tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1433185583551433882024-03-28T05:14:01.042-07:00DON'T QUOTE THE RAVENRavenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06484566171145256075noreply@blogger.comBlogger105125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143318558355143388.post-61968067826694441952019-04-08T13:25:00.002-07:002019-04-08T14:25:10.260-07:00The Day I Quit Drinking<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Sitting on the beach in Hawaii on January 5th, 2019, I had a drink that was the beginning of the end of my drinking career. I can't say exactly how or why I knew for sure that it was going to be that way, but like I've heard others say before me — once you're ready, you just know it.</div>
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I was ready.</div>
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Nothing super terrible happened to make me stop drinking. It wasn't a near-death experience nor a midnight hospital visit. It <i>was</i>, however, a lot of little things that very well could have turned into a near-death experience and very easily could have put me in the hospital. How I escaped those situations? To that, I can only say Thank you God.</div>
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To fully grasp how much I was drinking, let me put it this way: I hadn't gone more than two days in a row without drinking since my eight year old son was born. And those two days in a row were sparse — they didn't happen often and I could count the times they did occur on one hand. They almost always only happened if I had such a severe hangover that I literally couldn't stomach taking a drop of alcohol because I was busy doing other things (fellow hangover veterans know what "other things" I'm referring to).</div>
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Oh, and my drink of choice? Vodka. The hard stuff. And more often than not, I was drinking half a fifth a day. <i>Every single day</i>. </div>
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Sometimes, near the end, I would drink a smidge over half. I <i>always</i> measured how much I was drinking. It was a way for me to try and "regulate" and keep track of how much I was drinking. Because I wasn't drinking this much on just the weekends, or a night out with friends...it wasn't occasional and it wasn't random. It was part of my every day, and of course, I had responsibilities every day so in order to ease my guilt, I did everything in my power to make how much I was drinking seem "ok."</div>
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However, my drinking career didn't start only eight years ago. Yes, it had escalated to the point of drinking half a fifth a day for the most recent part of the past eight years, but I started drinking alcohol my senior year of high school, which puts me at just over two entire decades of heavy drinking. (I do want to add that I did stop completely drinking the two times I was pregnant. For me, it wasn't even a question, as I always knew I wanted to be a mom and it just wasn't an option to drink while pregnant. As much as I held onto my desire and willpower to justify my daily drinking, that desire and willpower was just as strong when it came to protecting my babies.)</div>
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Sounds extreme, I know. It was. It <i>is</i>. But would it surprise you if I said that almost no one knew I was drinking that much? That outwardly, it seemed like I was going about life in a normal way? My tolerance had worked its way up to me being able to drink that much, and I thought I was handling it just fine. I read stories to my kids every night, I got up in the morning and got them breakfast, drove them to school and got them there on time every day. I never called in sick to work because of my previous night of drinking. See, I had a routine. A "habit." I had a fool proof plan that worked for me so well, I thought I was making it all work seamlessly — doing life, taking care of my responsibilities, being a good mom and wife and all while enjoying my daily adult beverages that I told myself I didn't "have" to have but rather "chose" to have.</div>
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And I don't know about you, but when I woke up every single morning, mad at myself <i>once again</i> that I drank way too much the night before and promising myself at 3 a.m. that I was not going to drink the next day, yet always ended up pouring myself a drink right at 4 p.m. on the dot...I started to wonder, <i>am I really choosing this or is it choosing me?</i></div>
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And I had my qualifiers that I had to do every day in order to feel at ease with my alcohol intake. There were things I made myself do daily in order to justify my drinking. Those included drinking tons and tons of water during the day, because if I nourished my body with tons of water <i>before</i> I injected poison into it, well at least I was staying a bit ahead of the game, right? I made sure I worked out consistently, because at least if I'm working out, I won't gain an <i>insane</i> amount of weight from the 800 calories I was drinking nightly, right? I knew that alcohol causes premature aging and *gasp wrinkles, so I spent my money on the expensive face creams that promised to diminish signs of aging, and that had to keep the negative physical effects of alcohol at bay, right? I only drank after 4 p.m., no earlier, because if I wasn't drinking at lunchtime, I surely didn't have a problem like <i>those</i> kind of people, right? I made sure I read my kids books every single night before I put them to bed, because if my drinking wasn't interfering with my parenting, then it couldn't be <i>that</i> bad, right? (Spoiler alert: it was <i>totally</i> interfering with my parenting.) I made sure the house was clean and tidy most days, because if I wasn't living in a pigsty, then I could tell myself the amount of alcohol I was drinking wasn't intruding on me making my house a home. I did so many things to combat my drinking because I had to ease the anxiety I had from my drinking.</div>
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Oh yeah, the anxiety. I've struggled with anxiety as far back as I can remember. I've written about it many times, including <a href="http://www.dontquotetheraven.com/2012/11/if-youre-crazy-and-you-know-it-shake.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">here</span></a>, and the funny thing is, I started having anxiety issues right about the time I started drinking. And I absolutely, positively drank to "help" with my anxiety. I could feel my nerves buzzing and working their way up towards my head and the only thing that worked was drinking them back down with vodka. </div>
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Except, I can tell you that it didn't work at all. It never works. </div>
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And it wasn't interfering with my life, right? I mean, I had all these things I did to ensure that I could have my nightly cocktails. I stayed on top of things, I kept up on my responsibilities, I volunteered at my kids' school and I always went to our family doctor in order to make sure I wasn't destroying my liver. I'm not kidding, I would go see our family doctor a few times a year, mainly because I always thought I was dying of cancer. It sounds silly, but I legit would have those thoughts, and with my constant anxiety, it was all I could think about. Of course, I only had those thoughts because I knew a) that alcohol can cause cancer and b) that the amount of alcohol I was drinking was very, <i>very</i> unhealthy. </div>
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Side note: I never once thought that the amount of alcohol I was drinking was not unhealthy. I knew it was, and that is why I did all my "things" to help justify it. But I also believed that it was making me happy, that it was making me fun. I wanted to hold onto my vodka so tightly that I made every excuse in the book.</div>
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So for me, going to the doctor was another way to condone my continued drinking. I had headaches constantly, and thought I had brain cancer. I went to the doctor and had a brain scan done, no cancer. Then I swore my throat was feeling unusually sore, so I went to the doctor and had a throat scan, no cancer. Then I was absolutely positive that I had breast cancer (reading the stats on alcohol and breast cancer in women scared me, as it should) so I went to the doctor and had a breast scan. No breast cancer. And I kid you not, a few months ago I was positive I had stomach cancer. I mean, I was drinking nightly, I knew all that vodka was just sitting in my stomach, how could it possibly not be eating away at my insides and causing a terminal illness?</div>
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I can clearly see now that I was just working my way down my body, scan by scan, to relieve my constant worry and anxiety that what I was doing to myself daily was slowly but surely doing irreparable damage. I was in constant turmoil with my mind and my desire to drink — and then my subsequent shame and regret over how much I <i>had</i> drank — that it was causing physical and mental issues to arise. I can totally remember how relieved I felt whenever the nurse would call and give me the "all clear" results on my liver test (I would always specifically ask for them to test it) and how I would let out a big sigh of relief and then pour an extra strong drink, because I hadn't destroyed my health yet! Cheers!</div>
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Did I also mention we had private insurance? Our deductible was insanely high so almost all these procedures I insisted on having done were paid out of pocket. Did it cause financial stress? Absolutely. But it was something I told myself I had to do in order to feel at ease. Because God forbid I give up the one thing that was <i>causing</i> all my problems (mental, physical or otherwise).</div>
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Drinking made me happy, no way would I give it up.</div>
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Besides, it wasn't interfering with my life, right? I'm a reader, I love to read. I can't tell you how many times I would pick up my book in the morning and have to re-read multiple chapters, because I didn't remember anything I had read the night before. Or I would start to watch a TV show that I had recorded, with a vague memory of having watched it before, but not being entirely sure. "Not remembering things" was a common occurrence during my drinking days.</div>
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Don't laugh, but I love Britney Spears. I grew up with her, listening to her on the radio, and hearing her songs brings me back to good memories from my childhood. So when a friend and I decided to go to Las Vegas and see her perform during her first year of residency, I was beyond excited. Number one, I have always loved Vegas — mainly for the party atmosphere — and on top of that, I get to see my <i>idol</i> perform?! </div>
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When we first looked up tickets to her concert, I knew that nothing would be good enough unless we were up front and close, and I meant the very front row. We paid big bucks to get those premium tickets, and I was so insanely excited on the night of the concert. </div>
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Both my friend and I liked to drink, and we joked with each other before the concert that we were <i>not</i> going to get too drunk to enjoy her show, and I really had that intention. Why would I knowingly drink myself into oblivion before her show and not consciously enjoy it? This was a once in a lifetime opportunity (seriously, I really, really like really love Britney) and I was not going to "not remember" this one.</div>
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But that's exactly what happened. At the time, I thought I was being a "responsible drinker" and was controlling myself just enough that I had a fun buzz going but would still be able to enjoy the concert. After all, I'd traveled to Vegas to see her perform, had spent a few hundred dollars to be able to see her up close and I had been anticipating this moment for so long.</div>
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I remember almost nothing of that Britney Spears concert. </div>
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That experience is just one of <i>many</i> that I've missed out on due to my drinking. Another time, my husband and I went on an all-expense paid trip to the Dominican Republic. The beach is my thing. It's where I find clarity, rest and peace. The beach in the Dominican Republic was gorgeous: all white sand, teal blue water...I remember being so excited to go on this vacation and experience a different part of the world. I knew I would have cocktails while there, but I thought I would be able to have some drinks and thoroughly enjoy myself. I <i>always</i> thought I would be able to have just a few drinks and thoroughly enjoy myself, yet, that rarely ended up happening. </div>
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I remember bits and pieces from our trip, but the thing I remember the most is one particular night, after drinking all night at a club, my husband and I went back to our room and got into a major fight. (That tends to happen with couples who frequently over-drink, so I've heard.) I'm not exactly sure how it all transpired, but I do know there was yelling and things got heated and a glass was thrown against a wall and shattered in pieces. I remember running out of the room barefoot, well past midnight, up to the concierge and in-between inconsolable sobs, said I needed my own room for the night, as I couldn't sleep in the one I had with my husband. (Now I'm not blaming my husband in this fight at all, I am sure it was 50/50 responsibility. I know how I get when I drink too much and it isn't pretty. That's also a downside with drinking too much...you can't even remember whose fault it is!)</div>
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That room I had to have immediately cost $700 for the approx. six hours I used it to get some sleep, i.e. pass out. (Another thing I've learned in two decades of drinking, is it can get really, really expensive. And after it's all said and done, you've got nothing to show for it!) The next morning, my husband and I said our apologies like we always did, went on with our day, laid at the beach, went out to dinner and then had more cocktails because that's just what we did. </div>
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Of course, no one knew that is what happened. If you looked at my social media feed from that time, I posted photo after photo of beautiful sand beaches, swim-up bars and smiling photos of myself in the pool with a cocktail in hand. That's what alcohol would do to me...I'd hide the shameful parts and pretend I had a <i>great</i> time.</div>
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To this day, I look back on that vacation as one of the worst times of my life.</div>
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So you see, I have a lot of making up to do. I'm not saying the past two decades of my life weren't enjoyable, not at all: I have <i>so many</i> amazing wonderful memories and so many incredible things have happened in my life since then, but at the same time, so have many negative, detrimental and crummy things. I think I'd like to try and see what the next decade can hold without my trusty little sidekick.</div>
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That sidekick kinda sucked at his job, anyway.</div>
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And besides, there are so many amazing things you can do when you give up alcohol. You can buy nice sunglasses again, and not just the cheap drug store ones, which you always bought because you knew you would end up losing them in the river. You can feel happy when you look at yourself in the mirror in the morning, and not feel regretful when you see a blotchy, bloated face looking back at you. You can actually yes <i>finally</i> fit into those skinny jeans you've kept hanging in your closet all those years "just in case."</div>
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But you can also do so much more than just feel good about your physical appearance and ability to keep track of expensive purchases. You can know, like <i>really</i> know, that you are doing everything in your power to be the best wife you can. You can rest assured at night that when you tuck your kids into bed, they won't smell alcohol on your breath. You can know and feel deep in your soul that yes, you really, truly are happy, and none of that happiness is due to alcohol, thank you very much.</div>
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Oh, and waking up without a hangover is pretty much the best thing ever.</div>
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So here I am saying goodbye to something that had become as common in my life as toothpaste. I can't say for certainty that I will never drink again, but I can say that I'm feeling pretty good about my decision to not drink right now.</div>
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I had one of my last drinks on January 5th, 2019 on a beach in Hawaii. It was splendid, it was momentous, it was time. </div>
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It was a well deserved end to an era. </div>
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Ravenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06484566171145256075noreply@blogger.com242tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143318558355143388.post-73154133297434204602018-09-03T20:59:00.001-07:002018-09-03T20:59:37.312-07:00Parenting Advice I Do Not And Will Not Follow<div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">A child! On a boat! Without a life jacket! CALL THE AUTHORITIES! </span></i></div>
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Well meaning people always like to give parenting advice. The <i>most</i> well meaning ones are usually those who don't have any children. Thems the ones I like to refer to as "shut the f*#k uppers."<br />
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Still, even those with fifteen kids want to tell you how to raise yours. As if they would know. I'd like to walk up to one of thems and say, "quick, tell me the names of all your kids, first and middle, hurry hurry you only have 60 seconds!" Yeah take that Mrs. Dugger.<br />
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Anyway, what I'm basically saying is just about everyone has some kind of parenting advice they want to dole out. Young, old, left, right, Earth-dwelling or space alien. Everyone's got a dang opinion!<br />
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And now, ahem, I'm going to dispense mine.<br />
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Or rather, I'm going to rebut some of the most God-awful, nonsensical, incredibly laughable "parenting advice" I've ever heard in my life.<br />
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<b>- The viral Facebook post</b> making the rounds telling all mothers alike that "Yelling Is Not An Effective Means of Parenting." There are more than a few of these types of articles, but all essentially say the same thing, which is that yelling is ineffective and potentially harmful to your childs wittle psychy and it's much more effective to get down on their level, and in a soft and respectful manner let them know what the issue is.<br />
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Let them know what the issue is!?!?! I'VE BEEN YELLING AT THEM FOR THE PAST TWO HOURS TELLING THEM WHAT THE ISSUE IS! THAT'S WHY I'M YELLING! BECAUSE THEY AREN'T GETTING IT!<br />
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Listen. I've tried the "get down on their level and talk quietly in a polite manner" gig, and coming from a mom of two boys, it don't work. It don't even <i>almost</i> work. I've had more luck with running my garbage can to the opposite side of the road in the morning when I forgot to put it out the night before, in hopes that the garbage man would pick it up on his way back down the street. Half the time, he passes right on by with an <i>"ain't my stop chump be more prepared next month"</i> but sometimes when he's having a particularly good day he stops and empties the trash. THAT RIGHT THERE gives me more hope for humanity than "getting down on my childs level and patiently explaining to him why whacking his brother in the face with a snow shovel" is a bad idea.<br />
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ARE YOU KIDDING ME??!<br />
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Not only that, but have you ever been blantanly ignored? Imagine you are standing in the middle of a packed grocery store, and have a very pressing question...like, where to find the chickpeas. Imagine asking in a quiet and respectful voice to every person that walks by where you can find the chickpeas. Now imagine that every single person you ask not only ignores you completely, but acts like you don't even exist. They don't even give you a courteous glance in your general direction before they ignore you.<br />
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THAT is what "getting down on their level and talking in a quiet and polite manner" is like as a parent.<br />
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Another popular article discouraged the yelling method by stating that "yelling at your kids triggers a fight-or-flight response in their brain."<br />
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Shoot I sure hope so! I ain't yelling at him to come and get some freshly baked cookies, I'm yelling at him to STOP STAPLING YOUR BROTHERS EYEBROWS TOGETHER! When I'm THAT angry, he best be running in the direction opposite, far far away from my wrath, leaving behind hundreds of unused staples in his wake.</div>
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The ones who say <i>"yelling is ineffective! Don't yell at your kids! It's unkind!"</i> and such forth rubbish should have to come over and babysit mine for two hours. You'll be singing a different tune, let me tell you what.<br />
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Yelling serves many purposes, the least of which is that it makes me instantly feel better. And I'm hard pressed to feel like I'm alone in this thinking.<br />
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Mothers unite.</div>
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<b>- Just say no to screen time in cars. </b>I'm pretty new to this advice, although it's been more and more frequently unsolicitedly given in my direction. Why? No clue. I assume because it's unsolicited parenting advice and that's just what people like to do, nonetheless, it's come up quite a few times recently.<br />
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Now, I've made no secret of the fact that I think <a href="http://www.dontquotetheraven.com/2017/03/the-case-against-electronics-for-kids.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">severely limited screen time is what is best for kids</span></a> (see, there I go, giving my unsolicited parenting advice out again) but I truly believe it's so (and many, many, <i>many</i> studies prove it's true), but we aren't talking about screen time in general, no no, we are here to discuss screen time in moving vehicles. Aka cars, which is something most of us parents have to operate quite frequently in order to transport our children to their much needed destinations.<br />
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Which brings me to a subject so painful to bring up I almost want to bypass it completely but in the spirit of #motherhood, I must press on.<br />
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Here it is...<br />
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<b><i>Car fighting.</i></b><br />
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There is nothing, let me repeat NOTHING more aggravating on this earth than car fighting. This is when you are in a confined space — and strapped in no less! — with your children and they are fighting and yelling. You can't very well turn around and give them the appropriate substantial punishment, because you are driving and need to keep your eyes on the road (although I will admit I've been tempted a time or two during the worst of the car fighting to just drive my car straight off a cliff) but you do need to do something — anything! in order to keep your sanity. I've probably done irreparable damage to my car a time or two from shoving the lever into brake mode while going 40 MPH, just so I can properly turn around in my seat and YELL AT THEM TO STOP FIGHTING!<br />
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This is where the uninvited, undesired parenting advice comes in. <i>"Don't have your kids watch movies in the car, it's bad enough that they spend too much time on electronics at home. Spend that precious time you have with them talking to them, getting to know them and understanding their deepest utmost feelings and desires."</i></div>
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Fellow moms, all at once now...HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.<br />
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ha. good one.<br />
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What those that don't know, don't know...is that all kids in a car, left to their own devices, will ultimately try and have a ninja competition. Don't matter that they are strapped in with seatbelts and don't matter that they have a peripheral area of two feet by two feet...it <i>does.not.matter.</i><br />
