Morphing into Mama

BloggerView

I'm graduating next week, so until then, I'm studying for one more comprehensive exam and then finals. In the interim, you can find me at BloggerView!

After gradation, it's back to our regularly scheduled programming.

I'm Alive

[cough, cough, hack, hack, wheeze.]

Jeez, this place is dusty!  I can't seem to type a single letter without a cloud of dust or a sticky spider web getting in my face.  But I guess that's what happens when you step away from the blog for, um, months. 

If anyone is still out there reading this cobwebbed blog, I just wanted to say "hello" [hello, hello, hello . . . ] and tell you that I've actually written a post over at PiP (poor Mary nearly fell out of her chair when I told her) . . . but given the echo [echo, echo, echo . . .], I think everyone has moved on to more prolific pastures.

Aside from the dust [hack, hack, wheeze, wheeze] and the spiders [eek!], it feels a little strange to be here.  I stepped away from the blog for a few months because I didn't even have time to urinate or ingest food.  But then while I was on Christmas break, I just couldn't muster up the mental energy necessary to even look at my blog to see if it was still there, let alone write for it.  (Fortunately, Husband was kind enough to let me know nearly every day that it is still indeed there because it's still showing up on our credit card bill every month -- ahem.) 

Now that the new year has started, however, my mental energy feels replenished, but now, of course, I have to reserve whatever wattage my brain operates on for kids, school, work, PTA (STOP snickering), and looking for a job since my internship doesn't guarantee me one at the end because I don't speak Spanish, which is pathetic because I'm Hispanic (okay only half), and it was my father's first language.  (But that German I learned from my step-mother when I was a child?  Yeah, that's been real helpful here in Southern California.  Real helpful.)

What I'd love to do is keep y'all (I'm also half White) entertained with some videos we've taken with our most fabulous Christmas present courtesy of my most thoughtful brother-in-law (if you don't have one, GET ONE -- not the brother-in-law, though he's nice, too, the gadget -- because even the most technologically challenged or just lazy parent can use it).  But alas, I have no fucking idea how to load any of our movies onto this blog (which is why I qualify as both lazy and technologically challenged).  Anyone out there [there, there, there . . . ] have any suggestions?   

Anyone out there??

Too Much Living

Years ago, I heard a story on NPR about a man who was obsessed with writing about his life.  Every day he spent hours upon hours documenting every detail of his days on a manual typewriter.  A wanna-be writer myself, I was jealous of the man's discipline.  That is, until the reporter read some of the writer's work.  Detailed descriptions of breakfast, chosen socks, and the man's dog left me far more bored than jealous.  While the ol' guy had discipline, he didn't have anything interesting to say.  Writing about his life, it seemed, had inhibited his ability to actually live it. 

You may (or may not, as the case may be) have noticed that I haven't been blogging lately.  I have a good reason for that.  I have been living.  I have been living my life to the absolute fullest.  In fact, it so full, if it gets any fuller, I'm going to have to start using meth just to get through it.   

I knew life would be busy and full when my school and practicum work started this fall.  What I didn't know was that I would one day, while in class, receive a call from my children's teachers announcing they were walking out the following morning to protest the school's Board of Directors. 

Aside from sudafed, what other ingredients are necessary for making meth?

As I sat home, trying to figure out what the hell to do with my kids the next day since I was unsure as to whether or not anyone would even be at the school, I received no call, no email, no nothing from the Head of School or the Board -- the Board whose seats are occupied by mommies from one campus of the school, which is not the campus my children attend, and which campus was NOT affected by the walkout.  Unable to maintain the suspense any longer, I finally broke down and called the President of the Mommies, I mean, the Board.

"Hi.  You don't know me, but my children attend the River campus.  Did you know the teachers are staging a walk-out tomorrow?"

"[chuckle, chuckle] Oh, yeah.  I heard about that."

"Well, what do you plan to do about it?"

"Do?"

Need I say more?  Clearly, you can see where this is going. 

In any case, without boring you with the convoluted and mind-numbing details of a long-standing conflict between the Board and the founders of the school, one of whom is a teacher, I had to take the bull by horns or, rather, the bitch by tits, and get our alleged leaders of this piss-ant school to do something about this conflict.  Needless to say, I am not very popular among the Heathers who reside on the Board, but then I've never been popular with Heathers, and by the looks of them, I have a feeling they weren't popular with the Heathers either when they were in high school.  I'll be damned if I'm going to let a bunch of social-climbing nitwits who are too busy trying to make up for their odd-girl-outness in high school to effectively run a Board and make a mess of the school my kids love. 

Bitches.

That's not to say, of course, that only the Board is at fault and the founders/staff are not.  There are always two sides to every story.  But see, the Board is in a position of power to actually do something about this conflict (as is the Head of School, but that's a whole other story), something other than sitting around a t the coffee house on Friday mornings, gossiping. 

Fortunately, my revolution has been somewhat successful.  The President Heather stepped down, and the other Heathers will be replaced by the end of the year with people who have actual expertise to bring to the Board, expertise that goes far beyond that of a yoga instructor or an acupuncturist.  The bad news is that my revolution has made me President of the School's Family Association, which essentially means I'm a PTA mother.    Next thing you know I'll be driving a minivan and wearing Keds.  (My apologies in advance to those of you who own both, but if you knew me personally, you'd know why that was funny.)

In addition to all of that and my school work and my usual practicum hours and raising my kids and trying not to ignore my marriage, I've had several clients, who after only 1 or 2 sessions, have provided endless hours of drama.  For whatever reason, while my cohort at the agency seems only to be assigned to clients with encopresis, the clients I'm assigned to are being abandoned by their parents at the school (as in, "that child is not allowed to return home ever again, so you find a home for him") or are being 5150'd.  The accolades from my supervisor for my handling of these situations has been nice (yes, I'm patting myself on the back -- sometimes a person needs to do that, especially when that person was totally unsure if she was handling the situation correctly whilst in it), but at this point I'm praying I get a client whose worst issue is that he has a little poop in his pants.  I gots lots of experience with poop.

