Don't Quote The Raven


People Who Don't Get A Vote

via pinterest

Childless people on planes who want to complain about children flying. Look. I had this conversation with a friend of mine yesterday who was flying home to California from Virginia. She was texting me about this devil child who was behind her and kicking the back of her chair. She also took this to Facebook and added that "parents need to control their children" while on an airplane.

Some agreed and some chimed in with "don't judge until you are in that situation" and then it turned into a gooblygook of "I'm right no I'm right no you don't have kids so shut up etc etc etc." 

Alright. In my never to be humble opinion, here it is: a child kicking the back of someone else's chair isn't a "you don't get to vote because you aren't a parent and you've never been there" issue. It's a human decency issue. And everyone gets a vote on that. Those with or without children do not deserve to be subjected to such rudeness and absolutely have the right to voice their displeasure. 

More simply, a child kicking the back of someone else's chair is a "shitty horrible no good very bad parent" issue. I would never dream of allowing my child to kick the back of someone else's chair, on a plane or elsewhere. And if they did, I would be the first to reprimand my child and apologize profusely to the person in front of us, as well as make dang sure it didn't happen again.

But after that? After us parents do our parental duties and our children still cry and scream like mad? No, then you do not get a vote. Case in point: I was on a plane with my then 18 mo. old, just the two of us, flying home from Hawaii. He was sitting on my lap as he was only a year a half old. I didn't purchase an extra seat for him because it was the first time flying alone with my child and without my husband and everyone had told me not to purchase an entire extra ticket for a kid under two. The majority just sit them on their lap so that's what I did.

And within five minutes, he was freaking out and starting to kick the back of the chair in front of him. He was tired and exhausted and unhappy and I was mortified. Like I said earlier, I wouldn't dare let my child continue to kick the chair in front of him so I held his legs down in-between mine, which then made him flap his arms around wildly and just about strike the woman sitting to our immediate left. I had no choice but to get my child in a straight jacket hold in which his arms and legs were being held down by me. We were taking off, so I couldn't get up and walk around or head to our heaven on earth aka the lavatory. 

As you can imagine, as I had him held down in my lap, as to constrict him from kicking and hitting the people/chairs around him, the only thing left he could do was vocalize his frustration. Loudly. And I tried it all...bouncing, rocking, offering food, milk, want to watch a movie? anything and everything, but for about a good fifteen minutes, my child could be heard in the cockpit. He was unhappy and I was completely embarrassed. Trust me, when our children are acting up on airplanes, us parents (or at least the majority of us) are dying inside and are so consumed and stressed out not only with our screaming child, but with what everyone else is thinking. We know you all hate us and it's a terrible feeling.

After the fasten seatbelt sign dinged off, I stood up and starting to make my way to the back of the plane to the bathroom. About halfway there, an older (and I assume childless) gentleman grabbed me by the arm as I was passing and sternly said, "can you make that baby be quiet?!"

I would have said something. I would have yanked my arm away and cursed at him something like "mind your own f*cking business" but like I said earlier, I was already so embarrassed and stressed and if I opened my mouth and even tried to utter a word, tears would burst from my eyes and I would be more of a mess than I already was. So I just said nothing, held back the tears and hid away in the teeny tiny airplane bathroom until someone knocked on the door telling me to go back to my seat (where it all started over again).

That plane ride still goes down as one of the worst experiences of my life even six years later. But you know what else I remember just as vividly? I remember two women in particular who reached out to me on that flight and offered their help. And even though there wasn't anything they could really do to help (got any duct tape?), it was their compassion and understanding that meant the most. And every time I've flown since, I have always felt empathy towards other mothers who have screaming kids on the plane. 

So in conclusion, no, if you don't have kids and no one is kicking the back of your chair, you most definitely do not get a vote. Zip. (Sorry that one was kind of long. I'll try and keep the rest short and sweet.)

Criminals. Particularly, cold-blooded killers and those who hurt children. (I personally believe people who hurt children should be killed on the spot - slowly - however that is neither here nor there.) Criminals like this here particular feller who wrote a letter describing the horrific conditions his prison produced. He actually said out loud the words "my every human right is being violated." 

