultimate negative word. When you see that on a sign, you know to put the brakes on.

Ellen – Like when you see a “No Alcohol Served Here” sign?

Erin – Yes! You know to walk the other way. But now who needs to focus?

Ellen – Ok, I’m talking about the word “No” in your mommy arsenal, because a “No” has to have firepower behind it to work. Sometimes this means getting off the couch to discipline after you’ve said “No” for the fifth time. Sometimes it means picking your battles wisely.

Erin –  Picking your battles is important. You can’t waste all of your bullets during a skirmish, because you won’t have any left for the real war. Strap on your helmet and pick up your gear, because we have a mission objective.

Ellen – We are just trying to raise human beings who can function and play with others safely in society.

Erin- Sometimes it is easier said than done. In a tale of woe from the front lines, I violated these tenets. I was lobbing grenades when I should have been using my energy to whittle down my laundry pile.

Ellen- You brought a world o’ hurt raining down on your head that you didn’t need. All over a doll.

Is this tarted up battle line worth it?

Erin – Bratz dolls were all the rage when Biddie was in early elementary school. To say that these toys irked me is soft-selling my real issue with them. They looked like Fun-Sized Streetwalkers to me—there was no way that my girl was going to be playing with those totems to anti-feminism.

Ellen – Yikes. You should have given that Bratz doll a heaping dose of the cold shoulder. Instead, you shoved that hussy front and center, giving her the spotlight.

Erin-It was a rookie mistake that blew up in my face. When I said, “You will never play with Bratz dolls,” what was interpreted by my seven year old’s brain was…

Ellen- “This is what I want to fight with you about for the next four years.”

Erin – That “No” catapulted those “Poster Dolls of Woman Hatred” to the status of forbidden fruit. And the battle lines were drawn.

Ellen- I am not going to say I told you so.

Erin- And you didn’t then. But your raised eyebrows, nail nibbling, and shuffle-step backward to avoid the shrapnel spoke volumes.

Ellen- I was concerned about your stand, because you did not control the battlefield. You just can’t dictate what is given to your child at birthdays. ((Please don’t be one of those mothers who has a birthday gift registry.)

Erin- When Biddie opened that package at her seventh birthday party, she gave me a look that said, “The gauntlet has been thrown down.” I cringed.

Ellen– You couldn’t win. If you let her keep the doll, you were going back on your principles, in essence branding yourself a big fat liar. But by taking it away, you were forced to be the villain.

Erin– If I had just ignored them like the Sisterhood told me to, Biddie would have played with the thing for about five minutes, chopped the doll’s hair off, and left her naked in the bottom of a toy bin, ripe to be whisked into the garbage can. I wouldn’t even escort THAT streetwalker to Goodwill.

Ellen- They only had about 15 minutes of fame in my house.

Erin- I get it. The rigid oak tree snaps while the willow tree bends.

Ellen- O-kay, Sensei.

Erin– But there are times when the issue is worth it. In those moments, you have to stand your ground.

Ellen– And you have to start young. There are a million times a day with toddlers when you have to say no and mean it. “No, you can’t shave the cat.” “No, you can’t have mommy’s special juice.” ” No, you can’t draw a Sharpie mustache on your brother.”

Erin– Life is hard in the trenches–wet, smelly, and monotonous. We get it! Who do you think is beside you in that foxhole? But if the “No” is worthy, you just can’t give in because you’re tired or they flash you those baby blues.

Ellen– Your “No” is not just an expression of negativity. Your “No” shows love, because it gives them the sense of safety they crave. No one is going to let them careen over the edge of that cliff–metaphorical or real. You are there to pull them back.

We frown on helicopter parenting too, but maybe Wile E.'s mommy could have supervised him a little better.

Erin–  No man gets left behind. They need that built into their brains. They are going to push. Boys, girls, toddlers, tweens, teens—they are all just looking for gaps in the fence line EVERY DAY. Boundaries are tough to maintain, but they actually make kids feel safe and empower them to spread their wings.

Ellen- You really are laying the foundation for your future on Planet Teen.

Erin- Bottom line: Say what you mean and mean what you say.

Ellen– All of this hit home when Coco threw her tantrum. I’m not talking about when she was 2 years old, but those were indeed nuclear. I’m talking about the one she threw a couple of months ago at the ripe ol’ age of 13.

Coco had to pay the piper for her actions by being grounded. This grounding would make her miss a prime social situation. Coco thought that if she righted her wrongs, she would be able to go to the prime social situation.

Erin – Coco, that’s a negatory. Have you met your Mom?

Ellen – The meltdown she had when it sunk in that her penance was not going to shorten her term was epic.

I swear it felt like I was being pulled through one of those swirling time travel tunnels to the day my abundantly pregnant self had to abandon my grocery cart, awkwardly grab 2 year old Coco by her heel, and drag her out of the store. My ginormous self could not get a grip on her flailing body any other way.

Erin –Don’t worry. She was also abundantly judged by every gawker in that store.

Ellen – But you know what else happened on that embarrassing day? I mortared a brick into the foundation of my parenting platform. When I said “No”, there was nothing she could do that would force me off of it.

