As I was rummaging through facebook last night (you can find me here) I came upon a status update from "Gun Owners of The United States." (A different post for a different day.) Below is what it said:

I drive a truck. I work with my hands. I drink beer and whiskey. I take my coffee black. My 5 o'clock shadow is 4 days old. I got a rough exterior but a heart of gold. I live by a set of traditional American values. I'd take a weekend in the mountains over a weekend in the city any day. I shoot guns and love my country. My dog is my best friend and everything else is a distant second to my family. I am a dying breed. I am the American man. 

THAT, is my husband to a T. That is the kind of man I actively aspired to marry. That is the kind of man I want my boys to grow up and be like. That is the kind of man I respect and that is the kind of man I love.

And it's funny. Because a lot of the time, I think women today don't appreciate a real man. The "women's movement," whose goal is to empower and help women, have told their own kind that men aren't really needed. That men are irrelevant, replaceable, and God forbid "don't ever let a man tell you what to do" or they are brutes, barbarians, and are trying to diminish your existence as a female human.

I don't know about you, but let me tell you about my personal experience...

When I first met my husband, he pursued me. I rejected him at first - a few times - for various reasons (and it wasn't because he had an awesome ass), but he never gave up. After asking me out in person, a few slips of his business card and one brightly colored rose left on my car windshield, I finally agreed to go out with him. On that first date? He paid for everything. Had he not paid for everything? I would have never agreed to see him again. Was that because I was a money hungry gold digging honey?

Quite the opposite. I knew my worth and I also understood how men worked. If he wanted the honor of taking me out on a date, he was going to pay for it, pun absolutely intended. People value more what they have to work for. I can't even tell you what I would do if a guy asked me out on a date and insisted on going dutch. I would probably pay my share and walk out without saying a word, and then warn all my girlfriends what a douche he was and to stay far away. The extreme feminists, who are supposed to have your best interests at heart, will have you believe that a man who insists you pay your own way is "beneficial" to your well being, to your place in this world as a woman.

What the f*ck does that even mean? I am here to tell you that it absolutely does not belittle or cheapen your womanly virtues to have a man work for your attention. To have a man put forth extra effort to spend time with you. That it absolutely does not debase you as a woman to have a man provide for you and protect you. Yes I know you can open a door by yourself but isn't it nice when a sweet studly man does it for you? Yet so many women out there will tell you the opposite.

After my husband wooed me and we got married (he paid for the ring, the parts of the wedding my parent's didn't and oh yeah, no prenup), and when we decided to have children, he didn't even bat an eyelash when I said I would be staying home full-time to raise our children. In fact, he said it was what he expected. And right then and there I fell in love with him all over again, because I knew he realized and valued the importance of a stay-at-home mother. He has never, ever, made me feel less than for not working outside the home. And to have my husband's support in something that I feel so strongly makes me a fulfilled woman means the world to me.

But then again, since I do stay home full time, my husband also expects a tidy home and dinner every  night. But let me clarify: what he does not expect is a "spit-shined model home" nor dinner piping hot the minute he walks in the door. Almost always, whenever he walks in the house after a days work, the house is in chaos. Kids running ramped, toys strewn everywhere and there is usually piles of clean laundry on the living room couch. But every night after the kids go to bed, I take about twenty minutes and pick up the house, make it orderly and comfy. No he doesn't have dinner waiting for him the second he gets home but he does eventually get fed, and he doesn't complain when we are eating in front of the TV watching the 10 o'clock news.

He doesn't complain because he's a real man and he knows that staying home with kids is hard work. And I don't complain when he comes home and kicks his feet up to watch a little football because holy hell, he got up at 5 am and worked his body to the bone. And he gets up every day and works hard for me. For our kids. He makes so many sacrifices daily so I can have the opportunity to stay home with my kids. So we can have nice things, take vacations. And he does it every single day because he prides himself on taking care of his family.

And guess what. Sometimes my husband does tell me what to do. And sometimes I tell him what to do. And I do it, because he never tells me to do anything harmful or to do anything that devalues me as a person. It's called marriage and it's about give and take and respect and I think I'll go ahead and trust that my husband has my best interests at heart and not those "other people."