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They will continue to kick and hit and throw — don't leave out kicking the back of your chair violently — until you either a) skid like the 2005 Ice Capades Olympics onto the shoulder of the highway and do something you might highly regret or b) calmly and assuredly pop in a Pixar animation DVD and let them veg out to mind-numbing nothingness while you continue on living and breathing a not-wanting-to-drive-off-a-cliff civilized life.</div>
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Car fighting. I'm telling you what, will be the death of us mothers. But screen time in cars just might give us a few extra lifelines, and I'll gladly take 'em.</div>
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<b>- Don't fight with your spouse in front of your kids.</b> Thems say if you fight in front of your children, they will become scarred for life and will grow up and live tortured soulless lives. I say mind your own and come speak to me when you and your significant other are perfect specimens.<br />
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But in all honestly, what reasonably in love couple <i>never</i> fight in front of their children?! If a couple never fights in front of their children, are they even a couple? A human? Alive?! I understand and completely agree that throwing dishes at each other in the midst of an argument isn't ideal in raising well balanced children, but come on...a little brawl here and there won't damage them for life, it might even help them see how two people in love can have a disagreement, make up and get on with life.<br />
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It can even help in serving them a few life lessons, such as if he asks me where his dinner is as I'm simultaneously attempting to pull it out of the oven, he will hear my unpolished and vulgar opinion of exactly where his current dinner is. Momma may be sweet but she ain't no patsy, and my kids need to see that side of me.<br />
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We can't all save our fights for private time because if all we did in our private time was fight, children would cease to exist.<br />
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So yes, my husband and I occasionally fight in front of our children. I mean, they fight in front of us all the time, so it only seems fair.<br />
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<b>- Don't spank your kids, it's abusive.</b> I'm not even going to give an opinion on this one, because I couldn't care less either way. The only reason I don't spank my kids is because it hurts my hand more than it hurts their butt.<br />
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Besides, as we have already established, I prefer yelling.<br />
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Ravenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06484566171145256075noreply@blogger.com90tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143318558355143388.post-45225635451464525952018-08-26T20:45:00.001-07:002018-08-26T20:45:42.544-07:00Why I Vow To Never Again Take Another Selfie.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3OHFtpdn57HOYkiAJUHuXDr9epLFQnzdlz-w1IQIhQp-f1ZxB9zAAn8JLDVdN8__JShITl3QxzAQnLSQqYz28_eriG8PLUANUQv3IyBffYyQ-SdJ4w7-25J9SnWhN-Hr_Br0EVkChFQ/s1600/14322345_10207182414059098_8983037378232711394_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="768" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3OHFtpdn57HOYkiAJUHuXDr9epLFQnzdlz-w1IQIhQp-f1ZxB9zAAn8JLDVdN8__JShITl3QxzAQnLSQqYz28_eriG8PLUANUQv3IyBffYyQ-SdJ4w7-25J9SnWhN-Hr_Br0EVkChFQ/s640/14322345_10207182414059098_8983037378232711394_n.jpg" width="512" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">One of the many selfies I've posted in the past. </span></i><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">RIP. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">P.S. You look absolutely and utterly ridiculous.</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">*I apologize in advance for the overuse of the words "stupid" and "selfie" in this post, </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">but I saw no way around it. </span><span style="font-size: x-small;">They are, quite literally, one and the same.</span><br />
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I would like to publicly exclaim that from this day forth, I will never post another selfie to any form of social media. Ever.<br />
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I'm not quite sure when I came to this conclusion, but it has to of been somewhere around three months ago, when I posted my last - and final - selfie to <a href="https://www.instagram.com/ravenasmith/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">instagram</span></a>.</div>
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You see, I've matured and grown a lot since then. You could say I've had a "come to Jesus" moment. Kind of like when I finally affirmed that <a href="http://www.dontquotetheraven.com/2017/03/the-case-against-bras.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">bras are evil</span></a> and <a href="http://www.dontquotetheraven.com/2015/11/moms-in-elementary-school-pickup-line-i.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">school pick-up lines are for the weak</span></a>. </div>
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You know, major life defining moments. </div>
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It's no secret that social media has made us all narcissistic, overbearing simpletons to an extent, but nothing has upped the game quite like selfies. Photos taken solely of our own faces purely for the desire to be admired and marveled at by total strangers.</div>
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I'm finally at a point in my life where I can recognize that nothing looks more stupid than when someone holds out their phone to face their face (it even sounds stupid), and then they smile or pout or lovingly gaze at themselves, and then they post a photo to social media of their own stupid face.<br />
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It's an act that takes such an unbelievable amount of egocentricity and self-involvment that the only thing more vain would be if you just started kissing yourself on the screen. A full on make-out session with yourself, by yourself. That's the best way I can describe it, and I've honestly had many talks with myself lately about why I ever participated in such a silly operation.<br />
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Not only is it awkward for one to be doing it, but it's awkward for those around you also. It's like, <i>"don't mind me over here, I'll just stand here and wait while you two have a moment."</i><br />
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"You two" of course meaning you and your phone.<br />
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Sidenote: Nothing can make a grown adult feel more stupid than when they get done taking a selfie and look over at their eight year old staring at them. Dear Lord what are we teaching our youth.</div>
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But I think my born-again realization came when I realized that honestly, sincerely and without any equivocation, people just really don't care.<br />
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Like, at all.</div>
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No one wants to see my stupid face selfie just as much as I don't want to see your stupid face selfie.</div>
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The person who cares the most about your selfie is<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">***drumroll</span></i></div>
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you.</div>
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I understand some peoples selfies can garner hundreds if not thousands of comments. The throngs of "<i>OMG you are so gorgeous"</i> or "<i>how do you always look so amazing"</i> or "<i>#hairgoals"</i> are not comments said by others because they care about your selfie you just posted. </div>
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They comment those fruitless compliments because they want <i>you</i> to notice <i>them</i>, they want <i>you</i> to comment back on <i>their</i> simple selfie or they just simply want to make their own presence known.</div>
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And let's be honest here, people post selfies because they want <i>other</i> people to notice <i>them</i>, they want fruitless compliments on how <i>OMG gorgeous</i> they are and they want to make their own presence known.</div>
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It's a vicious circle and at the center of it all is egoism, self-absorption and narcissism at its finest.</div>
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And if you don't have anything more interesting to post than your own stupid face, are you really that interesting at all?</div>
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As I stand on my soap box and point a finger down at all you self-important, megalomania people, remember I was one of you just three short months ago. And I've been one almost my entire social-media life. I honestly used to believe, as of three months and some change ago, that my few thousand social media followers actually wanted to and got excited by seeing my stupid selfies. </div>
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Why did I think this? Because I got glowing comments about my physical appearance. And for a hot minute, I felt good about myself. Like, oh, wow, total strangers think I'm slightly above average looking, woop woop better go out and celebrate!</div>
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Yet I guarantee that everyone who commented on my stupid selfie never thought of it again. They kept scrolling on down, stopping to comment on someone else's stupid selfie and never once gave my stupid selfie another thought. (Just typing those words "stupid selfie" over and over again makes me want to go eat straight mayonnaise.)<br />
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And do they <i>really</i> think I'm <i>OMG so gorgeous</i> or are they just wanting me to tell them how <i>OMG so gorgeous</i> they are? My favorite is when I see someone tell someone's selfie how pretty they are, and then that person comments back <i>"oh please, you're one to talk"</i> and then the other comments back <i>"but srsly, you are such a dreamboat"</i> and then the other comments back <i>"I know you are but what am I"</i> and it's just a never-ending cycle of pure and utter dumbness. </div>
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And the fact that the Kardashians managed to help get that awful word inserted into Webster's Dictionary <i>alone</i> should be reason enough to never ever take one ever again. (Even more disturbing, Kim K also has been known to post pictures of her butt to social media with the hashtag "belfie," which stands for "butt selfie." Please dear God no.)</div>
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And don't even get me started on those that take selfies for "selfless" reasons. (That's an oxymoron if I ever heard one.) Like the girls who take selfies bare faced with no makeup and hashtag it #natural, as if they are being brave and helping womankind everywhere. </div>
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<i>"What? You look that gorgeous with no makeup on?!?! How do you do it?! #luckyyyyyyyyy"</i></div>
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No no, you see, the ones who post those kind of selfies are even <i>more</i> self-serving and want even <i>more</i> admiration and pats on the back. </div>
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Scenario: A Very Inspiring Person posts a selfie of themselves with baby spit-up on their face.<br />
Random commenter:<i> "what?! You are so inspirational! How do you do it all?"</i></div>
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Very Inspiring Person: <i>"it's easy! If I can do it so can you! Btw, my book on inspiration and how I do it all is on sale right now! Buy it here!"</i></div>
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Rhyme time! It's apparent that you are transparent.</div>
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Ok, so some of you may be thinking, <i>"but Raven, you are merely a commoner, a lowly servant, and I...well I am a Queen with approx. 456,000 more social media followers than you. I have to take selfies because it's my job and I get paid the big bucks. You would too if you were me."</i></div>
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I see your point but I'll raise you this: no you don't, you still look stupid, and still...wait for it...<b><i>no one cares.</i></b> Yes, they may care about the product you are hocking and many probably thousands will buy it and you can jet off to India with your earnings. You do you girl and make that bank but there are literally five, if not a good 32 other options for photographing whatever it is you are photographing.</div>
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I understand if someone is having a bad day and they need virtual validation to go on with life, and if so, have someone, anyone! take a photo of you and then post <i>that</i>. Your fans will still see what you look like (as if they could forget) and you will still get fawning compliments over the state of your overly-filtered face.</div>
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Despite all the positive feedback you might get, and despite how many likes or shares or tweets or praises you may get, the reality is simply that no. one. cares. It's all self-serving, on everyone's part. </div>
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And being "super important" on social media — which ultimately means nothing — but being absent from your real life with real people that really do care about you, well...</div>
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Use your face in a positive way. Go let your kids look at it while you play trains with them. Let your husband touch it while making out like teenagers on the couch. Look the damn cashier in the eye while you check out at the grocery store instead of being <i><b>too preoccupied looking at your social media checking how many comments you got on your damn stupid face selfie!!</b></i></div>
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Girl, RELAX.</div>
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So no, I will no longer be taking any more selfies for the rest of my social media career. I am too self-respecting and noble to lower myself to that standard of self-worship. If I ever do, you can call me out on it, but I know I won't. </div>
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Some things are just a matter of moral virtue.<br />
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*See also:</div>
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<a href="http://www.dontquotetheraven.com/2017/03/does-this-bragging-make-me-look.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">Does This Bragging Make Me Look Preposterous?</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.dontquotetheraven.com/2016/08/an-anti-blogger-anniversary-post.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">An Anti-Blogger Anniversary Post</span></a></div>
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Ravenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06484566171145256075noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143318558355143388.post-76562411668721662172018-04-05T20:28:00.000-07:002018-04-05T20:28:06.953-07:00Why We Are Not A Theme Park Family<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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First of all, ain't no one have time to stand in those lines.</div>
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At least The Smiths don't.</div>
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Serious question: for those of you that <i>do</i> have time to stand in line over an hour or more just to ride a 45-second mediocre clunker, how do you reconcile that with yourself? I ask with zero judgement, just honestly curious. I get it if I was at the theme park alone, and I had a good book to read and could read in peace and quiet without little humans screaming in my face and ears about having to wait so long in line, but with kids? I just honestly want to know how you do it. Do you do it because you love them? Hate yourself? Have a slight BDSM fetish? </div>
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Look. No parent is ever happy in those lines. Look around next time. They are all scowling, yelling at their children, grabbing them by their shirt collars, stressed to the max, or almost to the very front of the line when their child says they have to go to the bathroom <i>right then or else</i>!</div>
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My kids just aren't wired to stand quietly in line for an hour with absolutely nothing to do. More so, neither are their parents.</div>
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Everyone honestly just looks a little bit miserable in what those declare "the happiest place on earth."</div>
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I've made no secret of the fact that <a href="http://www.dontquotetheraven.com/2017/03/the-case-against-electronics-for-kids.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">I limit screen time firmly</span></a>. No gaming devices in this house (besides our kid-friendly Amazon tablet that doesn't see the light of day M-F) and we will go weeks or months without any sort of screen time at all. Do I feel my kids are missing out?</div>
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Quite the opposite. I feel my kids are actually having a fulfilling childhood and are enjoying the outdoors, as they should. My boys have been very active in the remodel of our home and when my youngest turned 8 just this past month, his most favorite birthday gift was a loaded tool set. We got chickens about 6 months ago and it's the kids' responsibility to take care of them and clean up the poop. Yes, they bitch and moan about having to stay outside sometimes but if I could care less, I would. </div>
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I just don't. <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">*insert dgaf emoji here</span></i></div>
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<a href="https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2016/jul/27/children-spend-only-half-the-time-playing-outside-as-their-parents-did" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">This article</span></a> says that children these days spend only half as much time playing outside as their parents did. Most of my childhood memories consist of late nights with my sisters in our tree, playing kick the bucket with my cousins and boating on the river until we went to sleep. I refuse, I just flat <i>refuse</i> to give in to the "modern way of parenting" and hand over my child a $700 device. HA.</div>
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So yes, we just got back from the dreaded Legoland in San Diego and we won't be making that mistake, or any like it, in the future. (Not even going to start on the subject that the prices to enter are insane — almost $500 for our family of 4 — and they charge a small child for a burger and then once you are in, almost everything "super fun and exciting" costs even <i>more</i> money. I've been played before when I realized Jonathan Taylor Thomas was not getting nor reading my love letters I sent him in the 90's and I refuse to be played like that again.)</div>
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It all comes down to time. Time is money, honey. And I prefer to spend my time, and my money, how I please. I couldn't help but feel like a cow getting herded into the gates...everyone schlupps along, blindly following the crowd. (Much like people and the flu shot but let's not even go there...for now.)</div>
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Needless to say, we went back to the beach.</div>
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Freedom, as I like to call it.</div>
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We had plans to visit SeaWorld the following day, however based on our farm animal experience, we went back to what felt like home.</div>
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My boys ran free, their hearts were full and their energy was exhausted.</div>
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We had dinner that night along the beach, and although my boys weren't making a scene or being unruly, I did have to constantly be on guard and you know, mother my children in order for the night to go smoothly. I noticed a table to my right with three young children...I hadn't heard a peep out of them for quite a while so I looked over and kid you not, every child was on their own cellphone, watching youtube or God knows what, but they were so entranced and glued to their screens that I couldn't get their attention with a snap of my finger if I wanted to.</div>
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And I was once again, grateful that Rob and I are on the same page when it comes to those harmful devices on our children.</div>
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Just say no to theme parks, crack machines and cow herding.</div>
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Yes to the beach.</div>
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<i>Always</i> yes to the beach.</div>
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Ravenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06484566171145256075noreply@blogger.com49tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143318558355143388.post-85228519110340449202018-03-07T22:15:00.002-08:002018-03-08T11:01:58.827-08:00When I Finally Realized That Less Is More<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Yes I know, my last post was all about how much I was frustrated with and hated on this current home remodel.</div>
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And now I'm here to tell you that it's the best thing that has ever happened to me.</div>
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I've always loved the theory of minimalism. I always knew that less was more "in theory" yet I kept accumulating stuff. I needed more clothes, more home furnishings, more high tech objects, more photo albums to hold my more photos and more cabinets to hold my more dishes and more drawers to hold my more <i>stuffs</i>.</div>
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Just stuff!</div>
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It was all. just. stuff.</div>
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When we started the remodel on the top floor, we ended up tearing out a storage closet. We were going to make it a big open space but soon realized part of the closet was a load-bearing wall and we would have to re-sheetrock a portion of it back in. Rob had put up a half wall and asked if I just wanted him to remake the storage closet back to it's original condition.</div>
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In the meantime, one week earlier, we had emptied that storage closet completely, taking everything that was in it downstairs. I had sorted through the contents and ended up throwing away 40 percent of the stuffs and giving away the other 60 percent to donation. I realized I hadn't even seen or used almost all of it, and getting rid of it felt good. <i>Freeing</i>. </div>
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So when Rob asked if I wanted him to put the closet back together, I thought, <i>"what for? So we can put more stuff in it that we don't need, won't see, and won't use?" </i></div>
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Instead, I looked at the space with fresh eyes. I saw what it could be — a Lego nook for my kids, an art station or a blank wall to showcase our family photos. Why build yet another storage closet to just...store stuff? What is the point of "storing stuff" anyway? It's behind closed doors, out of sight and therefore almost always, out of mind. Don't we want our material and physical possessions to be seen and used? I mean, we spend our hard earned money on these things, yet we stuff it back into dark musty corners of our many storage closets and forget about its existence for months, weeks, decades...forever.</div>
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It's like that saying, "out of sight, out of mind," except no, it doesn't work that way! We always know when our closets are full of crap. It's why we don't want to open them and procrastinate cleaning them out. It's why we just shove stuff in there and then close it real fast like before everything comes tumbling out, moving on to something else entirely so we can stop thinking about it. It's a drag and a major inconvenience and a complete bewilderment and it absolutely messes with our mental happiness and propensity. </div>
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So we push it aside, let it collect dust and try to forget about it all together. </div>
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So now I beg to ask the question...are we talking about our stuffs or our sanity? </div>
