February 29, 2012

It's Just 26 Itsy Bitsy, Teensy Tiny Litte Posts....

Dear Diary, wait, I mean, hi friends!  This is a full disclosure of what's coming down the pike on BGOMS.  Solitary Mama roped me into doing the Blogging A-Z Challenge.  Okay, she didn't force me, it was one of those, "hey, I'm going to the bathroom" then I said, "oh, I'll come with you".  Girl thing, we hang in packs in the bathroom, or Triads.  Crazy type things are more fun with friends who tell you, "No, you're not crazy".

Here's the skinny, Starting April One, you blog about something "A" related, whatever inspires you, then everyday in April, sans Sundays, you blog the next consecutive letter in the alphabet until you reach "Z".  It doesn't have to be long or serious or even funny.  Solitary did "W" is for Weasel last year.  That was one of the first posts I ever read of hers, and I've been stalking her ever since.

Last year the blogging A-Z challenge had over 1300 participants!  It's a great way to meet other bloggers and bring new readers to your blog.  And you know I love me some awesome bloggers and my blogging community!  It's a good way to stretch the writing muscles and find your niche.  I am hoping by Z I will be able to compose a grammatically correct sentence, yes lofty goals.

At any rate, I can not promise you that it will be entertaining, although, I'm certain it will be mildly funny.  I've never really taken my blogging seriously, so I wouldn't start now.  And I also promise not to send all those posts through my Triberr stream, because that's just plain irritating.  I will take any suggestions you might have for a letter, because I need some help {I'll link back to you if I blog your suggestion}.  I might lose followers, well more than usual, if I do "P" is for Punching Kittens, or "W" is for waxing {wait, did that}.  Actually the more obscure the better, seems I have a knack for obscurity.

Comment with your suggestions if you have them, or even better join me...unless you're scared.  I'll be there to support you, read and tell you you are not crazy.





Click above to find out more and put your name on the list, don't wait, nobody likes being last.  I'm number 816.

February 26, 2012

Hey Science, Bottle This...


This question will linger unanswered for all eternity: Why does unwanted hair seemingly sprout overnight? Secondly, how do we bottle the mysterious growth hormone within said unwanted hair?  Only on BGOMS do I really tackle these hard hitting questions.  Let me throw a scenario out to you, if I may.  

Day 1:  Getting ready, hair under control, make-up on, teeth brushed, shaved, etc.  Everything looks lovely as usual.  Or as I say, "I can work with this."

Day 2:  Hair...what?  A cluster of gray hairs that weren't there yesterday, uni-brow has made an appearance and a stray hair on the upper lip, or nose or ear (gross, but so I've heard, guess that's more of a dude thing, I pray that is a dude thing).

You know this has happened to you.  OVERNIGHT 12 gray hairs have sprouted and so have your eyebrows, leaving you looking an unruly mess.  This begs the question:

Were these here yesterday?

No, no they weren't.  I have to believe they weren't.  Then you have that inevitable flashback where you think of everything you did the previous day every person you talked to and you didn't even wake up late!  I've never seen just a little spike of gray hair on my head, or half a stray eyebrow.  It's all or nothing in Cari land.  But I do live in a little land otherwise referred to as denial. Maybe I don't see one and my eyesight is failing and the red alert doesn't happen until there is a cluster effect?  I've already asked you people to advise me if there is a uni-brow sighting...{if I've told you once}.

I firmly believe eyebrow, gray hairs, facial hair in any form, leg and underarm hair all contain some phenomenal DNA that includes some type of magical growth hormone.  Could we splice it, bottle it and rub into my hair on top of my head since the terrible decision to get bangs occurred?  Not me, because I learned my lesson after 15 times, but maybe you haven't.

Finding this gene could be pretty darn amazing for cancer patients in need of a wig or regrowth....or the Real Housewives extensions.  I mean Locks of Love would be busy as all get out with people throwing the magic growth serum on their hair then chopping it off every nine inches.

Clearly science needs to get to the bottom of this.  I for one am sick of making emergency waxing appointments.  

What say you readers, does the unwanted hair have the element of surprise, or is it just me?

February 22, 2012

The sooner you accept your kid isn't perfect the better...