No, I'm not "lucky." I didn't blindly stick my hand into the pot and pull out a provider and protector. I chose wisely. Like I've said before: I told my husband on our second date, "I plan on one day being a stay-at-home mom so if that is something you don't believe in, thank you for dinner but let's go our separate ways because I will never budge when it comes to my stance on this subject."

Now here we are, ten years and two kids later. Yes, we have had our tough times. I've made no secret of the fact that we have our counselor on speed dial as she is crucial to our success as a married couple. We fight, bad sometimes. But at the end of the day, we have a mutual respect for each other. I love being mother hen, I love being a homemaker and I love making our home a "home" for my husband. And I love that my husband supports my decisions and respects the sacrifices I make for our family.

And if that isn't female empowerment, then I don't know what is.

We went back to school shopping yesterday and the conversation at the check-out went like this:

salesperson: I love that purse you have there.
Gunner: I'm a boy and I love rainbows and hearts.
salesperson: whatever makes you happy!

Salesperson is one smart chick. And of course when Gunner picked out a purse, Colt had to have one also, so for the better part of an hour, there we were, walking around the mall with my two boys swinging their little purses. I'm about 20% positive a few people gave them double takes and maybe even a stink eye here or there, but I can't tell you for sure because I'm also about 100% positive that I didn't give a shit. I wasn't looking at other people to see what their reaction was to seeing two of the most adorable boys on the planet carrying what were clearly "girl" purses.

I mean, it's such a non-issue to me that writing that top paragraph there seems like a waste of blog space. But that's just it, it's a non-issuse to me. And for now, it's a non-issue to my boys. It's how I'm trying to raise them and so far, so good. My boys have no concept of race or social status or so-called differences in others.

And the reason is because of this.

While we were sitting at the food court yesterday, there was an employee cleaning up around us, wiping down tables, etc., who happened to have down syndrome. Being the outgoing and talkative person that he is, Gunner struck up a conversation with her and at the end, asked if she could come home with him and play. It didn't matter that she couldn't exactly respond and converse with him like he is used to, all that mattered to Gunner was that she was a person and Gunner really really likes persons (his word, not mine ;) ). Not once has either of my kids ever asked me why someone looked different than them. Not once has either of them pointed out someone who was "fat, ugly, too tall, too short" or anything other than "hey mom, look at that kid over there, can I go play with him?"

Because in the words of one really smart man,
"A person's a person..." and well, the rest doesn't really matter now does it?

However I know soon, when they get out into the "real world" aka kindergarten and such, they will come home asking questions, repeating things that they have never heard spoken in our household. They will ask me why someone said something derogatory about one of their friends. They will want to know why the littlest kid in their class is always getting picked on. And I'm sure that one day, Gunner will no longer want to take his pink purse to school because he will get his feelings hurt one too many times by bullies making fun of him.

And that breaks my heart, because my boys have the sweetest soul.
They are kind, they are accepting and they just love all persons.

But that's not the real world.
I can protect them and teach them in this little bubble for a while, but inevitably they will have to experience hurt and meanness and prejudice on their own. I can only hope and pray that I have shaped them and taught them to be strong enough to handle it, to stand up to the bullies and even more important, to stand up for those being bullied.

Oh.

And in the words of another wise persons...

"Now swing that pink purse in the air, 
and wave it like you just don't care!"*

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I won't lie, there are times I really want to be famous. So famous that everyone knows who I am. On the other hand, I would be terrified if I suddenly became a household name, because I know dirt would be dug up on me, really muddy dirt that I would be mortified if the whole world knew.

I know there are pictures out there of me from my past that would disqualify me from any future Thanksgiving dinners. I've done things and been a part of things that I never want my parents to know about. I've broken many a rule, gone places I never should have gone and done things I never should have done.

But let's be honest, who hasn't?

Right now, at this very moment, I'm pretty happy with who I am. I think I'm a pretty good mom, a semi decent wife and a helluva good cocktail mixer. I'm content with my conscience, and I know I'm an all around good person.

