Just Because you can...

...doesn't mean you should.

I started using this term when I was talking (judging) women or men that had SQUEEZED into that pair of jeans, pants, top or shorts. Just because you can wear it, doesn't mean you should wear it...

But it carries through to a lot of things. I work on the main line (a very "rich" section of the Philadelphia area). And I have to say that I am appalled. APPALLED at the prices in some of these shops.

And so I have to say:
Just because you can charge $100 for a doll made only of cotton doesn't mean you should.

And

Just because you can pay $100 for a doll made only of cotton doesn't mean you should.

And my follow up question is always: Don't these people have any friends?

Isn't there someone out there to tell them that the big roll squeezing out of their blue jeans is NOT attractive?

This carries through too.

If your friend tells you that you simply MUST get your daughter the $100 cotton baby doll. They are not really your friend. They are simply trying to make you fall for the same scam they fell for.

I can sew a cotton doll with 'mohair' yarn hair for about $12. And I am not buying in bulk...

Okay, I am done venting. But this is one of the primary reasons I will never live on the main line. I do not want to raise my children here. I do not want to create adults in this atmosphere.

I am not sure what made me stand up on this soap box today.

But I have officially stepped back down.

Oh and if you live on the main line... please don't be offended by my tirade. And don't spend $100 on that cotton baby doll!

See what a good friend I am???

Is TV killing marriage?

I found myself in the kitchen thinking about Grey's Anatomy.
I found myself wondering if the writers would ever let the main couple of angst ridden folks get together.

And I started thinking about how all the good shows tank when the main lovers finally do get together.

No wonder we have such a high divorce rate. We are all about the hunt.

And here's the thing. The couple on Grey's? Infinitely cuter to me when they are doing well together. So nice to watch the touching moments of happiness and healthiness.

And I have to say that the best year's of my life have been the six that I have been married to my love.

So I hope Meredith and McDreamy get together. And I hope that they still make good television.

I think my life is interesting enough for prime time. And I don't even have a writing staff...

A rose by any other name

When I was born I was named

Jennifer

When I was first adopted I was named

Aimee-Nichelle

Then I got my name. My real name. My true name.

And I don't like it. Never have really. I am certain that I am nothing like what people expect when they see my name.

In fact for a few years I tried to get everyone to let me go by my middle name. I feel like it suits me more.

While I rarely wonder about my bio parents I do sometimes wonder about their daughter, this Jennifer person.

I also wonder what my life would have been if my mom had decided that Jennifer was a darn good name for me.

Or if my grandma hadn't mispronounced Aimee-Nichelle so horribly that my mom had left me with it.

I am somehow convinced that the name would effect the end person.

Maya told me yesterday that she would like to change her name. When I asked her what she wanted to change it to she told me to choose. I told her I already had.

I chose Maya.

She chose

Bomboogetta

yes, well.

She's still a rose right?

sandcastles

The woman stood at the window. The water ran quietly down into the sink of dirty dishes before her. She wore a slight smile and stared fixedly at the back of the small head in front of her. A young boy sat Indian-style just on the edge of the concrete patio in the back yard. His butt rested on the concrete, his feet in the grass. He wore jeans and a striped T-shirt. A small yellow Labrador sat next to him. It was cloudy and the grass glistened with a recent rain. The sun was emerging through the storm clouds and the small boy sat directly in it’s first weak attempts of light in a gloomy day. His hair glittered with the casting rays. He made no move, nor did the dog at his side. The two just sat and watched the scene before them.

In the small wood framed sandbox the sand danced and swayed in a rhythmical motion that denied any natural cause. The boy sat entranced, an audience to his own show. The woman tried to stir up an emotion and was denied. She moved her stare past the boy and concentrated on the sand. With a blink the dancing column was gone.

Both boy and dog looked back at her. The boy wore a great smile and giggled. This was a common game. He had the bluest eyes that shone brightly in the sun's rays. His auburn hair somehow matched his slightly ruddy complexion. He was quite simply a beautiful child. The aunt smiled looking at him and reached forward to turn off the water so she could go join the pair outside. She glanced down for a moment as she reached for the faucet and when she looked up again, the boy had turned back to the box, tuning her out once more. His small body was rigid with a concentration that spoke against any more pranks. The sand before him rose up once again. In the blink of an eye he had created a castle. In the next moment it was made of stone.

The aunt turned the water back on and continued to wash the pile of dishes in the sink.

yes, I am the best mother in the world

Oh please don’t be milk
In this mystery cup
‘cause the last one I found
Almost made me throw up

Let it be water or juice
On the ground
Its tragic
What happens to milk
Left around

The odor repulsive
The texture grotesque
And the face that I make
When I found out that
Yes!

