This week in I Officially Have No Free Time:
Once upon a time, my favorite dad on the internet, BusyDad, and I lost our fucking minds and bought a domain name. And then, after a little deliberation and a lot of NewCastle, we slapped it on a website. And today, it’s open for business. Stark Raving Dads is the name, shelling out free, bad advice to guys is the game. Think I’m wrong? Think we have tons of sound advice for you? Um, neither of us have read one parenting book, we both let our kids play with knives, with fire, and open beers. But we’ve managed to keep them alive and to keep ourselves sane this long, so we’ve gotta know something, right? Come visit us. Feel free to laugh at us. With us. Something.

This week in You’ve Got To Be Fucking Kidding Me:
And I quote: “Yesterday, we had a black bear visit our dumpster,” says the letter sent home from school with my kids yesterday. “A member of our community notified us. The students were at recess at the time.” Um, guys, the dumpster is RIGHT NEXT to the playground. And I know my kids are pretty darn tasty. Just sayin’.

This week in Let Me Make Stalking Me As Easy As Humanly Possible:
June 7th, at The Corner Office in The Curtis Hotel, I will not be sitting with David, The Blogger Formerly Known As Andy, and some of the coolest Rocky Mountain Bloggers drinking til it hurts philosophizin’ and pontificatin’. Making the world a better place, you know? They will be, thanks to ViewMyLife.com who is helping us throw this spring’s Rocky Mountain Blogger Bash (unless they want to fly me out for it, yo. *winkwink*) I will, however, be there on August 28th, same Bat place, same Bat time. That’s right, ViewMyLife.com has agreed to throw not one but TWO bashes. The August one? Last day of The Democratic National Convention. It’s the PERFECT excuse for bloggers far and wide, young and old, to come do body shots off each other lend their voice to the upcoming election. Resurrection Song, the Former World Wide Rant and this silly little Mommy Blogger are your hosts for the evening. To RSVP, or to just be nosey and snoop, or to get in early on the site that makes MySpace look like great big pansies (Oh, wait, they did that themselves?) set yourself up an account at ViewMyLife.com and look for Mr Lady or Zombyboy. We’ll help you RSVP. It’s a really cool site. I bet you’ll like it, too.

This week in Someone Call the Exterminator; There’s a Bug in Here:
Doesn’t look like much, right? Right. But wait, what’s that noise?

Is there something, um, errr, in there?

Oh shit. How’d THAT get in there?

Maybe it’s wrong, maybe I’m going straight to Maytag hell, but this was the cutest thing I have EVER found in the wrong place.

This week in Celebrity Appearances:
It’s 6am right now. Wanna know when the last time I saw 6am is? Me, too. Someone in my family is going to be on tv this morning, and that someone is quite nervous about it, since it’s going to be re-broadcast nation-wide. And the best part of all? It’s not COPS.

More coffee, please….

I had a whole different post written for today. Three times, actually. I was trying to decide which draft to go with when I clicked on The Queen Mum’s blog. And followed that back to Maria’s. And then I scrapped it and started this post instead. Girls, this little momma who refuses to watch the news or read the paper thanks you today for the heads-up.

So, there is almost nothing I won’t talk about on this blog, as you all are painfully aware of by now. I do, however, have a few things I steer away from. I don’t write about my marriage, or my husband, because I did that once and it really hurt him. I don’t write about the kid’s godfather, because he asked me not to. Hell, I wouldn’t write about anyone who asked me not to. I have a friend who is going through some legal battles, and he is one of my best friends, and I can’t really write about him either, or his troubles, because of who he is in love with. And that infuriates me, but he needs me to use discretion. I try to keep the childhood posts to a minimum, because they are hard to write and, I imagine, hard to read. I don’t blog about blogging, and it kind of drives me nuts when people do.

Other than that, it’s sort of open season around here.

The one other thing I don’t talk about, almost ever, that maybe I have hit on two or three times in all these years of blogging is politics. My choice is to play dumb over the internet. No one who reads this would have any clue that I give a dingo’s kidneys about the political structure of the world.

You couldn’t be more wrong.

