The chickens have come home to roost OR Italians love with hate

One of the wonderful things about writing a blog is that it is incredibly therapeutic for me. I have always used my writing as a means of processing my thoughts and the things that happen. And of course, laughing heartily at myself and the absurdities of motherhood.

That said, I actually forget others might read this blog... really. I assume sometimes I am just writing, but like so many of my students in the upcoming generation learn the hard way- the interwebs, she is PUBLIC. Even if you set things as private or approval only they can find you and read your blog. And it may be a stranger. Old stalker ex. Student with no boundary understanding... or YOUR MOTHER.
Crap.
So.... I have a tendency to forget that my mother is increasing her skills as a interwebs user. She's on here, folks. Be aware. And likely reading this right now with that thin-lipped disapproval I love so much.
Hi Mom!
What this blog is about is that yes, I say (er, well WRITE) and then think often. I put my foot in my mouth so many times I often forgo shoes to make it easier. Still, nothing on this blog is EVER meant to harm or upset anyone. Yet, it will. And this is life, ladies and gentle... er, guys.

My phone conversation with my mother, at which time she revealed that she did, in fact, READ MY BLOG (yikes) was fairly awkward. I sweated. Then I explained it all very simply to her. It goes like this...

Mom- You mentioned me a few times. BLAH BLAH BLAH ( I say this not in disrespect but as truth- I only heard the sound Charlie Brown's teacher makes. I was thinking OHJESUSOHJESUSOHJESUS).
Me (articulately)- Uh... uh... what blog?
Mom- thewholemotherload
Me- Oh, well, gee... BLAHBLAHBLAH...(no idea what I said. Then this nugget of gold.) Mom, you know Italians love with hate.
Mom- What? What was that?
Me- Yeah, I always say, Italians love with hate.

It really is true and a little sad, but thank JESUS it is funny because she cracked up! 40 plus years married to my beloved father and she had never thought of that.

Phew. Crisis averted. I think.

Crap I hope she likes being featured in my blog.

Ah well. Enjoy your time in the spotlight, Ma. Trust me, the girls are doing crazy things as we speak and it will only be a matter of time before I write all about Potty Training, Sex Education for young girls and why lady parts are named many odd things. Until then- have you called your mothers lately?

lots of LOVE!
- Amanda

Mothers are very distr- HEY STOP TOUCHING THAT!!!

Hello, readers!
   So, I wanted to talk for a moment about how distracted mothers are on a constant basis. We women have, as the meme I liked so many times on facebook says, mentally about 2400 plus browsers open AT ONCE!!! Double that for a Mom. Sorry, I won't speak for Dads. I cannot. I a MOM. Have you read the name of my blog???

So anyway, I am a teacher as well. I am a writer, clearly (tosses unwashed hair over shoulder lamely)). I am promoting my new book that is hopefully decent. Amazon- Nora Waite. Check it out! I am also the resident maid, laundress, cook, hairstylist (but not my own. weird) and etc. Thank GOD for helpful men who have evolved from caveman brain or I would never accomplish anything. And... my house is messy and laundry is clean, not folded. You take the good, you take the bad... sing on your own time.
  Still, I have several blogs going. Only this one is partially going, the other I promised I would do. Well, I challenged my co-teacher in a BRAVE manner like I am awesome and he has routinely showed my shit up. He is much more regular and interesting than me. Plan backfire! Plan SUCCESS! I cannot decide. His blog is pretty great. He had also blogged previously so neither of us were newbies. I love to challenge myself. I struggle with the finishing part. Secretly just like my children in that regard. SIGH

So anyway, I often remark to people... usually people I know. Uh. At least I hope they are people I know. Otherwise I am just like my own mom and talking to random strangers crazy enough to make eye contact (or open the door to JWs! haha). NO. NO. I am pretty sure I know the people usually. Anywho.... I always remark that mothers rarely finish a sentence.

And thus, dear reader-friends, why I blog. I can be a comedian here and turn a shitty moment into a kaleidoscope of thrills (read my post from last spring about a terrible poop experience). I can rant on and on and don't have to make sure my husband has not fallen asleep while I am talking. I can be this other, more fun and in my mind, yes if not attractive then at least clean, ME.
I heart words. and blogs. and YOU for reading.
WHEE!

Read my book and tweet me, the author

MY WEBSITE
twitter- @apminaker

I am not perfect and neither are you

So here it is... Not a rant, but a wake up call. I am a chubby mom. I am apple shaped and it could be worse. For some reason I cannot name- ok, I could but I don't have time this morning as I get ready- I have learned to hate the way I look. It has taken me almost 36 years to hate myself, starve myself and obsess every minute and then in the last few years since children learn to reverse the loathing. 

When I looked like this at 18, I hated myself the most. The thinner I got, the angrier I was that I was not thinner- and let's face it, starving yourself does not send you to nirvana. However, this happy memory was tainted with how unfinished I was as a person and how desperate I was with longing. I haven't hit nirvana yet but here is me now, days from my 36th birthday. Twice the time, twice the experience. Marriage and kids, degrees and less travel than I would like but still- this face says I have lived.

As a mother to three girls, I want them to NOT self-loathe. They need to put themselves together and be ready for their chosen professions but try don't have to be Gisele-beautiful for me to be happy with them.

Oh, of course not, you think.