El Rant.  Let me tell you friends, I'm sick.  Sick and tired of hearing about OTHER PEOPLE’S ”bad kids" all over the blogosphere lately. Usually the post starts out by explaining an exchange of dialogue, passed along by a 4-10 year old mind you, and how the blogger's kid on the other side of the exchange was an absolute angel in the face of someone calling him/her a poo-poo head.  Whatever.  What chaps me is the blogger feels they have free reign to rail on that child, their behavior and their parents.  After post number three filtered through my reader, I sat down to write this little tirade.  Am I talking to you?  Do you think your child does no wrong but you judge every other child's behavior and parent around you and you feel its okay to trash talk a 5 year old?  Then yes, probably you.

Long ago I when I just had one little neurotypical princess that was as sweet as sweet could be, I scoffed, I judged, I thought, hmmm, I would never allow that behavior as I watched other children and parents around me.  I was lucky to have an easy going kid; I thought I was a great parent.   I'm just being honest.  Then I had number two, and Autism aside, add another to the mix and you go from teaching manners to survival mode and refereeing.  It changes the dynamic more than you know.  Your little princess will not always be priority number one and attention shifts, nothing is balanced or fair.  


“When they discover the center of the universe, a lot of people will be disappointed to discover they are not it.”

- Bernard Bailey


There are no bad kids.  There are bad parents, yes.  There are kids who never get hugged.  There are kids who never hear, "I love you".  There are kids who will not have a proper breakfast, lunch or dinner.  There are kids who are ignored.  There are kids who will never be heard and are spoken to with harsh words.  There are kids who raise themselves.  When a child misbehaves, most often it is for attention.  So hey village, why don't you get off your high horse and help?  Why not become part of the solution instead of ignoring the problem or acting like you're five years old yourself?  {Reference quote above again, please}  Why are we holding these insane expectations that a 5 year old should in any way speak as eloquently as some of these dear bloggers I mentioned?  I say a lot of dumb crap, all the time, I'm not in denial.  But who doesn't?  Of course I should watch my words, but the thought that one ridiculous thing coming out of my mouth would brand me a moron for life; well I might give up blogging, and speaking.  Besides, I think I'm halfway there anyway.


So maybe, just maybe we don't know the whole story.  Who reading this would like to make a judgment about what I go through any given day just based on these few paragraphs here?  My guess is nobody {although I may be wrong}.   My life is no more or less hard than anyone else's; just different.  We make judgments based upon comparisons in our own lives.  Comparisons with in our belief system, our values and lifestyles.  That being said, how could we dare to even judge until facts present themselves to unfold the whole story?

I've already blogged about how devastating a diagnosis of Autism is.  You have to come to terms with the fact that your child may not be, or have the ability to do everything you dream for them.  But they can still do amazing, wonderful, world changing things; you have to shift your perception.  So long ago, I stopped giving a rip about how people stared at me in public when my son had a meltdown, how they judged my emotionless face as I ignore a tantrum, but I do have to finish the grocery shopping.  Sorry shoppers, but I'm a single mom, leaving the cart isn't an option because nobody is going to watch Junior for me later.  That is my reality, and I'm not asking for sympathy, just stating fact.  I have it easier than many, many others and that is also fact. 

I also made a conscious decision long ago not to make "excuses", for lack of a better word, for my son's behavior.  What may seem to others as acting out  or behavior issues, may be because he has no way to communicate that someone walked by with a perfume that he can't handle, or a light is flickering, or the music is too loud or irritating.  If you are looking at me with judgment in your eyes, I won't give in by saying, "oh, he has Autism" to dismiss it.  Don't get me wrong, he can be downright naughty too, it's not always Autism, he's just five.  The only time you'll hear me tell you my son has Autism is if you say something ignorant about how I should spank him on the spot, or you offer some stupid parenting advice you heard on Dr. Phil.   Perhaps I should be telling everyone I know, but the word Autism comes with its own set of judgments. 


My daughter is 7; she is a kind-hearted, sweet, loving, sassy, sasstastic drama queen; oh and sassy.  As great of a kid as she may be, she is no angel. There does come a point in time where we need to take off the rose colored glasses and say, okay my kid can be a brat.  I question the child who doesn't misbehave.  Do I let my kid's run the house and act like it's a free for all I can't control?  Never and never.  I don't allow bad behavior, but it still happens.  We have strict rules, but we also have a lot of fun.  Kids test boundaries, that's how they learn.  My point is that we do what we can, we teach and correct and send them out into the world and pray to God they aren't licking another kid's face {yep, my son} or refusing to paint in art class just because they don't feel like it {my daughter}.  We can't be with them 24/7.  And it isn't the end of the world. 

