Message to young women, the musical

I noticed a new trend with the younger female generation, especially the Disney stars. Whore is in. The fuck is wrong with you. Do you know how much shit we women put up with trying to step outside the stereotype? The get in the kitchen and make me a sammich. The drop on your knees like a bitch.

When I was young and free, I used to make fun of whores. The girl who went down on every guy at the party. The crack head on the dance floor dancing to her own rhythm showing boobs and meat drapes without knowing it. The low self esteem trying to make out with her crack head friend for attention they obviously couldn't get otherwise. The short skirts. The bikini like tops.

These women think they want attention. Let me tell you what women want. We want...

And you ain't gettin us any of that with all that half naked twerkin.

I just watched Miley Cyrus segment of the VMA 2013, and she cray. Girl be trippin.

THIS USED TO BE THE SPOT WHERE I POSTED THE VIDEO OF VMA. They keep disappearing off youtube. I give up. I can't even begin to describe it for you. If you didn't see it you didn't see. I'm not sorry for you. Enjoy watching Hannah Montana stuff. Do not keep reading. Ignorance IS bliss. Enjoy the bliss.


I just watched the girl molest a foam fan finger. The little girl my 6 year old idolizes was on television molesting a toy my kid also wanted (Steelers actually). I'm really thinking of telling my kids Hannah Montana was killed by crack. Butt crack and crank crack. And don't you think Miley I don't recognize someone on some sort of illegal narcotic. You had a high, my guess cocaine or ecstasy. What happened? The stage got boring? You got used to that high and you needed an extra boost? I ain't judging you. Some of our pillars of society including previous presidents enjoyed that shit. Me, I won't try it because I know me. I'll get hooked with the freebie alone. Shit, I have a Diet Coke, Motrin, Vodka problem. They don't even have rehabs for that.

But this isn't about the drugs. It's about the whoreism. Never go full whore, unless you are in drag. Miley, you went full whore. You're not the first. I know you are surrounded by other celebrities, and people who will obviously do anything for you, and that includes telling you what you want to hear. Beautiful women do whatever the fuck they want to do. Nobody has the balls to tell them otherwise. When you say, "Am I twerking right?" to one of your dancers, and they be all like, "Girl you look hot," they gonna say that no matter what you look like because you are Miley Cyrus. But girl you did not look hot tonight. You looked like every girl I see at the club. Whoring. Off rhythm. Actually, you looked like a 14 year old girl whoring at the club for the first time. That actually gives me hope that you are still that naive...

Fact of the matter is, Miley looked like a lot of girls in America. The new generation of girls. The I need attention watch me whore myself for it. They could be virgins, but you will never know the way they straddle the bar stool or pole on the dance floor. And poorly at that. My girl Nikki offline (not Moms who Drink and Swear LOL she will love it though if you confuse them I'm sure), my girl Nikki, AKA Tricky Nikki, I've seen that girl twerk a pole on the dance floor ass cheeks clapping the damn thing. Now that ain't twerkin. That's workin. She didn't do it for attention or to get guys. No, we were involved in a dance territory issue. That night. Before that night, she used to be a stripper. Don't knock it. She fed her kids with that.

Let me tell you how it's done. Let me tell you how I do. I had my party days. I used to go out to the club at least twice a week if not more. Ladies night, Friday night, and Saturday night. Whatever I could afford, time and money because my job always came first.

First the clothes. I had friends who frequently wore mini skirts, low cleavage tops, hooker boots... the whole nine yards. Me, I was determined to make whatever I had look good. I like the dude look. Dudes know how to dress. They know how to act. They always look chill. I can switch that up to my style easy. So back in the day, the dudes wore stuff like this over there.

I took that outfit look and put on a spaghetti strap tank underneath, unzipped the zipper right below my boobs, and boom, I was pimping. Every week after that, girls were wearing my style.

The other thing I did, black pants and a nice dress shirt, usually sleeveless. Um, you can't go to the club now without seeing half the people dressed like that. You're welcome. I did it because jeans, like all my friends were wearing, gave me gas. I needed elastic pant tops.

But that's my thing. I'm the trendsetter whores follow. I can pull off class in a way the weaker women want to mimic. Some of them over whorify the look, but the thing is I pull it off. Now let me tell what that difference is.

Confidence.

See I don't need to mimic someone else's style. I do my own thing. I don't want to look like every girl in the club. I like all eyes on me, even if I'm camera shy with stage fright, I still like all eyes on me when I walk into a club, and I'm not going to get that being like everyone else. I get that being me, even if I'm covered up more than other women, even if my dress was 7 dollars at Walmart, even if I'm an old fat mom.

Why? Because...

I think the problem is role models. See, most women look up to train wrecks like Britney Spears. Even children like my daughters look up to people like that when it comes to determining what to wear to school. Whatever is pop. I never wanted to be a peasant girl like that. I always looked for royalty. People I look up to for fashion, style, swag, milk shake...