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My answer to my husband was no, I would not prefer him to rebuild the storage closet. The space held so many possibilities and besides, we still had two storage closets left. In a home of just over 3000 square feet, two storage closets were more than enough. And when I go to clean and sort those out? I have a good feeling I could consolidate it down to one. One storage closet in our entire home. Some may think that sounds absurd, but why? Again, why do we need so much stuff that just sits in darkness and collects dust? It's the theory of having nice china in the home, that only gets used on sparse occasions.</div>
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I have <i>never</i> understood that thinking and never will. For one, we don't own any china because we have children and children break things. For two, I'm an adult and <i>I</i> break things. Yes I like having nice dishware but I couldn't imagine spending a good chunk of change on an apparatus I will only use for eating off of. I would much rather spend that chunk on vacations or manicures or insurance policies or toilet paper...you know, things that actually have <i>use</i>. Things where I can see exactly where my money is going, and knowing that is it going to good use. (Or, semi-good use. Manicures are definitely not necessities but at least I can look at my nicely polished fingers every day as opposed to adoring my expensive china on Thanksgiving and Britney Spear's birthday only.)</div>
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Speaking of closets, Rob and I were discussing starting the downstairs phase of remodeling and he had an idea and ran it by me — he wanted to blow out our already walk-in closets to make them even larger walk-in closets. </div>
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Now listen. I've seen the Real Housewives and their massive extremely over-indulgent preposterous closets. And every single time I see the enormous, outrageous square feet of those closets, I legit want to puke. Seriously, putting aside all the jokes and snide comments that can (and should) be made, it makes me physically ill. Because every time I see all that excess, I can't help but take my mind to those in need. <i>WHAT</i> is the purpose of having a room that big (a room that in many, many circumstances, is the size of a great deal of peoples actual homes) and moreso, who can wear that many clothes? Who needs that many shoes? Why in all that is holy do you have so many handbags?!</div>
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And I ask sincerely.</div>
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Why.</div>
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Why? Is it filling a void, an insecurity, a need to prove something? I don't know. What I do know is that I personally do not need a bigger walk-in closet. The only purpose for a bigger closet is to fill it with more stuffs. More stuffs that I won't wear, don't need and most definitely won't make me a better person because of.</div>
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It's no secret that having a cluttered home makes for a cluttered mind. It literally has been proven that having a home in disarray physically and mentally affects a persons wellbeing. I know that for me personally, when my house is in chaos, it affects my entire mood. I have been known to just leave my house when it's at it's worst just to seek out open spaces. </div>
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But why can't my home — my safe place, my sanctuary, my haven — be full of open spaces? During this remodel, I've found myself craving more space. And not just space for more stuff...more space for just <i>space</i>! More space for a clear mind and a clear body and a clear soul. More space for less clutter, less disorder, less stress.</div>
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More space for just</div>
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more space.</div>
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A less cluttered and chaotic home results in a less cluttered and chaotic mind.</div>
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Mind</div>
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Body</div>
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and Soul.</div>
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Forgoing that butt-ugly Louis Vuitton is worth the peace of mind, don't ya think?</div>
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Ravenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06484566171145256075noreply@blogger.com123tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143318558355143388.post-9383299647799335432018-02-04T22:19:00.004-08:002018-02-04T22:22:47.560-08:00To Be Free<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When I was in San Diego last month, Rob and I were at the beach, sitting in the sand, looking at the water and relaxing. I noticed out of the corner of my eye a guy whom had climbed up onto the stone wall separating the boardwalk from the beach and watched him close his eyes, raise his head to the sky and put his arms out as if praising the sea.<br />
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He stood there for a while, longer than it would have been normally acceptable — eyes closed, head up, arms out — and I watched as people who walked by gave him a double-take, presumably wondering what in the world he was doing.<br />
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And all I could think was, I feel you man, <i>I feel you</i>.<br />
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I'm a believer. In God, first and foremost, and in the wonderment of God's most magnificent creation, the paradise.<br />
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The Paradise: glittering water, shimmering sand and salty air.<br />
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A lot of people say they feel at home by the water, and maybe they do, I'm definitely not here to discount that. They know how they feel, and maybe it <i>is</i> a heart wrenching, gut tugging, spirit soaring experience.<br />
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But for me...<br />
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it's <i>so</i> much more than that.<br />
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I stop living one life — and I start living another — the second I step onto the beach. It literally transforms me and I can feel it to the very depths of my bones. More so, I feel it in my soul.<br />
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My husband and I were with a couple friend of ours and we were having dinner at a beach-side restaurant. I ate my food, delicious it was, and looked out at the ocean through the open air building. We had a few more drinks, some really good conversation and yet I felt the ocean calling me.<br />
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It sounds cheesy, I'm the first to admit. What, the ocean "called you?" On the phone? Internally? Spiritually? Yeah ok.<br />
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And yet, that's just exactly what it did.<br />
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I'm willing to admit some hard truths in my life. Such as... bras were created by the devil, common core math isn't actually so terrible, beauty fades and more wrinkles will arrive. But one hard truth that keeps pulling at the recesses of my heart is that my soul is not whole unless I am standing on The Paradise. The truth is, my soul wears half of a best friend necklace — you know the one, where a jagged line separates the words "best" and friend?" — and the ocean wears the other half.<br />
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My core being is jagged until I reach the sand. <br />
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Every time I think about it, I can physically put myself on that beach, waves lapping at my feet, soul literally soaring. It's a feeling I get when I think about delivering my firstborn in the hospital room, or the day I jumped out of a plane, or the moment I was almost positive that a 6'4" bouncer mama in Vegas named CoCo was going to kick my ass if I made just <i>one.more.move</i>.<br />
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Life changers, you know the ones.<br />
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It's why as a family, we always choose the place where the palm trees grow as our vacation destination. Sure, I could visit other landmarks such as the museums of Europe or the streets of Denmark...but life is short, and when you know what makes you happy, you tend to stray the way of that happiness.<br />
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Again, life is short, and the heart knows what it wants.<br />
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And my heart will always want to be with its other jagged half.<br />
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And together, we are free.<br />
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Ravenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06484566171145256075noreply@blogger.com42tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143318558355143388.post-610637226551540982018-01-10T22:50:00.000-08:002018-01-10T22:56:09.997-08:00Things I Don't Understand As An Adult<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"> friends on boats...something I definitely understand as an adult</span></i></div>
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- Couples that sleep in Queen size beds together. Do you like each other like, a lot a lot? Or rather, do you hate each other? Because I can see no other explanation for a couple who dedicated their lives to be together forever to want to be that close in proximity during that sweet, sweet, dreaming period. It's bizarre. It makes no sense. You're weird and I hope you don't get divorced in the next five years but friend things are not looking good for you.<br />
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And if you sleep in a Full? He is definitely cheating on you with your sister.<br />
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- HGTV's show House Hunters. Did you know they are total liars!? I only discovered this recently, but every couple who appears on House Hunters has already chosen their home <i>before</i> they sign on to "look at different properties." As in, a couple can only be chosen to be on House Hunters if they are already in escrow for their home. Which might be ok, because entertainment is entertainment and I'm not naive to how TV is all #fakenews, but these people take it to a whole new level! Once the couples have seen all their "prospective homes," they then sit and "deliberate" on which one they will choose. They say things like, <i>"this was a really hard decision"</i> and <i>"we thought long and hard before we came to this conclusion"</i> and I want to be all <i>"b*tch you lie! "</i> How someone can go on TV and flat out fabricate like that in front of millions, I will never quite understand. <strike>I did not have sexual relations with that woman</strike> <strike>I only had one, officer</strike> <strike>Yes they're real</strike><br />
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- Alcohol, or rather, the relationship with alcohol as we get older. Sure, when we are young, dumb and underage and ask some ninny to buy us a Mad Dog 20/20 from the Quikmart, we can feel on top of the world and like we can conquer anything. But what happens when we turn into, like, actual adults? The other day, someone mentioned to me my alcohol intake and commented on how well I seem to be doing in spite of it. Thanks? Regardless, it's hard for me to tell at times if booze if my friend or foe. Obvs, that time in high school when I ended up face down, bottoms up in the middle of a dairy with a fan as a pillow and a girl named Coco threatening to kick my ass proves without a shadow of a doubt that tequila is most definitely a foe, but then there was that time in Vegas where I was front and center in some cage on a rotating dance floor with everyone from Alaska to Jersey City cheering me on where the booze was without a doubt my friend. Color me confused.<br />
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-British people.<br />
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- Hotel gyms. I mentioned this on my <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ravenasmith/posts/10211030385015967" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">Facebook page</span></a> the other day and got all sorts of weird responses from people who actually work out while on vacation. Come again? Exercise? On vacation? I don't get it. When I scroll through potential online hotel photos, I want to see the beach, the pool, the bar...anything but the gym! It's called a vacation for a reason. The last thing I'm going to use my precious time doing while on a hard-earned tropical paradise is spending it in a sweaty, stinky gym. Yeah yeah, <i>"working out is a lifestyle"</i> as someone once said, but so is <i>"sippin' cocktails, poppin' bottles and wearing see-through Amazon suits on the beach like dem models"</i>, am I right or am I right?!<br />
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Psshh. <br />
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- Snapchat and Instagram/facebook live. I admit, it took me a while to understand this. And by understand this, I mean understand what a cavalier, pretentious, smug, ego-inducing, vain thing it is to do. In other words, bizarre. I'm all for online blogging and facebook and instagram and using up all my precious time on all those other useless social media channels, but to actually take your phone, turn the camera to selfie mode, and record yourself talking or eating or grocery shopping or whatever the hell else it is you do...how important do you think you are?! And again, I did it for a hot second, back before I finally turned into an adult. But I have since deleted my Snapchat app and have yet to do one Facebook live. Whenever I'm browsing through instagram and I see the notification up top that so-and-so has started a live video, I quickly dismiss the notification with a little, <i>"woop! Someone is feeling the need for social validation right about now."</i> If you do this on the reg, good for you and I hope you get what you need out of it, just know that you are your own biggest fan.<br />
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- Other moms whose homes don't have major gouging divets in their drywalls. If I come over for a playdate and don't see Hot Wheel imprints in your hardwood floors, we can't be friends, because I don't understand your utter lack of parenting.<br />
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- Cat ears. Grow up you pussy.<br />
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Ravenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06484566171145256075noreply@blogger.com42tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143318558355143388.post-86137473577847066592017-12-11T17:07:00.002-08:002017-12-11T17:15:44.869-08:00Sh*t My Kid Says<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><i>::Talking to Gunner about the movie Zootopia and the theme of not letting anyone ever tell you that you can't do something::</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>me:</b> so whenever someone says you can't do something, don't listen to them.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>gunner:</b> ok, so when you tell me I can't do something, I just won't listen to you.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>me:</b> no, that's different. nice try smartass. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">*******</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">::After the boys got a haircut::</span></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>me:</b> you boys look sharp!</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>gunner:</b> what does that mean?</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>me:</b> it means you look flyyyyyyy.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>gunner:</b> I don't understand anything you are saying.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>me:</b> I mean damn boy you be lookin' foine! </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>gunner:</b> what is wrong with you.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">******* </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>gunner:</b> can I take my pocket knife to school?</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>me:</b> no son, that is criminal.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>gunner:</b> what does criminal mean?</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>me:</b> it means slow drivers, open mouth eaters, loud theater talkers, redheads. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>gunner:</b> what are redheads?</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>me:</b> criminals. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">*******</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">::As Rob and I were sitting together at the dinner table::</span></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>gunner:</b> can we go open that package the UPS guy brought earlier?</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>me:</b> {gives him my evil wide eye look that says he's in trouble}</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>gunner:</b> what? you told me not to tell dad how many times he comes during the week and I didn't.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>me:</b> thanks for doing me a solid there.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>rob:</b> your mom told you not to tell me <i>what?</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>me:</b> rob <i>stop it.</i> inappropriate.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">*******</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">::we got chicks and are hoping for fresh eggs soon:: </span></i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>gunner:</b> how do we know if the eggs they poop out are eating eggs or their babies?</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>me:</b> um, I think we know by how many spots they have on them? like if a ladybug has odd number spots, it's a girl and if they have even number spots, it's a boy. or like how I once heard that you can tell if a bee is a boy or girl by how many stripes they have, or kinda like how you can tell if a llama is pregnant by how many lady lumps she has? That's how you can tell.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>gunner:</b> I'm asking dad.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">*******</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And a few past conversations that I'm including here in the "hall of fame" of sh*t my kids say because it's been a while, and I like halls of fame. And I like to think I live there. With my crown and endless supply of Tito's.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>me:</b> I'm a homebody.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>gunner:</b> what does that mean?</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>me:</b> it means I would rather be at home most of the time rather than any place else.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>gunner:</b> I'm a homebody too. I'm definitely not a schoolbody.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">*******</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></i></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>colt:</b> mommy, I'm a kitty.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>me:</b> awww. I love kitties.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>colt:</b> mom, kitty wants a cookie.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>me:</b> son, mommy wants a Ferrari.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">*******</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">::When I was in a pinch to get Gunner dressed and out the door as we were way late for school::</span></i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i><br /></i></span><span style="background-color: white;"><b>gunner:</b> I hate this shirt! this is a girl shirt.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /><b>me:</b> no it's not, it's a unisex shirt.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /><b>gunner:</b> what is a unisex shirt?</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /><b>me:</b> it means it's appropriate for both girls and boys.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /><b>gunner:</b> but it has a princess on it.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /><b>me:</b> that's not a princess. it's just a really pretty boy who grew his hair out long.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /><b>gunner:</b> he has boobs.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">*******</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><b>colt:</b> </span>werkjdsf lfdv lzdfkgjubfdgh dkjebzx</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /><b><span style="background-color: white;">me: </span></b>what?</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><b>colt:</b> </span>oisdfb wiu fkjhsdbwe vkjzsd</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><b>me:</b> </span>what??</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><b>gunner:</b> </span>he said he wants some juice and a waffle.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><b>me:</b> </span>oh. ok. thanks.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">*******</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">side note: how <i>do</i> you know if the eggs they poop out are eggs you fry up and make into a bacon sandwich or if they are fluffy feathery babies? I legit am confused. I can make the best vodka soda from scratch but honestly don't know how to answer this question for my 9 year old.</span></span></span></div>
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Ravenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06484566171145256075noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143318558355143388.post-55426368690346992212017-12-07T22:36:00.001-08:002017-12-07T22:36:39.949-08:00Why I Don't Do Elf On The Shelf For My Kids<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>creepy little cretin </i></span></div>
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Because I don't f*#king want to.<br />
<br />
Next.<br />
<br />
Being a mom is hard.<br />
<br />
I feel like that statement I just wrote was the most sanctimonious, contemptuous thing I've ever written in the whole wide world.<br />
<br />
And yet I refuse to take it back.<br />
<br />
Or rather, let me clarify: people who create stupid ass shit like Elf on The Shelf make being a mom hard.<br />
<br />
And I'm not even refraining from this elf business because it's just <i>one.more.thing.</i> moms get guilted into doing (which it is) but because I'm taking a stand and saying enough is enough! How is this still a thing anyway? Don't "the latest and greatest" eventually die and go away just to be replaced by something else just as late and great? Why hasn't this elf succumbed to the realities of show business like Lite Brite, Bop It and the pocket rocket? Why is he still here? Legit question, and I demand an answer.<br />
<br />
But this post <i>so</i> isn't about Elf on a shelf. Like I said, I don't do it because I don't bloody want to. No explanation needed, and none will be given. (To my children at least.)<br />
<br />
kid: <i>mooooooom, why don't we get to do elf on a shelf? All my friends do.</i><br />
me: <i>all your friends also eat their vegetables.</i><br />
kid: <i>no they don't. my friend Jimmy from class only eats ding-dongs and pizza pockets, he told me.</i><br />
me: <i>Jimmy is dumb, and so are elves on shelves.</i><br />
<br />
Case closed!<br />
<br />
Look. My kids want everrryyyytthhiinnnggg. There is literally nothing they see on TV commercials that they don't "want." Obviously, they don't get everything they want, and why should they? I do enough godforsaken stuff around this house for them and it wasn't too long ago that I was wiping their butts. Do they get love, food, affection and a stringent bedtime? Of course. Do they get playStations, elves on shelves and iphones? Of course not. I know I've become a ceaseless, dead horse beater on the subject, but shucks people, us moms deserve a smidge of sanity also!<br />
<br />
Which makes me beg the question...why <i>do</i> you who do elf on the shelf, do it? I'm not judging by any means (that's a lie, I totally am. I am, I can't help it. why why why??) but what payoff do you get? You have to get some kind of clincher to keep doing it. And to name it. And to position it in certain positions so your child won't wake up broken-hearted. And to not accidentally throw it away.<br />
<br />
I feel like such a winner mother that I didn't fall into this faddish trap. I am so much better than ya'll. <br />
<br />
My kid wanted a fidget spinner once. I wrote an <a href="http://www.dontquotetheraven.com/2017/05/please-kid-dont-ask-me-for-latest-and.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">entire post</span></a> about why he would never, and I mean <i>never</i>, get one.<br />
<br />
He now has five fidget spinners.<br />
<br />
I basically know nothing and have no legitimate advice.<br />
<br />
bye.<br />
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Ravenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06484566171145256075noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143318558355143388.post-86229805113695418582017-12-04T10:59:00.004-08:002017-12-04T11:11:30.168-08:00The Holiday Anti-Gift Guide <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>This year, let's give Santa a break, shall we? I think he deserves it.</i></span></div>
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Because STUFF.<br />
<br />
So.<br />
Much.<br />
Stuff.<br />
<br />