And I was so glad for the precedent of consistency I had set when I faced her toddler meltdowns. The stakes only get higher. The issues only get weightier

Erin – Do you see? Even though Coco was pushing, Ellen had some very firm legs to stand on.

Ellen – So, the Sisterhood Secret? Strong boundaries make strong kids.

Erin – Boundaries are what children crave and need to feel safe. It is scary for them to think they run the show.

Ellen – And for the love of all that is good, don’t throw down over stupid stuff. Leave yourself some wiggle room, so that if your child presents a reasonable case, you can acknowledge their argument and compromise.

Erin- Pick your battles wisely or you are going to be too exhausted for the real issues.

Ellen – And here is the bonus Sisterhood Secret: Roast your Brussels sprouts!

Boundaries. They're not just for coyotes.

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This week on Monday Listicles we are following the prompt from Anna at The Mommy Padawan.  She charged us with creating a list of “10 things you really like about yourself, things you are good at, or your super powers!”

We actually feel pretty good about ourselves. This defies all reason if you check out our old school pictures, but what can we say, we were late bloomers. So, hopped up on our own hubris, we decided to ask our kids what they thought was good about us.

 Ellen

When I asked my kids what they liked about me, the resulting conversation felt like a rollicking three ring circus.  So my list got a little out of control. I’m going to give each of my kids five things, because when you get this much sunshine blown your way, it feels like Mother’s Day.

Jellybean (11)

1. You buy us Cheez-its three boxes at a time.

Me – But what do you like about ME, beyond what I buy for you? You know, the inner me?

Jellybean – You have intestines.

That’s my girl!

2. Your fashion sense isn’t embarrassing.

Whew!

3. You do doctor stuff like healing my wounds.

4. You make great Tater Tot casserole and you stay fit.

Those two things seem kinda contradictory, don’t they?

5. You made me.

And my heart sings.

Coco (13)

1. You’re able to persevere through anything.

Wow.

2. You don’t get all uncomfortably up in my life.

3. You can parasail, rock climb, canoe, kayak, and hike.

Like a boss.

4. You are very creative with your blog.

That’s it. I need no other praise.

5. But what do you like about yourself, Mom?

Well, well.

Me – I like that I can pretty much do anything I put my mind to.

Jellybean and Coco – Yeah, we can see that.

Wow. Validation is mine, reflected back to me by my daughters’ words.

Erin

Wow. Reading Ellen’s kids’ reflections on their mom is sweet and inspiring and dear. My first thought after I asked my crew what they liked about me and heard their responses: “Huh, now I know why some animals eat their offspring.”

Sometimes Momma Bear just has to take matters into her own, er, paws!

To be fair, we were traveling in the car when I asked them, but here is the list unedited (and my crew didn’t make it anywhere close to 10!).

Me: So, what is something I do really well?

Crickets. Nada. Nothing. Then this. . .

1. Ace (14): You make great chocolate chip cookies.

Um, okay, he’s fourteen. All he thinks about is food.

2. Charlie (11): You are a great baker. You make great chocolate chip cookies.

Ok, slacker, your brother just said. . .

3. Deacon (8): Hmm, let me think. . . you make great chocolate chip cookies.

Really, boys? Where’s the love?

Now, I have heard that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but I didn’t know this applied to little men as well.

But I do make a damn, fine cookie if I say so myself.

Girl child made me feel slightly better . . .

4. Biddie (13, and my new favorite child): You are a creative writer, a good friend to everyone, you stay fit, and have a good fashion sense. Oh, and you make really good chocolate chip cookies.

Well, she is definitely fishing for something, but I’ll take it.

But the piece de resistance!!  My sweet baby who still cuddles me and tells me that I am his girlfriend and the most beautiful woman alive, what does he have to say??

5. Eddie (4): You are really good at yelling at Daddy.

(I feel like I need a disclaimer here: WE WERE ON A CAR TRIP! I was driving, and Steve was being a front-seat driver.)

Seriously? Are you kidding me?? The whole car thought that was a total hoot and raucous laughter ensued.

Charlie chimed in: “No do-overs! You have to put that on the blog.”

So there you go. Ellen’s kids sound like they want to nominate her for Mother of the Year, and MY kids sound like they want me in their own little sweatshop churning out the baked goods or appearing as a guest on Maury.

It just goes to prove what I have always known: My superpower is finding the humor in anything!!

So just to recap. . .

How Ellen’s Kids See Her: ROCK STAR

My kids tell me I look like Michael Jackson

How Erin’s Kids See Her: COOKIE JAR

My Kids tell me I look like Betty Crocker

Thank you to Stasha once again for her Monday Listicles. Without her, we might not have these beautiful family moments to treasure. But, in all seriousness, she has created a lovely community of writers who start their week off “write” with a list. Great writers, great blogs—what are you waiting for?? Get over there! Erin and Ellen

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One day in our orthodontist’s office, we were saying a not-so-silent prayer that Biddie’s $400 retainer could be replaced for the low, low cost of the Happy Meal it followed into the trash. My neighbor Elsa and her daughter, who we hadn’t seen much lately, were there too. Apparently, orthodontia unites us all.