So, that's the story of why I haven't been blogging.  I haven't been blogging because I've been living -- perhaps a little too much. 

The saddest part about not blogging, however, means I also haven't had time to check in with all of you.  I miss you.  How are you?

Blogging Keeps Me Sane

If it wasn't for blogging, I would have thrown my laptop against the wall after reading this article.  But because I blog, I was able to harness that energy and use it, hopefully, for good. 

You decide.

Witness the Power of the Spouse Who Blogs

"So I told the Internet my real name."

"You DID?  Why?"

"Well, 'Motherapist" . . ."

"You mean 'Mo the Rapist.'"

"Whatever.  Anyway it just wasn't working.  And I tried and tried to think of other names. I even asked for help, but nothing stuck."

"You mean, the way 'Mo the Rapist' did?"

"Whatever.  As I was saying, I decided my real name would provide better face credibility."

"I suppose.  But what about the two names I thought up for you?"

"Which two names?"

"'Junginthetrunk.'"

"'Junginthetrunk?'  What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It doesn't mean anything.  But you know how people often mispronounce 'Jung?' If you mispronounce it, it sorta sounds like 'junk in the trunk.'"

"Oh, and that's going to give me face credibility?"

"Well, maybe not face credibility . . ."

"Dude!"

"Then what about 'Baggage Handler?'"

"'Baggage Handler?'"

"Yeah.  Isn't that what you're going to do once you get licensed?  Handle people's 'baggage' all day?"

"This is not helping me.  And stop that laughing!"

"Whaaaat?"

"I'll tell you what: how 'bout I tell the Internet your real name?"

[crickets chirping]

"What would you like for dinner, Honey?"

Coming Out of the Closet

So there's a new post up at PiP, and it looks like "MoTheRapist" has changed her name to "Laura S" (which is NOT a reference to Dr. Laura, who is really a trained physiologist and only has a certificate in Marriage and Family Therapy, which she obtained after doing a week-long seminar or something with one of my professors who told her to go to a real MFT graduate program if she wanted to be a real therapist but who refused to take my professor's advice because she was more interested in fame than really helping people (at least, according to my professor).  And yet my state still gave her a license.  Figures.)

Anyway, so it appears Laura S. is "MoTheRapists's" real name, which means Laura S. is, well, me.  You're shocked, I'm sure.

Now, please understand I was not trying to fool you, my dear readers (and you're all so smart, I couldn't fool you anyway).  Rather, I was trying to gain some distance between MiM and PiP.  See, here at MiM (which is BYOB), I get to reveal my dark, snarky side.  But at PiP (which is not down with OPP), I'm trying to reveal my more professional side. 

Plus, I was trying to lessen the likelihood of those who troll here to troll there.  Why should Mary be exposed to those unhappy under-the-bridge inhabitants just because they can't find anything better to do than graffiti my blog with nasty, yet inane comments? 

So, if you hate me, and yet you're still reading this blog, I suggest a) you find someone else to ridicule to inflate your self-esteem (try the checkout counter at the supermarket; the tabloids are filled with stories about what a horrible mother Britney is), and b) if you absolutely need to satiate your need to ridicule me, just assume the "S" in my name stands for "sucks" and be on your trollie way.

So, now that I've officially outted myself, you, my dear readers, may call me "Laura."  And may I just say how very pleased I am to "meet" you.

You trolls, however, can call me "Rubber" because whatever you say bounces off of me and sticks to you. 

That's all.

In Case You Didn't Hear Me the First Time . . .

You really should go check out Partners in Parenting.  Mary wrote a post you really should read.  And Motherapist followed it up with a little "how to."

(And for those of you who see something other than the words "mother" and "therapist" in "Motherapist," I suggest you seek professional help.)

[Edited to add -- If you think the name is so bad, rather than making fun of it, or talking about how bad it is, why not do something novel, like make a suggestion for something better.  Something related to psychology.  Go on.  Show us how clever you really are!)

Just What the World Needs -- Another Parenting Blog

Actually, this new blog  just might be what the world needs.  It does, after all, have my very wise and good friend, Mary P as one of its contributors.  The other contributor is a gal Mary's partnered with named Motherapist (pronounced "mah-THER-a-pist," I think) who seems to have some decent credentials.  Together they just might be the right team to run this new parenting forum.

So if you have a sec, go check out Partners in Parenting and join the discussion!

I've Been Found Out

Thanks to Detective Caloden.

(If only I could tell people what NOT to wear.)

June Goomah

When Matthew asked me to be the June Goomah over at The Blogfathers, I wasn't sure if I should be flattered or insulted.  Given we don't have HBO and, therfore, no Sopranos, and it's been years since I've even seen a mobster flick, I had to Google the word to find what the hell it is.

According to this source, a goomah is a woman with whom you cheat on your wife or girlfriend.  Or as one man explains it:

"This is the difference between a wife and a goomah," Frankie Boy says. "You're on a ship with your wife and your goomah, the ship's about to sink, and you can only save one. Who do you save? Your wife. Because your goomah, she understands."

Still unsure if I should be insulted or not, or if I should tell Husband about this, I headed directly over to The Blogfathers to see what they mean by goomah, and it turns out it just means bringing in some estrogen once a month to "balance out" the overabundance of testosterone over there.  And since the very talented and very Busy Mom was their very first Goomah, I decided I should definitely be very flattered. 

So go on over and check it out.