Did you know that this year was the most successful Black Friday in the history of ever? Not sure the actual number, but it's in the multi-billions. Did you also know that this year, charitable giving was down from last years numbers?<br />
<br />
Huh.<br />
<br />
Funny how that works.<br />
<br />
Look. I'm not against stuff in general. I have stuff, too much of it, and it's always a constant struggle with me to stop buying all the useless, meaningless stuff. And for the most part, 80% of it really, truly, honestly <i>is</i> <i>useless, meaningless stuff</i>. The older I get, the more aware I am about my consumption of stuff. And if we're being honest, it makes me sick.<br />
<br />
I won't link to the photos of starving children in third world countries, but I'm sure you've seen the photos I'm talking about. The ones where emaciated, skeletal, <i>literally starving children</i> are reaching out for a clean glass of water. And here in America, obesity is one of the leading causes of death.<br />
<br />
In other countries, starvation is a leading cause of death. And here in America, eating <i>too much</i> is a leading cause of death. Let that sink in.<br />
<br />
And yet, people cuss at, run over, stampede past, shove, hit, kick and literally kill other humans for a discounted TV on Black Friday.<br />
<br />
It's repulsive.<br />
<br />
I've fallen prey to this scheme in the past. I remember many Christmases feeling anxious, stressed and financially strapped from all the gifts (stuff) I "had" to buy. I distinctly remember the weight I felt from thinking about everyone I had to buy for, making sure it was a good enough gift and like what if she is buying something for me and I don't buy something for her, how embarrassing would that be! But why? Why should Christmas be a time where things like stress and apprehension are incorporated? In true literally meaning, Christmas was created and was always intended to be anything <i>but</i> stress and apprehension.<br />
<br />
Yet go online and google "Black Friday" and tell me how in the world you can look at those photos and not feel anything <i>but</i> stress and apprehension.<br />
<br />
And total, utter disgust.<br />
<br />
We changed up a rule in our family a few years back. No gift giving of any kind to adults. I have a large family, and in the past, I would buy gifts for my mom, dad, sister, other sister, cousins, friends, etc. I was buying something <i>just</i> to buy something. And I was buying it because I knew they were buying me something. When in all honestly, neither them, nor I, needed <i>anything</i>. I know here is where some might say, <i>"but I love giving and getting for everyone I know, and if it makes me happy and I can afford it, why not?"</i> Fair. I would just hope that if you can afford to buy your second aunt Susie a scarf with miniature dogs on it that she will wear maybe once, you are matching that with a gift for a child in need who will remember getting a present at Christmas for the rest of their lives.<br />
<br />
And I'm not talking about the kids here. Like I said earlier, my family has decided to forgo adult gift giving, since all of us need absolutely nothing. But when it comes to kids, I understand the novelty of gifts. Although I will admit I have drastically and I mean <i>drastically</i> cut down on how many gifts my kids get for Christmas, I get that it is part of the magic of Christmas for children. The tree, the lights, the gifts underneath...I get it. I was a kid once, and <i>I get it</i>. I am being much more mindful of what they do get, however, because when I asked my kids the other day, <i>"what was your favorite gift that you got last year?"</i> neither one of them could remember. And that to me just isn't ok. <br />
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Speaking of kids and gifts: this next part might offend quite a few, and frankly, I don't care. Because let me tell you what offends <i>me</i>.<br />
<br />
Every Christmas season, I scroll through my social media feeds and see photo after photo of Christmas trees with copious (and I mean OVERFLOWING) amounts of presents underneath with various captions such as, <i>"kid's gifts are ready for them! They will be so excited!"</i> or <i>"my kids are so spoiled!"</i> or <i>"I am so happy to give all this to my kids for Christmas!"</i><br />
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And I get it, you are excited and proud to show off that your precious offspring get ten! presents! each! I get it. You are showing off. You might not know it, and you might honestly not even realize that you are doing it...but it is in such poor taste and so crass that I have no idea how it isn't inherently obvious what you are portraying.<br />
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<i></i>
You know what I see when I come across those posts? I see the kid who scrolls down and sees your post. I see his face fall, because why doesn't he have that many presents under the tree? Why don't his parents love him enough to buy him so much <i>stuff</i>. I see the middle schooler who has always lived a down-and-out life, and I see her wondering why she doesn't have a single gift under the non-existent tree. I see the high schooler who has been bounced around home to home, never even owning a personal piece of property, yet he sees the lavishness your precious four year old gets just for being born.<br />
<br />
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I see the single mother who scrolls down and sees your post. A mother who works three jobs to take care of her children, who worked so many extra hours and lost precious time with her children just so they would have one single gift under the tree. I see that mother looking at your post, and feeling so discouraged that she isn't enough and can't provide enough.<br />
<br />
<i></i>
I get that the people who post these kinds of posts probably aren't doing so with the intent to make poor children and exhausted single mothers feel bad. I obviously get that. But I then have to chalk it up to ignorance, because it's so flamboyant and braggadocious and yes, offensive. Buy your children everything under the sun that they want, if you must, but please be mindful of posting such opulence and how it comes across to others less fortunate.<br />
<br />
<i></i>
Ok. That said! Let's progress on to the main part of this post...The Holiday Anti-Gift Guide!<br />
<br />
<i></i>
Looking for ideas of what to give/do this holiday season that helps others and will make your heart full? You have come to the right place!<br />
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<b>• Give. </b>Obviously, this is a given. Just give. To local homeless shelters, food banks, Angel Trees, pregnancy centers, toy drives, your down-and-out neighbor next door, anyone or any charity that needs help. Giving without expecting anything in return is an incredible feeling.<br />
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<b>• Be considerate.</b> We all know the rush of the holidays can make people a bit frazzled. Hold open doors for others, leave a generous tip for your waiter, don't honk angrily when you get cut off in traffic, be patient if someone in line in front of you is taking a bit too long for your liking. The holidays have a way of bringing out the worst in people, and by relaxing and being mindful of our own attitude, maybe we can help someone else see that the true meaning of Christmas is love and kindness. A random act of kindness will never be in vain.<br />
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<b>• Buy books for strangers.</b> Books can change lives. (ain't that the truth. via <a href="https://www.huffingtonpost.com/fauzia-burke/21-ways-to-give-back-this_b_6317892.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;"></span></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" target="_blank">this</a> post)<br />
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<b>• Get your kids involved.</b> Take your kids with you to pick up trash and litter. Take them with you to a soup kitchen and have them participate in helping out. Take them to an animal shelter and let them snuggle on and hug on the animals there. Have them send holiday cards to soldiers. It is our job as parents to make sure our children know full well that this world does not owe them anything, and they will get what they put in.<br />
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<b>• Love.</b> Yeah, it may seem sweeping and all-encompassing, but...isn't it though? <i>Shouldn't</i> it be?<br />
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Merry Christmas friends.<br />
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Ravenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06484566171145256075noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143318558355143388.post-30213064399882805332017-11-30T18:56:00.000-08:002017-12-04T11:35:20.504-08:00My, How Blogging Has Changed Since I've Been Gone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>my dog. she da best. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>(I've legit been gone for like, two minutes.)</i></span><br />
<br />
Like, do people even read blogs anymore?<br />
<br />
My friend Liz, whom I met through blogging back in the good ol' days, was <a href="https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10214850483523498&set=a.2645204057212.2152462.1468957259&type=3&theater" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">taking a poll</span></a> on her Facebook page, asking her followers if she should get back into blogging or start a Youtube channel. She wanted somewhere to go to write/talk about her interests, share her opinion, review products, etc...basically what I've always loved about blogging. I love to write — it's my passion — and I have an opinion dammit and some may love it, some may hate it, but hey, C'est la vie. <br />
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However, most of her feedback was to forgo blogging and to have a platform on Youtube. Comments ranged from "I never go to blog pages anymore" to "people today definitely prefer watching videos to reading a blog post." Which really sucks for me because I will <i>not</i> be staring on my own Youtube channel. Sorry to disappoint, but it just isn't my thing. I'm <i>much</i> better on paper than in real life.<br />
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Writing is my thing. Blogging is...or was...still is?...my thing. I still kinda want it to be my thing, but is it even a "thing" anymore?<br />
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Oh and also? My earlier blog photos totally got jacked. <br />
<br />
Apparently, Photobucket, the blog hosting site I had been using for my blog for the past 78 years, suddenly decided to hijack all my photos — and I mean <i>all</i> of them — unless I pay them 400 dollars! A YEAR! Then, and only then, can I have my photos back so some of my most popular blog posts won't look like <a href="http://www.dontquotetheraven.com/2012/07/attack-of-husband.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">this</span></a>.<br />
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what.in.the.ever.loving.hell.<br />
<br />
seriously!<br />
<i>the hell?!? </i><br />
<br />
Is that even legal? Should I sue? Troll them on twitter? Send hate mail? Stage a march in defense of blog photo rights? Imagine my contempt when I realized all of my best work is now only words accompanied by generic images stating "please update your account to enable 3rd party hosting." Well <i>Photobucket</i> (said with spiteful venom), you can keep my photos and I hope a virus comes along and eats you, you filthy indian giver.<br />
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Gone are the days of big group blogger #giveaways. Or link-ups. Or guest posts. Or online Holiday ornament exchanges. (I still remember when The Bargain Blonde and I hosted a "Glitz and Glam" holiday exchange. It was great! Over 250 people participated and the link-up was on fuego.) I still remember how nervous I got the first time I was ever asked to guest post for someone. And remember that site that helped with sidebar advertisements? What were they called? Mango? Peaches and cream? Shoot I can't remember, but I know it had something to do with a fruit. <br />
<br />
It also seems no one comments much anymore on blog posts. A lot of the bigger blogs I followed back in the day would get 30, 40, 50+ comments on a regular basis. Now they are barely pulling in a dozen. I look back on old blog posts of my own and the majority have 60+ comments, now those have dwindled over the years to single digits, and over half of those are from my ride-or-dies, the haters. #neverchange.<br />
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I do realize that it's much easier to comment on other social media platforms. I notice that whenever I post to instagram or facebook with a link to my most current blog post, I seem to get more comments there than on my actual post. As in, they did go to my blog and read the post, but commented about it on my instagram or facebook account instead of the comment section of my blog. And I mean, a comment is a comment is a comment, and more people are reading on their phones these days rather than an actual computer and I can tell you from experience that commenting on blogs from a phone is a <i>pain the ass</i>. I almost never do it anymore so I can understand why no one else does it either.<br />
<br />
But, at least they're reading? Of course, my readership has gone way down, I assume it's because I have been very inconsistent with posting the past couple years but who knows, maybe it's because my eyebrows offends them. <br />
<br />
I guess my point is that I want to write again. That I'm <i>going</i> to write again. I don't need it as an income producing venture, but I'll totally admit I miss all the free crap I was given back in the day! Legit, liquor companies would send me three bottles of rum, ask me to drink them with my friends, and then pay me $350 to write a post about it. Talk about a dream non-job.<br />
<br />
I know blogging isn't what it used to be, and I didn't even get in super early like some of <i>those</i> bloggers...but it's still something I want to do. I still love to sit and write and get out my thoughts.<br />
<br />
For therapy, if nothing else. <br />
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Ravenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06484566171145256075noreply@blogger.com198tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143318558355143388.post-72168139736241676562017-07-20T11:42:00.000-07:002017-07-20T11:56:27.196-07:00An Anti-Inspirational Blog Post<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Ron Swanson, the greatest anti-inspiring person ever aka my spirit animal - marry me Swanson!</span></i></div>
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As I scroll through all my pointless, irrelevant, trivial, aimless, futile and meaningless social media feeds, I am often inundated with positive meme's, you-can-do-it attitudes and syrupy affirmations about life. Some days I nod my head in agreement, and others I want to round up all that positivity and the people that spew it and sling shot them all to the fiery depths of Walmart aisle 5 at 12:14 am on Black Friday in Muncie, Indiana.</div>
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Today is one of those days.</div>
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There are enough inspirational assholes out there. Between them and grammar snobs, it's hard to feel up to par with the rest of society. So I figure it's high time to write something a little, shall we say, <i>not</i> so inspirational for the rest of us.<br />
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Aka, the best of us.</div>
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- Let's lead off hard with the most obvious and annoying inspirational folks of them all: the braggart. I wrote an entire post on these specimens <a href="http://www.dontquotetheraven.com/2017/03/does-this-bragging-make-me-look.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">here</span></a> but figured they deserve another mention, because can you just put a sock in it already!? Showing off your mansion and all your money doesn't inspire anyone. Actually, that's not true. It inspires me to like you even less than I already do.</div>
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- The girl power squad of <i>"women can do it all, women are powerful, women are amazing, women rule the world, etc."</i> I mean, everyone already knows we rule the world. Duh, we have boobs. But the overemphasis of it all is cringeworthy. And sometimes, the enthusiasm can be downright dangerous. One of the worst pieces of advice I have ever heard in my life is, <i>"Don't look for a man to save you. Be able to save yourself."</i> Ok man-hater, have you ever been hanging off the edge of a cliff seconds from death, only to have a *gasp* man reach out his hand to save you? Yes, I said <i>save you</i>. If you lived life by your advice, you would hang there until you eventually fell and died. But hey, at least you did it all by yourself! Woman power! Oh, and the next time I hear someone say, <i>"I did everything he did, but backwards and in high heels"</i> I'm gonna say <i>prove it</i>. No, right now, do that one handed layup off the backboard that you just saw him do, but you know, <i>backwards and in high heels</i>. Either do it now, or get out of here with that inspirational but totally inaccurate drivel. </div>
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- <i>"If you can dream it, you can do it."</i> Um, actually, that's totally not true. Seriously, why all the inspirational lies? I've been dreaming about being a Calvin Klein underwear model, or Britney Spears' tour manager, or a professional Grey Goose vodka taste tester for years now and I've never been not closer to any of those dreams in my life. My husband has been dreaming for a wife that regularly doesn't overspend and underperform and well, my point is that not all dreams come true. In fact, if we're being honest here, most never will. One or two might squeak through the cracks, but life is hard, and then you die.<br />
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- Social media has created a mass amount of #goals no one knew they were lacking. Like the girlfriend who constantly hashtags #boyfriendgoals when everyone and little Susie down the block knows he flirts with everything that walks and makes you go dutch on your #goalworthy date nights. The chick who hashtags #hairgoals when she painfully obviously wears fake extensions. The mom who has three nannies and hashtags herself #momgoals (L O freaking L). And then of course we have #squadgoals that everyone and their posse posts. I hate to break it to you, but if it ain't a trio of Britney Spears, Ron Swanson and Billy Bob Thornton, your #squadgoals are busted.<br />
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- Speaking of hashtags, this one deserves it's own bullet point. I'm talking about those who post a selfie of their mug with <i>#nofilter </i>when obviously and I mean <i>so obviously</i> they are using a filter! Newsflash! Even if you pull a photo from Snapchat (where you so obviously used a filter) and then post it to Instagram and <i>don't</i> use a filter, it is <i>still</i> a filtered photo!! That's like me drinking five vodka soda's at Applebee's and then moving on down to Red Robin and sidling up to the bar and telling the bartender, <i>"I haven't had anything to drink here yet! Give me my first vodka soda."</i> Truth, but mostly just lies.</div>
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- Then we have those people who are experts on life and try to tell you how to live it. Every time I see their status update on Facebook I think, <i>"oh for f*cks sake, here we go again."</i> Yes, please do tell me how much sugar is in that soda and how many pus pockets are in my steak, you life ruiner. Also, I pinky promise that if I need to know how to get pregnant, what to eat while I am pregnant, what not to do while I am pregnant and how many times I shouldn't be doing it while pregnant, what doctor approved medicines to definitely not take while pregnant and which position is best to birth out a baby from my honey pot, I will ask. Did you get that? <i>I. Will. Ask.</i></div>
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- Can't leave out the gym rat #inspos, oops I mean #fitspos (eye roll). Let's just say there are more phones at the gym taking selfies these days than actual people working out, and yeah yeah you're on a health journey and have already lost twelve pounds and I'd probably take that selfie too if I looked like that but I don't and truth be told I prefer my burpies come from eating too many doughnuts instead of those God-awful exercise thingamajigs but that's neither here nor there. Do you think "checking in" at the gym on Facebook is going to inspire anyone to give up Ding Dongs? <i>Girl please</i>. But my favorite, and I mean my <i>absolute hands down indisputable favorite</i> are the #sobrave posters whom obviously have no body fat whatsoever but post photos of themselves bent over with the quote, <i>"everyone has rolls when they bend over."</i> Well no shit Sherlock that's just basic gravity but I have rolls when I'm stick straight upright frigid in the middle of winter! I might have an ounce of sympathy for you if you walked around like the Hunchback all the time but you don't. Because that's not how people walk. And that photo of your "roll" isn't how you really look. Thank you though for trying to "stand in solidarity" with us fat folks, I guess.<br />
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Now go flex yourself.<br />
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Ravenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06484566171145256075noreply@blogger.com87tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143318558355143388.post-3443613693975053782017-06-05T20:40:00.000-07:002017-06-05T20:41:05.710-07:00Just love.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My kids and I say a morning prayer every single day on our way to school.</div>
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It goes like this:</div>
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<i>Dear Jesus, thank you for this beautiful day. Thank you for Gunner and Colt and for their unique special gifts. I pray that they have a very good day at school, that they listen to their teachers, that they pay attention and that they learn a lot of cool stuff. I pray that they are a light in the dark, that they are always kind and loving and that their love for you shines through. There is nothing more important than being kind and loving, and by doing so, Gunner and Colt could change someone's entire day. I pray that my kids are always the ones who look for someone sitting alone, being excluded, or having a sad day, and that they always go up to that person and ask them to play, talk to them and say something nice to help them feel better. It's so important to help those who are hurting. We love you and give you all the glory, amen.</i></div>
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Every day, in the car on the way to school, those words.</div>
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I look in the rearview and see them sitting with their eyes closed and hands folded. They know the importance and power of those words. Of everything I want to teach my kids, being kind and loving is at the tip top of it all.</div>
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I don't stress good grades. I never have, and I never will. It just isn't that important to me. I <i>do</i> stress not getting all fails and falling short because of laziness, because, well, that's just outright offensive negligence. But the first thing I say to them when they get in the car after picking them up from school is never, <i>"what grade did you get on that test?"</i> It's always, <i>"how was your day? Were there any kind and loving moments you want to tell me about?" </i>I want them to learn and have fun and do good...but nothing is more important — and I can't even stress how much more important it is — than to be loving and kind. To sit with those sitting alone. To always include everyone. To never ever purposefully exclude another kid at school or make someone feel unwelcome.</div>
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My kids know that we don't call people ugly. We don't call people fat. We don't make fun and we don't put others down. It happens every now and then, they are human (and brothers, and we all know brothers can be brutal to each other) but I always sit and talk with them and ask them how they would feel if someone hurt their feelings. I never want my kids to have an elevated sense of self where they think they are better than their peers, and I know it will happen, I know there will be that kid who is ostracized and made fun of for some ridiculous reason (looks, weight, disability) and I am always prepping my kids for that moment, so when they come face-to-face with unfair cruelty, they enter it with open arms and a huge, strong, warm loving heart. I always want them to know, what <i>right</i> do they have to treat someone poorly just because they look different on the outside?</div>
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And it's a hard, uphill battle. I know the things they learn at school from other kids. I hear things that kids in school these days say. So yes, it's hard, but yes, it's so important. In fact, it's the <i>most</i> important.</div>