We caught up on the headlines of each other’s lives, and I casually mentioned that Ace was running spring track.

“Do you drive him every day? Danny ran cross-country in the fall, but my schedule changed, and I can’t give him rides home from practice. Could he catch a ride with you?”

“Do you think he would go with me?”

“I’ll work everything out.”

“Ok.”

And just like that, I started a carpool with my 16 year old neighbor. Nothing out of the ordinary for us as carpools are just part of the five kid equation—like laundry and astronomical food bills. But Danny has autism, and that makes the equation slightly more complicated.

You know the saying about being a little pregnant? Well, Danny does not have just a little autism.  I was concerned that Danny didn’t really know me. I was concerned that he didn’t really know Ace. I was concerned that perhaps I had gotten not just me, but Ace, in over our heads.

But there was no need for concern. My neighbor, like most moms of kids with autism, hides her superhero cape well.  At 12pm, we were chatting it up in the orthodontist’s office. By 3pm THAT DAY, Ace and Danny had met with each other, the track coach, the special ed teacher, and my neighbor.

Unaware of all this mountain moving that had transpired since our conversation, I was still a little nervous.  So I sent her a text.

Me: How will he know to find me? Should I go to the coach?

Neighbor: Ace is taking charge of him. It’s cute.

Me: He can be a sweetie. And then his head spins. : )

Neighbor: Spits pea soup and everything? Cool.

It was all so. . . ordinary, and, for the most part, it has continued to be.

It was a little bumpy in the beginning. Ace was not particularly happy with the arrangement. Elsa and I had worked everything out before I even had a chance to talk to Ace—a rookie mistake. My crown was definitely looking a little tarnished.

In our old routine, Ace would walk with his track buddies to the front of school after practice and hang out until I arrived. With the dawn of the new carpool, Ace waited for Danny to come off the track, and I picked them up right there . Ace didn’t mind hanging with Danny, but he didn’t want to lose this social time, crucial to the ultra-social Freshman that he is. With a little time and talking, Ace created new routines with his friends that included Danny. A couple of the moms even started picking their boys up where I picked up Danny and Ace.

We had some smoothing to do with the rest of our crew too.  On the first day of our carpool, Eddie (4) shouted from the back seat, “Hey, who are you?” to Danny in the front seat. Eddie’s attempts at first contact fell flat, so Eddie said, “Hey, why won’t he talk to me?” I turned to Danny and said, “That is Eddie. If you say hi, he will probably stop screaming at you.” Notice my use of the word probably, we never REALLY know what Eddie is going to do. So, Danny turned his head towards me and said, “Hi, Eddie.” Every time that Eddie is in the car, Danny says “Hi, Eddie” right away. That’s a suave move for any kid.

Now, our carpool is our new normal. We drive Danny home almost every day. We make sure he has a ride covered on the days we can’t drive him. We cheer him on with Ace’s other friends at the meets. In many ways, it’s just like every other carpool we have.

In other ways, it isn’t. Danny definitely has autism. He doesn’t always respond to us when we talk to him, and he never looks us in the eye (although I have seen him scan the track like a searchlight for Ace).  He has the language and social challenges you might expect from someone with his diagnosis. But he is surprisingly flexible and accommodating too. When we have had to make another stop before heading home, he may have been a little concerned, but he rolled with it—a big bonus when you are hanging with us. Overall, he tolerates our noisy, silly, chatty crew beautifully, which is a high compliment.

In the end, I marvel at Danny.  In my life BC (before children), I taught preschoolers with autism. In my work, I didn’t see ANY Dannys—kids dealing so beautifully with the noise and havoc that autism can wreak in the life of the mind. But those kids were just starting out after that initial diagnosis, and their families were still nursing broken hearts. Danny has had years of great teachers (and even not-so-great teachers), some fine support from his schools, and don’t forget that SuperMomma I mentioned before. I have no idea how he is doing in school, but in life he seems to be managing really well. This, in the end, is what driving Danny has given me—a chance to reimagine a future for those first students—and  I am careful to appreciate the moment.

When I get to practice early, unlike the other moms with their heads buried in their books, I watch the boys as they arc around the track. With their arms pumping and legs pounding, they move freely, easily, and gracefully.  Danny is a natural runner, so he is a joy to watch.  This moment touches me—beautiful in the moment and the metaphor. This is what I wished for those students way back when.  Back then, we talked a lot about what it would mean to have an “exceptional” child with “extraordinary” needs.  There was a lot of talk about all the “wouldn’ts”, “couldn’ts”, and “wont’s”.  This is what I wanted for them always, even if you couldn’t always tell with the book-length IEPs, even if my imagination didn’t see quite this far into the future.  I always hoped they would have  a moment like this one—a chance to be, like Danny, extraordinarily ordinary.

By Erin

 April is Autism Awareness Month.  The prevalence of autism has risen to 1 in 110 births, 1 in 70 for boys. Many of us have an autism story to share. This is mine.

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