 When the realization comes that your kid isn't perfect and they might act in public like they act at home; it's hard, I get that.  For the overwhelming majority of your child's life the biggest battle you will face is accepting and nurturing who they really are, and letting go of who you want them to be, or who you might think they already are at the tender age of 5.  My goodness, I wasn't the same person 5 years ago I am today, cut them some slack.


So bloggers, so parents; let's stop writing about how fired up you are about what another 5 year old said to your kid and how your kid is the model of angelic. They are 5.  Are we seriously ranting about what a 5 year old said?  I'm not dismissing obvious threats of abuse or harassment, which is never acceptable.  But if nana-na-boo-boo is ruffling your feathers, knock it off.  Besides, your kid just called my kid a booger-head, but I'm not going to blog about it and I’ll still think you're a good parent.   

I understand it's a parent’s biggest fear to even think their kid might be the bad kid.  But I'm here to tell you, my kid is the bad kid and he can't even help it sometimes; so don't sweat it.  Accept your child, every child for who they are: good, bad, indifferent.  Show them kindness and compassion despite the snake eye you really want to give.  You might be the only person the entire day to take notice of them, and they will always take notice of how you treat them.

Image Detail
Let's just leave the kids out of it.
Our responsibility as human beings is to care for everyone, not see how quickly we can bring others down, how quickly we can widen the divide between "good and bad", or what strategy we can use to one-up each other.  Let the 5 years olds duke it out for themselves, chances are whatever got them so upset in the first place is already forgotten about; maybe we can learn a little from them.  

*My rant on blogging ethically without lying, cheating, falsely accusing, name calling and pre-mediated drama and the like is in my drafts, I don't want to go there, but it's there. Sure, sure mad angry, controversial throw people under the bus type posts get page views {wait}, let's just try to blog more ethically and move on. *


I want to go out on a positive note here.  These are two posts that really inspired me this week. They made me look at life from our child's point of view, and how sometimes our expectations are so outrageous, we just forget they are kids.  Please give them a read, you won't regret it.  Salt In Suburbia: Words Come Second  and Daddy Knows Less: Walk A Mile.

February 19, 2012

What I'm Addicted To Now: Oh Snap, Moo-Moos



Here's my uh, somethingth addition of, What I'm Addicted to Now, yeah there were others.  This one scares me friends, because as with any worth while addiction, it always starts small and grows wildly out of control. A glimpse into my future may go a little something like this: I used to just wear an apron when I cooked, then I wore a smock when I cooked, now I wear a moo-moo to Wal-Mart.  {I don't really wear a smock or moo-moo...yet.}

Here's what got this little post rolling because in typical Cari fashion I pick things to death and over-analyze.  Holla to my over-analytical peeps!  Here's the scoop.  I cook, I kinda love it actually.  I have a few hours to spare on Monday mornings, so I usually make the bulk of our meals for the week, freeze stuff, whatever.  Since I have a kid that eats gluten, dairy and soy free, I cook him a special version of what I make if needed.  {Just a note: Of the two double chocolate cakes made from scratch this weekend, the gluten/dairy free one was far and away better, yeah I don't know how that happened either, but I even did the Pepsi challenge with cake and results were conclusive.}


Last Monday, my son's bus drives up to drop him off and I race out to the end of the driveway, in my apron.  For the record, I was dressed underneath and stuff.  I like the bus driver, we're cool, and so she has no reason to hate on me.  

Then she says, "Are you wearing an apron {kind of smirky-like}?"  Oh, oh, and she giggled at me!  Well obviously lady, why do you feel the need to point it out? 


retro apron AURORA Sleeping Beauty  inspired retro APRON womens full costume aprons in pretty pink polka dots
I WAS NOT wearing an apron like this.
That's kinda smirk worthy.
Half Apron for Women with Amy Butler  and Michael Miller Fabric - Meadowsweet
Cute right? I have 5 similar. Note,
allowing a 7 year old to attempt to
take your picture in an apron is torture.
Just find one on the Internet, c&p. FYI, go
check out this gals site, love.
Let it be known blogosphere, that I am the messiest cook in the Midwest, and I try darn hard not to be, but I spill, splatter, trip, over pour, you name it, the harder I try, the messier it gets.  I've come to terms, thus, I wear an apron.  Spillage onto my clothing is always an issue, so why wouldn't I wear one?  And if I got chicken juice on my shirt, then I'd be grossed out and have to change ASAP.  I'm already a freak with the hand washing, by that I mean I wash my hands a lot; a lot a lot.  So an apron seems logical to me, I'm not trying to be cute, psssh, couldn't be more if I tried.





