Orange County Moms Blog

Gun Control (the mom you want to be, and the mom you are)

I spend a lot of time pondering the disparity betweenthe mom I though I would be, and the mom I am. I was such a good mom before having kids. I had dreams of my children playing with quaint wooden toys, learning piano at a young age, and having picnics in meadows (eating only organic food, of course). Somehow my reality of motherhood involved a lot more plastic, McDonalds, and trips to Target than I ever imagined. That meadow picnic? Yeah, that's never happened.

Also in my dreams of motherhood, our home would be free of toys that represent weapons. My oldest was a boy - but I imagined that somehow, with careful guidance, I could free him from the gender expectations that give way to a desire for violent objects. Unfortunately, no one warned me that a predilection for destruction seems to be coded in the DNA. Despite providing my son Jafta with a playroom full of peaceful, docile toys, he seems to be drawn only to things that produce explosions, loud noises, or (best yet), wounds of the flesh. He was begging for a sword by the time he could talk. Once he got wind of this light-saber business, everything in the house (paper towel roll, umbrella, drumstick) was brandished as a light-saber. And now, despite the fact that he's never seen a movie much darker than Stuart Little, he is totally and utterly obsessed with guns. 

WARNING: Hormones at Play!

Why is it that pregnancy just doesn't seem to bring the best out of women? Between weight gain, a huge belly, skin issues, tears over Hallmark commercials and the ending of Disney movies, and excess perspiration we also get to deal with raging hormones worse than what we experienced in our teenage years. Ah, the joys of growing a child!

I have to admit that I'm at the point in my pregnancy where for the most part I feel as if I'm functioning rather normal (as long as I get some sleep at night). But there are certain things that really set me off. Certain things that have an automatic Panic Button deployment that I feel so out of control on.

How do I explain this to people?

I'm not normally too crazy. But let's face it, I do get a little nutty at times- which I attribute more to my lifestyle of wearing far too many hats, and my lack of ability to say "no" to taking on far too much. Recently there was an incident when a certain person in my life gave me information that just pushed me over the edge. I essentially took the information to be perceived as pressure on me, and then put undue pressure on other people. I panicked. A lot.

Vlog: Moms, kids and pets

A simple Pineapple Martini toast to all the moms who give their kids the gift of pets. Whatever the pet, whatever the size, whatever the mess. 

The one where I get schooled..again

Homeschooling can be a lot of fun. What? Stop laughing, no really. I mean, the times I lie awake at night worried that my son can't do Algebra and my daughter can't read well enough are just a million laughs. The stress and responsibility I feel when it seems the kids cannot function academically, socially or behaviorally the way I believe they should, well, it makes me want to drink. And I am not talking about Tang or Milk here, either. Send Mama a martini!

Often, though, when I feel like I have reached my limit…when I think I am doing my children a great disservice by schooling them at home and that they would be better off in a public school setting, with all of its weaknesses and the lack of placement for higher-functioning autism/Asperger's? Well,the kids go and make cognitive leaps, seemingly overnight. Almost like they have to prove me wrong. They show me that it isn't that bad, and that it always gets better. Or, you drink. Something the kids didn't show me. And just an aside, I talk about drinking, but do very little of it. It doesn't make a very good coping mechanism, to be honest. Karate works better. And yoga. And screaming. In the car, with the windows up. By myself. I tried it once with the kids in the car, and they flipped out. Thought I grew two heads. Note to self: save the theatrics for alone time, mama!

The Anti-Craft

I should've known something like this would happen. Kindergarten was just going too smoothly.

I could deal with the worksheets that came home, with the letter of the week to trace and pictures to cut out and glue to the paper. 

Even the special "decorate your own snowman" assignment this winter was no problem, as the teacher provided the circles to cut out and my son decorated it all by himself.

We're in the home stretch now, people. Just over a month to go.

That's why that little blue paper in my son's folder the other day was such a shock. A slap in the face, really.

It's a project. An art project "for you to complete with your child." Which we all know really means "attempt to show up all the other moms by doing a multi-media presentation." 

How to be a Housewife: Wash. Rinse. Fold. Repeat.

Gosh, I remember clearly the stress I felt when I first had my daughter. There were questions everywhere. How do I nurse?  How long do I nurse? How do I manage cooking, cleaning, eating, sleeping, mothering and sanity??  How long does she eat baby food, how do I decide if a visit to the doctor is absolutely necessary?  There was so much new gear, paraphernalia, apparatus and mechanics to figure out.  I could no longer leave the house and hop in the car to simply get a coffee.  I had to pop a baby in a car seat, pop the car seat in the car and pray for no screaming, leaky diapers or any unpredictable stuff along the way.