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The kids and I go through their toys and clothes often, giving things to Goodwill or the mission that we don't need/use anymore (don't get me started on people selling their unwanted childrens things on Craigslist. I've never understood it and I never will. Why re-sell it to gain profit instead of donating it all to the many kids in need? Because there are so, so, so many. Too many.) I always talk to them about why we do it, how there are so many kids out there who don't have nearly what my kids do, and how it's so very important to give to those who have less. The other day, Gunner came into my office and said, <i>"mom come here, I want to show you something,"</i> took me upstairs and proudly showed me the two plastic crates he had overfilling with toys/blankets/costumes of his. He did it all on his own, and on the way to the donation center, he talked on and on about how happy he was that other kids would get to have and play with his toys.</div>
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And that makes me so happy. I can never do enough when it comes to teaching my kids that lesson - that yes, we are most definitely blessed, and we must always give what we can, and sometimes more, a lot of the times more, because helping others is what life is about.</div>
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We see people standing on the road often, holding signs asking for anything to help, and my kids have always been very inquisitive — <i>why are they standing there? what does their sign say? why do they want money?</i> — and I explain to them that some people are so lonely and sad and hurt that they can't get a job, they can't support themselves, they can't carry on anymore. I explain to them how as a mom, I love them so incredibly much, and how I don't know what I would do if something ever happened to them. And then I tell them that maybe that woman standing there lost a child, and it devastated her so much that she just couldn't get up and out of bed in the mornings. Maybe that man lost everything he had in his life and lost the will to try, and yes, maybe it was due to his own diligence but does it really matter? Maybe he really isn't a former Vietnam vet and he's trying to play on the emotions of others, but really, does it matter?? While the truth is that yes, sometimes those people standing there are being deceitful and fraudulent, in situations like this, does it <i>really</i> matter?? Because <i>something</i> had to have happened to defeat a man to standing there on a street corner holding a sign. <i>Something</i> had to have gone incredibly wrong at some turn in his life, and he has resolved his self worth to begging on a street corner. I can't imagine what it would take to beat a human down so low. What I <i>can</i> imagine is how showing love and tenderness can never, ever hurt. </div>
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And besides, isn't it better to err on the side of kindness than judgement?</div>
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There many things I want, and don't want, for my kids.</div>
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I don't want my kids preoccupied with being the best one on the team. You will never hear me say to my kids, <i>"you are the best player on the team!"</i> And if they ever say it about themselves, I will let them in on one very important life lesson...<b>the best ones never have to say they are the best</b>. More importantly, "the best" only <i>know</i> they are "the best" because they have the backing and support of their team, otherwise "the best" wouldn't be so great at all.</div>
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I don't want my kids to worry about being friends with the "popular crowd" (major air quote around that term). Those kids have enough friends anyway. I want them to befriend the misfits, and I use that term endearingly because I f*cking love the misfits. Besides, they are the ones that are going to be world changers one day. </div>
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I want my kids to walk with the broken. To sit next to the outcast. To include the prodigal. To lift up the down-and-out.</div>
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To love the unloveable. </div>
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I know their hearts will break again and again, but that is a price you pay for feeling empathy for others. I also know their hearts will love and hopefully receive love to the highest levels of heaven, because that's a price you gain for feeling empathy for others.</div>
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Besides, a wise man once said...</div>
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"and the greatest of these is love."</div>
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So just love.</div>
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Ravenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06484566171145256075noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143318558355143388.post-44375733800742508002017-05-09T13:28:00.000-07:002017-05-09T13:33:30.981-07:00Please Kid, Don't Ask Me For The Latest and Greatest. (Cause You Ain't Getting It)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">tree swing, the original spinner</span></i></div>
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My oldest got off the bus the other day and immediately asked for a fidget spinner. Like, can we go to the store right now <i>no right right now</i> and get one please.<br />
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A huh? A what? A who?<br />
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"A fidget spinner, mom," he said. "All the kids have one."<br />
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I knew it. I knew there was a reason I didn't let him ride the bus. Along with coming home and demanding a thingermajiggy, he had also learned what holding up his middle finger means and that although seemingly impossible, worms can actually make babies.<br />
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Filthy animals. The after school bus is just chalk full of filthy animals.<br />
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<i>(Slight exaggeration on my part. I do occasionally make my kids ride the bus when I'm feeling extra evil. Still might be slightly exaggerating but you get my point. Also, <a href="http://www.cracked.com/personal-experiences-1814-children-are-monsters-5-realities-life-as-bus-driver.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">read this</span></a>! I about had a heart attack. Ok, I think I really meant the filthy animal thing.)</i><br />
<i><br /></i>Anyway.<br />
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One thing is for sure: I will not be buying my kids a damn fidget spinner.<br />
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Part of it is my rebellious nature to not jump on every bandwagon out the gate (in my defense, I was given the uber trendy Starbucks Unicorn Frapp from a friend when she came to visit, otherwise I would never have taken part in such a vile act) and the other part is my deep-seated belief that I must instill in my kids the notion that they do not get everything they want in life, just because "everyone else has one."<br />
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<i>Especially</i> because "everyone else has one."<br />
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I don't have anything particular against these fidget spinners. They look cool enough, I'm sure they do help some kids concentrate (do they?) and it's just another trendy toy at the moment. "Trendy," "toy," and "at the moment" being the operative words.<br />
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I'm sure my kids <i>do</i> want one. My kids want everything. And of course we could go out and buy them one but what does that accomplish? And yes, I do buy my kids toys. I have fallen victim to the whiny <i>"can I have it please can I have it please please please"</i> at the final hour standing in the checkout line. I'm not proud of those moments, but I'm a human mother and not perfect by any means. (I would like it to be stated for the record that these events do not happen often, but for the sake of camaraderie, I admit it has once or twice before.)</div>
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And I understand that it's hard to say no to the latest greatest thing our child wants. Actually, that's a lie. It sounded good and that's why I said it but I can't just flat-out lie for the camaraderie. Because the truth is, I <i>don't</i> think it's hard to tell them no. I <i>don't</i> think it's mean to not give them what they want and I am almost certain that I <i>don't even have to capacity</i> to feel guilty for not giving in and buying my kids the most current crap product out there.<br />
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I know I go on and on about my kids not having iPhones, about them not having an Xbox or Playstation or fidget spinners, but it's only because it is something I am so compassionate about. I am teaching them how to one day live in the world, and I want them to do just that — actually live in the world, not let the world live in them.<br />
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Because just as everyone knows, "things" don't make us happy. Instagram, Facebook and Twitter might beg to differ, but darling, Instagram, Facebook and Twitter are all fake.<br />
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One thousand percent fake. The more and more I scroll through my feed, the more and more I get thisclose to deleting the apps all together. I haven't yet, and I know that is because the vicious pull of popular social media is still gripping at me, but I'm working on it. I'm working on it, alright? (This topic is a whole different blog post, which is most definitely coming to a blog near you soon.)<br />
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It <i>is</i> harder and it <i>does</i> take more energy to get your kids outside expending energy than letting them plop in front of the TV to watch hours of mind-numbing brainless junk so I get it, I get it...why things like spinners are so popular and why millions of parents are buying them. It's the world we live in, but I refuse to let it be the world <i>my kids</i> live in.<br />
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And just fyi...it starts getting a lot less hard if you stick with it. My oldest did get right off the sin-mobile and immediately ask me for the fidget spinner, but I said no and he asked one more time and I said no again (this time with more oomph, let's say) and he hasn't asked me again since. He knows I meant it, and besides, he came home and started playing with the new tree swing that his dad had hung up while he was at school, and the fidget spinner was a thing of the past.<br />
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Rubber tire tree swing: practically free, keeps the kids entertained outdoors and no batteries needed. (Take <i>that</i> you wicked toy marketer people.)<br />
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Bare bones parenting. Is it a thing? If so, I want to join. I think it would be made up of rubber tire swings, grass stains, melting popsicles, bike tires, skinned knees, barefoot feet, happiness, dirty hands, dirty toes, full bellies and pure hearts.</div>
Ravenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06484566171145256075noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143318558355143388.post-8655915236669059202017-03-26T20:53:00.000-07:002017-03-26T21:01:33.413-07:00Does This Bragging Make Me Look Preposterous?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">via Pinterest</span></i></div>
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With the rise in social media, it's so easy to put whatever it is that you want out there. There are many positives to this, such as spreading the word on great charities, re-posting helpful marriage advice articles and of course, the meme's.</div>
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It's great for sharing our day to day life, documenting the first lawn mow of the year or the amazing meal we just made from Pinterest. It's a good tool to keep grandparents up on the doings on their grandchildren and also to tag your husband in whenever you come across a DIY project that needs to happen, like STAT. It's fun to share photos of friends that we haven't seen in forever and to document exciting events like concerts and weddings. Social media, in and of itself, isn't a bad thing. It's when people use it for inadequate purposes that gives it that negative aura. </div>
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Take for instance, <i>bragging</i>. Also known as: showing off, boasting, gloating, crowing, showboating. </div>
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Also known as: <i>no one cares.</i></div>
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Yeah, I see your new Mercedes on Facebook. I'll raise you one paid off ten-year-old SUV that still looks pretty good, if I do say so myself. What's that? You bought the whole line of Armani over the weekend? That's nice, I hope it all stays in style. Just the other day, I got a new purse also...the cutest canvas style tote that holds all my stuff and is totally my vibe. Forty eight bucks. I got it at a store that also sells couches, which may seem weird to you, but I kinda like that off-shoot stuff. Not everyone has it, you know? </div>
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And yes, I did see your pricey designer shoes. How could I <i>possibly</i> miss them!? Sillygoose, you only posted a photo of yourself wearing them — sole side out! — 39 and a half times. And tagged the designer on every social media platform. And mentioned them in your theatrical detailed caption. We get it. You have feet that need to be covered. We now also get that you are a gasbag braggart. </div>
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Profound bragging is just so obscene and gross to me. Especially when there are so many people in need, so many people in the world who don't even know what they will do for their next meal. So much struggle and pain and poverty that some people (definitely not you!) have to endure and deal with every day. And yet, there you go boasting about how much money your hideous designer chandelier cost. I can't tell you the animosity I feel when I scroll through my social media feed and see a post about St. Jude's hospital, and the very next one is from some chick showing me her new Tiffany's jewelry purchase. Bragging isn't cool. It's narrow-minded and unoriginal. And it's just in such poor taste.</div>
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It's funny. Those who have worked from the bottom up are usually never flamboyant with their wealth. Some of the richest people I know wouldn't dream of instagramming their car emblem. Some of the even richer people I know are so low-key about it, you'd never guess they were loaded. What's more, they are some of the most fun, interesting and real people I know.</div>
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I'm not saying people shouldn't enjoy their wealth, not at all. That is part of The American Dream — making a good living, working hard, enjoying nice things. And shoot, I wouldn't turn down a hundie if offered to me. We all love to be able to take a nice vacation every once in a while, and splurging isn't a sin. I love a quality pair of leather boots just like the next person, but I spend the money on them because of the comfort and sustainability, not so I can showboat and toot my horn. (And can someone please tell me why Uggs are so looked down upon? I constantly get made fun of for my Ugg love — mainly from my nonjudgmental family — but I am Uggs-and-Bikinis all the way, ride or die.)</div>
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It's fine to own luxury handbags, and it's fine to be photographed with your expensive purse if you happen to be carrying it the second someone asks to snap a pic. But if you're showing me the coffee you just ordered, there's really no need to "discreetly" place that overpriced LV conspicuously in the same frame. Why not just show me your coffee? Which, if we're being honest, what you are <i>really</i> going for here is <i>pretending</i> to show me your coffee and maybe the manicure you got today but bam! diamond ring, front and center. </div>
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Motives. Everyone sees right through 'em.</div>
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Boasting about your weekly maid that comes and cleans your house is just so, so very uninteresting. Literally. It's about as interesting to me as all the in-utero fruit-sized babies that grace my Facebook feed. Show me how you work your ass off, volunteer at your child's school, make a house a home and know how to mow a lawn. <i>Now</i> I'm impressed.</div>
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It's exhausting playing the game of keep up and show and tell. I was at a dinner once where someone mentioned a vacation they had just gotten back from. Someone else at the table piped in with a lavish vacation that <i>they</i> had just taken last month. And I kid you not, then someone entirely <i>else</i> told us of how he is going on a vacation for three weeks "just because he can." It went back and forth and forth and back with these three people and then a few more joined in and everyone was trying to state their case that their vacation spot was the most extravagant and otherworldly and the one-upping that was going on just about did me in for humanity.</div>
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One-upping. Also known as: <i>no one cares</i>.</div>
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I mentioned that <i>my</i> family likes to go camping during the summer and you should have seen the looks of pity thrown my way. (I would like to also mention that I don't attend those kind of dinners anymore. I prefer to eat my food sans the salty taste of over-inflated pride, thank you.)</div>
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It's like the time Rob and I went to Vegas one year and stayed in one of the nicest hotels on the strip (see <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ravenasmith/media_set?set=a.1416434571287.2062615.1245270789&type=3" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">here</span></a>). It was a blast, we felt like high fliers and we had the time of our lives. Things change however, and the next time we were able to make it to Vegas, we ended up staying in probably one of the cheapest most beat down hotels on the strip (see <a href="https://www.facebook.com/ravenasmith/media_set?set=a.3695219499486.2139364.1245270789&type=3" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">here</span></a>). It was still a blast, we still felt like high fliers and we still had the time of our lives. Because it didn't matter to us where we stayed, how much our room was, or how many stars our hotel was rated. We had a real good time with real good people and the same real hot sun shined upon us <i>all</i>. </div>
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Keeping up with the Joneses? <i>Ppsssshh</i>. More like schlepping it with the Smiths. It's<i> so </i>much more fun, believe you me.</div>
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Look. Having nice things obviously doesn't make someone a bad person. But if those things define you, then I'd say you've got a problem. If you feel the need to show off and grandstand with all your <i>stuffs</i>...well then, you have fun with that.</div>
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I'll just be over here in my camping chair. With true friends, a warm bonfire and worn-out Uggs.</div>
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You know, in the <i>real</i> lap of luxury. <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">*wink</span></i></div>
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Ravenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06484566171145256075noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143318558355143388.post-24187126515674086042017-03-16T11:57:00.003-07:002018-11-29T12:35:38.301-08:00The Case Against Bras<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim3yQ0sEgkLEgiOMh21-cuSDaGWWPtXYo6TYvzAOz_DyQ4I4pIUHxH1GPemE0vMP8CN5a6u68vz-qO_h1DhA-3VEoUvsUFfrK5yzVEUaHTavNsSPYc0jR1vJHSZFgJgO0hHVdFdxsd_g/s1600/boobs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim3yQ0sEgkLEgiOMh21-cuSDaGWWPtXYo6TYvzAOz_DyQ4I4pIUHxH1GPemE0vMP8CN5a6u68vz-qO_h1DhA-3VEoUvsUFfrK5yzVEUaHTavNsSPYc0jR1vJHSZFgJgO0hHVdFdxsd_g/s1600/boobs.jpg" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">via Pinterest</span></i></div>
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I wrote earlier this week regarding <a href="http://www.dontquotetheraven.com/2017/03/the-case-against-homework.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">The Case Against Homework</span></a> and <a href="http://www.dontquotetheraven.com/2017/03/the-case-against-electronics-for-kids.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">The Case Against Electronics</span></a> that I figured I should also write about the case against something just as — and maybe even more so — crucial: for the love of all things, can we just get rid of these metal contraption boob crushers!?</div>
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I'm talking about The Case Against Bras.</div>
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I don't know why I'm so passionate about the subject but dammit, I am. (Probably because I have boobs and don't like being told how to harness them. Let's run with that.)</div>
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Look, I'm all for women making their own decisions. If it makes you happy to wear a bra with hardware sewn in then by all means, rock on. I'm not here to tell women what to do or wear, I'm here to announce that <i>I</i> won't be letting anyone else tell <i>me</i> what to do or wear!</div>
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Specifically, the bra. Also know as chest chokers, mammary muzzles, over-the-shoulder boulder holders and a plethora of other stupid names probably created by men. (Full disclosure: I love men. I'm also not here to downgrade their worth. But just as all men and women are not created equal, neither are all men, which we will get into in a moment.)</div>
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Real talk. Bras are uncomfy as they come. </div>
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Not only are they annoying and ill-fitting, but they have the potential for some serious chafing. There is a reason why the various meme's of <i>"the best feeling in the world is taking off your bra at the end of the day" </i>are so popular and get re-posted over and over again: it's because it really <i>is</i> the best feeling in the world! The feeling of taking off one's bra at the end of the day evokes such a strong reaction in us women that it has become a major daily triumph. Something we look forward to and desperately yearn for. But why should we have to go through pain just to get to such pleasure? I understand the sentiment "pain before pleasure" when it comes to sports dedication or intense schooling or birthing a baby for crying out loud: some things we must simply endure in order to come out the other side of bliss, but <i>our boobies</i>? Our soft, sensitive, precious boobies? </div>
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Pain and boobs should not a partnership make.</div>
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And marketing companies aren't stupid, they know how to hook women into buying multiples of these torture devices by compartmentalizing their "many uses." You can't just have a regular bra, you also need a "t-shirt" bra and a "strapless" bra and a "halter" bra and a "racerback" bra and a "multi-use" bra and a "sexy time" bra - nursing, padded, plunge, push-up, adhesive and stick-on bras, oh my!</div>
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Our pain = their gain.</div>
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Not to mention, there have been many, many articles written on how bras can actually <a href="http://www.vanguardngr.com/2013/04/study-shows-wearing-a-bra-could-hinder-breast-health/?fb_ref=Default" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">hinder our health</span></a>! If that's not reason enough to go braless, I don't know what is. And back to the vanity aspect of wanting to look our best, science has proven that not wearing a bra actually helps our boobs <i>not</i> to sag. According to a <a href="http://www.lifehack.org/336735/science-proves-that-wearing-bras-bad-for-your-health" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">study</span></a>, scientists have found that not wearing a bra actually protects your breasts from gravity. This is because it forces women to have better posture and it also forces the body to develop the muscles that lie underneath the breasts, which aid breast support and lift. (Also see: <a href="http://tiphero.com/benefits-of-not-wearing-a-bra/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">9 Amazing Things That Happen When You Stop Wearing A Bra</span></a>.)</div>
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I say it's time we take our boobs back into our own hands! (Literally, don't forget to self-check our breasts on the regular ladies!) They belong to us and we should treat them with respect. </div>
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Speaking of respect...</div>
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Now that we've covered banning bras in the name of comfort and health, what then do we do about the social stigma of it all? Even after all my convincing, I doubt most women are going to walk into a job interview sans bra. (Unless the job interviewer is a man, then let's be honest, you will probably get the job. I don't know about you, but I'd call that a win-win.) The headlines are always the same: "Braless Jennifer Anniston out on the town!" "Chrissy Teigen At Dinner Without A Bra!" "Judge Judy Presided In Court Today With Exposed Nipples!" I mean, how is this even actual news?! People still, in this day and age, get hot and bothered by seeing a woman breastfeed! </div>