Still. If someone were to write my history book and publish it for all to read? My first reaction is that I would be mortified. I mean, I've done some pretty sketchy stuff, some stuff that may be considered illegal in 49 states. So yeah, for that to get out might be a little embarrassing.

On the other hand, I did it, I'll own it, and I can admit when a mistake I did make. Everything I've done in the past, good or bad, has made me into who I am today. And if we're being honest and humble, I'm pretty f*cking cool. Only if we're being humble and honest...

I guess what I'm trying to say is I've never really done anything that would devastate me if the truth came out. I've never slept with my sisters boyfriends, I've never voted Democrat and I've never slathered crisco butter all over my body to accelerate my tan in a tanning bed. (It works. It may eventually kill you, but hell it works.)

Now all I gotta do is decide on a name for my book...

I think "Shoulda Woulda Coulda: It's All Gooda" sounds....gooda...

What would your history book be called?

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*for the life of me I can't find the main source for this quote. if you know, please tell me*

I've seen the above quote circulating on social media lately, and right away it hit me like a ton of bricks. I've always believed that kids are a blank canvas, that we as parents write on the walls of their brain. They are born innocent, completely pure. And I also believe, to an extent, a BIG extent, that children are a reflection of their parents. 

My sister was over the other day (you know, the one with three girls under two), and as we were discussing life, and as I was trying to engage her in gossip, she cut me off like she always does and said something new, something I'd never heard her say before. "I want my kids to grow up and say they never heard me say a bad thing about anyone." 

"Well that's a stupid goal," I replied.

I mean, shouldn't your children hear you talk about how bad and evil child molesters are? Shouldn't they hear you discuss how horrible murderers are? Bad drivers? Gingers? And lastly, don't you think your kids need to know the dangers of growing up to be a raging liberal who thinks the world owes them something?

And like she always does, my sister responded with something well-versed and wise:

"It basically boils down to keeping your heart and head as toxic free as possible. And seething over bad people doesn't add to your life. Learning the negative lessons help you be a better person and then you can move on because you don't continue hating people."

I hate when others put a damper on my shallow gossiping fun.

But then later that evening, as I watched my two little boys play in the front yard, I felt such a sense of pride. Pride in knowing that my boys have no sense of superiority. Pride in the fact that when I showed Gunner a picture of two little boys, of which were different races, and said how they were brothers just like him and Colt, he didn't bat an eye or ask why they looked different, the only thing he said to me was "mommy, we need to write them a letter and tell them we want to play with them." Because to Gunner, all he saw was two little boys just like him. That he desperately wanted to play with. 

You hear a lot where people say a child's heart and soul are innocent. That children are blindly accepting. Comparing them to adults who are critical and judgmental, as if growing older naturally does that to people. I can only speak for myself, but my parents raised me to believe that everyone is equal, regardless of race, background or social status. And I have an 87 year old grandpa who I have never, not once, heard utter a bad word about someone. Whose acceptance has trickled down to his five kids, and every one of his ten grandchildren and twelve great-grandchildren. (I would also like to give huge credit to my Nonie, my angel in heaven, the matriarch of our family and the most accepting, kind person I've ever known.)

It starts at birth. It starts at home. It starts with me and it starts with you. 

No matter how hard we try to preach what is right, if our actions don't line up with our words, our kids will see right through it, and what they will take away is what they see us do. How they see us live our lives when we think they aren't looking. I can tell my kids not to curse fifty times a day, but when they hear me say "oh sh*t" on a constant basis they will think it's ok for them also. I can tell my kids to not give in to peer pressure, that they don't need to drink to have a good time, but if they see mommy and daddy throwing some back every time there is a get-together, sooner or later they will get the impression that drinking does equal a good time. Regardless of what we tell them. 

I want my kids to see me be kind. To see me hold the door open for whoever is behind me, to see me respect the elderly and to see me never differentiate between people who may not look exactly the same. I want them to witness me being accepting of everyone, no matter their race, appearance or sexual orientation. I want them to see me respond to negativity with class.

Because I don't think innocence and tolerance fades with age. 

I know it doesn't. 

Let me refer back to my 87 year old grandpa.

It starts with us.

