Hello Illinois. How are you today?

Well had you told me I was on the FRONT PAGE...
I can’t believe the STRONG reactions I’m getting to the letter I wrote to Michelle Obama.

Maybe it’s because everyone is on vacation. Maybe it’s because you all have a mother. Maybe it’s because we all want the chance to change the world. I don’t know.

Mullato.org is protesting me (although, Dude…not even ONE email yet, nice protest Sparky) and I’m even being accused of being (gasp) a REPUBLICAN trying to discourage Senator Obama from running. Those of you who actually know me just spit your drink on your keyboard.

After all of this craziness, I’ve only come to one conclusion: Motherhood is hard fucking work.

You can’t even write about some of the decisions a mother makes without stirring up a shitstorm. Smack my ass and call me Caitlin Flanagan, because now people are debating “changing the world or protecting the family.”

Nice.

But that really is what all of this is about. It’s about being a mother. Do you go with showing your children just how big of an impact you can make on the world? Do you take the safer route? It’s about choices. And the millions of choices that go with motherhood. Breast or bottle. Work or home. Cloth or disposable? It. Never. Ends.

My letter to Michelle Obama was nothing more than my sympathy and empathy for having to make yet another motherhood decision. And as we all know, what is best for one family is not, necessarily best for the next.

I still breastfeed my 21-month old. That is a choice that I get shit for. But it works for my family. Sure, it’s not an oval office issue or anything, but it’s an issue none the less. And it seems we women get shit for any decision we make on any motherhood issue.

As a mother, and a mother with a rather LOUD speaking platform, I will happily get the back of ANY MOM for their decisions. It’s time for the world to SHUT THE FUCK UP and remember it’s the mothers who sacrifice, suffer, and agonize over those decisions.

I just spent 10 minutes wondering if I should let my son have another juice box. 10 freaking minutes. And that was over a juice box. And don’t even get me started on the runny nose he currently has and which, if any, medication I will give him for it tonight.

The talking heads and pundits can make fun of me all they want, but how soon they forget photos like this, and this, and this. It’s easy to dismiss a “self-described Mom” when she’s showing support for a fellow mother, but it’s not so easy to dismiss all the mothers, wives, and children I see in those photos.

So mount your protests and do your best spin on my very honest letter. Just keep reading. Because the Mom voice will stay loud, and we’re making the decisions that rock the world-whether you like it or not.

Good Morning, Wait-there is an EAST Coast?

As my dear friend Kelly put it, “Girl, you are causing quite a stir…” My umbrella is up and ready for the screaming idiots…

Who knew they even had newspapers on that other side of the country?

I kid. I kid. I know that odd state is actually “mid”west. I mean, if you can’t be part of the real west, where I am, you might as well be part of the “mid”west.

I’m actually a little sad. I wanted those nice Chicago Sun-Times people to put my photo next to Robert Novak’s. I had specially trained my photo to stick it’s foot up his photo’s ass. Oh well, next time maybe.

Kraft Singles, Not Just for lunch

I need to know how to get Kraft Cheese out of hair

Chia Mania

Chia PigI may not have succumbed to the hellish marketing ploy that is FLOAM, but I did give in to the omnipresent Chia Pet.
I am weak. My son wanted a Chia Pet and I made sure Santa delivered. A fucking Chia pet.

How bad could it be, I thought? Afterall, it wasn’t Moonsand (did you know it won’t dry out?) and it wasn’t a Bedazzler (although that Tanny or Tawney or whatever the crapass her name is will not be happy with me) and it grows an actual plant. At least, I think it’s an actual plant. Or moss. Or some sort of “Mexican” something that seems to look like the weed they pull out of the cracks in my sidewalk. Anyway, growing stuff is science-ish and that’s a good enough reason for me.

Like I said, I’m weak.

So now that we’re a few days past the main event and all the major toys have been played with over and over again, we’ve busted our Chia pet (the pig version) out of the box for a day of weed growing fun.

Or not.

Turns out you have to soak your Chia for 24 hours in water. Ok, fine. Out comes the tupperware and in goes little piggy and some H2O. I’ve got a disappointed kid, but he got to hold it for a bit and then drop it ever so (not) gently into the bowl.

Day 2 of Chia mania and we’re ready to rock. I dump out the bowl of water (which is now an odd shade of green) and put our Chia pig on a plate. I quickly scan the seed packet and see i need to mix the little balls with water. And then let them soak for another 24 hours.

Shit.

Ok. Ok. So I soak the seeds and explain, yet again, that Mommy wasn’t really paying attention to the days long process that is a Chia planting and we will have to wait to spread the seed-like gel substance tomorrow.

Day 2.5 of Chia mania and I decide the seeds have soaked enough and we’re going get this hog good and coated before I lose any more counter space to this weed monstrosity.