I am ridiculously political, and stubborn, and opinionated, and I have not ever been able to find the right words to express my views clearly. I can argue religion or abortion or creationism with you all day long, but politics makes me stutter. I’ll leave that sort of thing to Steve Green or Zombyboy or Instapundit. They know what they’re talking about.

For one day only, I am going to share my thoughts with you, and then we are never going to talk about this again, okay?

I am mad at America. I am seethingly, silent treatment, sleeping on the couch pissed at America. Why? Because I have nothing good to tell my children about our government right now, and that is wrong.

I am not a Democrat, and I am sure as hell not a Republican. I don’t really fit the Libertarian niche either. I am just a girl, born in America, who is very concerned. The kids godfather (see, I break rules) one shared this quote with me:

“If you’re not a liberal when you’re 20, you have no heart. If you’re not a conservative when you’re 40, you have no head.”

I laughed. AT HIM. We then got into a heated argument about whether the Afghanistan conflict was going to fall into Iraq. We debated whether or not there were WMD’s in Iraq. I told him, ooooh I told him that there weren’t, that it was a lie and a scam and it was going to turn into war, and he swore there were. He stood behind his President. America stood behind their President and I, being too uneducated in the political system, stood back and held my breath.

Turns out, I was right. Turns out, we all got duped. Turns out, we re-elected this guy and then have just sat back and whined about what he’s done to America, to the Middle East, to the global dynamic. That pisses me off, and that is why I am mad at America. We are, in the end, a bunch of freaking sissies who can’t find the balls to stand up to a little guy from Texas who can’t even speak one coherent sentence.

But still, I find myself following that quote more and more in my own life. My brother and I once argued over politics, social programs and such. I yelled at him for being so Republican, so against absolute help to those in need. I was disgusted by his views on taxes, how he complained about having so much taken from him to give to those less fortunate. How could he justify those statements? We grew up SOLELY provided for by the state and federal government. His point? He worked and kicked an scraped to give himself a better life, that it wasn’t handed to him, that he had no privilege and almost no help, and he did it anyway. Basically, I said, “Dude, don’t forget where you come from,” and he said, “I didn’t. I remember every day, and every day I work to make sure I never end up there again.”

That? I can’t argue that. Tell me more about flat tax now….

I don’t think any change can come, any good can be done, until we overhaul the government. It has failed to serve us, the people. There are too many lobbyists and agendas and, well, politicians. Too much money is funneled towards special interests, and too many Americans who truly need are overlooked. Too many people go hungry, and unable to afford rent or food, at the cost of bombs and Halliburton and CEO’s retirement funds. Too many communties are destroyed because Americans forgot to take care of America first and outsourced to China or wherever. The Lady Justice has some brutally unbalanced scales right now. And no one is doing anything about it. Me included. Hell, I turned tail and moved to CANADA. I am guilty as charged, yo.

I have sat on my pansy, fence-riding ass and waited for a whisper of revolution. For even one person to stand up and fight this governing body. I have waited for either Obama or Clinton to really attack they system as it is and instead I am listening to them bicker for a seat in it. I have waited for the Republican party to stand up for itself, to say, Hey, Man, this isn’t what we meant. That guy isn’t us. They haven’t. They have positioned the one guy in the party who has proven he is too afraid to fight Bush head on to be his successor. And that is a damn shame, because I think if McCain could just stop and think for HIMSELF for two seconds, that he might actually have a something or two to contribute to restoring this country.

I am angry that my generation has not done what the generations before us have. We haven’t effected change. We haven’t stood up. We have more technology, more connection, and more knowledge than any generation before us has had, and they did something. They made massive strides for Civil Rights. They Protested the Vietnam War. We blog about how offended we are by one idiot. We listen to 24 hour news channels talk about Hilary’s outfit choices. We watch Michael Moore documentaries that prey upon our fears the same way Bush did, and we let Bill O’Reilly convince us we’re traitors if we stand up for what we believe is right. How can they end segregation with a radio and some very shady black and white tv reception and we can’t stop these people from ruining our COUNTRY with all the tools that we have at our disposal?