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I've been thinking of writing this post for a while, but I wanted to make sure everything I was feeling came across how I intended it to in my head, and I didn't want to leave anything out nor speak too soon. So for the past few months, I have been writing things down as they came to me, and I finally feel I'm able to articulate exactly what it is I want to say, so I'm going to share that with you now.

Blog this, blog that, don't be too controversial yet don't be too boring, you don't like it, don't read it, it's my blog and I'll blog whatever I want to. That seems to be a running theme lately in this wonderful thing we call the blogging world. Everyone has an opinion, that's for sure, and how you run your blog is entirely up to you, and I'll definitely never try to tell you otherwise. Sh*t, I have enough problems as it is with my own.

Such as...

Blog controversy. If you've been a reader of mine for a while, I'm sure you know what I'm talking about, so let's just start with the most controversial post I have ever written titled I Dress For Men. I wrote this post back in September of 2012, and I still regularly get comments from readers...mostly negative. Like, really really really negative. That post went semi-viral (it is my most viewed post to date) and at first, the comments I received were nice, respectful, sure some disagreed with me but nobody really crossed the line, and then, oh and then did the outrage begin. Some of the nastiest, most vile comments I have ever received started pouring in, to the tune of 200+. Go ahead, read them, I'll wait.

Not only that, but other bloggers were writing their own posts about me, telling people to contact my sponsors and voice their displeasure over what I had written, I'm sure with the intention and hope that those sponsors would drop me. (No one did, btw.) I was getting so much backlash, so much negativity directed towards me, I was being called the most nasty names and a question I kept getting asked was "why don't you moderate your comments to keep the nasty ones out?"

Here is why: this is my blog, and it is my choice what I choose to put on here. It is my choice to come across the way I do, to word my posts the way I do, and it is my choice to say whatever I want. And I think I owe it to my readers to comment whatever they want, even if it's negative. Just as I write uncensored and openly, I allow my comment section the same freedoms. (Again, this is how I choose to do things. Just because I do it this way doesn't mean it's wrong or right, it's just what works best for me.)

However, the question I got asked the most by far was "why don't you just take the post down?"

And here is why.

Because I have always, always said on this little space of the internet I call mine, that I try to be as real and authentic as I possibly can. I never want to come across as trying to be perfect, I never want others to think I am better then them, and if I make mistakes? I want my readers to see me admit it.

I wrote that post, I published that post, I owned that post and I stand by that post.

And I won't take it down because others disagree, are offended, or because it was received poorly. What would that make me? A coward? Hypocrite? Inauthentic? Three things I definitely do not want to be seen as.

What I can do, and what I will do, is admit when I am wrong. And in regards to the previously mentioned post, are there things I regret writing? Things I am now embarrassed about? Yes. I regret lumping all feminists in one big "men hate them all" category. I was trying to get a point of view across, and I f*cked that part up. Do I think some feminists have done great things for women and their progression? Absolutely. Do I think some feminists need to chill the f*ck out? Absolutely. Do I think some feminists give women a bad name, and on the topic of men, completely turn them off? Absolutely! Just like not all "mommas" are good people, not all Christians are good people and not all doctors are good people, not all feminists are good people nor do they help women and how we are perceived. Are there some feminists out there who do help women and their rights and also make fantastic wives and mothers? Absolutely. There are always bad seeds no matter what group of people we are talking about, and that is what I was trying to get across in my I Dress For Men post, however I can look back and admit how I wrote that part came off as offensive and poorly worded, and for that, I sincerely apologize. (I still stand by my opinion of cardigans, and that I still like to dress for men, and good for you if your opinion differs. If we were all the same, this would be a very boring world!)

Were parts of that post a mistake to publish? I think we can all agree that it was. But by taking it down, it's like pretending it was never there, that it never happened. However isn't that what life is all about? Making mistakes, admitting them and learning from them? What's that saying, "all my mistakes have made me stronger and into who I am today?"


I like to think so.


I have another part to this post, where I reference my second most controversial post of all time, written for a completely different reason, but since this was getting a little lengthy, I'm going to share that part with you tomorrow.

