Die, die, DIE!

I have enough disgruntlement (it's a word!) over clueless twinkies on baby boards who write things like: "we had a peak at the baby in their", and "my hip's feel so lose", but I get particularly exasperated when I spot Grammar Idiocy in print. I mean, isn't that why people pay a person called The Editor? Helloooo!

So, I'm reading one of my comic books (Ultimate Fantastic Four currently written by Mike Carey) and Reed Richards (arguably the cleverest bloke in the Marvel Universe - which makes it 10 times worse) refers to a cube-shaped object as ... wait for it ... "A Dice."

Kill me now*.

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In related news - but more pleasant - I had a teary-eyed moment of intense motherly pride the other day.

I was kidding my oldest (aged five-years-in-less-than-two-weeks), Boy, about being so skinny. I was jokingly comparing him to his sister the Human Crash Test Dummy who, despite her appetite, remains downright scrawny. He laughed and said:

"I'm not scrawny! None of us is scrawny!"

None of us IS scrawny.

I know grown people, folks who have graduated from university, who cannot get subject-verb agreement down pat. But my five-year-old can do it. Really, I almost wept with pride.

Of course it's not because he's a genius or anything (although the boy is pretty bloody clever. He can read and write easily and knows a startling amount about dinosaurs), it's that he has two parents who strive to speak impeccable English (not counting his mother's random *koff* epithet).

I don't think people grasp sometimes how much they influence their children by example.

Folks carefully read a book a night to their toddlers, for instance, thinking that this is all one needs to produce readers. It's not enough. Children have to see a love of books. They have to see Mum and Dad reading books, the house needs to be filled with books.

So many people think that school will teach their children to speak and write properly - again - it's not enough. Language development begins in babyhood. Along with most other things.

You can't wait. You can't think: "Well, I'll begin teaching proper grammar/ table manners/ politeness / how to share/ how to write thank-you notes/ fill-in-the-blank when she gets older."

The same idea holds for discipline, IMHO. You can't think: "He's way too young to discipline now" or "Aww, let him stand up in the shopping trolley, he's too small to fall out" or "Well, she's two. Two year olds often throw themselves on the ground in the parking lot and scream and thrash about because they don't want to be buckled in their carseats."

I suppose you've heard about the overzealous Ms. Sally the-government-knows-what's-best-for-your-children-better-than-you-do Lieber and her anti-spanking legislation proposal? John Rosemond (whom I generally adore) wrote a good piece on it.

Aside from the obviously unacceptable notion that the government should be allowed to intrude any further into my life, and the hysterical/ liberal view that popping a child on the hand or the bum is child abuse, there's a practical problem:

The whole thing is bass-ackwards in my opinion. You consistently discipline from the get-go (including reasonable spanking if that's your thing) , by the time a child reaches age four - an age where you can explain things and reason with a child - then you shouldn't have to spank very often afterward.

The whole don't-touch-until-age-four thing seems like an accident waiting to happen. Wouldn't an out of control child who has had nothing but gentle rebukes; brief time-outs; and deep, meaningful talkings-to be more likely to be abused by an exasperated parent exploding and really beating him?

Of course, the real point of all of this is that yet another person is attempting to tell us mothers that we cannot be trusted to use our own judgement. If it isn't other mothers doing mommy drive-bys or Republicans telling us we have no rights to make decisions about our own bodies, it's the Democrats defining spanking for us because, bless out little hearts, we are too stupid to do this tough job of motherhood without guidance.

Leave us the heck alone! Trust us and we will be more apt to trust ourselves and do a good job of raising future generations. Perhaps that's why some folks let things like education and discipline slide - they have been berated by others (all the stupid childcare books by the 'experts' spring to mind) into thinking that they are not doing a good enough job.

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PS: Just a note to everyone awaiting goodies. I'm getting to it! I made an error and waited until after the first so they cut my cheque (which removes all the mad money from my store account) so I have to wait until I accumulate more. Sorry for the delay!

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*Yeah, I know. You're all saying: "well, it's just a comic book!" NO! No excuse. My children will be reading these one day. Those guys are writers and should be held to the same exacting standards as any writer! Now if we could just get newspapers on board. Worst. Grammar. Evar!

Edited to add: in all fairness I had to come back and point out that I was mistaken about who said 'dice'. It was johnny Storm, not Reed. Not that this excuses it.