So now I have a complex.  Am I the only one out there wearing an apron?  Have the grand ol' days of aproning passed?  According to Etsy no, because I could buy 20 hella cute aprons a sitting if I dare go on that site.  I see them everywhere, Bed Bath & Beyond, Target and Wal-Mart.  When my Grandma died, I took the aprons, so I have vintage ones which I still lovingly wear.  I'm hoping some of her awesome cooking skills will transfer osmosis-like via apron.  But I also have cutie cute aprons too.  As mentioned, I might have a slight addiction.  My other Grams wore smocks, which I passed on when she died; but you see, it runs in the family, it's in the genes, I'm afraid.

So if I'm an apron addict, when will enough be enough? Will 20 aprons stuffed in my overflowing kitchen drawer not suffice?  Let me be direct, will I move on to bigger things, literally?  Yeah, that's right, the moo-moo.  I mean we're talking overall coverage with that baby.  I could make 2 pots of spaghetti sauce, go nuts with a chicken and probably make truffles for next Christmas; take it off and my clothes would sparkle.  Is it bad that I see the logic there?  No, no, I also see the hideousness.  As of now, I'd commit myself, but the possibility scares me that when I reach my 60's and the vintage aprons have disintegrated, where will I turn?


In my blogging, uh, research, which involved hours on Etsy; for the blog, and 2 minutes on google, I could go 3 different ways: The housecoat, the moo-moo, or the smock. Oh. My. Lord.  Yes, they still sell all of these.
Snap-Front Duster
The Housecoat

The Smock

Women's Plus Size Moo Moo Dress
Moo Moo, and it's on
sale, $75, what?



I'm taking an informal BGOMS poll to find out if  I'm stuck in 1955 and I should make room for Moo-Moos in my future wardrobe, or if my kid's bus driver is just harassing me.  Not an unlikely scenario either.  Let's also be really honest here, are the sweat pants of today an equivalent to the Moo Moo of yesteryear?  Think it through.


So friends, do you wear an apron?  Do you scoff at the apron?  Are aprons a thing of the past and nobody told me?  Dudes, I know it's only cool to wear some sort of apron with a smart-ass saying when you barbecue, but yes it counts.

February 13, 2012

Five Fake Holidays Better Than Valentine's Day

Before you pronounce me a bitter singleton; I will have you know I have always frowned upon St. Valentine’s Day. I have a sneaking suspicion that Valentine’s Day is a bunch of nonsense invented to boost sales by Hallmark, the floral industry and pharmaceutical companies {anti-depressant pushers…call me}. All the heart jewelry makes me want to choke too, but to each his own diamond incrusted heart pendant {blech}. I am not spewing hate, but rather believe showing love and appreciation 365 instead of one grandiose day. Yes, I am the Mom that puts “I love you” notes in school lunches and pack backs everyday.



So because I am resistant to Cupid’s ridiculous drug laden arrows of money flushery, I have compiled a list of Five Fake Holidays better than Valentine’s Day.



Put A Real Person On the Phone Day:

Can I get an Amen? Please automated lady that barely pronounces my name correctly, I would perhaps just like my account balance without going through number pressing Simon Says, or hearing, “I’m sorry, I didn’t get that”.

Also, most of the time I’m calling Blue Cross Almighty {my nemesis} because they gave me a “WTF code and we don’t cover this statement”. Blue Cross Almighty wants you to give up before they get to option 49, which is speak to a representative. I know I’m going to wait 23.894 minutes to speak to someone real, only to be transferred 7 more times before ultimately being disconnected and never having my question answered; but I don’t need to go through 49 options to know I need to speak to someone who exists.

Gosh darn it; I accidentally pressed #2, Spanish.



Get Out Yo’ Jammies Day:

Just like we shouldn’t celebrate a holiday remembering to tell people we love them, we should also encourage our fellow man to put on a pair of jeans and a clean shirt. Just yesterday a lady was in the store wearing her Rise & Shine rhinestoned jammies and house shoes…oh, it was also 8 degrees. Just because it’s bedazzled does not mean it’s appropriate for public viewing. This just isn’t necessary. I love me a comfy pair of yoga pants, but let’s get real and not let ourselves go here.