The two reigning queens of R&B and Hip Hop are Mary J. Blige and Erykah Badu. They are royalty. They are the best female vocalists you can find when it comes to beauty, talent, class and badass. They are the phenomenal women poets like Maya Angelou write about. They empower women with their song. They are icons to what it means to be a woman. You won't see them twerking it with some non-kosher sausage on the dance floor. You find them kicking ass, inspiring people to think deeper and feel deeply. These are the women I want my daughters to look up to.

And someone like Miley Cyrus comes close (not that close), but she's still a baby. The more she tries to prove she's grown up, the more she shows her youth. It was awesome how she cut her hair flipping off the gender paradigm of the expectations regarding a woman's hair. But she destroyed it by going full whore, by following everyone else, by trying to be Rhianna, even if it was merely for entertainment purposes. I'm sure she had fun. I'd have fun doing all that. Maybe if she looked more like me trying to do all those moves she could pull it off as humor. Girl, and all you girls out there, if you are sick of being treated like a child, you need to act like a woman.

What does that even mean?

My girl Koko will tell you what it means...

And don't forget Peg from Lady and the Tramp... She can tell you what that means...

You can twerk it, you can work it, get drunk, get crunk, but you ain't grown until you shown what it means to be a woman.

Again, never go full whore unless you are in drag. Tell yourself, "I'm better than that."

Still shake that ass once in a while. I can't mop my floor without shaking it. And it takes skill to shake it the way I shake it. Twerkin ain't got shit on me. Like for real, if all you can do is hump things...

Edited to add, due to the sufficient amount of vodka that was drank during the writing of this blog (it's the only thing breaking my PMS fever), I might of forgotten one very important video. Ladies, this is how you are supposed to dance. Don't get me wrong, you are fine, but that means you are fine enough you don't need to twerk it for attention.

MOM Syndrome: How to treat a crazy that defies medicine and freudian stuff

I suffer from what I call MOM Syndrome. The crazy. Coping with that life long sentence of insanity you get the moment the pregnancy test comes out positive… I actually want a t-shirt for it, which is funny because I have these cafepress stores, and I have yet, at the time of writing this, made one. I will soon, and the reason? Not one of those, "I pooped out 3 kids and all I got was this lousy t-shirt" deal. No...  You know how they have those little cards you can print up, and some people do, that say something like, "Sorry my kid has autism" and you hand them to strangers when your kid starts acting autistic (meltdowns) in public? It's like that. When I start acting all MOM in public, like a person who probably needs a straight jacket and padded walls, it would be nice to direct people to a simple explanation for it, you know, before they start admitting me into the funny farm. Now you are thinking, "Who gives a fuck what people think?" I really don't when I'm at Walmart, but when I'm at a doctor's office or my kid's school, okay I do give a fuck, like they need to know that I'm crazy because I try to be a good mom, and the fact that they are not crazy is a sign they either don't have children or they have a lot of help with it. 

OLD BLOG ON WHAT MOM SYNDROME IS

But the coping with this crazy? How do we do it? It's not like we get a shrink for it, and most of us self medicate. Those of us who do get prescribed help, it usually only curbs the anxiety, which I'm sure makes a little dent into the insanity, you know, like washing a dish or two in a hot mess disaster kitchen. 

I know some moms like my grandmother and my mother in law, both of which are/were in environments where the women did ALL the work and their men were completely useless when it came to the household, they turned to alcohol. I should probably say ABUSE of self medicated drugs... My grandmother started drinking at noon. My mother in law usually waits until 3PM. I don't know how they did/do it because like I couldn't function if you took away my ability to drive. And for those who are curious why I keep referring to my grandmother in past tense, she passed away Christmas of 1998, liver failure. 

Mary Tyler Mom beatme to a little of this subject. She says it well. For her mother, it was valium. It was not something she abused like my grandmother did alcohol, but it was her coping strategy for those really crazy days. Moms today, many of us turn to Facebook. It's our valium. And we probably abuse it more than the 70's moms ever considered trying with valium.

I don't think it's just Facebook. I think a lot of us moms are looking for a healthy outlet for our crazy, and the internet becomes it.

It's convenient. You don't have to get everyone dressed and load up a car and fuck with sadistic car seats in order to go talk to someone. Even better, chat and messaging allows for the kids to be screaming in the background and the taking a break to run and change a diaper and scream "STOP FIGHTING" mid conversation, something that is a horrible distraction to communicating via the phone. 

It becomes therapy. I have learned that it truly helps to realize you are not alone with whatever crazy ails you. I have learned that with autism, PTSD, and now, MOM Syndrome.

It becomes your friend. When your friends who don't have kids or have kids who are more independent can't find time to come see you or you them because they don't want to deal with your kids, you find people online who are caged to their houses and families looking for someone to talk to just like you. I probably have about 50 Facebook friends of females I met online who are better friends than most of my relationships offline, especially when I need that moral support.