A tale of two flowers

I have always had a tiny personal garden - a flower/herb garden, sort of.

My mum was always the sort - no matter where we moved, no matter what teensy apartment or duplex or rental house - she'd scratch out a bit of a bed outside a window or around the door and plant things. (No, my dad was not military - he was a professional student - dragging us around through 3 states and a dozen houses by the time I graduated high school).

Depending on how long we were in a dwelling, mum would plant veggies, herbs, flowers. So when I set up housekeeping myself it was only natural that I'd have a door-step garden.

Since I'm now in the house I plan on living in the rest of my life (lawd willin' and the crick don't rise), I have carved out a little garden for myself.

Now, I tried to bring all the plants I could from my old house. Many of them were collected from cuttings from friends or my mother.

At the old house it was like living in a sandbox. The only native vegetation in the area are stunted scrub pines and those flat cactus we have here in South Carolina.

I could get almost nothing to grow and everything had to be mulched heavily and watered frequently. Subsequently many of the things were super hardy. Others languished and died.

Well, one of the plants I had acquired that I loved was from a very elderly lady. She called it "moonflower". It was a low, spindly plant that came back every year and had prickly round seed-pods and enormous white flowers that only bloomed at dusk.

None of my original 'moonflower' plants made it to the new house but I came across another elderly lady and her plants that she called 'angel trumpet'. These are quite similar, except they come in colours and the flowers hang down toward the ground. They are also quiet tall. I think I'll like them but I still pine for the ethereal moonflowers from my old house.

I finally decided to consult Gardener Google.

My angel trumpets are just that: some species of Brugmansia. They'll get tall, come back every year, and apparently have a wonderful fragrance.

What I was told was 'moonflower' is actually a close relative of Brugmansia called Datura (datura wrightii - jimson weed or thorn apple).

True moonflower (ipomoea alba) is a vine.

So here's my problem ...

I also found out that the plants are very poisonous. All parts contain atrophine and scopalomine. For this reason, I'll hold off on getting any more Datura ... but what about the Brugmansia? Should I leave it? My garden is where the babies play but they stay up on the lawn and know from babyhood not to mess with my plants. They are also never left out there unsupervised.

Am I being paranoid? I mean, we have pokeweed growing wild here and I have tomato plants all over. What do you think?

In the news

*EDIT* Sorry for the delay in this post. I actually composed it Monday but both Evil Genius Husband and I have been immobilised by The Crud. Some horrible crap (and I mean that literally) of vomiting/diarrhoea/etc that has laid us both out. I have been living on the couch for two days with a trashcan nearby and EGH - who is normally a quiet and taciturn fellow - has been immobilised upstairs like a droid who's been switched off.

Anyway, on to the juicy stuff before I yark again:

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Seen in a post on one of my many email groups:


Hi My Name is (whisky tango). I am offering to do taxes at a reduced rate. I do taxes completely online. I do e-filing and paper filing.

my fee's are as follow's
non-itemized (simple taxes) $35.00 for the first hour and $ 10.00 each additional hour. Which does not include the e-file fee .the e-file fee for state and federal are $15.00

Itemized taxes are $45.00 for the first hour and $10.00 each additional hour.

(note) I am not a CPA. I just have the tax soft ware and the know how to do taxes. I figure what better way for you not to pay some one $200 or $300 for a simple tax job.


Uhm, honey, I don't think so. Would YOU trust someone with this poor a grasp of the English language to do YOUR taxes? "Fee's are as follow's"??

I was sorely tempted to post on the group this very same sentiment but know that it wouldn't do any good. They'd simply say things like: "no body's perfect" and "every one make's mistakes". Yeah. Tell that to the IRS.

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Here's an almost unbelievable one from the news ( It's the article that Mrs Chili mentioned in her comment: crying child .)

While over 100 passengers waited, two parents tried to calm their daughter and get her in her seat on an airplane. This child - aged 3 - was apparently crawling under the seat, hitting her parents, and being generally disruptive. The parents had had 15 minutes to get this girl in her seat. They said they just needed more time. They were also outraged that the flight attendants wouldn't let them just hold her in their laps.