Which wouldn't be so funny if the person spewing such nonsense hadn't murdered two innocent girls. Your human rights?! don't deserve any human rights and you definitely don't get a vote. Bye.

Women who have had multiple husbands. And then try and give marriage advice. Ha.

Non Apple users who bash Apple products. I have to assume it is because either a) you can't afford Apple products or b) you are too stupid to figure them out. 

People who don't tip their waiter. Look. If you don't tip your waiter, you're an asshole, and basically suck at life so for you, no voting privileges. Ever.

Happy Tuesday friends.


No Treats, Just Tricks (Hopefully)

Happy Halloween from the Smith family. We carved those pumpkins approx. one week ago and their transformation best represents our family dynamic. (Rob is the moldy smooshy corrugated one in case you were wondering.)

It's Halloween! I love Halloween. Some of my best memories are from past Halloween parties (like this one) and I'm sure tonight's will be no different. Of course, we're taking the kids out to trick-or-treat this evening and then after that, it's mommy and daddy party time.

Side note: I love to party. I'm 33 and I love it just as much now as I did when I was 13 I mean 23. And I'm strangely completely 1000% not ashamed by this. In fact, I think it makes me even more f*cking awesome than I already am. End side note.

I wonder how many stuffy people will take to Facebook and complain about all the costume ideas that makes them omg so offended. Because you know, evah-ree-thang has to be a huge issue and a lot of people don't feel important in life unless they can loudly declare how something offends them so.

You know, that and bitching about how many kids are dressed as Elsa this year.

Pssh. I'll just be over here with my smooshed family and nonjudgmental friends having a blast. 

DGAF! (That's my version of TGIF.)

Happy Halloween friends.


Word Stew

"step inside my office" he says.

All I gotta say, is of course that hoe is a ginger. But of course.

So it's Halloween week and starting last Monday, I had been telling my kids every single morning "only four more sleeps 'til you get to wear your Halloween costume to school!" because I remember being so excited to wake up and wear my costume to school when I was a kid. Turns out things are a little different these days, and schools apparently don't let kids wear their costumes to school for political reasons or some bananas. 

Ok so my kids attend a private Christian school so I get it. At least they still say "under God" when saying the Pledge of Allegiance and use old-school words like "Indians" when explaining the meaning behind Thanksgiving. I think when my kids do attend public school (still not sure I can get behind that idea...I loathe public school for so many reasons) I'm going to tell them it's absolutely acceptable to yell out "under God!" when the phrase arrises. They may be a few beats behind at the finish but at least they won't be politically correct atheist robots.

And yes, I do make my kids play outside. I force them to play outside. They don't have a choice in the matter. And yes, I have locked the doors before so they couldn't get back in for a while. Why? Because they are kids. And boys. And they have mass amounts of energy they need to get out and I believe kids need to get wet dirty and exhausted before the end of each day.

I mean, Colt has built himself an entire "playhouse/office" out in the bushes. He can stay out there for hours and all I gotta do is walk out onto the deck and yell "Colt?" every now and then and see his little head pop up with a "yes?" and go back inside and read or clean or binge watch Dr. Phil for a bit until I do it again. 

They are kids. The shouldn't be allowed back in the house until it's so dark they can't see their hand in front of them. I am very very old-school when it comes to raising my boys. They don't have any video games, no xboxes or handheld devices or anything electronic and I limit their TV and movie watching. It's the funniest thing...when you turn off the TV and leave them to their own devices, they will ratch on and on about how booooooooooooooored they are but after a while, being bored gets really boring and they find something constructive to do. 

I'm old-school in the fact that my kids will respect authority, no matter who is in charge. They go to a friend's house with completely different rules? They will follow them. They don't like the grumpy old man at the grocery store who gets in their face and tells them to calm down and respect their mother? Too damn bad and high five gramps! I have zero problems with other adults and even strangers speaking sternly to my children if it's warranted. None. Don't like it? Behave.

One of my kids are sitting in the only remaining chair and an adult walks in? Get your ass up. Two adults are talking? Don't you dare interrupt. You disobey an order? Whack.