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But it is. It's news because still, people are afraid of the breast. People are offended by seeing the mere outline of one of our most natural body parts. People are apprehensive and can be downright defensive about the notion of going braless. </div>
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And by people, I'm mostly referring to insecure women.</div>
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Sorry. I didn't want to go there, I really didn't, but I can't gloss over the fact that it's mostly women who have such a problem with the anti-bra movement. Men sure don't give a crap (clearly) and there can't possibly be any other plausible reason besides insecurity when it comes to other women giving any consideration to the state of my unrestricted boobs. </div>
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So what if it makes you uncomfortable that your man is staring at my boobs! You know what makes <i>me</i> uncomfortable? <i>Your man staring at my boobs!!</i></div>
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Creeper.</div>
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And I get it, men are visual creatures, they just are. I'm not trying to take away their God-given right to ogle pretty little things, but do some of ya'll gotta rubberneck it so hard? And just in case no one has told you yet, you won't stand a chance with that exposed bosom you covet so badly when you gawk like a muttonhead. (Here is where we circle back to "not all men are equal." I know not all of you guys are crude, lewd, eyeball challenged people — most of the men I know are respectful and sure, may take a quick peek but they definitely don't let their eyes linger there like they've never come in contact with one before. Grow up and act like you've seen a pair before, it's attractive.) </div>
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I promise you that I'm not going braless to lure your man in. I'm sure most other women aren't either. Sure, there are some hookers out there with the sole intention of dressing in a way to nab themselves a treat, whether taken or not, but those animals are in a whole different category of debris. Most women, most decent women who choose to go braless are doing so purely because <i>honey, it just feels good</i>. </div>
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Look. I'm not at all advocating for the total baring of boobs. I'm all for being classy and modest (<a href="http://www.dontquotetheraven.com/2015/02/hot-mess-and-proud-of-it.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">except when I'm not</span></a>) and protecting our self-worth by respecting our bodies. I certainly don't think self-proclaimed flaming feminists who shove their bare boobs in our faces and who use them as a juggling act in public is empowering to women whatsoever. It's not. Behaving in that manner is vulgar and tasteless and does absolutely nothing to legitimize the imperative value of women.</div>
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What I <i>am </i>advocating for is simple comfort when it comes to our boobs. That and lowering the stigma of going braless. That's all. Comfort looks different for every woman, and if it makes you uncomfortable going without, they make some super cute soft bralettes that don't contain any materials that would set off a metal detector. </div>
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And as I said earlier, if wearing a wire in your bra is the most comfortable for you, no judgement here.</div>
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I'm just asking that you do the same. </div>
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Ravenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06484566171145256075noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143318558355143388.post-78742991196041823112017-03-13T19:23:00.002-07:002017-03-13T21:03:51.215-07:00The Case Against Electronics For Kids<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>But I really, really want one.</i></div>
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Don't care.</div>
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<i>But all my friends have one.</i></div>
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Don't care.</div>
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<i>But I neeeeeeeed one.</i></div>
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Don't care.</div>
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<i>You're the meanest mom ever.</i></div>
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Thank you, I try. <span style="font-size: x-small;">*wink</span></div>
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And there you have it.</div>
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See, I despise overconsumption. It can be in many forms, but for today, I'm talking about the overconsumption of electronics for children. Screen time is such a passionate issue with me and it is something I refuse to give into. I really <i>don't care</i> what everyone else says, I really <i>don't care</i> what everyone else is doing and I really <i>don't care</i> if my kids hate me because I won't buy them a game console. </div>
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I mean, there literally isn't even just <i>one care</i> anywhere in there for me to give. I don't feel the slightest bit guilty that my boys have never opened an Xbox on Christmas morning. It doesn't keep me up at night racked with remorse that my kids don't have their own TV in their bedrooms. And it sure as hell doesn't give me conflict over whether or not to buy my boys an iPhone. </div>
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The day my kids have an iPhone is the day they can buy one themselves. </div>
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To be honest, I sometimes feel the need to stretch so far to the other side that I've fantasized about taking my family and moving us all to some remote island with not a single plug-in to be found. No shoes, no shirt, no shitty plastic newest edition handheld.</div>
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Alas, we don't live in the middle of Tanzania so I try and reign it in as best I can. As much as I believe that for the most part, kids should be using their time exploring, creating and building, I understand a little give and take is par for the course.</div>
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My kids each have an iPad. Not an Apple iPad (too expensive and unnecessary for their age), but one I got from Amazon that was designed strictly for children. I have to approve and download any app they want, and they don't even have the option of buying things online. (Don't even get me <i>started</i> on spending real money on virtual stuff — I just cannot comprehend such silliness.)</div>
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With those iPads come strict rules. They only get to play them on weekends - non negotiable - and their time is limited. I google every new game they want to download and check parent reviews. My children also aren't allowed to play a lot of the popular "kid" games out there. (Seriously, do some research. The popular game Roblox that every child loves? So many parent reviews say as much as the moderators try to keep it PC, it's super easy to breach the restrictions and many parents have witnessed pornographic subject matter while their kids were playing. It isn't uncommon. Further, I thought "youtube kids" was an app designated towards, well, <i>kids</i>. That is until I was standing over them watching a video and I heard, <i>"I'm gonna kick your ass!"</i> Delete.)</div>
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Also, the second they get upset while playing their iPads - whether it be because a game isn't working properly or their brother made their character die in Minecraft - is the second I walk up to them and take them away. I refuse, absolutely <i>refuse</i>! to let electronics be a source of dissension in their lives. If it is making them unhappy or grouchy, it's gone. And I always explain to them my reasoning - I tell them iPads should be fun, and since they get to play for such limited time, if it makes them upset or agitated, it is working in a negative way and isn't benefiting their precious minds and souls. </div>
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TV time is limited also. Again, they aren't allowed to watch television during the school week. It simply just doesn't come on when they walk through the door after school. The content of what they watch is again approved by me. I know one day I will have zero control over what they do/see/experience so I'm using the time I do have to hopefully lay a solid foundation. </div>
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I've even gone long periods of time with no TV and iPad at all! I just ban it completely. Sometimes they make me so angry that I go into my "that's it we are living like they did in the stone age" mentality and then that's exactly what we do. I remember thinking their questions of "but why can't we play iPad? Why can't we watch TV" would never end but amazingly, after a week or two, they do! It's a learned behavior to get addicted to that stuff and it takes a new learned behavior to become un-addicted. </div>
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I would also like to point out that when my kids are home from school, I am never watching TV myself during their waking hours. I never sit down on the couch and turn on a TV program for myself to watch until they are off to bed lights out. Do as mommy says <i>and</i> does, isn't that right? </div>
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Mommy could definitely get her own face out of her iPhone more often... <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">*hangs head in shame</span></i></div>
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What do we do to fill our time? We read, we paint art projects, we build Lego cities, get pulled behind the 4-wheeler when it snows and when it's warm outside, we basically live and breath the outdoors. I didn't buy myself my own Razer scooter for nothing. I'm getting the motorized one this year, you know it.</div>
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We spend money on outdoor things: bikes and trikes and trampolines and tree swings and obstacle courses. Even in the summer, the screen time rule still applies. Out. The. Door. Don't whine. </div>
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Look, I get the whole 'different strokes for different folks thing'. Some families may have no problem with having an Xbox in the house - a few of my good friends have game consoles for their kids and it seems to work out just fine for them. I know my kids, and I know that even if I gave them limited play time, it would be a constant source of discord. They would want "just 5 more minutes" and "but why can't we play it now" and I just choose not to even welcome that battle in the front door.</div>
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Gotta go though. Tarzan is naked out on the trampoline and the neighbors are starting to come home from work. We aren't completely uncivilized over here.</div>
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<i>(as I google property for sale in Tanzania...) </i></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">If you want more anti-screen time proof, you can read <a href="https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/behind-online-behavior/201604/what-screen-time-can-really-do-kids-brains" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">this</span></a> or <a href="https://breakingmuscle.com/learn/wired-kids-how-screen-time-affects-childrens-brains" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">this</span></a> or <a href="http://nypost.com/2016/08/27/its-digital-heroin-how-screens-turn-kids-into-psychotic-junkies/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">this</span></a> or <a href="http://www.npr.org/sections/ed/2014/08/28/343735856/kids-and-screen-time-what-does-the-research-say" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">this</span></a>. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">All very informative and from people who have actual professional stats to back it up!</span></div>
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Ravenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06484566171145256075noreply@blogger.com158tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143318558355143388.post-50589247485291026352017-03-08T12:13:00.001-08:002017-03-08T20:19:29.130-08:00A Day With A Woman<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>via pinterest</i></span></div>
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I woke up before my kids this morning. Usually they are the ones up way before me, as I enjoy my sleep and not so much the freakish early hours loved by the littles, but today I wanted to get up before them and have a little quiet time to myself.</div>
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I poured myself some coffee, curled up on the couch in a big fluffy blanket with the dog at my feet and thought about how amazing it is to be a woman. I get to have <i>this</i> life, the one I <i>chose</i>, the one I always knew I wanted. No one ever said I couldn't have it (or if they did, I just didn't listen) and sure, there were obstacles along the way but nevertheless, I persisted. And yes, maybe I used a bit of my womanly charm along the way but what fun would it be to never cash those in? ;)</div>
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Being a woman is pretty awesome. I love the femininity that comes with being a woman - our curves, our tenderness, our compassion, and when we want to be, I love the badassery that only the most bona fide of us can accomplish. We hold so much power, us women, and it's not a responsibility I take lightly. I would hate it if I used my power in a way which made a fool of me - <i>of us</i> - as I never want to be a part of regressing our gravity and value to the world. We are so important, so very important and paramount in this existence and we must handle ourselves in a way that always proves our worth, not destroys it. I'm choosing to lead with positivity and love, what about you?</div>
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Being a woman is pretty awesome. As a woman, I get to have a husband. Someone who stands by me every day and protects and provides. Sure, I could protect and provide for myself, and I do, but no one does it better than my man. He's strong, he's steady, and who wouldn't want a God-fearing man whose life mission it is to honor and love them unconditionally? He bears my burdens and holds constant as my rock. He respects and upholds my femininity - because I myself respect and uphold it first - and he appreciates me for what I bring to the table. If this idea doesn't thrill you, then maybe you haven't found the right guy yet. Because speaking from experience, husbands are pretty cool dudes. </div>
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Being a woman is pretty awesome. I get to be a wife! I get to be someone's world and their comfort. He knows my little quirks and yet he chooses to love me anyway, every day. We share life responsibilities together and I know I will always have someone to go though life with. I get to greet him at the door with a smile on my face; not because I'm oppressed and "it's my job" to do so, but because I love being one of the reasons he rushes to get home. <i>I'm needed and I'm wanted</i>. I enjoy taking care of my man because I know the benefits of doing so. It's incredible how the sweeter and softer I am to my husband, the harder he works to move mountains for myself and our family. He will never give up on us, and I will never give up on him.</div>
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Being a woman is pretty awesome. I get to take care of and nurture two little souls. My day isn't just solely about me anymore - thank God - and being able to love and hold dear these children of mine is a privilege I will never take for granted. No one can do it as good as I can, and for now, their well being is in my hands. Goodnight kisses, tight squeezes from little arms, fleeting glimpses of the men they will one day become, laying next to them and watching them sleep and being so overcome with emotions that you didn't possibly know a love like this could exist. It's a short, crazy ride, and I know I will miss it immensely when it's over, so for now, I will put every ounce of my being a woman into being the best mother I can be.</div>
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Speaking of those children, I think I hear little footsteps coming down the stairs...</div>
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Breakfast was busy, as usual, but I spent a little more time today making their pancakes extra special — arranging the blueberries into a smile, a strawberry nose and chocolate chip eyes, extra syrup. I tried to keep my composure when I had to ask them for the seventh time to put on their jackets, after all, they have kept theirs with me more times than I can count. I packed their lunches, kissed them both on each cheek and then sent them out the door towards the bus to take on the school day.</div>
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I then did a few more loads of laundry, vacuumed the upstairs for our guests coming this weekend, cleaned up the remnants of the kitchen and finally sat down at my computer ready to finish the articles I have been hired to write for the local paper. That's another great thing about being a woman; I can make the choice to stay at home <i>and</i> help with the income. I can make any choice I want, really.</div>
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At lunchtime, I'll take a break and pull out some ribeye from the freezer, dice up a few yukon gold potatoes in preparation and crush some fresh rosemary since I know it's my husbands favorite meal. I'll also pull out my favorite aqua vase as chances are pretty good he will be bringing home some of my favorite pink flowers. </div>
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When it gets closer to the kids returning home from school, I'll get a snack ready for them because I know how hungry they usually are when they walk in the door. I'll kiss them both like I haven't seen them in months, but seriously, I really did miss them while they were away! They are the little pieces of me and an exact portrait of what the inside of my heart looks like.</div>
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I might take a look and see what the weather is like at the beach, as my husband surprised me with plans to take the family there in the fall. I know he knows how hard I work and this is one way he shows he appreciates me. </div>
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After the long day is done, I'll sit back down on the couch with my fluffy blanket, dog at my feet and reflect for a minute on how amazing it is to be a woman. I get to have <i>this</i> life, the one I <i>chose</i>, the one I always knew I wanted. No one ever said I couldn't have it (or if they did, I just didn't listen) and sure, there were obstacles along the way but nevertheless, I persisted. And yes, maybe I used a bit of my womanly charm along the way but what fun would it be to never cash those in? ;)</div>
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Wow. </div>
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It's pretty damn empowering being a woman.</div>
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Ravenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06484566171145256075noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143318558355143388.post-55435978882971829512017-03-06T12:24:00.003-08:002017-03-06T13:25:32.564-08:00The Case Against Homework<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Getting creative, a top priority in our household</span></i></div>
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Let me just start by saying that most teachers are amazing. What you guys do is of the upmost importance in the mini society of children. It takes a special person to become a teacher - especially of the little ones - and how you do it I will never know. You are in charge of teaching my child the schooling he will need to know in order to succeed in life. Without you, he's doomed. (Because God knows I'm not going to do it. We all are given special gifts in life, and teaching a room full of kids with similar versions of my own child's amplified persona is most definitely not a special gift of mine. No it is not.)</div>
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But this post isn't about teachers (and for the record, my kids have had absolutely wonderful teachers so far in their schooling career). Rather, it's about homework, and my utter disdain for the massive amount of homework kids these days bring home. I recognize that <i>some</i> homework is beneficial and even crucial for older children (teens and high schoolers), but for the little guys who attend primary school, I am completely against it.</div>
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Let me explain. </div>
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First, I would like to disclose that my two boys get zero screen time during the school week. I understand the absurdity of proclaiming to be against homework if I allow my kids to subsequently play on their iPads or watch TV. As much as I oppose homework for elementary aged children, I oppose screen time even more. (Come back tomorrow for "The Case Against Electronics" blog post.)</div>
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Monday through Friday, my kids get home at 3:30 p.m., after spending approx. 7 hours at school.</div>
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I don't know about you, but my two young boys have an intense amount of energy. So when they come home after a long school day, the last thing they want (and need) to do is sit back down and do more school work. </div>
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My kids sit in a chair in a classroom for the majority of the school day. They are sitting at a desk, hard at work (fingers crossed) and learning from their teachers. Yes, they get recess (not enough, in my opinion) and they get gym class once a week. Woop!</div>
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Can I take a second and ask where the heck the arts went? Math and History are two very important subjects, everyone needs to know math basics and historical facts about our world. It helps shape us and gives us knowledge and perspective. But why, I ask, can't the arts be <i>just</i> as important? To me, and to many others, they <i>are</i>, but look at most public schools and the arts always take a back seat. They have been replaced by things more "important" and I get it, there is nothing I can do to change this sad fact, it is what it is. </div>
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But the <i>very last thing</i> I am going to do is follow suite and act as if the arts aren't important <i>in my own home</i>. My oldest son Gunner is the definition of trying to fit a square peg in a round hole. Just ain't gonna happen. He beats to his own drum and gets reprimanded for "humming" too often in class. And again, I get it! I do! Him humming in the classroom can disrupt the other children from learning and he needs to learn how to follow the rules in certain settings. Schools need order and structure to work properly. Originality is cool, yes, but so is discipline. (And just for the record, he never gets in trouble at home when he gets bad marks for "humming." I just tell him to "try and keep it at home buddy" while secretly smiling to my rebel self.)</div>
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However, in my house? After being corralled and expected to fit a certain mold during the day? Hum away child! Hum wildly and loudly (outside please, you hurt my ears) and sing and dance and run and jump and for all that is holy, be a child!</div>
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By the looks of things, his interests and passions aren't going to lead him into a career of biochemistry. If they do, great! But wouldn't it be <i>just</i> as great if he turned out to be the next great artist or multimedia animator? You should see the kid draw...his talent is amazing, and he creates some of the most innovative lego structures strictly from using his imagination as a road map, that you would think there is no way he didn't use instructions to build them. Ask him what he wants to be when he grows up and he says, "a dad and a racecar driver!" Very respectable life choices in my opinion and school isn't going to teach him how to do either of those!</div>
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So he doesn't particularly enjoy school - too bad - we all have to get through it. And regardless of how I feel about the arts being basically banished, I unequivicoly stress to him the importance of always trying our best, of putting in the effort whether or not it's what we want to do. Life isn't a constant party and we all have to do things we would rather not. Work hard, play hard. Life mantra.</div>
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My kids have a bedtime of 7:30 p.m. This gives us 4 hours after school to be together as a family. </div>
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Now let me tell you what is very, very important to us during those 4 after school hours:</div>