It pisses me off. And so I do nothing about it. I don’t even write about it, because honestly, I am beyond hope. I have thrown my hands in the air and given up. I never imagined, after 6 1/2 years of listening to lies, of waiting for someone to do something about it, that anyone ever would. I figured everyone, like me, was holding their breath too, waiting for November to hurry up and get here already.

And then, today, this:

Today, Keith Olbermann, you made me proud to be an American. Today, I finally heard some one stand up to that man and tell him to shove it up his ass. More importantly, I heard someone tell his ADMINISTRATION that at least one of us in on to them.

I am not going to be silent anymore. I am not going to hide behind the fact that I write a trivial mommy blog anymore. This is MY country, my CHILDREN’S country. This is what I am leaving them, and I am going to make damn sure it is righteous and upstanding and just.

I am not a Democrat. I am not a Republican. I am not an ex-pat. I am an AMERICAN. That is all.*

*Well, that’s not all, really, but in the interests of keeping even two readers, I’m going to shut the hell up now.

American Idol, man. It’s killing me over here.

David Archuleta is not old enough, sexy enough, clever enough or broken enough to sing And So It Goes. THIS is exactly why I hate Michael Bubblytoes or whoever the fuck he is. STOP. KILLING. GOOD. SONGS. George Michael is out of your league, and Billy Joel sure-the-hell is out of everyone’s league. He’s out of Billy Joel’s league anymore. (This song and me have some history, can you tell?)

Creepy aside: Did Paula say she wanted to exploit David’s something? She’s gotta stop huffing the Aquanet. He’s TWELVE, dude.

Syesha Mercado is singing Alicia Keys because Randy asked her to, after he’s spent 5 seasons telling people to stop bothering trying to sing Alicia, Whitney or Kelly Clarkson. Randy clearly hates Syesha and wants her to lose. Maybe so he can get David into the New New Kids on the Block. First album? Not Hangin’ Just Yet.

Ouchie aside: Go look. You know you wanna. The caption on his Facebook pictures says, “The 3:36pm model has significantly less trunk space than the 3:45pm model.” Now you have to look.

David Cook just got podiddled in the humnashmurna by Simon. Awesome. (I think he’s gonna rock it.) The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face is a great song, and I don’t care who says what. I wish he’s sang it A Capella; I think that would have been his Bo Bice moment, but I think I’d still let him see my boobies.

I like to make up words aside: Really, do I have to translate that?

Dear David Archuleta: You may not use Prime Time TV to audition for the Gay Christian Pop Rockers Kidz Bop. Or Up With People. Thank you. Signed, the Not 8-16 year old demographic.

Message for you, sir aside: Ted Haggard called for you, David. He’d like to schedule an appointment with you. ASAP.

Syesha Mercado is doing what? Singing Fever? Now, David Cook could’ve Torn That Shit Up, but she was just meh. Nice legs though. VERY nice legs.

David Cook is up again (and his hair gets better every show, don’t you think? Also, puuuuuuur) with some song I don’t know (which is hard to pull of, yo) and might not win American Idol, but is going to be David Archuleta’s first single on the Gay Christian Pop Rockers Kidz Bop album coming out for Christmas next year.

Clarification aside: I have nothing, at all, against gay people, christian people, rockers, kids or bop. Well, maybe a little something against bop.

David Archuleta is on my shit list, officially. What the fuck? Didn’t Dan die? Couldn’t they have buried Longer with him?

*ahem* aside: Dear god, will some contestant please sing the phone book already? Just to make the judges stop saying it? I would pay you, dawg.

Syesha Mercado makes unfortunate song choices, but excellent brassiere choices.

Neurotic aside: Black jeans make my skin crawl. ON EVERYONE. So do shorts. Just sayin’.

David Cook is covering Aerosmith’s I Don’t Want To Miss A Thing. I will marry and have tiny little babies with the first person who shows up at my house with an actual, vintage Aerosmith tshirt. It’s the ONE thing I want before I die. That said, David has and could have done much better with this song. And that makes me cry a little inside.

Whaaa? aside: Paula’s crack kicked in halfway through the show. She went from zero to EEEEKKKKSHREEEEEEKKKMUMBLE in less than 60. Impressive.