Kid knives and my cheese spreader are taken out of the drawer and we’re off. Count Waffles put all of two globs on the Chia and he was bored. Princess Peanut, on the other hand, is covered in Chia gel and is having the time of her life globbing what can only be described as gray poppy seed jelly on our teracotta piggy. Some go in her mouth. Many are in her hair. And I’m wondering if I call poison control for “mexican moss” ingestion.

While the Count plays with cars on the kitchen floor I clean the table, the child, and the Chia. This crap is stuck to everything. It’s in my wood floor grooves. It’s in the tiny cracks on my table. It’s stuck to the Princess, my leg, the cat.

…but…the asstacular fun that is Chia is now coated and sitting on my counter. And if either child asks me, yet again, when the “flowers will start to grow” it might very well have a Chia-uicide tonight after small people get put to bed.

We’ve already offed the Chia Alarm that came as a “bonus” in the box. It sang the Chi Chi Chi Chheeeeeeeeeeeeaaa song a little too often. It’s battery met an untimely (get it?) and totally “accidental” death late Christmas Day.

I’m not above offing the pig. But if I can smoke the Chia Moss, I might let it stick around.

Dammit.

I was so proud of myself for going to the gym today that I came home and ate the rest of the Christmas fudge.

Dammit.

I also worked really hard to keep the kids from watching tv today. They played most of the morning in our playroom, quietly. I just assumed they were fine without Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, Cars, and Doodlebops because of the mound of presents Santa left. Turns out they spent the morning hiding behind the Christmas tree sneaking candy canes, M&Ms, and swedish fish.

Dammit.

I happily sang to myself earlier while putting dinner in the crockpot. Not only had I remembered to take the chicken out of the freezer the night before, but I was thrilled to have remembered to get the slow cooker going at 9am. It’s now after 3pm and I just noticed the crockpot was never plugged in.

Dammit.

I’d go take bath or have a drink or something, but my daughter has fallen asleep (3 hours later than she should) on my chest and won’t be moved.

Dammit.

Xmas Swag

I love it when my man listens.

The man knows what I like

Uggs Roo

…and then I made the mistake of asking my dear, wonderful, superb gift-giving husband if he had any gifts to show the blogosphere:

Had you tuned in 3 seconds earlier, you'd see Aaron's Penis

And yeah, the kids got some crap too. Too much. Including that fucking Elmo I swore I wouldn’t buy.

All of that said, I’m not sure there is anything better than watching your own children wake up on Christmas morning and react to Santa’s bounty. Seriously. NOTHING. BETTER.

MERRY HOLIDAYS AND A HAPPY HO HO!

Santa Sighting!!!!

Santa Sighting!!!???!!!

Let me clear my throat…

Once again I’ve written a piece over at the Huffington Post, and once again many readers are taking it completely the WRONG WAY.

Because I have spent time wondering what Barack Obama’s wife might be thinking, I’m being accused of being “creepy,” a “white bitch,” and my personal favorite “tacky.”

The point of my post was to tell Michelle Obama that whatever their family decides to do, there are many of us out there that will support their decision.

Just to be clear, YES, I want Barack Obama to run for President. Yes, I think the first woman president (Hillary) or African American president or ANY president could be the target of hate groups. YES, I think a black man or woman would be at an even bigger risk. If you think there are not nut jobs in this country, you are living in a fantasy world. And if you think a woman or the first black president wouldn’t be a prime target, you are OUT OF YOUR MIND.

I’m sorry, but how can the Obama (or Clinton) family NOT weigh that as they decide?

YES, I do think it would change the world if Obama ran and won. Simply because he would be a FIRST. Just like Hillary could be a FIRST. That changes my world. That changes HISTORY.

Go ahead and stick your head back in the sand if you think racism and sexism are things of the past. And believe you me, that elephant was not brought in the room by me, it’s been there since the beginning of time. I’m just putting it in the open because ignoring it is retarded.

And for the record, I hope I would be brave enough to change the world if given the opportunity, what I’m saying is I wouldn’t begrudge the Obama family if they decide not too.

Do I think a woman or African American President would die if elected? Dear God, I hope not. I hope we’ve come far enough that it would never happen. But we’re all stupid if we didn’t acknowledge it’s a very real possibility.

Whew. I feel better now. Thanks for hearing me out. I was just losing my mind with some of the comments over there. My letter to Michelle Obama was meant to show her that as a mom, I understand. And that she has my support. Not to be creepy or tacky or evil or overly worried about a family I don’t personally know.  I worry about many things. And this is one I just chose to write about because, again, as a mother I can’t imagine what she’s thinking.

It takes special people to change history. I hope they are these people, but it’s a heavy burden. One I’m not sure I could carry. Could you???