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<i>Play</i>. I've always stressed, and I always will, the importance of play time. More specifically, outdoor play time. After sitting in a structured environment all day, kids need to get out in nature and just <i>be</i>. My kids are required to play outside for a minimum of an hour when they get home from school. It's more in the summer (much more - we're talking they are outside the majority of the day) but during the week, it's an hour. Which seems pretty insufficient when they have been sitting down for hours and hours on end. It's almost laughable - the amount of physical activity our kids get these days. Nonetheless, an hour is required. </div>
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But see here's the thing: if they are having a blast and want to stay out even later than an hour? My precious child, have at it. Go. Run. Explore. Play. Use that amazing imagination. You are young and little and full of energy that needs to be released. I will never take play time away from you when you are soaring through literal fields of wonder. Your homework can wait. </div>
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And when the weather warms up, they are going to have their own little garden to tend to, to take care of and to grow. It's something we are going to do together, as I want them to learn the importance of growing their own food. </div>
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<i>Dinnertime</i>. A long lost tradition where a warm home-cooked meal is the norm. It's important for me that my family sits down and has dinner together. I want my boys to see me enjoying the process of preparing dinner for my family. I want them to help me bring in food from the garden, and I don't want to feel rushed and have them think that ordering in pizza three times a week is what dinner is supposed to look like. It takes time and effort to prepare a healthy balanced meal, and I don't want to be throwing in TV dinners at the last exhausted minute so my family can be fed. (And for the record, my husband cooks just as much as me, if not more. Boys can do it too! Also for the record - before my family calls me out - no, my children do not always eat what we eat, but my point about the value of family dinnertime remains the same.)</div>
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<i>Books</i>. I read to my boys every single night before bed. It's something I have always done and it is something I will never sacrifice. It is precious time that we spend together, and reading books is something that I think is extremely important. I never want to dread going upstairs because we ran out of time and now I have to rush through our reading time. I want to be able to say "yes" when they ask for "just one more, please?" and do it with a willing heart. </div>
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<i>Time with their father</i>. I may get 4 hours with my kids after school, but my husband, <i>their dad,</i> only gets 2. Like most men, he works a full day and is up and gone before they leave for school. So that leaves him, <i>their dad</i>, only 2 hours a day for the majority of the week to spend time with his sons. My boys <i>need</i> time with their dad. My boys <i>deserve</i> time with their dad. So when they are using up that last hour before bedtime playing tag with their dad running wildly around the house, who am I to stop it? I might even let them stay up a little later for just "one more game." Dad time trumps after school math equations any day.</div>
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Someone once suggested to me to just let the kids stay up later, then they will have time to get their homework done and still have the family play time I value so highly.</div>
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Except, I know the importance of adequate sleep for my children. I know that if I keep them up later, they will wake up groggy and irritable and will do poorly in their classroom. I know their teachers have crowded classrooms and don't need more kids coming in over-tired and exasperated. I know their brain function isn't at top capacity when they don't get the proper amount of sleep that they need. Sleep is brain food, and I refuse to starve my children of those much needed supplements.</div>
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And also? My husband and I need down time together, just the two of us. It helps keep our marriage in tact and having a healthy marriage helps kids tremendously. </div>
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The Case Against Homework is a trickle down affect.</div>
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So you see? <i>Four hours</i>, that is how much time I have with my kids after their school day. Teachers have their time to teach them essential schooling, and I have my time to help them be respectful teachable children. The teaching of morals and values should fall on the parents, as it is one of our most meaningful and paramount jobs.</div>
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I also don't shun homework the second they walk in through the door, either. It isn't like, <i>"ok kids! Fling your backpacks out the window, now it's time to have some REAL fun!"</i> It's not like we NEVER do homework, but I will admit it does take a backseat most days. </div>
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If they have one page of math homework to do, we usually try and get that done. They also have a spelling test every Friday, and I know they get a sense of pride when they do well on it, so we have a time set aside each day to go up to their rooms and practice their spelling words. Some weeks go great and they get a good score on their test, other weeks are just "off" and they might not do as well. And that's ok, I just don't stress about it. </div>
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I <i>do</i>, however, stress greatly the importance of just being a kid. Of getting outdoors and playing in nature and for the love of God, learning about things that schools can't teach them!</div>
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Because see, they are also learning very important things at home:</div>
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Learning how to construct cities and cars and buildings using only their imagination and a thousand lego pieces. </div>
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Learning why and how we respect our siblings when they get sent to their rooms for 30 minutes while they think about their poor behavior. </div>
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Learning about themselves and their bodies and what they are capable of when they go outside for an hour and construct a makeshift bike jump from materials laying around the yard. </div>
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Learning to self soothe and direct their focus elsewhere when they get frustrated or bored, and are left to their own devices. </div>
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Learning how to fix a broken Powersport ATV engine while they spend time with their dad in the garage, tinkering around. </div>
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Learning how to be a good sport when they lose a game of Battle Ship.</div>
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Learning that time with family is just as important as time in school.</div>
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When their rope swing breaks and I tell them to figure it out themselves, they are learning that they <i>do</i> have what it takes, and that their abilities are great. </div>
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Learning to just be a kid.</div>
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Because trust me, there will be plenty of times in their lives where they will be stressed and stretched beyond limit with all the pressures and expectations of the outside world. </div>
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So for now, childhood it is.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>(If you want even more proof that homework isn't good for little kids, you can read <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/answer-sheet/wp/2017/02/26/what-happened-when-one-school-banned-homework-and-asked-kids-to-read-and-play-instead/?utm_term=.6c1f20bf25ed" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">this</span></a> and <a href="http://www.thecaseagainsthomework.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">this</span></a> and <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/news/the-case-against-homework/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">this</span></a> and <a href="http://education.cu-portland.edu/blog/news/the-homework-debate-the-case-against-homework/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">this</span></a> and <a href="http://www.cbsnews.com/news/the-case-against-homework-20-02-2009/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">this</span></a> and <a href="http://www.familycircle.com/teen/school/homework/the-case-against-homework/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">this</span></a> - there is no shortage in what professionals really know is not in the best interest of little children. Why then, is it still happening?!)</i></span></div>
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Ravenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06484566171145256075noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143318558355143388.post-62175662040685086622017-01-29T15:08:00.001-08:002017-01-29T15:08:18.349-08:00Palm Trees Are My Spirit Animal <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC4W4YbXg66io2a6vBESwDhu5Jft6zL4A-eXY6oS5vi5eWymV9nH27-TUdKPzZf8x6-KqPFD7NUh2tuLgAB8KvMO2owG65kWC4RxIxI_zqWm7VHsWFUWmMbf7gpz5dlQuRKDyXAiSNmQ/s1600/tree4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC4W4YbXg66io2a6vBESwDhu5Jft6zL4A-eXY6oS5vi5eWymV9nH27-TUdKPzZf8x6-KqPFD7NUh2tuLgAB8KvMO2owG65kWC4RxIxI_zqWm7VHsWFUWmMbf7gpz5dlQuRKDyXAiSNmQ/s1600/tree4.jpg" /></a></div>
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I always feel depressed the day we get home from Hawaii. I know that sounds like an ungrateful pretentious thing to say, but it's the truth. Hawaii is just so incredibly beautiful. The beach and the sand and the palm trees and the breeze and the ocean...it's all so ridiculously perfect.</div>
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It's been our vacation destination of choice now for over twelve years. Rob and I went to Kauai on our honeymoon in 2004 and have tried to make it back once a year. Give me any choice of destination and I will always choose Hawaii. I'm so sentimental over the place it borders on silly.</div>
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Of course one of the reasons for all the sentiments is that my kids have been going since they were babies. We get to our resort and the first thing I think about when I see the pool is 9-month old Gunner in a swim diaper floating in his blow-up yellow duck. We walk into our room and I think about how there was always a crib set up for us. We walk down to the waterfall and I think about Colt falling in and needing rescue. We walk to the beach and I think about Gunner losing his Thomas the Train toy in the sand, never to be found. I remember them crawling in the sand because they couldn't yet walk and I remember all the free time I used to get when they would take their daily 2-hour naps. </div>
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I'm wistful to report that I <i>still</i> don't get much down time while on vacation. Come to find out, 6 and 8 year olds still need near constant supervision while at the beach, the pool, restaurants, everywhere. Each time we go, I bring one extra book "just in case" I have time. I never have the time. And it's ok. It's most definitely ok with me because I am someone who <i>never</i> wants my kids to grow up and I know one day they will, and soon we will all be together in Hawaii and I won't see them half the time. And I know I will be sitting alone at the beach in a pile of unread books wishing I didn't have time to read any of them. Hawaii just holds so many sweet memories for me of my kids that it will always be my favorite place on Earth. I hope one day we are taking our kids and <i>their</i> kids also. It most definitely is our home away from home.</div>
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This trip was no different. We flew to Hawaii on Christmas Eve day, brought the stockings and Santa arrived on Christmas morning just as he said he would. The next 8 days were spent at the pool, the beach (which happens to be one of the <a href="http://travel.usnews.com/rankings/Best_Beaches_in_the_World/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">most beautiful beaches in the world</span></a>), the hammocks and the pool bar, obviously. There is something about waking up and walking straight out your door and onto the beach. It's that "something" in my life that is my most adored piece in the world. </div>
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This was the first year that both my boys would put on snorkel gear and go out into the ocean with us. We saw turtles and nemos and eels. They boogie boarded until dark and met so many friends you would think their entire school class went on vacation with them. Gunner hunted for - and found - at least a dozen lizards, Colt fell back on the hot tub rock wall and got a goose egg the size of Mars on his head and both Rob and I would have our first cocktail before noon. It was glorious, I tell you.</div>
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We watched the fireworks on the beach for New Years Eve, and the next day we changed locations right down the road to a condo with an amazing pool overlooking the ocean. We saw dozens and dozens of turtles, many whales and dolphins every day from the patio. I heard the waves crash every night from our bed and thought, this must surely be what heaven is like. </div>
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This was our longest Hawaii stay yet, twelve days, which would have been too long anywhere else, but I have always asserted that there is <i>never</i> too long a time in paradise. And each time we had come home from Hawaii, I always had what I call "vacation guilt," which was the feeling that we didn't do enough or make the most of our time when we were there (which is silly, because just <i>being</i> there is enough), yet this time I came home satisfied and beyond happy with our stay. I felt like it was exactly what we needed and although the depression set in as we got off the plane at home and got smacked with 4 degree winter weather, my heart still swells ten times it's normal size when I think about that beautiful place. </div>
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Until next time, Kauai. </div>
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Ravenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06484566171145256075noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143318558355143388.post-76703001173616956572016-12-23T22:10:00.004-08:002016-12-23T22:10:45.102-08:00My Old Blog and The Big Scrub<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>(via pinterest)</i></span></div>
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So I missed the writing.</div>
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I missed the writing and I knew I wanted to get back to the writing but I also knew I just wasn't the same person as my "old blog." Okay, so maybe I was the same <i>person</i> per say but I didn't feel like <i>that</i> same person who wrote <i>that</i> old blog.</div>
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Confusing? It confused me too. <i>For a while</i>...which is why I felt conflicted about hanging the whole thing up all together. I loved my old blog, I looked back fondly at my time at my old blog, I had fun at my old blog. I met some awesome people at my old blog and I had a good run at my old blog.</div>
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I loved writing back then. I looked <i>forward</i> to it. It was something I was proud of and dedicated to. I sat down and wrote at my old blog because I had a fire to do so. </div>
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It made me happy. </div>
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Writing has <i>always</i> made me feel happy, since as far as I can remember. </div>
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Until it didn't. Until I would sit down and stare at my computer and force something out. </div>
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I don't necessarily agree with <i>everything</i> I've written in the past nor do I necessarily disagree with <i>anything</i> I've written in the past...I meant it when I said it and I said it when I meant it. But with life, we grow and learn and move on and evolve and do all that silly universe-y stuff. Yes I'm still a conservative with a <a href="http://www.dontquotetheraven.com/2012/05/me-liberal-mom.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">few liberal tendencies</span></a> and yes I still believe that <a href="http://www.dontquotetheraven.com/2015/05/good-men-are-only-sex-addicts-to-their.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">men should only be sex addicts to their wives</span></a> and yes I still want to be <a href="http://www.dontquotetheraven.com/2013/04/i-am-my-husbands-girlfriend.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">my husband's girlfriend</span></a> and no I don't suddenly identify as a feminist and yes I still am and will always be a <a href="http://www.dontquotetheraven.com/2015/02/hot-mess-and-proud-of-it.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">major hot mess</span></a> and yes I still loathe redheads and would never invite one over for dinner.</div>
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But for drinks? Yeah, maybe.</div>
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See? Growing and evolving and shit.</div>
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Now that that is out of the way...</div>
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I just sat down and didn't quite know what to do. I knew I wanted to write, but I also knew I didn't feel the same — <i>there</i> — as I did in the years prior. I had moved on, a season had passed, a <i>few</i> seasons had passed...and my first thought was to up and start a new blog altogether.</div>
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I had a name (although not as original, and to be honest it was pretty stupid) and I had a godaddy account, but then a few things: I would have to purchase a brand new domain and then direct that new domain to a new blog and eventually my old blog domain would die off and anyone from back in the heyday with that bookmark would be directed towards never never land...definitely not towards my new stupid blog name site and truthfully all that techy stuff made me want to punch Lena Dunham in the face (still hate her, #neverforget) and so finally I just decided I would transform my current blog into my new-and-improved blog and thus The Big Scrub came to life.</div>
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The Big Scrub = I scrubbed my blog. Big.</div>
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Most posts were deleted, a lot were just taken back to "draft." It was the easiest, most efficient way to do it without having to re-do everything. (And not kidding, my new blog name was really, truly stupid.)</div>
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I knew I wanted to write. And I knew I wanted to do it where I was most comfortable, yet my familiar old slice of the blog-o-pie had so many outdated, unwanted pieces to it. It didn't feel like <i>me</i> anymore. It was like dragging myself out of bed to go to a job I hated. </div>
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So I'm back here at Don't Quote The Raven and it's the same and it's completely different. But I know I want this space and I know I want to write here and also, let's be brutally honest...</div>
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I miss the money. I made $156 on my blog last month and I literally have put almost zero effort into my blog for the past month/year. The money and the free stuff...it's so hard to let you go!</div>
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Mostly, I missed the writing though. And the money. And the free stuff.</div>
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But mostly the writing. </div>
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So I'll totally be back after the new year, I'm excited and pumped and even if at this point my mom and sisters are the only ones that read it, I'm comfortable with that because I'm comfortable with my blog.</div>
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In the meantime, I'm off to the beautiful Kauai for a while and I will be annoyingly over-instamgramming, over-facebooking and definitely over-drinking while I'm there. You can follow me on Instagram <a href="https://www.instagram.com/ravenasmith/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">here</span></a> and Facebook <a href="https://www.instagram.com/ravenasmith/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">here</span></a> if you want, promise I won't come knock down your door if you don't. </div>
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See you next year. </div>
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Ravenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06484566171145256075noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143318558355143388.post-4239028574417358852016-09-21T12:09:00.002-07:002016-09-21T12:49:27.904-07:00A Letter To My Son About Greatness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I showed my oldest son Gunner a youtube video titled "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h9p0Mbl2I5k&sns=fb" style="color: #ea9999;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">People Are Awesome: 2015 (Maniac Edition).</span></a>" It's an amazing compilation of ordinary people doing incredible things: standing on the top of skyscrapers with no lifeline, unimaginable dirt bike stunts, sailing off a cliff without a parachute, standing at the opening of an active volcano, surfing some of the biggest waves ever recorded, somersaulting off the top of a building, freestyling and doing phenomenal things with only their body, going as high as they can and then going a little higher, pushing themselves to the very limit and then pushing even further.</div>
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Standing on the edge of the world.</div>
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And jumping.</div>
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My eight year old was astonished. The craziest thing he's ever done was sliding seamlessly head first into the gravel rocks underneath our tree swing, and I'm pretty sure that was an accident. He cried, he hurt, and then he had some pretty gnarly scars to show off to all his friends. </div>
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But as he watched the youtube video, his eyes got wide and I could see the frenzy in his breathing. He watched as people did things that in his little innocent mind, was impossible. Things that looked fun and thrilling but also scared him half to death.</div>
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"How do they even <i>do</i> that?!" He asked me. "Those people don't even care if they die!"</div>
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And I stopped him right there, made him look me in the eyes and said, "Gunner, quite the opposite. Those people? Those people in that video who were conquering things most people only dream about? <i>Those</i> people are the ones who actually <i>do</i> care. They <i>absolutely</i> care if they die. But they care a million times more about <i>living</i>."</div>
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"I think I'd want to do those things when I grow up but I can't because I'm afraid of heights."</div>
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Stop. </div>
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Stop right there my beautiful, precious, starry-eyed and creative son. Let me tell you something about fears. Fears are real, they are natural, they are warranted and they will do <i>nothing</i> but hold you back from doing something extraordinary. From experiencing the world and the universe. From moving away from where you are standing right now and propelling you into unheard of, uncharted, inconceivable, out-of-this world adventures. A lot of people live their lives with fear in control. And it's ok, it's accepted, and if you choose to live that way, you can still go on and live a decent even happy life. Maybe get a puppy, have a few kids, a job you kinda sorta like and live until you die.</div>
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But, and listen to this: if you do so, you forfeit the right to ever utter the words, "I think I'd want to do those things when I grow up BUT..." Because there <i>is</i> no "but." There is NOTHING acceptable that can ever follow that sentence when you interject the word "but."</div>
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Nothing. </div>
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Any excuse you will throw in there is baseless and invalid. </div>
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<b>And it's so, so, SO untrue. </b>It's a lie. It's a lie you will tell yourself to keep from achieving greatness. It's all a lie, Gunner. It's fiction, it's deception, it's an intentional untruth. It's a prevarication that has stopped and silenced so many of the world's greatest that we will never, <i>ever</i> get the pleasure to know about.</div>