I graduated from a private Christian school. There were thirteen kids in my graduating class. I wasn't always so sheltered, as I attended public school up until my parents forced me to transfer halfway through tenth grade. But that is neither here nor there, and I wouldn't want to say anything that would taint y'alls image of me. (snort!) 

Life at private school was...interesting. I got in trouble for many things, a few of them being, in no particular order: wearing more then one earring in each ear, using the office phone to make my tanning appointments, wearing a skirt that was .87643 inches too short per dress code, hot tubbing with the opposite sex (no, we didn't have a hot tub on premises, they found out by a note I passed under the table), highlighting my hair, making out in the art closet and one very, very unfortunate incident with a *Redbook magazine. 

See, what happened was at lunch time, a few girls piled into my candy apple red Ford Probe and someone picked up a Redbook magazine that was laying on the dash. That someone then proceeded to read out loud an article on "what sexual favor men love most and how to do it right." Turns out a certain prude in attendance was highly offended by said article, and when we returned back to school from lunch, she went and told on us.

The girl who read the article out loud was called to the principals office, and because the magazine belonged to me, I was also in trouble. I will never forget, sitting there in front of the principal, trying in vain not to bust out laughing as my accomplice burst into tears. And then, oh and then we were forced to apologize to the entire school for permitting something so sinful to take place. Into a microphone, at Wednesday's chapel service. Try not laughing at that one.

Oh yes, and then there was that one time, when me and the supposed "bad boy" of our school made out for hours on end downstairs at my grandparents house. I left the room and assumed he was following me, until I looked back and saw through the open crack of the door, there he was, kneeling at the edge of the bed, on his knees, hands clasped, in which I can only conclude he was asking God for forgiveness. To this day, the question that haunts me is, was I that bad? Or was I that good?

I could not make this shit up if I tried. 

Now I know what you are thinking. That my experience at private school and the tight restrictions is what made me the rebellious crazy person I was for the first part of my early twenties. But remember, I got sent there in the first place because I was a rebellious crazy person. So, mom and dad, looks like your private school money was well spent. How you like them apples?

Besides. Some of the worst (read best) people I know came from that school.

*The Redbook in question was my moms.

**Hell yes I memorized that article.

If you really knew me...

you would know that my Christmas decorations are still up. Right now I am staring at Mary, Joseph and little Baby Jesus. They currently reside on top of the wine fridge...

you would know that someone eating with their mouth open is the ultimate of disgusting to me. I try really hard to be a polite person, but that? I cannot deal. I will take food away from my kids if they can't eat with their mouth closed.

you would know that I am not a hugging person. I don't like it. However, I don't slight anyone who tries to give me one. Like I said, I try to be polite.

you would know that I love parties and big crowds. 

you would know that I love to eat and drive. Seriously, if I go through a drive-thru? I tear into my food before I leave the parking lot, so I can eat it while driving before I get home. 

you would know that my husband and I do not have a perfect marriage (or anything that resembles that) but we are always trying... (oh snap, I just got serious...)

on that note, I take nudie pics for my hubs and make photo books for him. I think he keeps them in his truck. And if you really knew me, you have probably seen those pictures...

If you really knew me...

you would know that I almost always laugh in awkward situations. 

you would know that I don't cry. except during Grey's Anatomy. and sad country songs. and sometimes episodes of Dr. Phil.

you would know that my "don't give a crap" attitude is for real. I really don't.

you would also know that I take anxiety meds daily. how's that for ironic?

you would know that as much as I declare my love for Britney Spears, I think she's totally got a few screws loose and most definitely do not idolize her.

you would know that I texted my sister Boobie and asked for her help. If anyone knows me the best, it's her.

Soo...........

"I'm sorry that people are so jealous of me...but I can't help it that I'm so popular."

A definition of "snob" I found recently was this:

a person who believes himself or herself an expert or connoisseur in a given field and is condescending toward or disdainful of those who hold other opinions or have different tastes regarding this field.