Uh huh. So why do you expect yourself to attain that status? Why are we women striving so damn hard to be supermodels? You are not 17 anymore? Stop trying to look that way! Let it go a little and enjoy becoming a person with wrinkles and a grey hair in your eyebrow you cannot explain. I am not saying be unhealthy but I am saying please be more realistic. Driving yourself batty over the pounds you must lose does not communicate to your daughter, sisters, friends that you care about WHO you are, but rather HOW YOU LOOK. Sorry, Ford Models probably wont be knocking. It's ok. Let it go.

  In defense of Gisele- that girl is gorgeous and admitted in a photo it takes a team. It is her JOB to look that amazing. We buy her magazines and secretly wish to look like her yet I hear lots of hate press about her. "Who does she think she is?" This is where feminism comes to die, my friends. Not in a song a guy sings  about good girls toying with sexuality but in our cruelty to one another. 

  We women are a force! We go to work with raging cramps and get it done, for less pay than others. We have babies and then proceed to raise human beings with others or alone.

  If we stopped buying in to the physical stereotypes and catty teardowns, what else could we accomplish? Woman president? More peace, less war? It is endless possibilities.

Every day you get up, look in the mirror and make a choice. Don't discard all personal hygiene- not my point- but are you only getting ready for someone else? Are you driving yourself crazy and no one expects you to look like you think they expect you to look? What is happening while you are cruel to others and yourself? Are you missing out on the authenticity of life?

It is a brief time we get. I choose to stop hating myself and be a kick ass teacher. It will make me a better wife/mother/ human.

That is what I believe. What do you think?

What is a teacher with no students?

So the school year has ended and I have survived. My family unit has survived and I have... A good reference. That's it. Well, I have awesome memories of my time teaching, my students surprising me and great fellow teachers I admire and a few... I am glad to escape. (Shudders)

  Mainly I am left with many unanswered questions. A lot of "what now?" And "what will I do in September?" I know I have plenty of time and all that but I just can't enjoy my summer with my fall in such doubt. Teacher irony right there. 

  My aunt is a great believer in St Anthony. She swears he always helps her. She's on the case to find a job for me. I have over 100 applications out. I have to wonder if the universe is telling me something. My uncle who passed away not that long ago would tell me I am an idiot for doubting myself. I wish he were here to tell me so. 

  And then I think about the way many of my students stay in touch. The way they hoped I had learned my fate before school ended; even the way they actually enjoyed MacBeth- well, some days. I find I am actively editing this as I go, remembering and pestering myself mentally to set a good example as a writer even if this is just my blog. After all, I am an English teacher. If not on staff, then in my soul. 

   The thing is- I always yearned to be a mom. I am. Now I realize how much I absolutely love the torture of being a teacher as well. The frustration of maybe never getting to do that is a physical weight around my brain right now. All decisions are paralyzed as we wait and see... 

What more could I have done for my family? What more could I have done for my students? I wake up thinking these two questions so often, it may have to be the epitaph on my headstone.

Praying for some good news....

2:48 am uh oh

It was a late night at our house- Bruins hockey and Dancing With The Stars... So we got to bed later than usual. 

2:48am.... I was awakened by a smell. A fecal related smell. I heard a distinctive voice calling, "Dadda!!" 

So I did the logical thing.

I sent my husband in there.

It was literally a shit show. 

Oh. My. God.

Not another one!!!! Our beautiful chubby cherub was sporting poop booties and crap mittens- and that is saying nothing of her bed- poop valley. 

Her breath smelled clean.

We were a great team- he took her for a hosing and I did the CSI work cleaning up. Thank god for bleach wipes. 

20 hours later and we have swabbed the decks long ago but I tell you I can still smell the poop. 

So much poop. 

The good side is I learned from a friend that if said cherub accidentally ingested any fecal matter it won't hurt her since it's her own. Not as helpful for the hubby who got a tiny hand shoved in his mouth during the flailing, wailing shower. 

I am keeping a onesie on that kid and my fingers crossed for the hubby. I will keep you posted.

Pretty sure I will wake terrified around 2:30 in the morning and check that kiddo. Gonna take me a while to forget.

Motivation

Oh wisdom you mischievous vixen, you do desert a gal when she needs it most. Ironically, I have been railing at both kin and student alike about motivation lately. "It's the long-term goal, not momentary fun that matters", and now I am looking for my own kick in the pants to get moving so I feel less awful and get all that needs to be done.... Well, done. 

I blame the couch. And pretty much everything else. Damn, I think this one is on me, huh? 

 So what do you do to get motivated? Do tell please, and talk loud so I can hear your wisdom over the Siren song of my couch... Thanks.

It's our day!

Well, ladies, this is it. It's Mother's Day. Yup, we get one day. And as you know, we get adorable cards and homemade gifts, and even breakfast in bed. Growing up, we didn't celebrate any holidays so my Mom's reaction to the morning phone call was, "It's just another day." WHEE!!!
   Here is the thing about that response, there is a kernel of perspective in that anti-fun response to my wishing her a good day. It IS just another day. So many people are appreciative of their moms though they never met, miss their departed moms, and wish they could be moms. For them, this is another day that reminds each of them of what they do not have.
   This does not mean I am advocating for all of us to give up our day, but please keep all of the other friends and family who may be sad on this day in your hearts and phone trees.

Oh, and have a glass of wine when you want. It's MOM O'CLOCK!!!! :D