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And when it comes to heights? Everyone in this world is on some level afraid of heights. It's a natural human emotion built into all of us to be afraid of standing at the top of the world and looking down below. The higher we go, the more scary it gets. I bet there is not one person who has ever stood at the door of a plane, about to jump, and who didn't get a little lump at the back of their throat. But I also bet that every single person who has ever made that jump pushed fear away and instead replaced "I can't" with "My GOD, this is amazing. I'm doing this."</div>
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And then they do it, Gunner. Being afraid of something is part of us all. But letting those fears stop us is absolutely and unequivocally not acceptable.</div>
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"Ok then, when I'm older I want to be one of those people who jump out of planes. I won't be scared, mom."</div>
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"You will be scared, Gunner. I never said you won't be scared. You will be petrified. You will freeze, you will want to change your mind a million times, you will throw up, you will feel like your heart is going to beat straight out of your chest and fall to the floor beneath you. </div>
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And then you'll jump."</div>
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"How do I do it then? How do I get there?"</div>
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Oh, I'm so glad you asked, darling.</div>
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There is no right or wrong way. There's just a way. And it's going to be your way, no one else's. You'll know it when you get there. You'll feel it. Your soul will rumble and you will feel courage with such fervor it will be like nothing you've ever experienced before. You want to dive off cliffs? You can. You want to jump out of planes? You can. You want to swim with sharks in the open ocean? You can. You want to create a pair of rocket boots that will help you sail away to the moon?</div>
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<b><i>You can.</i></b> </div>
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But <i>only</i> if you treat fear like the four letter word that it is.</div>
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You can do absolutely anything in this whole entire world. You can make the rules, you can break the rules, you can soar to the edge of this whole entire world kid and you can break free from every chain that was ever placed upon you and you can be without limits and you can LIVE. </div>
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<b>But.</b></div>
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(and here's a situation where that word fully applies)</div>
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You have to put in your dues first.</div>
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You have to work hard, sometimes doing things you don't want to do. Actually scratch that. You have to work hard, <i><b>always</b></i> doing things you don't want to do. You have to tow the line. You have to go to school and keep your nose to the grindstone and your feet on the ground. You have to focus and stay centered. You have to live with disappointment and be able to withstand setbacks. You will have to experience blow after blow after blow and then when you think you can't possibly take it anymore, you will have to suffer one more terrifying blow. You will fail, that's a given, and you will want to throw in the towel. </div>
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And you can, that's your choice. But a lot of discarded dreams are wrapped up in dirty laundry.</div>
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You want to rise. I know you do, I can see it in your eyes.</div>
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So go do it. Start right now.</div>
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You have be determined and dedicated and you have to obey the rules.</div>
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Yes, son, you have to obey the rules before you can break the rules.</div>
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There is no shortcut, and if you spend your time trying to find one, that is precious time wasted from getting to where you want to be.</div>
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No one just wakes up one day and decides to conquer the world.</div>
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You have to want it, to feel it, to yearn for it, to <i>live</i> for it, to never, ever, EVER give up and to <i>never</i> stop working for it.</div>
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Then, and only then, my little lamb, can you grab your dreams and fly around the world on rocket boots.</div>
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But for now, go clean your room.</div>
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See also: <a href="http://www.dontquotetheraven.com/2015/09/on-being-happy.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">On Being Happy</span></a> (another letter to my boys)</div>
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Ravenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06484566171145256075noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143318558355143388.post-45325030386155010782016-08-31T10:12:00.000-07:002016-08-31T10:21:36.055-07:00An Anti-Blogger Anniversary Post<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="text-align: left;">My husband and I celebrated our twelve year anniversary this past weekend. That's twelve years, to one person, no deaths. Pat on my back if I do say so myself. </span></div>
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Look. I love my husband. He's great! He works hard for my money, lets me know when I'm gaining too much weight (accountability) and responds well to my threats. He only questions my spending habits once a month (when the credit card bill comes) and he loves our kids almost as much as he loves me. He's really fun to party with in Las Vegas and this one time, in the Dominican Republic, we almost died together as a result of a really poor choice. (You know the ones, the ones that seem like so much fun in the moment...until they're not.) We've had some really exciting times.</div>
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He's there for me, he provides for me, he protects me. Really, he's great. And twelve years is something to celebrate but let me tell you what. I am so sick and tired of seeing all those sappy anniversary posts proclaiming ridiculous nonsense. They all sound the same, they are all contrite as hell and it's just one glaring shade of vanilla pudding.</div>
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They all go a little like this:</div>
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<i>On this day, nine years ago, I married my very best friend. I can't believe how much we've grown together and you make my life better every second of every day. The day I married you was the best day ever and I look forward to many, many more years of happily married bliss.</i></div>
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Gag</div>
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me</div>
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with</div>
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spoon.</div>
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Or really, any other kitchen utensil you have sitting around because, no. Just...no.</div>
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Girl, you know he ain't your best friend. He may be your best <i>husband</i> (at least I hope he is) but best friend? Come on. Let's get real. A <i>real</i> best friend is someone you can go to when you want to complain and bitch about your husband. A <i>real</i> best friend will cry with you and actually listen to you and then after she's done wiping your tears, will help you think of a way to seamlessly dispose of said husband without any trace being led back to you. Husbands can't help you with that, but best friends can. </div>
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I'm kinda sorta pretty much kidding, but my point still remains the same. </div>
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I mean, I got my husband and I matching Toms and he wouldn't even wear them with me. A <i>real</i> best friend would wear those <i>and</i> matching beanies. </div>
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And I don't remember my husband being there for me when I watched my littlest one go off into the big bad world they call school. His little legs walked onto the bus and his little hand waved at me goodbye...I felt like my world was ending. I cried big fat tears and needed someone, anyone to talk to. Who came through in my time of need? That's right, my <i>best friend</i>. Not my husband. Sure, I wouldn't have the amazing kids I do if it weren't for him, and sure, maybe the reason he couldn't be there to hold my hand was because he was working to provide a living for us, but once again, my point still remains the same. </div>
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And best day ever? <i>Ever</i>? Come on. I admit, the day I got married was pretty groovy. We had fun with our friends and family and got a little too tipsy on tequila shots and yeah, I look back on it fondly. But best day <i>ever</i>? Shoot, I do that Monday through Sunday. Now if we're talkin' about a <i>real</i> best day ever, that would probably be the day I realized it was socially acceptable to only text everything. Or when you get a free Kylie lip kit in the mail. Or when Taylor Swift got taken down. </div>
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I think if we're being honest here, we can all admit that your razzle-dazzle wedding doesn't even begin to compare to that time Taylor got owned. (And Tay girl, if you're reading this, do something about that hair, k? Every time I see a picture of you I get into a bad mood.)</div>
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Again, I think weddings are great (actually <a href="http://www.dontquotetheraven.com/2013/11/what-i-meant-when-i-said-i-dont-believe.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ea9999;">I lied</span></a>) and anniversaries are cool too. But let's not get carried away. You don't have to copy and paste whatever Bethany wrote on her Facebook wall the day before and what Marcy will write on her Facebook wall tomorrow when it's her anniversary. Be original, a little more honest.</div>
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Try something like:</div>
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<i>Dearest Rob, today we celebrate twelve long...long long long long years of marriage. We've been through a lot, you and I...me more so than you...but hey, I'm still here, ain't I! I can't say we make each other's lives better exactly, but we're really good drinking partners and that has to count for something, yes? The day I married you <strike>was the best day ever</strike> I got really drunk. I look forward to <strike>many more happy years of wedded bliss</strike> getting drunk with you this Friday. Love you! Mean it!</i></div>
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Butterflies and rainbows, people, butterflies and rainbows.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(ps, I'm working on getting the green hyperlinks and </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">all the ads off my posts/photos. They are driving me nuts.)</span></div>
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Ravenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06484566171145256075noreply@blogger.com37tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143318558355143388.post-82629264224523035922015-11-23T09:39:00.002-08:002018-08-24T13:35:04.008-07:00Moms In The Back Of The Elementary School Pickup Line: I Feel Your Pain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ea9999; font-size: xx-small;"><i><a href="http://articles.orlandosentinel.com/2013-11-09/features/os-school-pickup-lines-frustration-20131109_1_school-officials-other-seminole-schools-traffic">via</a></i></span></div>
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The elementary school pickup line.<br />
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I've never experienced this conundrum before this year. I've heard about it from word of mouth, and I've seen instagram pictures of desperate moms waiting in this so-called pickup line to pick up their urchin brats, but I've never been a part of this enigma until now.<br />
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I thought it'd be easy. Drive to school, drop off your kid, drive to school, pick up your kid. Like a grocery store run or post office drive-thru. In, out, hi, bye, love you more no love <i>you</i> more and then we all get on with our day.<br />
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My kid gets out of school at 3:17. The bell rings at 3:17. My kid, and every other kid in the entire premises, cannot leave the school grounds until 3:17. So imagine my surprise when I arrive at school to pick up my child at 3:12 (an entire five minutes early) and the school pickup line is 100 cars deep. </div>
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Ok ok, fine...I get it. Lots of kids attend the school, which means lots of moms pick them up, but criminy! The line! The traffic jam! The chaos! I don't know about you, but if I were an elderly living in the neighborhood and couldn't get home to my chicken noodle soup and Judge Judy by a specified time because of these psycho pseudo "mothers," I would be calling Animal Control or something similar. Isn't this like a health risk or something?<br />
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(And don't even get me started on suggesting my children ride the bus. Elementary school buses are where mass murderers are created.)</div>
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Aright, long breath in, long breath out. Must conform to generalized society, yadda yadda blow me. So the next day, I arrive at 3:07 pm. An <i>entire ten minutes</i> early! Again, let me reiterate - no child is allowed out of the building until 3:17. No child left behind! Doesn't matter if your mom drives a Ford Probe or your dad is the second shift captain at the local Applebee's. Doesn't even matter if you're fabulous and gorgeous and unstoppable like myself (I KNOW)...because nope! No kids are allowed to step foot outside that amazing structure built by the lowest bidder until 3:17 pm.<br />
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And yet still.<br />
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<i>Still</i>.<br />
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The pickup line was halfway down the road. See, if you aren't familiar with a school pickup line, you wait your turn. There are a few coveted spots at the very front of the line which means you get in and you get out, but if don't get there in time (just wait for it) then basically your entire afternoon is sucked up waiting in the line because a few probably stepmoms with something to prove have been sitting there since the ink on the prenup has dried.<br />
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Regardless, I was bound and determined to beat the system, to show those wannabe's that I can play their game. I imagined the horrified looks on their faces when they saw me parked there first, a good <i>twenty minutes early</i>. Yeah bitch, take that.<br />
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Except...<i>they were still there</i>. The same ones, parked in the same spot. The hell?!? And then the next day, I arrived thirty minutes early and then the next, forty five minutes early! AND! STILL! THERE!<br />
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I give up. I really do. If this is the hill you want to die on ladies, then be my guest.<br />
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But before I throw in my flag, I have something to say...</div>
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Crazy lunatic psycho moms in front of me in the pickup line...I have some questions for you. Such as, are you ok? Do you need help? Are you dehydrated? Please let me help you. Where are your morals? Are you bored? Is your life so unfulfilling that you have nothing better to do than sit in your useless economic liberalmobile for hours on end waiting for your less-than-average child to descend the building? You don't get life points for that, you know. Are you cold? Does the heat not work in your home? Is that why you arrive here at this pickup line so goddamn early? Because you can blast the warm air while you sit on your lazy ass? Did you forget to pay your electric bill? Do you need to borrow twenty bucks?</div>
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I'm not done.</div>
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Do you have any friends? I mean any friends besides the pickup line hoebag in front of and directly behind you. Because we all know you conspire together, you filthy wenches. Did you never have a mother that taught you courtesy? Thoughtfulness? Does your husband hate you? Are you using this pickup line as an escape from your life? I would give you the benefit of the doubt and think you're only here three days early so you can sit in peace and silence reading your self help book...yet your snide little I-win-cause-I-was-here-first glare and stupid pathetic stick family stickers on the back on your car give you away: you're nothing more than a selfish egotistical self-seeking nobody who wants to feel important by being the first! one! in! the! pickup! line!<br />
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Congrachewf**kinglations.<br />
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You win. I'll give it to you. You win, ok? You're the winner! The best! Granted, you're only the best at the elementary school pickup line...you might want to get yourself a little plaque made with that title and then set it on the dashboard of your car so everyone knows your plight. Regardless, you win.<br />
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You've done it.<br />
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And it's ok, really. I'll be fine, I promise. Because see, unlike you, I would prefer for my butt not to conform to the shape of my heated leather seats from sitting on it for hours on end. I also, unlike you, like to feel productive during the short hours we each get every day. Which is why I spend the hour before school gets out doing productive-like things, unlike you. And I'm also teaching my kid patience and that the whole world doesn't revolve around him, and even if I'm not the first mom in the pickup line, it's ok...he knows his life will still be ok. What about your little punk? What are you teaching him? That he should expect instant gratification? That he walks out of the building every single day and there you are? First in line? That his mommy will always be there for him holding his clammy hand at every turn?<br />
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Teach your kid to wipe his own butt, geezus.<br />
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So take this as my official resignation. I'm bowing out. I quit the game. You did it girls!<br />
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Of course, don't get mad if your man stares extra hard at my pert derriere from all the walking I'll be doing down the hill to the school to pick up my child.<br />
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You did this to yourself. </div>
Ravenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06484566171145256075noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143318558355143388.post-30768642246890562822015-10-21T22:01:00.002-07:002015-10-21T22:01:23.861-07:00Shit My Kid Says<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtw513CY7c9btWEbilUn5e7hA8TbGmKbiMmEwYpkjDGYsRutgrozVkSRXJvNtc55mWKsoxkanH1LNIyOzKJjtPv1LiU2EYzC7XqxOZA3Vf2T3GcxRWJ0dkltgPQmIPettV9HEDOYyxM5I/s1600/bois.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtw513CY7c9btWEbilUn5e7hA8TbGmKbiMmEwYpkjDGYsRutgrozVkSRXJvNtc55mWKsoxkanH1LNIyOzKJjtPv1LiU2EYzC7XqxOZA3Vf2T3GcxRWJ0dkltgPQmIPettV9HEDOYyxM5I/s1600/bois.jpg" /></a></div>
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+ as I am discussing our dog, Dude, with my 5 year old, and talking to him about how much Dude loves him and always wants to go where he goes:<br />
me: <b><i>how come you're the only one who can make Dude follow you around and do what you say?</i></b><br />
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Colt: <b><i>well, he will follow anybody around if they have a treat for him.</i></b></div>
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me: <b><i>le sigh. 'Tis true, Colt, and not only for male dogs, but for male humans as well.</i></b></div>
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Colt: <b><i>what does that mean?</i></b></div>
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me: <b><i>it means boobs.</i></b></div>
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me: <b><i>I'm a homebody.</i></b></div>
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Gunner: <b><i>what does that mean?</i></b></div>
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me: <b><i>it means I would rather be at home most of the time rather than any place else.</i></b></div>
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Gunner: <b><i>I'm a homebody too. I'm definitely not a schoolbody.</i></b></div>
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me: <b><i>put your socks on.</i></b></div>
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Gunner: <b><i>I don't want to wear socks.</i></b></div>
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me: <b><i>put them on now, or your feet will stink when you wear shoes.</i></b></div>
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Gunner: <b><i>I don't care if my feet stink.</i></b></div>
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me: <b><i>well I do, because I have to smell them.</i></b></div>
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Gunner: <b><i>well I have to smell your gross cooking all day --</i></b><br />
me: <b><i>you little shit, it's called vegetables! If you would just TRY them and not only eat carbs and sugar and oreos all day maybe you would grow up and work at NASA instead of McDonalds, which I'm sure you would love since then you would get free chicken nuggets every day.</i></b><br />
Gunner: <b><i>free chicken nuggets??</i></b><br />
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me: <b><i>Colt, put your coat on.</i></b><br />
Colt: <b><i>I don't want to put my coat on.</i></b><br />
me: <b><i>I don't care what you want, put your coat on.</i></b><br />
Colt: <b><i>I don't want to put my coat on!</i></b><br />
me: <b><i>well I don't want to wake up every morning at the crack of the damn sun rising just to make sure I have enough time to argue and pick a fight with you over whether or not you wear ninja turtle underwear or where the one pair of socks are in the entire drawer that doesn't hurt your wittle feet or why your OMG favorite shirt you have worn non-stop for the last three weeks suddenly makes you super itchy the very second we walk out the door to school or why my entire life is now ruined because I decided to have children so PUT YOUR GODDAMN COAT ON NOW!!!</i></b><br />
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both my kids: <b><i>you're mean.</i></b><br />
me: <b><i>Don't care.</i></b><br />
kids: <b><i>well you should, cause mean people suck.</i></b><br />
me: <b><i>what, did you read that on some lame tshirt or something?</i></b><br />
kids: <b><i>no you're just mean.</i></b><br />
me: <b><i>kids, make no mistake...I wear it like a badge of honor.</i></b><br />
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+two days later:<br />
both my kids: <b><i>you're mean.</i></b><br />
me: <b><i>ok I'll bite. Why am I mean?</i></b><br />
kids: <b><i>'cause you won't let us have an Xbox or a tv in our room.</i></b><br />
me: <b><i>in that case kiddos, your dad is mean cause he won't buy me an island in the caribbean or replace this chinsy diamond with a GOLF BALL sizer.</i></b><br />
one of my kids: <b><i>but dad bought you a new car and let's you sleep all day and --</i></b><br />
me: <b><i>Go to your room! You're in timeout.</i></b><br />
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+pointing to my vodka bottle:<br />
Gunner: <b><i>mom what's that?</i></b><br />
me: <b><i>it's so I can survive the day.</i></b><br />
Gunner: <b><i>but what is it?</i></b><br />
me: <b><i>survival juice.</i></b><br />
Gunner: <b><i>but what does that mean?</i></b><br />
me: <b><i>it means stop asking so many damn questions.</i></b><br />
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Gunner: <b><i>I love you mom.</i></b><br />
me: <b><i>I love you too. More than anything in this entire world.</i></b><br />
Gunner: <b><i>Colt!! Mom loves me more than you!</i></b><br />
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I give up.<br />
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Read more Shit My Kid Says <a href="http://www.dontquotetheraven.com/search/label/shit%20my%20kid%20says?&max-results=8"><span style="color: #ea9999;">HERE</span></a>.<br />
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Ravenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06484566171145256075noreply@blogger.com16