You all know whom I’m talking about when I say Michelle Duggar right? If not, take a moment and pull yourself up out of the stinky diaper pail or away from that blasted laundry and educate yourself. Michelle is a lady who lives in Arkansas with her devoted husband Jim Bob and their SEVENTEEN BIOLOGICAL CHILDREN that she personally carried to term in her freakishly stable uterus. Michelle and Jim Bob’s kids range in age from nineteen to newborn and they live a debt free life in a 7,000 square foot home that they partially built themselves.
The Duggar family has their own reality TV show that has undergone a few name changes since it first aired, but is always called something wildly appropriate with the word Duggar in it. The show broadcasts on The Learning Channel (TLC) and chronicles what daily life is like for a family of nineteen. The most recent episode I witnessed was when TLC taped a RV trip of the family traveling across the country. At one point, it had been arranged for the Duggars to take a private airplane ride over the Grand Canyon. In the first shot you see everyone very excited and anxious for the departure from land to air and in the second part of the footage you see sixteen out of nineteen Duggars blowing chunks into wax coated paper sacks. Can television really get anymore exciting than this?
Where my feelings turn a little bit hostile towards Michelle Duggar is when I watch this lady with seventeen kids run and manage her house like nobody’s business. She has got her (insert four letter expletive here) together. Every time I finish watching this 2008 version of Little House on the Prairie, I feel completely and utterly inadequate to be raising children.
One word to describe Michelle?
That sentiment can be summed up perfectly by Katherine Heigl’s (LOVE HER!!) character in her new movie 27 Dresses. Part of the movie shows a newspaper reporter asking her if she ever needs anyone to take care of her and she replies sarcastically, “No, I’m Jesus.” After watching an episode of the Duggars you will have to agree with me that Michelle Duggar has some sort of IV hooked up and running straight from her heart into Jesus’ forehead. This plastic tubing, invisible to the general public and only for the select few apparently, must pump vast amounts of patience, perseverance, and crazy into her body on a daily basis.
In summary, if I didn’t like Michelle Duggar so much – I’d want to slap her.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
"Music Is The Soul Of Language." - Max Heindel
Did you know that as human beings we tend to place things into categories, thus creating order and structure in our world? I’m sure there are many different ways a person can go about doing this in their day-to-day life. I’ve noticed that I personally order things by songs and sometimes types of alcohol. For example, mango margaritas will forever remind me of the time my best friend and I sang karaoke to Joan Jet at a beach bar. FYI, Hit Me With Your Best Shot did not receive a standing ovation.
Certain songs become hits for a reason and it’s because our soul identifies with them. Almost every song I love, I can place a memory with it. Recently I was listening to the song Don’t Blink off Kenny Chesney’s Just Who I Am, Poets and Pirates cd. A few lines of one verse say:
‘Let’s start puttin’ first things first’
‘Cause when your hourglass runs outta sand
You can’t flip it over, start again
Take every breath God gives you, for what it’s worth
These lyrics had me thinking about an old friend that possessed a whole playlist of songs in my life. We had had a falling out almost ten years back and I had often thought with a shrug of my shoulders, it was what it was; there was nothing I could do to change the past. Eventually I realized that while I couldn’t change the past, I could try to put my best foot forward and start from the present.
I was scared out of my mind to approach this person but I did. The white flag that did prevail opened up a floodgate of emotion that I hadn’t been expecting and filled a small pool of longing that had been drained for way to long. Honest Abe Lincoln really hit the nail on the head when he declared, “The better part of ones life consists in his friendships.”
I challenge you to get in touch with a long lost friend or settle a difference that has been lingering. While it is necessary to constantly evolve in our friendships and gain new perspectives, sometimes the past shouldn’t just stay in the past.
Certain songs become hits for a reason and it’s because our soul identifies with them. Almost every song I love, I can place a memory with it. Recently I was listening to the song Don’t Blink off Kenny Chesney’s Just Who I Am, Poets and Pirates cd. A few lines of one verse say:
‘Let’s start puttin’ first things first’
‘Cause when your hourglass runs outta sand
You can’t flip it over, start again
Take every breath God gives you, for what it’s worth
These lyrics had me thinking about an old friend that possessed a whole playlist of songs in my life. We had had a falling out almost ten years back and I had often thought with a shrug of my shoulders, it was what it was; there was nothing I could do to change the past. Eventually I realized that while I couldn’t change the past, I could try to put my best foot forward and start from the present.
I was scared out of my mind to approach this person but I did. The white flag that did prevail opened up a floodgate of emotion that I hadn’t been expecting and filled a small pool of longing that had been drained for way to long. Honest Abe Lincoln really hit the nail on the head when he declared, “The better part of ones life consists in his friendships.”
I challenge you to get in touch with a long lost friend or settle a difference that has been lingering. While it is necessary to constantly evolve in our friendships and gain new perspectives, sometimes the past shouldn’t just stay in the past.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Does Poison Control Keep Tabs?