It becomes a place to vent about how your children just spent $150 on Kick the Buddy app for the iPad, or how they took all the clean clothes out of the drawers, piled them with the dirty clothes and sprinkled cheese and juice all over it putting you at square one with that room and laundry all in the matter of minutes. We need to vent this shit because nine times out of ten, our men don't give a shit. If they listen to you, IF, they have little sympathy because they just totally saved the world in Call of Duty, like your day wasn't shit compared to theirs. Plus you have to let it out somewhere. I have learned, don't do this on your normal Facebook profile. Save it for a secret group of friends somewhere confidential. Why? Your haters are also on your Facebook, and they like to see you down like that. Who else is on Facebook? People who actually do worry about you, people who might hire you someday, and most important, people who do not understand at all and take it as bitching. 

It becomes your guide. There are no parenting manuals. It's a lot like Adobe products, like Photoshop, in this aspect at least. No manual comes with the program, BUT there are various tutorials online to help you navigate the program. We as moms have that resource too. We have Pinterest with recipe and craft ideas. We have Facebook sharing the crap they put on Pinterest. We have blogs about sanity and deep subjects that are parenting related like school bullying and rape. We have medical information at our fingertips. Some people suck at that kind of research and could diagnose their kid's common cold with some rare infectious disease from the planet Mars courtesy of Web MD. But some of us find it very helpful for home remedies, disinfection advice, identifying a rash (don't image search that while eating)… We get cleaning advice, cooking advice, gardening advice… Motherhood covers such a wide range of subjects that only the internet could hold all that in one place.

It becomes your shopping. Yes we women need to shop, and the internet too has that convenience. We also get packages in the mail which adds to the excitement of it. You can even buy normal stuff online like diapers and shampoo, in addition to our girly stuff like clothes and accessories, but also hard to find stuff, which is great when your kid needs something like hypoallergenic diapers and emu oil, or they have to have a Mario Backpack for school or Dora on their shoes…

It becomes your entertainment. This is the best of the internet. The funniest moms are online, and Facebook and blogs are full of humorous memes (funny pictures). Laughter is the best medicine, and us moms need to laugh. We need to learn how to laugh at the crazy in our lives offline, and we need to laugh at other people's crazy online. Insane in the Mombrain often gets emails from people serving overseas or dying of cancer who thank her for making them laugh in the darkest of times. Mom bloggers like her are that scene in the Lord of the Rings where Frodo falls down and the witch elf appears out of nowhere like a hallucination and helps him up. Patti at Insane in the Mom-brain, Nikki at Moms who Drink and Swear, and Sheila at Mary Tyler Mom are my elf witches. They have been for years now. 

It becomes your drama. This can be the worst of the internet. Anytime you put a bunch of women together, online or offline, for long periods of time, there will be drama. There will be the PMSy bitch. There will be the overly sensitive butthurt. There will be arguments and cheap tactics like spying and gossip and straight girl world bullying. People will call you fat and ugly, even though they have no idea what you look like. It will always be over something stupid.  I guarantee you there is someone on your facebook friends list (if you Facebook) where you had a falling out and you have no idea what the fuck it was about. You knew then, but not so much now. I'll tell you what it was about. Drama. Stupid girl world drama. Don't be embarrassed you were part of that. You are a woman. This is part of the package. We know drama. We know it more than TNT. And for some strange sick reason, we enjoy it, no matter how much we play it off like we don't. 

It becomes your addiction. It's really okay to be on Facebook a lot. It's okay to get sucked into the internets to where you have no idea what the weather is like outside. What's not okay? What I'm doing now. I'm sitting here typing this blog surrounded by filth I call home. I'm procrastinating cleaning up my childrens' destruction because A, I don't want to clean it. I just did that. I should get at least 12 hours in between catastrophic messes to myself. B, I want to write this blog. It's been on the to do list for over a week. I need to finish what I start. C, I have a sprained ankle. Who in their right mind wants to clean on a sprained ankle? My foot and leg are still purple and the baseball sticking out of my ankle has turned into a golf ball. Great it's healing. It's still a golf ball hanging out the side of my ankle and it hurts like a bitch when I step on it wrong. And A, B, and C are my excuse to be online, to escape my reality. To forget my house is a mess for a minute, and that minute turns into hours.

It becomes your tool. Kids math homework? Google it. How many cups are in a gallon? Google it. There's a calculator somewhere. To Do List/email/calendar/horoscope reading/dream interpretation/school closings and delays/weather forecast/stock market... The internet is full of information and tools we moms use regularly. 

It contributes to your growth/development. That's the important part. When a toddler is learning to walk, he will use whatever resources are available to him as a tool to help him learn. Naturally we do this. If there's a table, he'll use that to help him stand. It can be a table, a chair, a pack n play, a house plant, a stool, a vacuum cleaner… If it has wheels, he'll use that to help him move. We as moms do that, and the internet becomes our vacuum cleaner table stool that holds us up for a second before we pitter patter across the room to another vacuum cleaner table stool. While finding our balance with parenting via online tools of humor, shopping, calculators, recipes, research, we also nurture whatever we are trying to learn with support, advice, wisdom, and feelings. We share more than just funny internet memes. We share each others lives, whether it be to our friends in a closed Facebook group, or to complete strangers on a comment on a blog post. Some of my best lessons I learned came from some random person's comment. A plant needs water, dirt, and sunshine to grow, and the internet provides all of that for us moms. The water is the advice and wisdom. The sunshine is the humor, and the dirt is the comfort of friendship (or being anonymous in many cases).