The "field" we are talking about today is that of blogging. As I'm sure many of you know, blogging can be a wonderful thing. You can find other bloggers with similar interests as your own, you can get feedback, you can laugh, connect, be entertained, and if you're an emotional type of person, you may actually find yourself crying over at someones neck of the virtual woods. You can see a blog friend turn into a real life friend (ahem) and you can feel like you are a "part" of something. It's true when they say that blogging is a community, a comradeship, a stomping ground for us all who have something to say.

But just like every other group of girls that get together, there are bound to be cliques, the cool crowd, the mean girls...

or in this arena

The Blog Snobs.

dun dun dun

In my never to be humble opinion, there are a few things that qualify someone as a blog snob. In no particular order...

I think we all know where I stand on the political side. I don't try to hide the fact that I'm a conservative Republican, that I think hard work should be rewarded and that those who stand in the way of that should be, well, poof!

But this isn't about politics. This is about parenting.

Gunner loves me to paint his nails. He doesn't care what color, he just sees me doing it and wants the same. Fortunately, I have convinced him that black is "badass" so it's his first choice. I don't care one bit that he wants his nails painted. I don't see it as feminine, I see it as, well, badass.

The other day I was at the pool, and Gunz was talking to a lady and she noticed his nails. We are semi-acquantances, and as she oohed and ahhed over the black (she liked it) she turned to me and said all innocent like, "I never knew you were so liberal."

Sca-reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech!

Say what? Oh no no. You are mistaken. Me? Liberal? I drive a gas guzzling SUV (safety reasons, don't try to argue with me), I have a NObama bumper sticker in plain sight and oh yeah, I have a boob job.

Liberals don't get boob jobs.

Some bs about "being happy with who you are."

psssshhhhhhh.

There was nothing happy about my double a's.

Anyway.

I guess when people see a little boy with black nails and a fauxhawk, they just assume the mom is some tree-hugging gypsy with a kumbaya swagger. And double a's.

(Side note: please understand. I am not judging tree-huggers. To each their own. I just am not one. I also am not judging little teats. #biggerisbetter End side note.)

But even though I believe boys should be boys, that they should get down and dirty and jump out of tree houses, and as much as I hope and pray that they grow up to be republicans, I realized that in some ways, I am kinda...liberal...ish.

Exhibit A: black nails on boys. Apparently that's "out there" a bit.

Exhibit B: My boys are almost always naked. No clothes, no problem is my mantra. I take them to the store barefoot. I can't wait for my youngest' hair to grow long again so I can put it in a ponytail. If they pick out a pink sippy cup instead of the superman one? Who cares. I don't have those stereotype ideas in my head.

Exhibit C: I believe in letting kids imaginations run wild. Giving them the space and freedom to choose what they want to do. Just sitting back and watching them evolve, grow, learn. Trial and error, I'm a big believer in. Letting them make mistakes so they can choose better next time.

And then there's the flip side.

Exhibit A: I am a super strict parent. My kids will obey me, they will obey authority and they will suffer the consequences if they don't do so. They don't get a vote, I am the boss. I will not raise a spoiled brat. My kids will know the value of a dollar, they will know that in order to get something, they must work hard for it. There are no hand-outs over here at the Smith household.

Exhibit B: When it comes to kids' sports, I don't believe that "everything should be fair." That everyone should get a fair amount of play time. I believe that the best should play the most because guess what, it is about winning. I don't think that second or god forbid third place should get a trophy. Second place is the first loser in my book. If they want to play bad enough, hopefully this gives them the incentive to practice their ass off and work harder.

Exhibit B-a: With that same mentality, my kids will always know what it means to be a graceful loser. You throw a fit because you lost? Bad move buddy, bad move.

Exhibit C: Grow a pair. Be a man. Take care of your woman. Be the provider, protector and knight in shining armor. (Alas, we are talking years into the future here.)

So what am I? Liberal parent? Conservative?

I guess it just comes down to doing what you feel is right for your kids.

And for me, black nails and fauxhawks that eventually turn into mohawks is where it's at.

Peace.

The other day, I was having dinner at my moms house. My grandpa, mom, sister and her boyfriend were all in the kitchen, sitting around the island having some appetizers. My mom was washing something at the kitchen sink, when my four year old walked up to her, hit her in the behind and said nonchalantly, "I just popped your ass."

