Jenny On the Spot: Caffeinated mom, lover of dancing, glitter and glitter.

It is still Christmas at my house. Not because presents keep pouring in, no… but because, as of this writing – January 16, 2010… the Christmas decorations are still — UP.

*hangs head*

I’m just keepin’ it real for y’allz. I am a classic type-a personality with a scattered-creative alter-ego who obssesses over glitter and fashion accessories. And fame.

Somedays it is just no fun to hang out in my head. I want order, but my alter-go (J-Bling) wants to play. I want timeliness, organization, predictability, and then my alter-ego hides my calendar and sprays glitter in my eyes… reminiscent of a Spitting Cobra.

A Spitting Cobra…

J-Bling…

Practically twins… Except for the scales…

Continue reading ‘The Confessional – It’s Still Christmas At My House’

I just feel moved to write about this treasure… as an outsider. I am not an adoptee, nor have I adopted…

Oh, but to bring a child into a circle of love and family where there was none… moves me deeply.

I hold adoptive families in the highest regard… for the effort and sacrifices they make to be able to make an adoption happen. It is time consuming. It is expensive. It can be emotionally draining and taxing in ways I am certain I have no clue.

I just want to use some of the space I usually fill with silliness to acknowledge families who adopt – whether local or children from other nations. A good friend of mine recently adopted a young brother and sister from Ghana. If you browse the blog of Kristin at The Jag 7, you can read about their journey. It was a difficult and long process, but if you peek, you will see it was worth it all. So precious.

Adoption is so heavy on my mind and in my heart simply because of people like Kristin above… and also because of new connections on Twitter… and one made recently via this blog. I want to tell you about them…
Continue reading ‘Adoption and Goodwill Toward Men’

“What a retard.”

“That was retarded.”

When you read those statements, what did you feel? I wrote them with no context, but did you feel anything?

Did it bother you at all?

It bothers me.

When I hear people use “retarded” flippantly (as opposed to using it in it’s proper context), I feel my insides coil back. I almost feel like putting up a defensive hand move. Maybe plug my ears or wince? Last week I was speaking with an acquaintance who threw out that second phrase, and I felt like I was in high school. I broke a bit of a sweat. I wanted to tell that person not to say that, but I didn’t want to look dumb. I don’t tell other adults not to curse in front of me. But this was different.

It is far worse than cursing.

And I never said anything. I let it pass.

My internal “jerk” has only grown in recent weeks since having the opportunity to listen to Tanis Miller of Attack of the Redneck Mommy read the post that she wrote about this very issue at the BlogHer ‘09 Community Keynote. She is the mother of a child with disabilities… She has also lost a child who was disabled. Unlike me, she does not let those interactions “pass”.

I am thankful someone captured her reading. I was deeply moved, and impassioned. I want to share that video with you. It gives perspective… is heart-breaking… and enlightening. There is nothing like the heart of a mother as she “goes to the mat” for her child. The video follows, but you can lay your eyes on each word of her post here.

Sticks and stones

May break my bones

But names will never hurt me.

Not true.

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I woke up one morning.

I got out of bed.

I heard my Mama…

And what did she say?

She said,

“What do want,

On your breakfast bread?”

I said,

“JAM ON IT!”

Heh. ‘Member that rap? Ah…. childhood. I’ve always been a wrapper at heart. Even as a blue eyed white girl… whose first experience with racism was against her (me). The boy I liked in 4th grade (3rd?) was Hispanic, and I was not (but my heart… if he only knew the Juanita Veronica Maria Carmen Montoya de la Cruz that lived inside). When he found out I had a crush on him he told me, “I don’t like girls that are white. I only like brown girls.”

Continue reading ‘Make Me Laugh Monday – My Children, My Madness, My Joy… and Also My Digressionses’

Oh dear. This is a long one…. Practically a thesis. Maybe I should change the title to BlogHer 09 Thesis and Whatnot of all Silliness and Ramblings of Great Proportion. Or not.

I was gonna do a “BlogHer – The Friday” post. Meh. Who wants a day-by-day run down? I just want to show you how fabulous life becomes when online babes friends get to meet each other IRL (in. real. life.) At BlogHer, not only did I get to meet people I have grown to admire, adore and, yes… even LOVE. I also MET people at BlogHer who I now admire, adore, and even… LOVE.

I fell fast and hard for some of these people…

In no order of importance, but probably in order of how this pics loaded from my iPhone into iPhoto, or however they landed on my desktop as I stalked the BlogHer pics on the Flickr…

Chris, Kim (3 Giraffes) and Sizzle Says… gettin’ texty with it whilst we wait for our ride to the Sheraton in Downtown Chicago.

Continue reading ‘I Went to BlogHer and… Shazam! I Luvz Me My Onlinez Peeps!’

