Margaret Mead is on to something

Being an American is exhausting.

I spent the first part of this week in tears. Hanging a yellow ribbon from the tree in our front yard and showing my children the stars on the American flag billowing below the ribbon. Their uncle has gone to war, again.

As I struggled to explain to a 4-year old exactly what a “soldier” does, I thought of all the families involved in this monstrosity of a war, the children left behind, the Iraqi’s lives destroyed. Despite my 100% disagreement with this war and the idiots who started it, I found myself damn proud of our soldiers and their families. Of our stupid, stupid country and its stupid, stupid military.

So as I swelled with pride and wonder for my fellow Americans, imagine my disgust and bewilderment when I had to explain to a Canadian just how FUCKED up our government is when it comes to helping our children. Helping the poor. Helping one another.

It started simply enough, a post about us fat ass North Americans and our lazy, lazy, kids. I tried to explain socioeconomics. I tried to explain the lack of education. I tried to explain why a lard-ass Ogre, who shills for McDonalds, would be our spokesman for combating childhood obesity. I tried to explain that yes, Taco Bell can be found in our public school cafeterias and yes, our produce and healthy foods cost more than the average family can afford. They buy the shit, because the good stuff is more money and hey, it’s got our government’s stamp of approval.

The more I explained the more I shook my head. The more I explained the more embarrassed I became. The more I explained, the more I was moving to Switzerland.

Why does America do this to me? I don’t expect to agree with everything that goes on in the great USofA at every single moment. I also don’t expect to hide my head in shame when I think of the clusterfuck that are these 50 states lately.

Just when I had shaken my redhead so much it hurt, I saw a light. I got an email. I watched something I’ve been involved in since the start head in a new direction. One that made me swell with pride. One that reminded me it’s not about the country. Its not about the borders. Its not about who’s government does what. It’s about what we can do,together. Ladies and gentleman, may I present BlogHer’s ACT.

BlogHers Act

We are excited and honored to announce today, with Elisa, Jory and Lisa, the launch of BlogHers Act, a year-long initiative to harness the incredible power of women online. That would be you.

BlogHers Act will take on two things —

1. Making a difference on a single global cause

2. Identifying the top four issues that women online want the U.S. Presidential candidates to address in order to win our votes in the ‘08 Election.

Imagine the opportunity that’s in all of our hands right now.

All of us know the positive, productive, monumental ACTION of bloggers, especially women bloggers, when rallying around a problem, an issue or an event. Since we started blogging a few years back, we’ve witnessed – and been so lucky to be a part of – countless moments, big and small, when bloggers worked together to make a difference.

Hell yes. Now get off your fat ass you lazy American, Canadian, or um..non-North American and do something.

Attention Whores Unite

Giving up her anti-war protest, Cindy Sheehan is admitting to Mommy Guilt.

“It is so painful to me to know that I bought into this system for so many years, and Casey paid the price for that allegiance. I failed my boy and that hurts the most.”

I like to think of Sheehan as one of the most prominent “naptime activists” of our time. Love her or hate her, she grabbed the anti-war cause by the balls and fought only the way a mother can.

So I ask you- what does it say about our country, the state of our world, that a MOTHER is giving up her fight?

Right or wrong, Sheehan obviously believed in ending the war that claimed her son’s life. Beaten and belittled she has now retreated.

MOTHERS do NOT retreat. MOTHERS fight to the death. Our world is so very fucked up right now, that MOTHERS have had it and are burying their instinct to fade into the shadows. It truly is the end of the world as we know it-our basic, primal instincts can’t take the clusterfuck of this era.
I don’t fault Sheehan for giving up, a person can only take so much heartbreak and pain before becoming numb. I do, however, fault the times we live in-the culture, the ignorance, the ability of our government to ram us up the ass and the ability of our people to bend over and take it. Sheehan said it best, “Casey died for a country which cares more about who will be the next American Idol than how many people will be killed in the next few months while Democrats and Republicans play politics with human lives.”

I’m sure there are those of you who find Sheehan the worst kind of American. While I don’t agree with everything she has done or said, I think she’s the BEST kind of American. She took her pain and fought for what she thought was right. Remember my fellow sheep, you can actually DO that in this country. You can also disagree with her and find her tactics and speech disgusting. Amazing, isn’t it?
However, there is something terribly wrong when a fellow Mamma Bear, who has lost her cub, is beaten down and beaten back until her instinct to protect is nothing more than a faint dream.

Like Sheehan, I admit to being an attention whore. I’m not ashamed. I’m not apologetic. Unlike Sheehan, I am NOT exhausted. This mother can see where this world is headed, and she’s going to point it out and try her best to make others aware.

MOTHERS are giving up, that’s where we are at. Take note, take action, and take care.

MommyBloggers

I feel so loved. Go talk about me more at Mommybloggers.

As if I don’t have ENOUGH trouble keeping her from being a lush, with no top on…

…so I was walking through Mervyn’s (yes, large department store chain…I’m NAMING you…come and get me you bastards) with my family this weekend when I saw a Junior’s PJ display.

Just to review, juniors are, generally, NONadults. This would mean they certainly can not vote, or drink, or do many things for themselves that do not require their parent’s permission.

Being the lounge-wear fashionista that I am (that’s my new way of saying ‘sweat-pant mom’ like it?) I had to see what the kids were wearing in the PJ department.

Here’s where things got fuzzy for me, because I ended up in a blind rage tantrum, making the rest of the shopping experience kind of hazy. I know I yelled more than once “ARE THEY KIDDING?” and I also demanded the Kaiser take out his cell phone to take a picture, to which he replied “but I have no camera phone…” despite my continued insistence he TAKE a picture NOW.