Well, that was enough seriousness to last me a lifetime. Moving on…

What happens when you plan a Mother’s Day outing for the family including Robert Downey Jr., your entire family, including one toddler, at just about exactly naptime? You get to stay home with the pissy toddler while your boys go drool over Robert for two hours. I am just guessing here, but I’d bet his dreaminess was slightly lost on them.

Definitely long. Potentially worth it. Iron Man would’ve been almost as awesome.

Mothers Day Eggs from Mr Lady on Vimeo.

What happens when you drag two of your blogmomma friends downtown for dinner and drinks, and go somewhere you’ve never been before but you hear is pretty good? You end up in jeans and tshirts in a restaurant where they are, at a moments notice, prepared to serve The Queen with almost no transition, where they have warmed handtowels instead of paper towels and French imported rosemary handsoap that smelled like heaven and cost about as much in the washroom, where not one thing on the menu has less than 6,000 ingredients, and the tell you every single one of them, THREE TIMES OVER, where you have to check your wallet to be sure you brought enough cash to be allowed to walk in the front door, where you sit with two good friends and gigglegigglegiggle anyway and magically forget that you landed in perhaps the wrongest place you possibly could have because you picked the right people to spend your Mother’s Day with. Oh, and you eat ridiculously tasty food.

Most importantly, do you know what happens when you send your husband to the grocery store at 10 a.m. on Mother’s Day morning because you forgot something for the crepes? This happens. And it was the best present ever.*

*The picture, pervs, getting the PICTURE was the best present ever. Sheesh.

Dear Pat,

Today is my 16th Mother’s Day without you. To be fair, I have actually had 32 Mother’s Days without you, because you never let us celebrate them, did you? But here we are, as many Mother’s Days away from each other as we spent together.

I can’t begin to imagine what you are doing today. I think you’ll sit in your recliner, playing video games or watching TV. The last time I saw you, Al Gore hadn’t given us the internet yet and Nintendo had just recently released Tetris, which totally consumed you (and half of America.) I bet you are in Big-Pink-Puffy-Heart love with the internet now.

Today, I am taking my three children to see Iron Man. Do you know I have three children? I do, and they look a lot like you sometimes. They ask about you occasionally, and I have never known what to say to them to make them understand. I don’t think I ever will.

I find that it is easier most times to imagine that you are dead. I write these letters semi-annually, and I never have anywhere to send them. I mailed you that one 6 years ago, on the anniversary of our first decade apart, but since then you have moved from the only house I’d ever known as home, and I have no address for you now. I am left to write you these letters, knowing that you’ll never get them, and I secretly wish I had some tombstone to lay them in front of, some marker in a cold, forgotten yard that I could take them to, hand them off, and be done with this. It’s a heavier burden to bear than I’ll ever admit to anyone, this dragging you around with me.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what I know about being a mother, a wife, a human, a woman; naturally my thoughts come back to you. You had 16 short years to pull and tug and mold and shape me, and I have to give you credit for packing a lifetime of lessons into what I know now was just a blink of an eye.

I learned things from you that I don’t know I would have learned without you, without having had you as a mother specifically. I think about my oldest son, and how he wants to learn everything. He wants flute lessons and saxophone lessons and hockey lessons and science camp in the summer. You taught me that a child like that, like I was, will learn no matter how much you ignore their requests. They will find a way. Because of you, I almost never say no to him when it comes to learning. I’ll do whatever I have to do to get him the coach or the tutor or the equipment. I learned how to say no from you, but more importantly I learned that sometimes, it’s really important to not say no after all.

I watch my middle son testing everything in his path, pushing his limits, and mine, too. I sit waiting as he slowly tries to dismantle every system, debunk every theory, rebel against every authority figure. I watch him learn manipulation. I take special note during the times when his sly antics give way to his inherent eight year old nature, and when he gets downright disrespectful and awful, I remember how I learned from you that a belt on the bottom is much more powerful a tool than a strongly worded lecture or a smack on the hand. And then I remember what it felt like to have my skin ripped open, and the smell of my own blood, and the terror of total helplessness, and I find patience inside of myself and the realization that my child, who you would probably label as “damned,” is really just amazingly creative and intelligent and, well, eight. And eight is alright just the way it is.