It becomes your fantasy. We human beings love characters. We read books, watch movies, soap operas, prime time soap operas, reality television... whatever. We like characters. We like getting to know someone or a personality who isn't real in our lives and letting our imaginations run with it. We like falling in love with them. We like hating them. We like learning from them. The blogs online provide that. Each blogger is a character who pours their life online and you get to love and hate them. ... My friend is obsessed with Grey's Anatomy and has been making me watch all the seasons with her on Netflix. I never quite understood the character love deal (human fanaticism) until this show. Izzie is my lesbian lover, McDreamy is my husband who I cheated on with Henry who just died in whatever season I'm on, Arizona is my best friend and mentor and I am Yang. None of these characters interact like that on the show, but they do in my head, much like I am Insane in the Mom Brain's wife who cheated on her with The Bloggess and Moms Who Drink and Swear is my mentor (who I argue with a lot, but she teaches me so much with it) and People I want to Punch in the Throat is one of my main personalities I've been repressing for years. Mary Tyler Mom, she is my best friend I want to hug every day. Bitches in the Burbs is the Army of Bad Asses I call on when I need back up in a fight, you know, my posse (in reality, they give great fashion advice). The Zookeepers Wife is my therapist (she really is an astrologist), and I am Counting Caballeros' crazy cousin (she's the practical wise grounded one, even though she has more children than I do, and we really are probably related even though I met her online). Holdin Holden is my career oriented friend that makes me feel like I'm in a scene of Sex in the City except it's about booze and motherhood more so than sex. I Want a Dumpster Baby is the woman in the rap video I'm trying to mimic the butt shaking in the mirror nekkid, and I am Honey Badger Press (I'm not really her, just in my mind I am, I really am Dribbles and Grits). 

Of all possible addictions one could have to cope with MOM Syndrome, I think the internet is the healthiest approach. I also turn to Diet Coke, energy drinks, chocolate cake batter, and other cheap methods that do nothing for me but hurt me in the long run, but the internet, it entails good and bad, and it's my choice how I use it.

One thing I want to say to you, the person reading this, sometimes we have bad days as moms. I don't care if you forgot your mommy childhood (the early years of the motherhood struggle), you can at least admit you had bad days. You had crazy days where the shit you said made no sense and sometimes you were hurtful only because you hurt. Remember that other moms do that too. If you see them doing that anywhere, online or offline, don't be an ass about it. Ignore it and move on, or reach out and touch someone with some love. Some of us need tough love, real talk, yes, but when we are emotionally ready for it. A stranger trying to give the tough love talk, or the mocking (I tend to mock), that might just send them into a downward spiral and that shit is not cool for their kids. When you mock a mom losing her mind on Facebook, you are fucking with her kids indirectly. I'm not saying she's going to beat them to an oblivion or abuse or neglect them, but she is NOT going to handle her kids in her best mindframe if you provoke her, especially if she's on the brink of completely losing her shit to begin with. Don't be the flying monkey that pushes people over the edge. Reach out and reel them back to a safer ground.

Mommy Developmental Markers: The kids are not the only thing growing

Just about every major milestone a woman can encounter in life involves vagina goo. We come into this world covered in it. Our first step into womenhood isn't a Bar Mitzvah party, no, it's our period. Losing our virginity is next. Getting knocked up for the first time, now that's life changing.  It is the circle of life we are talking about here, our vaginas are the circle of life. I don't understand why God isn't a woman, like you'd think all these savage men writing the Bible would be awe struck over our vaginal awesome, especially since we know which head they do most of their harder thinking with. I know. So much pun in one sentence. 

And with every milestone, every life altering event, follows a series of developmental phases… It's kind of like trees, where every year we drop some leaves, lay dead for a few months and resurrect with new green healthy leaves, except it's more like when a guy turns into a werewolf with the screaming and twitching and then the new him is covered in extra hairs he has no idea where they came from and it scares the ever living piss out of people, but now he can run faster and has super strength… And our growth too usually involves large quantities of goo, whether it be snot and tears, or toddler gifts.

So from that moment the goo covered pregnancy test comes out positive, growth takes on a new form.

Pregnancy  

While pregnant, we women experience the best PMS has to offer, for 9 months. Fits of rage, plots of murder, spontaneous sadness, incredible urges to eat everything, sporadic vomiting, waterfalls of tears over things like Oprah and Hallmark commercials, inappropriate joy... Through all that internal chaos, we are also coming to grips with the idea that we are going to be a mom. We have moments where we are excited about it, fearful, insecure, arrogant, at peace, worried… Like all the stages of grief except instead of it being about losing someone you love, it's about gaining someone you love. Some of us prepare like the ants in that story about the grasshopper, and we feel very confident we are ready for this baby. The money has been saved. The nursery has been painted. The bottles are in the cabinet. The diaper genie sits patiently by the changing table… Some of us don't prepare because life is not that easy where we can just shit money out of our vaginas like we can the expense… So we worry about it. We can't have this baby yet because there is no changing table to set the nonexistent diaper genie next to… Now if you are already a mom, you are laughing at this. Why? Because the next stage…

The Newborn Years

When I gave birth, I experienced all the emotions. It was like the PMS of pregnancy squashed into a matter of 4 hours. I think all women go through that, whether they opt for the epidural or not. I fully suggest the epidural if not for the awesome memory alone, but the memory will compete with holding the baby for the first time, because it is that awesome. Anyway, the developmental process doesn't happen at the hospital. That's just a vagina goo moment.