Anyway, what could have possibly set me off in such a tizzy in a public place such as…let me say it AGAIN…MERVYN’S????
Captain Morgan’s rum and Jack Daniel’s whiskey PJ sets, marketed to junior GIRLS.

At Mervyn’s. That’s right, I’ll say it again…liquor pajama pants and t-shirts for junior girls. Because nothing says “I’m Daddy’s sweet and innocent little girl” like “Gotta a little Captain IN YA??”

Cough. Ahem…

I realize I have a martini in front of my children. I realize their Dad BBQ’s with a beer in his hand. BUT FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY DON’T MARKET YOUR BOOZE TO MY DAUGHTER UNTIL SHE’S AT LEAST OLD ENOUGH TO FUCKING BUY IT.

Cough. Ahem.

I’m so tired of this. I’m so tired of finding out some asshat company thinks it’s ok to sell my 5-year old a padded bra to boost that cleavage. I’m so tired of seeing those whore-bag Bratz dolls with their blue eyeshadow and thigh highs. I’m so tired of booze companies trying to sell pictures of their bottles on pj pants to my preteen, like its all in good fun.

If anyone is going to teach my daughter to be a cocktail swilling hussy, it’s ME-not you idiots. So lay off. Geez, that is sooooooo the mother’s job, not yours.
I think I shall go write nasty letters to Mervyn’s and Captain Morgan and Jack Daniels now. You know, because I need to yell at someone.

Fuckers.

(and YES, I DO kiss my mother and my children with this mouth—pppppppffffffffft)

The Twat Isle (of Eden)

I hate going to the feminine needs aisle anywhere.

I’m not embarrassed. I’m not shy. I just hate when that ONE old man in the store ends up looking for Old Spice in that aisle on accident while you painstakingly decide between the supersuper have a happy period Kotex or the heavy/super Always max.

Sigh.

So why all the twat talk? Let’s just say I had to be taken to the doctor by my husband this morning due to…um…complications from the catheter during my surgery.

I swear I’m the only one in the world with an infection in her pee hole from having her thyroid removed. $10 to anyone who can find me someone else.

Anyway, it was doctor day because we then took both kids and they have the ear infection/sinus infection winter blahs with an added bonus of bronchitis for my little princess peanut.

Armed with cranberry pills and orange flavored amoxicillin, I’m ready to announce that Karen over at Swank has been kind enough to, once again, indulge me in a redesign which you, my faithful reader, will get to see very soon.

It’s beeeeeeeeeauuuuuuuuuuuuuutiful, if I do say so myself. The great and powerful Kaiser finally bestowed upon me his time and artistry and whipped up a lil something. Of course he made Sarah’s header eons ago. But I’m not keeping track. Really, I’m not.

The design will also include some very exciting Second Life information about my money making fun in the virtual world. Virtual world, real MONEY.

My business partner and I have been buying and selling virtual real estate and making some bank. Let’s just say our first deal TRIPLED in profit. He’s boy wonder and I’m the eye candy. Because in Second Life I totally get to be eye candy.

The really fun part is I plan on bringing you guys along for the ride. I’m counting on you. The Queen has a virtual castle in which everyone is welcome to talk, surf, ride jetskis, pet the monkeys (I’m not kidding) and meet each other in real time. For real talks. Having real fun. Ask Gidge….she’s living in my castle and having a blast.

You can advertise your blog at my pad. You can network with the likes of Arianna Huffington and Speaker Nancy Pelosi. Or you can go have cybersex with my neighbor. You can even buy land next door and set up your own place and we can all live in one, big, happy, Mommyblogging commune.

We’ve named the island the Isle of Eden, and in honor of my blogging friends I commissioned an AMAZING piece of artwork (because I can do that in second life…) that an amazing female artist painted to represent YOU. YOU my blogging friends. The artist has been reading our blogs (as part of her research) and she made this piece to be the focal point of our virtual girls night out space.

It brings tears to my eyes.

So grab some cranberry juice (just in case) and join me, won’t you? I’ll show you the piece and then we’ll go to an all male review.

Queen Amplification

As a mother, I have certain rights.

One of those rights is to drink at a playdate.

Another is the right to yell at my children whenever and wherever I see fit.

One of my 57 doctors (yes, I have 57 doctors…all younger than me and all following around the Chief just like on Scrubs) told me I can NOT raise my voice or yell for 4-6 weeks. Flippantly he added “So the kids and the husband get a pass for a good month.”

I didn’t laugh.

This is a problem. This is not going to work. How in the hell does a mother NOT raise her voice for 6 weeks? Just this afternoon the kids were in the playroom getting into trouble and my “please stop jumping on the couch” whisper from the living room was ignored. Or not even heard.

I need a megaphone. Or a microphone. Or some sort of bullhorn. 6 weeks of the Queen not yelling is just not going to cut it.

Email me at queenofspainblog@yahoo.com and I’ll give you my home address. I’ll take anything you’ve got.
Anyone with kids understands how dire the situation will be once the children (and husband) realize they won’t get a good Mommy Dearest screetch-fest when they do something awful.

This is to Entertain you…

…while I finish really important stuff about this and this and this. Stay tuned. And feel free to sing along.

So THIS is what they mean…

…when they say you will love ANYTHING your kids’ do…

Who wouldn't want a hunk of plaster and cd from their kids?

Mommy's Birthday Present