I watch my daughter, the baby who is certainly not a baby anymore, and I see her becoming a girl already. There are shimmers of the woman she will be already reflecting in her eyes. She is the feistiest thing you’d ever meet, headstrong, defiant, sassy, and beautiful in a way that few people ever are. Every now and then, just for a moment, I feel in myself what I imagine you felt when you looked at me; resentment. I never had that thing she’s got when I was a girl; that confidence, that sure nature, that comfortableness. She is pretty hot shit, that kid, and don’t think she doesn’t know it. And I envy her that sometimes. I think about how hard you worked to be sure that I knew what a woman’s place was, and that I knew I was gangly, awkward and next to worthless, and in that you taught me humility, which I work so hard every day to instill in my own children. What I took away from you was the awareness of what was teaching humility and what was destruction. I see the line where you couldn’t. I am not afraid of my daughter the way you were, afraid of her becoming more of a person that I will ever be able to. I insist she does, actually. I am determined to help her with that in any way I can.

As my children grow older, and being to grasp the concept of the world beyond themselves, they naturally grow more and more curious about God and Spirituality. I think about how important my faith was to me as a child, my weird, backwards, twisted version of some very basic ideals that you chose to force feed us with. I am glad I had that, that I was able to learn what blind faith and abject devotion are. I am lead to wonder how you could choose your religion over your children, since my children are the only other thing that has inspired those sorts of emotions in me. You had your whole life to live and breath and soak in the world around you, and then you chose to change and were magically forgiven for all that living and breathing and soaking. You bore us and brought us up in a world that forbade looking outside the windows, having an opinion or insight or even a desire to know the things happening all around us in the world. We lived and believed and served and when it came our time to see the rest of the world, just like you had time for all those years ago, suddenly our minor transgressions, our year or two of screwing around before both my brother and I settled down, married and had our families with the very people we were screwing around with, those transgressions somehow became grander than any of yours, more unforgivable than anything you could have done. For choosing to live, you condemned us to death. You allowed your group, your religion, your beliefs, to push your children away. That I promise you I will never do. I will never indoctrinate my children. I will never tell them what to believe. I will give them options and information and I will fully support whatever road they take in their life. Whatever road.  Without you, I never would have known how important it is to give my kids that sort of control over their own destinies.

You taught me that a child is capable of great things, and that a child can be totally self-sufficient if necessary. In teaching me that, you also taught me that it is very important to teach a child that they have a support structure, that they don’t have to do everything on their own. Because of you I know that something as simple as a mother’s touch can mean the difference between raising people capable of forming real, lasting relationships and raising people who grow up to afraid to reach out to anyone on any level, people who have to learn how to cope with the touch of their own children later.

Someday, I hope, I may forgive you, but I will never want to forget you, and I am not sorry for one minute of our life together. You tried with everything you had to crush me, to spite me and, I am guessing, my father through me, and all you succeeding in doing was making one very strong, very hard, very sensible woman who would walk through fire to keep those who are hers from knowing things she knows.  You made someone who turned out so fine that another someone, an amazing someone that is better and finer than I could’ve imagined a person could ever be, saw fit to take your place 12 years later, and now not only do I have the benefit of true wisdom, experience and some serious motivation to improve every day, I have a woman in my life that I can close my eyes and pretend is my mother when I reallyreally need one.  My cup is very busily runnething the hell over.

Every single thing that I am today, I am because of you. You make me try harder, think longer, scream louder for my children. Not one bit of this came naturally to me; I was never taught how to mother, I never had a role-model whose example I could follow. I have nothing to take for granted here. If I want my children to grow up strong and confident and better than I was, more than I could ever hope to be, I have to work. I have to remember every single thing you did to me and said to me and thought of me and I have to make sure I never see any of that in my mirror. It is a battle, this unlearning you, and it will never be easy. You gave me every single tool I could ever need to be the very best mother in the whole world. All I have to do is remember you every single day.

And I do.  And I always will.