1) FAA regulations require that anyone age 2 and up be in her own seat and buckled in for take off. If they had broken regs and allowed the child on her parent's lap and the child had been hurt the airline would have been sued out of existence.

2) WTF? She's THREE. You pick her up and PUT her in her seat and strap her in! Nuff said.


I got this story off of my Large Family board and those ladies had some interesting comments as well; the best being: "what do they do if she won't get in her carseat at home? Let her ride on their laps?"

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And I suppose you've heard about the bloke whose wife was induced so he could go to the bears game .

Yeah. Uh-huh.

I'd have said: 1) "In your dreams. I'm not risking my or my child's life for a football game." and 2) "You just plan on going to that game, but take a suitcase! If I go into labour while you're gone you can move back in with your mother."

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Blimey ... there was another one that I saw in the paper, I think, but I've forgotten it. If I find it I'll drag myself back to the computer to edit.

PS: Mrs. Chili, Stacey, and Luna (and anyone else who wants FABoolus prizes), you need to EMAIL me, yo! I need to know what you want and where to send it.

PPS: Ugh. Gotta go hurl now.

Stepping up to the plate

Blimey, I hate it when you guys make good sense.

OK, I will take all of your sage advice and go to all of my OB appointments. I agree with you. No inconvenience is worth risking the health of my baby. Period.

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Oh, and you people who want freebies from my shops need to email me! C'mon, c'mon! FREE stuff! I've gotten comments and emails from a bunch of your telling me you want goodies but only two of you have actually sent me your choice* and your snail-mail addy**!

Get crackin' ladies/gentlemen!

Oh, one other thing: I totally forgot about mugs. Want a mug? A baby bib? Email me and let me know. I wanna show y'all how much ah LURVES ya.

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OK, on to more serious stuff.

Have you heard about the MySpace lawsuit?

Some parents are suing MySpace because they say their 14-16 year old daughters were sexually assaulted by adults they met there. They are suing for $30 million.

Oh, yeah, and better security for teens.

I call bullsh*t on this one.

Number one, *I* am the mom. *I* am responsible for the health, safety, and well-being of my children. There are some things out of a parent's control. Drunk drivers spring to mind. Your kids have to learn to drive sometime. They have to go to school, and to work, and, eventually, out into the world. The best you can do is to teach them to never drive after they themselves have been drinking; to always, always keep their eyes on other drivers; to stay alert; follow the rules (don't speed, wear your seatbelt, etc); and after that you just hope.

But the internet isn't the motorway. It's just as dangerous, but it's right there in your own home. You have control over it. Unlike your driving child, you can monitor your surfing child.

Allowing a child unlimited internet access (and apparently the ability to just leave the house to meet strangers) is like driving your child to a seedy mall in the bad part of town, dropping her off, then trying to sue the mall if something bad happens to her.

Well, duh, honey ... YOU took your child there. YOU allowed her access.

Now I am not lacking in sympathy for these parents. What happened was a horrible thing. I'm sorry it happened. But, people, the world is full of monsters.

You, as a mother, have to stand ready, weapon drawn, every single effin' second to defend your child from them! It's your JOB. It's your OBLIGATION.

It's time for parents to step up to the plate and say: "I made a mistake. It was my fault." As long as we keep telling ourselves that it's somebody else's fault, then that maintains the status quo of irresponsibility.

My child is fat because of Mc Donalds, my child failed a grade because of the schools, my child was assaulted because of MySpace, my child gunned down his classmates because of violent video games.

I just blogged about how we need to be confident and comfortable in our roles as mothers. How we shouldn't snipe at each other or belittle each other. We are the strongest, most powerful creatures on earth; we mothers. We produce and raise each generation of human beings.

But with great power comes great responsibility.

And we must be prepared to take responsibility for our own actions. They can make or break our children.

And they are doing so.


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*Go to Evil Genius Tees or Evil Genius Woman and use the drop-down menu on the left to search!

**Anna, you are NOT exempt!

Good mother / bad mother

The mommy wars end here.

You know I'm a huge proponent of the 'Your baby, Your rules' way of thinking.

I'm happy to bitch about parenting methods that result in child behaviour that directly affects me: out-of-control kids; sick-at-family-gatherings kids; rude, self-centered kids; etc; but I always maintain that it's a mother's business how she raises her children.