Crickets.

No one said anything, it was dead silent. 

A little confused, I looked around at everyone trying to avoid my gaze, and finally said, "it's ok. You can laugh. Rob taught him that."

Cue awkward laughs from everyone in the room, when my sisters boyfriend says, "Oh, ok. At first I was like, did I just hear that right?!"

Yes. My husband has taught my son to "pop" people's asses. Which is actually pretty funny until you pick him up from school and the teacher looks at you and says, "We need to talk." (Totally happened.)

And? I'm totally fine with my kids saying the word 'ass.' Poppin' someone's ass? Humorous. Calling someone an 'asshole?' Not ok and they know it. It's the context in which they use the word that makes it ok. Parents today can be so overbearing and so uptight, so....judgy.


My kids are always naked. (And by naked, I mean underwear/diaper only.) If we aren't going out in public, they never have clothes on. Going to visit my parents? My sister? Driving through Espresso World every morning to get a coffee? Naked. I mean, if the weather is nice, I just see no point in clothes. All it is is extra laundry and extra work for me, because they will be peeling off their clothes eventually.

This is the text convo I had with a new friend when my kid was over at her house for the first time on a playmate with her son...

friend: um, Gunner just took off his shirt and he's saying that he's hot

me: that's ok

friend: omg! He just took off his pants! What do I do?

me: well, if you don't mind him being naked, it's ok with me

friend: ok, I just don't want you think that I'm undressing your 4-year old over at my house

me: he never wears clothes at home. Just tell him I said he has to keep on his underwear (wink face)

True story. I mean, take a look at Exhibit A:

My friend Brandy came over and wanted me to take a few pics of her and her kids (and no, I am not suddenly a "professional photographer." I used her snazzy camera and just pushed the button). Gunner was tagging along, and he managed to sneak his way into the pics...in his underwear...



where's Waldo Gunner. he's the 4th kid she never knew she was missing

About the mom judgy thing... I notice how other moms judge my son and his nakedness. Like I said earlier, I dress them (minimally) if we have to go in public, say, to Target or the grocery store, but if we're at the park? And Gunner is hot and sweaty and wants to take his clothes off?  (paging Nelly)  I just don't care! (Remember, when I say "naked" I mean underwear only. Don't want ya'll thinking I let my sons tallywack hang out for all to see. Now that would worth judging.) But a 4-year old running around in his Thomas the Train underwear? Who gives a sh#t?!


out in the rain with a hoodie and no pants

With my "who gives a sh#t" attitude also comes with how I respond to others. Your kid is running around in his underwear at the park? Who cares! Your kid is shirtless in Target with dirt all over his face? I have boys, I get it. Your daughter is screaming bloody murder on the airplane? I've been there. (And don't even get me started on those people who give moms with crying kids the stink-eye on airplanes. I honestly want to get out of my seat and smack them halfway to Sunday. Like I said, I've been there, and how dare anyone judge a situation where a baby is crying on a plane. DON'T get me started...)

Life is short.

You're time here is limited.

You are perishable.



WHY, oh why waste it by caring if the pantry is organized to the hilt and labeling everything with those stupid print-out machine stickers? Why care if clothes are hung up by color?! Why care if my kids eat chips and cookies in my bed? So what, there are crumbs. That's what a washing machine is for! Who cares if I look perfect in a bikini? I'm exactly the same person if I have a belly pouch as I would be if I were a hot-body supermodel.

Some things I just don't get. And caring about having a 'model' home, or perfectly dressed children, or a perfect body, or caring if the freaking spatula is put away in the wrong drawer...I just don't get!

I just don't care.



What I do care about?

If my kids are loved. 

Feel secure.

Taken care of.

Happy? Yes, I want my kids to be happy, but that is not what life is about. (Post coming on that soon.)

I guess what I'm trying to say is that when it comes to most (unimportant) things in life?

I just don't give a flying youknowwhat.

ps. yes, I realize that spellcheck changed the word "playdate" to "playmate" up above. I was going to change it, but couldn't bring myself to do so. It was just too funny when I re-read it.