No, the newborn months of crazy is where the phases of growth hit you yet again. First you realize NOTHING can prepare you for motherhood. That's why mothers were laughing at the pregnancy stuff. The diaper genie collects dust. You end up changing diaper on the bed or something so you can sit down too for it. Why? Because your balance is way off from the sleep deprivation. The crazy of pregnancy is nothing compared to this. This is the craziest it's going to get… right? LOL. You realize your best friends, your husband, your family, useless. Nobody knows you anymore. The outside world is completely non-existent. It's just you and baby, like it's just you doing all the real work.  Everybody else is just telling you how to do it and you would do anything to shut them up, like your baby crying is a step up from everybody else's mouth. You are tired, worn out, and trying to heal on top of it. You look forward to that age where your kid sleeps all night like you are looking at the clock at a minimum wage job for the work day to end. You need a break. You need a friend. You need a shoulder to cry on. You need someone to take care of you while you take care of your baby.

The Toddler Years

If you are fortunate, by now you should be sleeping all night every night. Some parents, like myself, are not that lucky. You are finally excited that your kid is getting a little older to where he's not as needy. LOL wrong. The more your kid learns, the crazier it gets. Now they can do more than roll over and hold up their own bottle. Now they can get into things, all the things, and destroy things, all the things. The heirloom vase from your great grandmother, your favorite book, the furniture, any concept of organization… gone. GONE! Your sanity, even more gone. This is harder than the newborn years. It has to be the craziest things get. Right? So then you count down the time until we leave the terrible twos and find out there's the treacherous threes and fuck me sideways fours.

Meanwhile, you start teaching your kid the ABC's, the 123's, the circles, the squares, the color red… You as mom start doing that. You are no longer the crying newborn but a toddler figuring out the basics. You start to talk by learning to listen to your intuition and trusting your own judgment. You start to walk by figuring out how to keep the house clean enough and keep up with your child. You start to explore the world around you for what feels like the first time. You go outside once in a while and feel sunlight, and as you watch your child experience these joys, you have a new found appreciation for them. You realize what is red in your world and what is green, like the diet your family is going to eat, and how much tv you are going to let your child watch… You can read about that stuff all you want and make decisions before you have your child, but nothing is more decisive than the trial and error of experience.

During these years, you are actually crazy. You qualify for insanity under just about every criteria out there. It shows with your relationships. You think you found your real friends. The people who matter the most because they are the only people in your life. Your crazy has scared away everyone else. It's not really that you are crazy but your life is. It's actually normal to have hallucinations and an award winning bad personality when you haven't slept for 3 days. It's normal to get confused when you are distracted by kids. It's normal to put the dirty clothes in the toilet because it does have a lid like your hamper when your brain is tired. It's totally normal to forget you haven't showered in 3 days and put on a tank top on a hot day and showcase your armpit hairs to the world oblivious to your smell, when you are using all the hot water 24/7 to do laundry, dishes and keep your kids clean. Now you have decided it gets easier when they are in school…

The Grade School Years

The crazy just yet gets crazier, but by now, you are much stronger and it does get easier for that reason alone: you are getting stronger.  By now, you don't just walk, you can run and do cartwheels, metaphorically speaking. You have mastered telling people off, and you are now learning how to do it with grace as you deal with the school system. You have mastered cleaning and organizing toys (well you might, I have a learning disability when it comes to that part), and now you are learning how to organize a backpack, more specifically, the spelling words, the homework, the fundraiser papers, the party invites, the poorly written parenting magazines and nutrition articles… You got promoted from scheduling doctor appointments to scheduling after school activities.

You are now at the point where you join cliques like your children, like you can be June Cleaver popular mom who shows up with makeup and the expensive handbag bragging about how your kid pooped in the potty when he was 6 months old (no he was actually 2 but go ahead and brag away, people will fake believe you just as you fake believe their stories). Or you can be the rebel outcast mom who rocks the sweatpants and flicks your kid's booger you found on your shoulder onto the popular moms when they aren't looking. Or you could be healthnut mom discussing gluten free options for your kids and how vaccinations are destroying everyone… They are all cliques. It's not that one is wrong and the other right. They are just cliques like high school.

You also encounter playground bullying among the parents. This is when the other moms are telling you how you are doing it wrong, or how their life is harder than yours, and you back to them. The nicer ones do it in back handed compliments.  This is when you realize the schools hate you more as a parent than they ever did as a student, and you discover administrative bullying, especially if you got a kid with special needs. You are no longer alone. You are surrounded by frienemies. The wrong move could send your playground paradise packing to a new location. The queens of the slide monkey bars jungle gym rotate and some days, you are up there with them, and others you are in the sandbox playing with cat turds by yourself.