I don't approve of co-sleeping for my family(for random example), but I don't care if you co-sleep with your kids until they're in middle school. I will never, ever, tell you not to do it (unless you ask me what I'd do if it was me).

I do, however, reserve the right to roll my eyes and mutter if you whinge on about sleepless nights due to a toddler kicking you, or that your DH sleeps on the couch, or (fill-in-the-blank-due-to-co-sleeping).

Make sense?

Well, there are too many folks (and they throng to bulletin boards - my Babycenter boards are full of 'em) who take every sensitive subject as a personal affront to their parenting style. If you circumcise, then you must be a selfish, thoughtless, automoton subjecting your son to pain for no reason.

And they're happy to derail a thread to preach this message.

What promts these women to do this? Why the heck do they care?

I have a theory. They are so uncertain about their own choices and feel so guilty that they must attack those who are different; who parent differently. Like most dogs who bite, they do so out of fear. Fear that they, themselves, are not making the right parenting choice.

So they lash out at the rest of us. ("Burn! Burn the witch!")*

Well, it's time to end all this.

I am reasonably confident in my parenting ability. I'm not ashamed of my thrifty ways; that I wash Zip-lok bags, that almost all of my kids clothes come from the thrift store. I'm not embarrassed by my strictness; that I demand my kids behave, that I will correct a child in public. And no one else should be so affected by her mothering, either.

Because most of us are doing just fine. (CAUTION: parts of this are very disturbing to read.)

I think every mother should read this blog post (the one above, not mine, here, lol) and the whole madness of the Mommy Wars should just stop.

Rock on, mommies.

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*Yes, I inserted a Monty Python quote into such a serious post. What? No one expects the Spanish Inquisition!

De-lurk for fabulous prizes!

So, apparently it's, like, National De-Lurker's Week (thank you Mrs Chili for the heads-up!)

If you happen to be lurki-- OI! You there! I SEE YOU! - erm ... then give us a comment.

To make the temptation more irresitable, I'll tell you what I'll do. A while ago a blogger whom I just adore (for one thing she's this fab crafter - I mean she does these cool crafts with her kids and calls 'em Farts-N-Craps. You have to love her for that alone.) ANYway, she did this cool thing on her blog where she offered the next X number of commenters one of her own home-made somethingorothers if they left a comment (and were willing to give their smail mail addy).

I was lucky enough to be in the top X number and she dutifully sent me something for Fiver. (I'll have to brag-and-blog about the actual item later - I can't get my camera software to load onto my new PC so I can't take pics of "it" yet. You'll just have to keep holding your breath. Sorry. Let's just say it's 1] insanely adorable, 2] so very 'me' ... erm, FIVER.)

SO. I think it's a fab idea BUT since I am a Krappy Krafter I'll have to offer something else:

The first five people to comment on this blog and ask to participate can choose ANY button, sticker, magnet, or mini button from any of my stores and I'll post it to you free of charge just for being you!

You can comment without receiving if you're leery of giving me your addy or you just don't want any of my tacky junk (I understand). So, comment either way and shout out if you want any of my tacky ju- uh, fine merchandise.

If you are interested, go to Evil Genius Woman or Evil Genius Comics - t-shirts and gifts, pick something out (use the search by product box on the left - scroll down to 'goodies'), email me with your choice and your snail-mail addy and I'll get it on it's way!

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OK, so in light of my last post, let me ask you a question.

They want me to be seen every two weeks now. I have been surripticiously pushing my appointments back about a week each time by pleading 'being busy'. I have my next one scheduled for the 31st.

Seeing as how I will only have a month to go at that point (my pre-op appt is March 1st - c/section on March 5th), should I get closer to the 31st, ring them up, cancel, and reschedule for the 2nd week in Feb or so? That would leave me with only 3 more weeks and thus no need (presumably) to go back in until my pre-op. (This is all assuming I feel fine and nothing unexpected happens.)

I'm a bit squeamish about this sort of thing. I do NOT cancel appointments. I was raised with the credo that if I made a commitment I should uphold it unless there's a real emergency. That's called courtesy.

But I'm not talking about waiting until the last minute - just, maybe, another week.

I really hate this sort of thing. To me it's akin to those people who buy an outfit, wear it for a party, then return it to the store or those stupid twinkies who go to the ER two or three times and lie about having contractions so they'll get a free ultrasound. Tacky!