I was angry, I was worried, and I was laughing hysterically. The whole saga began in the morning when Sensei wanted to use the fingernail polish (all by herself) to paint her fingernails. No, I told her. I had a baby shower to attend and I was running late, maybe later. Later came sooner than I had expected it to and Sensei was once again perched in front of me requesting to paint her nails. All I really wanted to do was read my book (uninterrupted) but I reluctantly agreed.
I gave instructions for Sensei to pick out her polish color and get a bath towel to put on the dining room table. I told her to paint her nails, screw the lid back on tight the minute she was done, and get everything back in my closet before The Wiz woke up. Ten minutes later Sensei was nowhere in sight but I could hear her opening and shutting the cabinet doors in my bathroom. I yelled from the living room to ask Sensei what she was doing. “Nothing!” was her reply as she quickly pushed the bathroom door all the way shut and locked it.
Faster than NFL player Willie Parker I was at the bathroom door demanding it be opened immediately –NOW! Sensei opens the door trying to cover her face but plain as day I see the “hooker red” nail polish all over her face. She looks like she’s gone toe to toe with a Sioux Indian tribe. On the bathroom vanity I see Palmers Stretch Mark lotion, witch hazel, and yes, the kicker KY Jelly, her products of choice to try and remove her crimson artwork.
Long story short, I call Poison Control because I am fairly certain we should not use nail polish remover on her face. I can’t contain myself any longer and burst into a fit of hysteria as I hear myself say, “She just didn’t fully understand the properties of nail polish, I guess.” I’m laughing, Geronimo is laughing, and Sensei is in the closet yelling at us to quit laughing. We can’t contain ourselves.
The Poison Control operator isn’t laughing but instead silently typing in my name, phone number, daughter’s name, age, weight, my dress size, square footage of our house, if we’ve taken any parenting classes lately, you know the standard. I suddenly see myself back sliding, my hopes of becoming mother of the year disappearing right in front of my eyes. I start to wonder how many times can you call Poison Control before they submit your name to the authorities for questionable parenting practices.
At any rate, the professional advice I received was to wash her face with soap and wait for it to come off on its own. Right, as if Sensei is going to go out into public looking like a Geisha girl. Instead, I make Sensei pose for a picture promising she’ll laugh about it when she’s older and get to work on her face with a bottle of olive oil and a washrag. The removal is fairly quick and painless; I’m actually quite impressed with my own cleverness.
By the way, if you see hindsight anywhere let me know, I’d like to have a chat.
I gave instructions for Sensei to pick out her polish color and get a bath towel to put on the dining room table. I told her to paint her nails, screw the lid back on tight the minute she was done, and get everything back in my closet before The Wiz woke up. Ten minutes later Sensei was nowhere in sight but I could hear her opening and shutting the cabinet doors in my bathroom. I yelled from the living room to ask Sensei what she was doing. “Nothing!” was her reply as she quickly pushed the bathroom door all the way shut and locked it.
Faster than NFL player Willie Parker I was at the bathroom door demanding it be opened immediately –NOW! Sensei opens the door trying to cover her face but plain as day I see the “hooker red” nail polish all over her face. She looks like she’s gone toe to toe with a Sioux Indian tribe. On the bathroom vanity I see Palmers Stretch Mark lotion, witch hazel, and yes, the kicker KY Jelly, her products of choice to try and remove her crimson artwork.
Long story short, I call Poison Control because I am fairly certain we should not use nail polish remover on her face. I can’t contain myself any longer and burst into a fit of hysteria as I hear myself say, “She just didn’t fully understand the properties of nail polish, I guess.” I’m laughing, Geronimo is laughing, and Sensei is in the closet yelling at us to quit laughing. We can’t contain ourselves.
The Poison Control operator isn’t laughing but instead silently typing in my name, phone number, daughter’s name, age, weight, my dress size, square footage of our house, if we’ve taken any parenting classes lately, you know the standard. I suddenly see myself back sliding, my hopes of becoming mother of the year disappearing right in front of my eyes. I start to wonder how many times can you call Poison Control before they submit your name to the authorities for questionable parenting practices.
At any rate, the professional advice I received was to wash her face with soap and wait for it to come off on its own. Right, as if Sensei is going to go out into public looking like a Geisha girl. Instead, I make Sensei pose for a picture promising she’ll laugh about it when she’s older and get to work on her face with a bottle of olive oil and a washrag. The removal is fairly quick and painless; I’m actually quite impressed with my own cleverness.
By the way, if you see hindsight anywhere let me know, I’d like to have a chat.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Escaped Prisoner Can't Keep These Moms Down
TOP 10 THINGS A MOM SHOULD DO WHEN AN
ESCAPED PRISONER IS ON THE LOOSE!
Recently our community had a prisoner who escaped from the detention facility. He escaped at 3:30 pm on a Friday afternoon when elementary schools were just dismissing. What is a mom to do in this kind of situation? Well, let me tell you:
1. Excitedly get all children in vehicle and point out news and police helicopters searching area. Get on cell phone and call everyone you can think of to gossip.