Meanwhile at home, you are still just as overwhelmed as you were with a newborn. We have replaced wiping asses with daily homework. We have replaced trying to figure out what your child's cry means with arguing with your child about what to wear to school. We have replaced folding the 7 onesies your baby went through in one day to folding the 7 princess outfits your child sported in dress up in one hour. Now, the kids don't nap, but they get hyper tired just the same, and school makes it worse, much worse. You know, the cracked out kid who found sugary pixie dust and is literally climbing the walls like a bad scene out of the exorcist. Yes. Yes that happens daily in this world. Your child still depends on you for entertainment and amusement. You have to now schedule in ACTIVE activities, even in the winter months when it's too cold to play outside, because if you don't, the house becomes the jungle gym and your cleaning becomes a much more active activity.

The Older Years

My oldest is 6. I'm not sure what to expect from the later years, but I will say this. I do know it gets harder. I know the crazy is going to get crazier. I hear parents of teens all the time say the toddler years were a breeze compared to the teenage ones.  I remember my tween years being the hardest of my childhood. Puberty definitely sounds like it's going to suck… And beyond the teenage years, I've seen parents of adults go crazy. Their kids moved out, and they are still losing their minds as parents.  So I definitely think the pregnancy equates a life sentence of insanity, one that is well worth it. 

I also have noticed with parents of older kids… the growth… we regress at some point… You know how when you were a baby and you came into this world? You remember it don't you? It was the biggest most important thing to happen to you in this life. You can't tell me you forgot? Yeah, it's like that. You will probably remember your baby coming into this world, but all the developmental shit you did during that time in your life, you will totally forget. It has to be true or women are bitches because I find it very hard to find parents whose kids are adults to empathize with parents like me whose kids are young. Only the ones who had more than 3 kids seem to remember enough to feel some sympathy. The consensus is still pretty much fuck you. So someday, I will be that woman. I will be chilling at a coffee house with my iced coffee sipping it out of a straw, and a woman is going to walk by with her 3 screaming insane toddlers, and I am going to be annoyed. I am going to jump on my high horse and be like, "I don't understand why you can't control your kids. I mean, it's not that hard. Everyone has kids and does it. You really should have just stayed home until they are not monsters like I did. I did it all. I cleaned and cooked and controlled my kids singlehandedly with zero problems, zero despair, zero depression..." Something I would never say at this point in my life. I'm sure I will be stupid and embarrass the me of now in the future. I'm sure I'll feel entitled to it as someone with seniority. All humans do this. There is such thing as selective forgetting, and I believe in selective memory just the same. We decide to our convenience what we remember to some point. In some people, it's more fairy tale than others, and in others, it's more accurate than fairy tale, but none of us remember with precision of reality.

In other moms, I have noticed they get a lot of things I would kill to have right now. A good night's rest. Naps, home alone with the kids and they get a nap. They get pissed if they have to tell their kids again not to bother them unless it's an emergency. I. Wish. They get to watch movies, with the kids, and the kids are quiet through the movie not asking them for juice every 5 seconds. They get dates with their kids, where they can go to restaurants and movie theaters. They can safely take their kids in public. They get manicures, and their nails don't turn to shit in one load of dishes because the kids did the dishes, sort of, last night. You would think with all those luxuries, they would have their sanity back. They don't.

I think the learning and stress on our "muscles" at this point become more spiritual and psychological, just like what our kids are facing as teens and young adults. They start off developing on a highly physical standpoint, and those years are highly physical on us moms. But as they mature, the developing takes on a new form, an abstract form, and as moms, so do ours. Now we have to deal with things like, "I hate you. I don't ever want to speak to you again." Now, instead of worrying about a kid falling from the top of a bookshelf or playing with knives, we worry about them running away or using drugs. Now, instead of worrying about them getting a boo boo from a bully like kid, we worry about their self esteems. Right now, I want to prepare for it. I want to read books. But I already know, it's impossible to prepare for parenting, no matter where you are with it.

I think we as moms are born again when we give birth, and we often take our new found childhood for granted. We can't wait to grow up, again. And we wonder again, what the hell were we thinking? Don't take this, wherever you are at, for granted. Embrace the learning process. Take comfort in knowing this is probably easier than what is coming. Don't let that scare you. Find comfort in the present. 

With that, very important side note, we see other moms in different phases of this development, and some of us expect them to be on our level, whether they are older or younger. It's really easy for a mom of a teen to have zero empathy for a mom of toddlers. It's just as easy for the mom of toddlers to have zero empathy for the mom of teens. We have to learn to respect each other's learning process no different than we respect the fact that some kids pee in the potty at an earlier age than others. Mom on mom bullying is a big subject now. It has to end. 

Secrets to my Sexy

I think the sexiest thing about me is me. I know me. I love me. I am very comfortable with who I am and how I look. I wish this for all women. So here's some things I do that helps me do this, and I do these things religiously, like daily, like they are all parts of my life because they are things I do to maintain a healthy relationship with my self.