My kids are not special little snowflakes, and I would never treat them that way. I love my kids too much to not prepare them accordingly for the real world. And I've said it before and I'll say it again...even if we had millions, none of it would go to our kids. You want it? You go out and work for it.

Oh, and it hurts my feelings zero when they say I'm "mean" or that they wish they had another mom. I can't even believe some of the times I have heard a parent say it "hurts their feelings" when their child says something of that nature to them. Are you kidding me? We have weak children running around because there are too many weak parents. 

Anyway. After that little rant.

This mom needs to find something better to do with her time. If she doesn't like the little slut clothes available for her daughter, don't buy them! Geezus. Does everything have to be made into a huge issue?!

And these parents should be locking their child up and throwing away the key, not suing the school for 3 million. That or just kick him out of the house. He's 17. Please. Just another example of weak parenting and placing the blame elsewhere.

Finally, she is what is wrong with the world today.

And yes I read the Daily Mail for all my news information. 

Have a good day.


I'm Artistic.

^^my losing pumpkin^^
^^a finalist...whatevs^^

So I think I'm pretty artistic. I know you aren't supposed to vocalize impressive traits you think you possess (like for example: no one who is really funny declares how funny they are...'cause if you do, you ain't) but some things can't be denied and in all seriousness I'm one artistic individual. I am.

So when I heard my sister's bar was having a pumpkin painting contest, I knew I'd win. I mean, I just knew it. How could I not? I'm artistic. People are jealous of how artistic I am. People are less than when it comes to artistic ability compared to me. I'm the best. I'm the winner. I'm freaking artistic for crying out loud. Artistic.

I even invited all my friends to come paint pumpkins. Ok so only one of my friends came. And my mom. And my sister...who owns the bar so she doesn't really count as a guest I guess. But I invited them all so they could see how artistic I was and be all impressed. I even got there extra early to pick out a good table and had three circular plump pumpkins ready and waiting for when everyone arrived.

We ordered a pizza, had a beer, gossiped a bit and got started on our paintings. I was so pumped we all were, together, in a room and I was sure all eyes would be on me. Because hello, I was the most artistic of the bunch. 

I had the best idea. I was going to paint a black raven with the word "free" written in white in the middle. In cursive, no less. So amazing. So imaginative. So freakin' artistic. 

I looked over to my right and saw my mom going at it with some Ernest Hemingway nonsense. Now, I would never discount my mother's artistic ability. She reigns supreme in our family and I can only hope to be as good as her one day (probably won't happen) but still, her pumpkin was all words and no pictures, and we all know if there are no pictures, it totally doesn't count. 

Then I looked across the table at my friend Rachelle and she was painting her pumpkin...a strawberry. Pssshht. A strawberry. No competition there. A freakin' strawberry.

Then my black paint didn't dry as quickly as I thought it would. Then my white lettering smeared into the black paint. Then my genius idea didn't go as planned and I got mad really mad and added an expletive to my pumpkin painting masterpiece. 

Fine. I might not get first place but I could possibly get second, third if someone came along and painted the Mona Lisa. Still, down but not out. 

Until some cute little old lady walked by our table and eyed the strawberry pumpkin. And then...and then....she offered to pay Rachelle twenty dollars for it. For her strawberry pumpkin. Her measly little strawf*ckingberry pumpkin. Like it was some masterful work of art or something. Like I wasn't the artistic one at the table. Like my pumpkin wasn't Edgar Allan Poe worthy. Like I was a drunk nobody sitting in the corner eating too many cheesy twists from Round Table and my pumpkin might as well be pie meat.

She must have had some freaky strawberry fetish or something. It's the only thing that remotely makes any sense.

And as if that weren't bad enough, after I bitched and moaned and cried about Rachelle's pumpkin being the center of attention, my mom turned to me, straight faced, eye to eye, and said, "it doesn't matter anyway Raven. You wouldn't win the contest. Yours isn't that good."

Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuze me?!

"No one wants to look at profanity," mom said. "It isn't pleasant."

And then I had no words.

Because artistic.