Yes, yes, I know it's not exactly the same, but still ... it's dishonest and it squiks me out.

Then again, I don't see the point of going back in twice more to be asked, "Feeling OK?", dopplered, then sent on.

Arrgh! I don't know what to do! What do you think? (Try out the spiffy new poll below - thanks to Michele)

Get Your Poll Widget

EDITED to clarify: You do NOT have to be a lurker to get cool junk! Any of the first 5 people to ask will get goodies! Don Pardo, tell them what they've won ...

Big enough to have my own gravity!

What a monumental waste of time and money.

Seriously.

I'm talking about my OB appointment yesterday.

I mean, really! I'm 31 weeks pregnant with my fifth child. I've had totally uneventful pregnancies (up until time to get the baby out, that is) so why do I need to go in to be checked every month? I have to drive an hour one way with all four of my small children plus I'm paying a load of money for experiences like this:

I was supposed to see Dr. S. (I carefully schedule my appointments for when the two doctors whom I dislike are NOT there.) Well, I arrived, wee'd in a cup, got weighed, and herded The Brood into an exam room. Dr. S bounced in ... and his pager went off.

Dang those women who actually go into labour.

So there I was, left in a tiny exam room with four bored children, petrified of which doctor I'd be seeing since Dr. S was indisposed.

I waited tensely, eyeing the door, and keeping up a steady murmur of "don't touch that, sit down, stop it." The nurse came in and insisted that she try to find Fiver's heartbeat. I assured her that he was kicking me right that second and I was perfectly content to wait. She insisted. I obligingly (if a bit exasperatedly) laid back on the table while she tentatively poked the doppler around. Nothing. She dissappeared with an apologetic smile.

A few minutes later the door swings open and, lo and behold, Sweet Mother of Stan Lee, it's Dr. You're Too Fat, my second least favourite OB in the solar system.

Bloody brilliant.

He also had a female with him - I thought she was his nurse but she turned out to be a student. He never asked me if I minded a student (I have no probs with students but I don't like women touching me) and let her conduct the dopplering while he *tsk*tsk-ed* over my weight gain in the last 6 weeks (9lbs); prophesied horrible difficulties with the rest of my pregnancy if I didn't stop eating (I know how much I've gained - I always gain the same amount); admonished me to excercise (I can't because of my knee); insisted on measuring my fundal height, making a huge deal about not being unable to find the top of my uterus (because I'm such a cow); then smirked about my measuring too large (I always measure about 2 weeks ahead).

Finally I got to sit up (resisting the urge to shove the female student away from me - she was mashing and manipulating my abdomen like she was trying to perform an external cephalic version) and asked the only question I had: I've been having a sharp, arthritis-y pain in my fingers. They are NOT swollen, just painful, and only on the underside of the middle three.

To what did he attribute it? You guessed it: fluid build-up because of my 'excessive' weight gain and surely my baby will have six limbs like a Spider-Man clone and the polar ice caps will melt because of it.

Then he rushed me out of the room.

Grrrrrrr!

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And on a less crabby note, let me share our new Valentine's day t-shirt designs with you. Some of them are pretty funny anti-Valentine's types if you are down with love this year.

PC rich, puke-free, and perusing the TAR-zhay

Ahhhhhh!

D'you hear that? That's the sound of someone back at her desk.

Yep, my new computer has arrived - thanks to Dad (Thank you, Daddy!) - and has been feverishly set up, plugged in, turned on, had various bits of software installed, etc.

Bliss!

Now to go about retrieving my bookmarks, logging back into all my sites, and remembering my passwords ... ugh.

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The family is finally well. The children suffered through about 5 days of vomiting and diarrhoea. Every sheet and towel in the house got washed three times and I made about a gallon of home-made 'pedialyte' (note to self: never make it with red kool-aid!). I also got the stomach bug; and let me tell you (what you mommies already know) that changing manky sheets when you yourself are about to hurl is a tough one.

At some point early on I caught my obligatory upper-respiratory crud (my resistance is at zero what with being preggers and having the other bug) and Bulk picked that one up as well. Fortunately he got over the yarks pretty quickly (he was the first to exhibit symptoms - all over his carseat) but he just stopped snotting a few days ago.