My Dog Ate It Day:

Let’s face it, some days you just can’t get it together, or you forgot, OR you wrote it down like me, but then lost your list. We all just need a day when we can say, “You know what…my dog ate it”. {Also a stipulation to the holiday is that you are not required to have a dog}.

That project for work you didn’t quite finish, tattered shreds by Doberman. Missing field trip form? Slobbery puddle via Poodle. Taxes not quite finished? Page 93 and W-2s ingested by Chihuahua.



National Change Your Sheets Day:

Many an adolescent and bachelor fall into the not changing of the sheets slump, or never have, never will area. Dudes, that’s just not right. Perhaps it’s just a crazy quirk of mine, but I love fresh sheets on a bed; preferably with a high thread count. Oh yeah, that’s right, once you “go there” everything else is sandpaper. Worth every cent. Don’t knock it until you try it. Oh, and change your sheets.



Seven Brides for Seven Brothers Day:

Only because it is one of the most ridiculous, hilarious and highly entertaining musicals ever! Not politically correct in any way, and all you Disney haters will loathe it. But if you don’t take your movie watching too seriously and take notes about how it is destroying your daughter’s self-esteem, it’s a classic. My kid’s love it. Is it possible that my son might turn into an Appalachian redneck and kidnap himself a wife? Possibly but unlikely because there aren’t barn raisings, covered wagons and people don’t dance over wells because kids fall into them now-a-days. For your viewing pleasure, the trailer from 1954:



Happy Valentine’s Day!

February 03, 2012

Why Moving Is Like Giving Birth


Moving sucks.  Sure, sure, great benefits after it's all said and done.  That, my friends, is why moving is like giving birth.  You 'forget' about the labor pains when you hold your baby for the first time...and yeah, that's kinda true.  I like to think of that memory loss as a little gift from Jesus because I sure as heck remember how bad kidney stones hurt; and would rather cut off my pinkie toe than go through that again!  But push a watermelon out my vajayjay?  Sure! Sign me up.  {Darn it, Jesus}

So because I'm being harassed to blog, here you go, you'll be wishing I was still unpacking after this non-sense.

You Always Lose Something:

You know it's going to happen, whether it be your favorite shirt, photos, your husband's shot glass collection; if I had a husband anyway, wait...your husband!  I lost him 2 moves ago.  Someday, somewhere down the line you will utter the words, "I must have lost it in the move".  I can only hope the tribe of Zhu Zhu pets did not make it to our new location.

After a baby, you have a lot to lose.  Your sanity, piece of mind, quiet, nice butt, pre-pregnancy figure, spur of the moment anything, oh and of course your soul.  No worries, I'm not a baby hater they are very cute after all.

The Unknown:

Hella stressful birthing babies, moving and preparing for either.  No mater how prepared you think you are, your water will break in the grocery store and it will snow 7 inches on moving day.  Guaranteed.

Shut Up And Rub My Back:

I can't speak to everyone's experience here, but when I'm giving birth for eleventy hundred hours {or four}, I just want everyone to shut up and rub my back.  Don't talk to me, don't cheer me on, and actually don't even breathe in my general direction.

Likewise, I could give a flying fig about what is going on during the moving process.  I don't care what your Nana said to you, about your shiny new engagement ring or your promotion...pick-up a box and don't talk to me until the truck is empty.  Yes, I am that charming.

Are You Excited?

No, not in the least.  Huh, of course I am!  The kid is using my bladder as a trampoline, I haven't slept in 3 months, and I feel a certain connection with the good year blimp.  Am I ready?  Goodness, I'll just keep her in there until she's fifteen.

Same song and dance and obligatory conversation piece when it comes to moving.  "Do you love it" or "are you excited"?  Sure.  As soon as the boxes are unpacked and I can find my hairbrush and spatula; all will be right with the world.  I'm pretty excited about the sleeping arrangements too, as I can't find the tools to assemble my bed.  Party time.


I'm Never Doing That Again:

Yeah, you've said it.  Kids.  Moving.  Yep.

The end.

I haven't forsaken you, dear readers.  Sorry I haven't visited your blogs, answered your phone calls or emails, ignored your texts and have only briefly scanned Facebook twice in five days.  I assure you I am not dead, but may have just narrowly escaped.

{Missed all you dear people, glad to be back}