This chunky white sludge
Was once milk cold and clean
The nastiest substance that
I’ve ever seen

I pour it out quickly
It clunks down the drain
And I swear I will
Never let it happen again

That is of course until the next time...

The Perfect Knife

There were a few things I never thought I would do as a parent. I never made any "I will never do x" proclamations but there were some things I just thought I would somehow avoid.

One of those things was cutting the crusts off of sandwiches.

But I am sorry. If I leave the crust on then she just barely eats half the sandwich in her overactive avoidance of coming in contact with the dastardly "brown stuff". Off they come.

So it is not so much that I do this that is the issue. Today I noticed that I have become quite proud of my skill at removing the crust. I can leave almost the entire piece of bread in tact. If I use the right knife...

And this morning I stood admiring my work in the kitchen and realized that I was proud of my crust cutting skill. And I am embracing that which I felt I should not have to do.

And so I started thinking about those other things I thought I would not do. And realized that there is a list of things I swear I will not do.

I will never berate my children.

I will never call my child stupid.

I will never pause when I feel like hugging them.

I will never be abusive.

And there is an even bigger list of things I swear I will do.

I will always say I love you when I think it.

I will snuggle with them every chance I get.

I will let them know how much I love them and their father every chance I get.

I will tell them I am proud whenever I feel it.

I will let them see me struggle.

I will bolster their confidence and downplay their failures.

I will do my best to make them confident that they are as wonderful as I think they are.

I will do my best to leave as much of the great stuff in tact, while removing the "brown stuff" with a skill to be proud of.

I will try my best to be the mom that is perfect for them. Not perfect. Just perfect for them.



Maya and I have a game.

"Maya, guess who I love more than you?"

"nobody"

"Maya, guess who I love more than Dean?"

"nobody"

Damn straight.

I am tackling this whole loving your children equally but not the same, thing. Easy as pie.

No crust please.

What? Twice in one day?

Hello again. I was tagged. by don't eat baby so here goes:

Total number of books I own:

Too many. I have BOXES of books waiting for a bookshelf. I have baskets of "just read" books and the empty husks of books long ago "eaten" scattered throughout my home.

I don't know why I keep them. I rarely read a book more than once. I am a book hoard.

Hello, I am Tiffany and I am a book hoard.

Hello Tiffany.

Last book I read:
I am in the process of reading a romance novel by Jayne Ann Krentz. It's bad. pretty darn bad actually. But I have to finish it. It's a rule.

Last book I bought:
So as not to have to revisit the whole topic up there I will instead mention Water for Elephants. Which I purchased recently and LOVED! I subsequently purchased the other two that Sara Gruen wrote and they were also good but not nearly as good...

5 Meaningful books:

Black Beauty.
horses. that's it. what more is there?

Things Fall Apart
Not Anjali's version but the African version. I think the author's last name is Achebe.

Possessing the Secret of Joy
Alice Walker. This one is about female castration. 'nough said.

Forever
Judy Blume. Sex. This one was a huge eye opener for me at the delicate age of say 15...

And then not so meaningful but one of my all time favorites is

The Princess Bride.
William Goldman also wrote Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and is (in my humble opinion) a comic genius...

And there you have it.

I am a bibliophile. I love books, even bad books. I admire the work that went into them and often wish I were friends with the authors, and sometimes with the really good ones, the characters.

I am working on a short story. If anyone would like to volunteer to be a sounding board for a sci-fi ish piece, let me know.

Big thoughts

I have been grappling with a lot lately.

And so I have been quiet. While I contemplate.

The big thoughts take some time.

Like when rape is happening to an entire country's worth of women at the rate of one every 15 seconds can you still call is rape or does it need some other definition?

What answers do I have for my children when they ask me why the bird flies but dogs don't that don't involve God?

Why is it that I sometimes feel like I am watching the play of someone else's life instead of living my own?

How is it that my parents were once as in love as me and my husband but somehow degenerated to where they are now? (and of course, how do I prevent it from happening to us?)

Why does my daughter construct conflict with her imagination?

What will the world be like when my little boy has a voice?

How do I get to a place where I am comfortable loving both my children equally but not the same?

What will I do when my dogs die?

Where will I be living next year?

Should my next child come from my womb or from social services?

How has our country sunk so low so fast?

Big thoughts. And I will work on the answers to them all.

I have been thinking about how my family will be dealing with the question of God and Santa and the myths surrounding them both.

I have been reading Parenting Beyond Belief (thank you Anjali) and have come up with answers that feel comfortable to me. I will share them when they are more solid and can be articulated.

Oh and California was wonderful. My father got angry and stopped talking to everyone on day two and no one seemed to mind. Had some wonderful bonding time with my brother, sister-in-law and my niece.

Here's another one for you? How is it that the love just comes so easily? I love my niece. In a similar way that I love my children. I would move planets for her. How is that?

But you can't question everything.

As much as I would like to try...