And the coup de grace? Evil Genius Husband snagged the head cold just in time to return to work. Poor thing spent the latter half of his holiday stripping nasty sheets and cleaning puke off himself only to get a stupid cold. *very unhappy face*

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Regarding my last post and my decision (which still stands), I have not figured out how to address the person at whose house we are exposed to the other child. I emailed the other two moms and received no response. I can only assume that they disapprove of my decision (although they are both v. busy professionals, as well as moms to young kids, so they may just have not had time).

At any rate, I'm a 'do-er' when it comes to stuff like this. I like to be right up front and lay my cards on the table. I don't have anything to hide and I like to just get stuff over with; hash it out; be done with it.

I'll keep you updated. (BTW, thank you all for your supporting comments. They really helped!)

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So I was at the Target yesterday.

I hate Target. The whole Wal-Mart/Target war amuses me no end but I'm a willing participant (I know folks who wouldn't be caught dead in a Wal Mart because only white trash and Mexicans shop there *gasp* and I hate Target because it's a pretentious pain in the arse. I hate their stuff, the sales staff and other shoppers act like they're better than you (it ain't Saks, people), and their return policy blows. See? Isn't that fun? *snicker*)

So, anyway, I've only been in Target three times and it was to quickly use a gift card or return an item purchased there.*

Well, we disembarked the HMS Behemoth amidst a parking lot full of Lexuses (Lexi?) and Beemers and not a few snooty little glances from what seemed like a stampede of pregnant suburbanites and suburbanites with small children. Does the Target spray their customers with some alien-derived fertility formula? It was bizarre. (And what's up with the new maternity clothes fitting like fitness gear? I don't expect you to wear a tent but find something flattering, honey. Wearing clothes that look two sizes too small when you're not pregnant is stupid and ugly. When you're pregnant it's grotesque. I feel like the female form is a beautiful thing - especially when pregnant - but a white t-shirt so tight that I can make out the edge of your areolae and see your stretch-marks through it is NOT CUTE. I don't care if you do drive a 2007 Lincoln Navigator and your dog costs more than my car did!)

So, we're walking as quickly as my knee will allow through the store (and the herds of pregnant bellies/small kids) and I see children running, children crying, children yelling and folks are staring at us (a vast, very pregnant, cross-looking woman, who is not wearing a form-fitting Old Navy maternity shirt, and has four children? Do you blame them? The sky is falling!) when we encounter this:

The mother is about my age (40-ish), the father is dressed in that carefully calculated yuppie style (faded Lands End canvas hat, regular looking t-shirt that probably cost $60 [organic cotton, natch!], those bizarre knee-length shorts that suburban men love that look like cut-off golf pants - they're seersucker, loudly checked, and cut like dress pants [like Bermuda Shorts only uglier???], and deck shoes.) and their child (a girl of about 3-4) is lying on the floor screaming.

Mom: "Taylor, I know you're frustrated about going (didn't catch the middle bit), but Grandma said she would (something)"
Dad: "Taylor, I'll get you that Dora (something) ... let mommy and daddy finish shopping ..."
Mom: (glancing down the aisle in the other direction) "Sweetie, we're in the way of other babies ..."

Now, please bear in mind that my children are behaving thus: (aside from gaping in wonder at the show) Bitty and Bulk are sitting silently in the cart, Boy and the HCTD are walking quietly next to the cart.

Mom: (looking my way and speaking in a LOUD, shocked-sounding voice) "LOTS of babies! Tim, move out of the way!"

Uhm. We were taking up less than half the aisle. Her child was lying in the middle of the floor. Tim, by the way, was not in anyone's way. WTF?

I'll chalk this behaviour up to her being embarrassed (I'd have been mortified, myself) although she didn't seem embarrassed. She seemed pretty damned belligerent. As if I was interrupting her careful (and clearly effective *snort*) psychological reasoning with her child. Heck, if she'd just had, oh, say, another half hour unimpaired, she probably could have calmed Taylor down (or daddy's bribe would've worked.)

What would've been Blue's method, you ask? I'd've said this: "Get your arse off the floor and calm down or we're leaving right now, young lady. Let's go."

Now, see? Target clientele are clearly loads better than us Wal-Mart people!


*Please don't construe this as lack of gratefulness for the gift/gift card. I am very appreciative - a gift is a gift!. I just don't shop at Target