2. Take down camping tent in back yard kids had been playing in over Christmas vacation. You never know if escaped convict can walk 15(ish) miles undetected to camp in backyard.
3. Email previous warden’s wife to gossip.
4. Finalize plans to see movie Juno with mommy friends. Canceling girl’s night is not an option.
5. Watch movie and share large diet coke spiked with Captain.
6. Drink more Captain with friends waiting at Chili’s. Hear story how one husband detective is down the road on duty searching for escaped prisoner.
7. Tell girlfriends picture of prisoner you saw on tv looked like Santa Claus but with gray wiry hair. Make a claim that wine is for pussies???
8. Alone, drive back roads home in middle of the night.
9. Wake up next morning and see another photo of convict on news. Realize it looks nothing like Santa with gray wiry hair. Wait for friends to call and ask just how much you had to drink the night before.
Recently our community had a prisoner who escaped from the detention facility. He escaped at 3:30 pm on a Friday afternoon when elementary schools were just dismissing. What is a mom to do in this kind of situation? Well, let me tell you:
1. Excitedly get all children in vehicle and point out news and police helicopters searching area. Get on cell phone and call everyone you can think of to gossip.
2. Take down camping tent in back yard kids had been playing in over Christmas vacation. You never know if escaped convict can walk 15(ish) miles undetected to camp in backyard.
3. Email previous warden’s wife to gossip.
4. Finalize plans to see movie Juno with mommy friends. Canceling girl’s night is not an option.
5. Watch movie and share large diet coke spiked with Captain.
6. Drink more Captain with friends waiting at Chili’s. Hear story how one husband detective is down the road on duty searching for escaped prisoner.
7. Tell girlfriends picture of prisoner you saw on tv looked like Santa Claus but with gray wiry hair. Make a claim that wine is for pussies???
8. Alone, drive back roads home in middle of the night.
9. Wake up next morning and see another photo of convict on news. Realize it looks nothing like Santa with gray wiry hair. Wait for friends to call and ask just how much you had to drink the night before.
10. Plead the 5th.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Welcome to Lady Town
Once you've hit the mark where a ten year high school reunion has come and gone, you start to realize many things. Way to many things.. Things this gal can't keep locked inside her head anyway. Welcome to Lady Town - my wonderful world of not so divine revelations.
Lady Town is open for occupancy and I am here with big, bold, all caps letters to tell you the TRUTH. The girlfriends guide to what really goes on during an average day of a mom on a mission. You may be surrounded by loved ones with awesome intentions and loaded to the hilt will all kinds of advice – from back in the day none the less; God bless your poor soul. Not only cuckoo clocks that share similar strands of DNA with you will try to compare battle stories, I promise, cross my heart in fact that absolute strangers will also put in their two cents of crap on any subject at hand (including me).
I truly believe there is no better way to navigate the mysteries of womanhood and keep our selves sane in the process than to dish the dirt with the girls. It does not matter if you live in rural Montana or New York City – girlfriends are like gold, a very valuable treasure.
Hopefully, you have a great group of friends like mine where you feel you can say anything and after a few margaritas around the fire pit, “anything” gets even better. If not, join us. We welcome you with loving arms and bold stories that might leave you gawking in horror or laughing so hard you just might pee your pants. Either way, it’s girl time – and anything goes.
WARNING: What this blog is not. This blog should not, under any circumstances be used as a replacement to professional advice or instructions provided by any licensed professional in any given field. I do not claim to have any expert or academic training on being a modern mom beyond having given birth to three vivacious girls and the capability to relay gossip or use the Google search engine on my computer. This is strictly mommy talk. Nuggets of information shared willingly with you, our newest member of the Lady Town Charter.
Lady Town is open for occupancy and I am here with big, bold, all caps letters to tell you the TRUTH. The girlfriends guide to what really goes on during an average day of a mom on a mission. You may be surrounded by loved ones with awesome intentions and loaded to the hilt will all kinds of advice – from back in the day none the less; God bless your poor soul. Not only cuckoo clocks that share similar strands of DNA with you will try to compare battle stories, I promise, cross my heart in fact that absolute strangers will also put in their two cents of crap on any subject at hand (including me).
I truly believe there is no better way to navigate the mysteries of womanhood and keep our selves sane in the process than to dish the dirt with the girls. It does not matter if you live in rural Montana or New York City – girlfriends are like gold, a very valuable treasure.
Hopefully, you have a great group of friends like mine where you feel you can say anything and after a few margaritas around the fire pit, “anything” gets even better. If not, join us. We welcome you with loving arms and bold stories that might leave you gawking in horror or laughing so hard you just might pee your pants. Either way, it’s girl time – and anything goes.
WARNING: What this blog is not. This blog should not, under any circumstances be used as a replacement to professional advice or instructions provided by any licensed professional in any given field. I do not claim to have any expert or academic training on being a modern mom beyond having given birth to three vivacious girls and the capability to relay gossip or use the Google search engine on my computer. This is strictly mommy talk. Nuggets of information shared willingly with you, our newest member of the Lady Town Charter.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