Dance

I dance all the time, especially nekkid in front of the mirror. There's just something empowering about it, but also it's like you release a lot of negative vibes with dance. I shake my booty in front of public cameras, and sometimes my boobs which I usually refer to as a milk shake, not to be confused with MY milk shake which is more like my sexy/my swag/my ambiance. When I walk around the house nekkid for any reason, I often do a milk shake in front of windows, just in case there's a stalker you never know. The husband, he gets free random lap dances, and most of the time, they are no where near normal expectations of sexy, yet somehow I'm still sexy through it all. The kids, we break out into dance all the time. It's important they learn how to dance anyway. Driving, best believe I'm dancing, and if the radio is broke, I'm probably singing badly and dancing to it or rapping badly and dancing to it (like I end up sounding less like Tupac and more like Dr. Seuss when I try to rap). If you don't believe me about dance, ELLEN. I'm no where near a lesbian, but I think Ellen is sexy because of the way she carries herself, like I would enjoy dry humping her and the enjoyment would probably be more awkward to me than actually dry humping her.

Mirror Talk/Real Talk

This is important. It really is. You can stare at yourself naked in the mirror thinking, "oh, I'm fat. Look at those wrinkles. My hair is limp. Stretchmarks. Eww what the hell is that? A new mole?" OR you can stare at yourself nekkid and say, "Watch me make my fat jiggle when I move my ass like this. Ha ha, it's kind of sexy when it does that. I wonder if I can make my booty clap. Hmm, need to work on that. Let's try this move... oooh, my boobs are flying. If they were any bigger, that might hurt. Now that I think about it, they are kind of perky. Gotta touch the nipples. Oooh new song. I don't want anybody else. When I think about me I touch myself... Oh that's not a bad move. Drop it like it's hot. Can't touch this. STOP, yeah, I'm a sexy beast." Doing this every time you shower, in a month, you will be so comfortable with your own body as well as increase your awesome dance moves because now you know how you really look and was able to tweak some shit, and watch out world, now you have been practicing.

Music

Music is an art, an expression, and a way to brainwash yourself. You listen to depressing shit when you are depressed right? Well I get depressed when I listen to depressing shit just the same. I tend to try to listen to more positive, empowering soul food type stuff just because I find it inspirational and it does play a role in molding me into a person I want to be. See this post for the type of stuff I make sure is in every play list, and you can shake your booty to it. Watch the women in the videos to see how.

Talk to Yourself

I not only talk to myself, but I argue with myself, and sometimes we just have meetings, which is cool because I ALWAYS get to be leader. Yes people think I'm crazy, but they will think whatever they think regardless. But really, I get to know myself. I communicate with myself. They say communication is important in any relationship, well that includes the relationship you have with yourself. Sometimes I look in the mirror to talk to myself and establish eye contact and stuff. Kind of weird sometimes because I get distracted by my sexy eyes and then I go down that path where I wish I could so clone myself. But I talk about things from what I'm doing right now to help me concentrate, what I need to do to help me focus, and things like where I delve into the meaning of life, my purpose in this life, my role as a mom, what I want to start working on or improving, my goals, my dreams, my problems, people I think are hot... Things you talk about with anyone important in your life.

Prayer

This goes with talking to myself, but adding God to the conversation means you shut the hell up once in a while and listen. That's easier said than done. God is one of the hardest people/entities to listen to because He doesn't  use words. He requires us to open parts of ourselves that we don't open for anyone else. The easiest way to know God is to do the right thing, and as you do that, you can more easily recognize Him when He's speaking to you, and with that, learn how to open yourself up more to Him. This goes for anyone of any religion, and you have to legitimately do the right thing, not pretend to. There are atheists out there who probably speak to God daily and have no idea. They've just labeled Him as something else other than God.

Think of Yourself during Foreplay

Or when you masturbate... I had to put this after Prayer just for the juxtaposition. Anyway, when you are getting hot and heavy sexually, don't think about other men or women, or porn... Think about your body. Look at your body. Watch the lady parts bloom, you know what I mean. Get a mirror involved. You notice how some people in the more adult groups/forums/social networking tend to really enjoy posting pics of their own privates? There's a reason for that. They are embarking upon finding themselves sexy, sometimes looking for someone to agree with them. You don't need people to agree with you. If you can turn yourself on with yourself, there's no need for any confirmation or reaffirmation. Posting your pics somewhere is then a charity. You can take it to the next level and really enjoy pleasing your lover with your sexy. Don't make it a job. Strike a pose when doing the nasty, and watch them enjoy you, all of you, while laid bare. You can knock this mentality all you want, but this is one subject I'm actually very good at. If only it could be a career without it being illegal or deadly... Now I'm back down that disturbing, disappointing path of wanting to clone myself.

I'm too sexy for my sexy... A story about boobs

These are my boobs, and John Cena is so trying to grab them,
and they are nestled in a Victoria Secret Push Up Bra.

"True Story, just today...

Me: I don't think your wife likes me all that much.

Mechanic: It's your boobs. The last time you were here, she asked me if you were throwing your boobs at me...