Just when I had it all figured out along came child number two, my darling son.  By this time I understood lots of stuff.  I wasn't super paranoid about him indulging in sweets before his first birthday.  I could get him to latch on immediately for nursing.  As a matter of fact, the little guy was so addicted to nursing I had to cut him off at a year.  Our whole relationship was about the boob.  Typical guy, but we will leave that for another post.

Mom Bloggers Aren't Free Ad Hos, Really

If one more company hits me up to pimp their sale or frivolous whatever, I may officially lose it.

It's just ridiculous. We are asked to sell everyone else's stuff and do it for free. Hello?! We are moms, we are busy, we have kids and families to provide for and take care of. 

The ridiculous thing is, these companies (out to build their own financial families), see our worth, as they seek us out and hit us up, but they don't value the true essence of family we stand for--which is at its root: loved ones who spend quality time together and financially (and emotionally, of course) support one another. Too many Mom Bloggers get stuck spinning their wheels for free at the expense of their family because they get lost on this runaway Mother Theresa of Blogging Bandwagon.

Now, this is no revolutionary bitchfest I'm venting here; it's been said before. Which brings to the front burner, why are less and less companies getting it? 

I don't know, but cheers to companies who do get it, who value the worthy Mom Blogger and her message and who see beyond a url of free ad space. Cheers to those who pay for space (or offer other legit value she deems worthy).

So, now, what needs to happen to these companies taking advantage of innocent newbies or kind-hearted not-so-newbies? Perhaps they need to be outed, then they might see the power of a Mom Blogger.

Just sayin.

This is an original Orange County post by Debbie, a writer, mom and vlogger but no free ad pimp ho. You can find her at her OC e-zine site at PeaceandMom.com, on Facebook, Twitter, at Debbie's Hot Topics or DebbieLavdas.com.

Knock-Knock Jokes Aren't Really Humor, Anyway

In this house, humor is not optional, it's a survival technique. You don't get very far unless you can learn to laugh at yourself and your circumstances.  Life = humor.  I cannot imagine not being able to giggle or snicker or guffaw and at times even belly laugh at the crazy things that happen in this family.  Of the things I want to give to my children, an appreciation for humor (if not an outright sense of it) is very near the top of the list.

They say that kids with autism don't have much of a sense of humor. I think those that say it don't quite understand autism all that well.  My daughter, the oldest one, is pretty funny.  (not as funny as me, but give her some time and experience) My son isn't hilarious, but he understands jokes.  Sometime around his 8th birthday, he started understanding sarcasm (which means he can actually live in this house, because…yeah.) and started making puns.  (again, a staple in this family). It was a lot of fun to watch.

I had forgotten all of that until last night, when JBean cracked her first joke. 

You are Small Fry, So Quit Baiting your Mom

I think I'm a pretty good mom. I don't beat my children, and I give them dessert once in a while. I work hard to be painstakingly fair. I let my oldest daughter borrow my shoes.(trust me, you want to borrow my shoes!) I take my son to the mall to buy a used video game he desperately wants. (even though he was grounded from the Nintendo at the time). I cuddle and read and go fun places. I strive for consistency. But these days, it feels like my children hate me.

This is a sample of what I have heard this week from my little guppies:

 

•    You're so evil!

•    I wish you were dead!

•    Get off my back!

•    Leave me the hell alone!

•    I don't have to listen to you!

•    Go away go away go away!

I recognize it's not always going to be unicorns and rainbows and lollipops and cotton candy, but it is disheartening. I don't particularly like fishhooks and sea monsters in trade. Maybe just a little chocolate bar once in a while would be nice.

Sorry, But I Won't Be Making It To Your Home Party

Jewelry, skincare, juice, purses, jewelry, chocolate, clothing, MORE juice, MORE jewelry!

The home parties. Do they ever stop?

I get invited to at least one home party per month. Most of the time I politely decline the invite, because I'm not in to paying way too much for something not that great. And yes, I know that the host gets a "credit" for all of the sales netted from the party.

I'm on to your ways of wanting to get me to show up. Your enticing "door prizes" bribe that is really not worth me hiring a babysitter for. Your promise of a discount, that really doesn't save me any money in the long run. Your jewelry that is made my "Hindu Artisans" that arrives in the mail looking like it got run over by a Mac truck on a dirt road in Timbuktu.