Me: I get that a lot

Women. Let me tell you a secret. Boobs are boobs. I can post a million better pair of puppies from free internet porn than I could ever flaunt on my chest. Men don't discriminate when it comes to boobs. All boobs are awesome. If you are worried about my boobs, then you are going to have to worry about the entire female population. If you wanna fear your man hitting on me over something, fear my confidence, my mind, and my good heart, all of which are way bigger than my boobs, and all of which are things you can compete with without having to invest any money into the ordeal. If boobs are the best thing you have to offer, you will never be anything more than a ho."

That was my Facebook status yesterday on my super secret profile. I do hate when people don't give me a chance because of something stupid like my boobs. They are really missing out, especially over something so superficial. 

First off... My boobs are not that awesome. Borderlining a C-cup, they are really B-cups. Most of the time, I don't wear a Victoria Secret Push Up bra, but I do totally suggest it, and in the store, they do have a stash of cheap bras about 20 bucks in range, which is totally competitive with Walmart bra prices but with Victoria Secret's Swag Secret benefits. Back to my boobs, they went from whipped cream to heavy whipping cream in point five after breastfeeding, meaning I can also hold pencils and cigarette lighters underneath them without a bra. One of them falls funny, like they are not symmetrical when it comes to my cleavage, and it's possible one is slightly bigger than the other. I've always thought my nipples were odd, especially in comparison to nude women in 80's movies. Yet, for some reason, these puppies somehow attract a lot of attention. I've had guys walk up to me at the grocery store on days I look like shit just to tell me about my cleavage. I do not believe for one minute my boobs are that awesome. I think what is going on, everything a guy likes about me, they are projecting onto my boobs, or their favorite part of my body as some dudes will say I have an awesome ass when really there is no ass, but I do attract more boob men than ass men probably because I'm a very nurturing person. With that, women assume men look at the boobs or say I'm awesome because of the boobs when really, the boobs are just the messenger.

Second, maybe I'm a lesbian. Did she ever think of that? Maybe I'm married to a man who's way hotter than her husband. Maybe, just maybe, there's so much more to me than what is going on in her world with her man. I don't get it. How does a woman see another woman and the ONLY thing to come to her mind is, "That woman wants to sleep with my man"? How does one get to that point? It's not jealousy. The bitch was beautiful. You look at her and her man, and you think she's way out of his league... he's lucky. You get to know them, and the opposite is true.

Third, my mechanic is a good man. He doesn't over charge or hustle his customers. He tries to find the cheapest available routes for you and gives you options. His body work, on the cars, is an art. He is truly an auto body artist. Even his putty jobs look good. And the best thing about this man, he had his kids at work with him. Yes, he babysat his children while working, and he does this frequently. His toe nails were painted in nail polish, which you know were from his girls. He answered their pretend phone, and he had some unbelievable patience with their neediness while he's trying to work, more patience than I have as a mother with my kids. Even crazier, I don't think they are his kids. I think their biological father may be someone different. Does this all mean I want to sleep with him? No, it means I want to do business with him. I want him to have my money instead of the dickwad down the street who overcharges and treats me like I'm a stupid bitch who doesn't know anything about mechanics. I want to be the customer to the man who isn't staring at my boobs thinking they make me inferior to him or that they are an easy target to hustle. I definitely want a good person who is a good father to take my money and invest it in his family.

The main thing is, I try to let people see the best of me before they get to know the worst of me. And with that, I don't just cuss out or out-bitch the woman who is being a bitch. I try to understand where she's coming from, and I try to boost her ego just so she'll give me a damn chance. More than likely, she never will give me that chance, but she sure as hell won't if I give her a reason not to. I'd feel sorry for her when he leaves her, but I probably won't.

All I'm saying, ladies, please stop looking at other women like we are ho's. You are no different than the men with that shit. It's degrading, and it embarrasses our gender. If you want to worry about a ho, and your man cheating on you with that ho, then worry about the man lacking the substance to pick out a decent woman to cheat on you with, let alone lacking the substance to stay true. If you are worried about a woman tricking your husband into cheating, because yes, there are some real shady bitches out there, then you are going to have to pick and choose your battles wisely or you will be nothing more than the ho in the end.

My Top 2 Favorite Female Vocalists

Empowering music empowers. These women have kissed my soul in ways that would make my husband jealous. Add them to your playlist if you are woman enough to handle them...

Erykah Badu 

Cleva is a song I love because she talks about being cleva enough to make anything fly. My favorite line is the first one... "This is how I look without make-up. And with no bra my ninnies sag down low..." Yes you can make that 7 dollar dress fly just because you decide you are going to.

On and On, the song is deep, but the video is awesome too. She takes everything about that day and makes it work for her. This woman truly understands my mantra, "I shall make this day my bitch." 

Now let's roll to her Bag Lady Song. This is good advice. Pack light ladies.

Mary J. Blige

Just Fine is one of my favorites from Mary. I play this song out, especially for my daughters. 

Take me as I am, yes we all say this like we mean it. Well mean it like Mary means it... 

No More Drama inspires to rise above whatever is holding you down...