My feet are a WRECK. Over the past 3 years I have stacked running and triathlon events in such a way that my feet have not have the opportunity to return to the intended state they were given to me. You know, 10 intact, cute-ish toes… all with nails. Not model feet, but I considered the nail shape and thickness all to be in normal-to-acceptable range. And give those babies a pedi by a pro… only better.

But now it is all about smoke and mirrors my friends.

I now have 6 normal toe nails. 1 ultra thick one, if I am not careful, I am afraid it might get taller than me. I am not posting a picture. Even I have boundaries. The other thick nail… a professioanl was able to wrangle her to a place of submission. Poor guy. Yes, I had a pedi by a man. It was uncomfortable, but it had to be done. I had a public to protect. I swear, left unchecked… my toes could hurt an innocent by-stander, or at least make them vomit in their mouth a little. I want my public to be a happy public, so… I will endure a pedi by a man… if that is what it takes. *folds arms*

I also have 2 toes (the center ones) with NO NAIL. Did you know you can paint the spot where a nail should be? No one can tell. Smoke and mirrors my friends, smoke and mirrors…

The 2 nails that have complete gone AWOL are a direct result of my marathon in early May. They were fine the morning before, and made big, throbbing protests the days following. One fell off weeks ago. The other fell off yesterday.

Being the sub-standard mom that I am… Our Tooth Fairy (this will make sense, I promise) has a reputation for not showing up in a timely manner. This was a letter my daughter left for our TF one time:

Aaaanywho. So. I lost my toenail yesterday. My daughter Olivia (who had lost a tooth the day before… made a note for our fair Tooth Fairy AND left her tooth just outside her bedroom door instead of under her pillow… she is a go-getter, I tell ya. Thank heaven the TF woke up at 3:30 in the a.m. and remembered to scrounge the kids’ therapy fund and paid the kid for her tooth… which, by the way… she RIPPED out cuz that girl is made out of pure Awesome and Tough Schtuff!)

Where was I?

Oh. My toenail. My daughter was there when I finally showed Ms. Nail who was boss. Olivia said, “Oh! Mom!!! You should put that under your pillow!”

“But Olivia, do you think the Nail Fairy will come?”

Olivia was certain, “Oh yeah. You better not put it under your pillow… put it at your door.”

My poor girl. *plops 2 quarters back in the Therapy Fund*

I own this shirt. It says, “Legalize Frostitution”… Get it – FROSTING… cake… rowS of cake… rowS of cupcakes… with frosting….

A dear friend gave it to me. She knows my pure, unwavering love of baked goods. But I don’t wear this in public. I worry that if I wear this in public people might thing of me as “trashy”.

Instead, I wear this shirt to bed. It seems appropriate.

However, this is truly such a GREAT SHIRT, I needed to show SOMEBODY. So I decided to show it to a few of my closest friends here on the anonymous interwebz. Besides. No one will know it is ME wearing this shirt… I was careful to crop out my face. I am so “savvy” when it comes to protecting my online identity and reputation.

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TwitterMoms in partnership with Care.com is having a contest. The charge: 

What’s the rudest comment from a stranger you have ever gotten about your parenting style? 

Not. A. Problem. The hard part is — which story should I choose? Is it bad I have too many options? Here goes:

My daughter Lucy was 2, she had (OK, she still does) a love/hate relationship with water. She has been known to ooze, “I love you Wawa!” as we  drive onto the ferry. Yet she screams like a tortured victim from some “B” horror flick when her face gets wet while bathing. So, of course I am going to sign her up for swim lessons! I love to put myself in awkward situations, so it was a no-brainer!

Heh. No brain. How perfect.
Continue reading ‘Mom Fail – the reprise of a past post for a TwitterMoms Contest’

Last night I had to take my 6 year old daughter into the local urgent care. It seems my stellar skillz as mother are not at stellar as one might think. A wound on her arm (inflicted by beauty bark 4 days ago) grew to the size of a roma tomato between the hours of 9 and 7 yesterday… 

But that’s not what I was thinking about. I was thinking this:

WHY are there no CLOCKS in WAITING rooms?

Which naturally progressed my mind toward my next thought:

Speaking of waiting… I find it a bit curious that the people in WAITING rooms are called PATIENCE PATIENTS.

Just had my thinkin’ cap on… again. I look pretty cute in a tight fitting thinking cap… I bet I’d look pretty cute in one of those little white jackets with the arms the tie behind the back. 

***Olivia is doing fine, by the way. She screamed and kicked and was the bravest a 6 year old girl could be considering she was given 2 shots, lanced, then that owie had the dickens squozed out of it… and then to add insult to injury – the doctor packed it! Schnikies! I was so proud of my girl. And while I was busy being proud of her I was also busy not vomiting, though it would have been easy to do. I was also busy not passing out, though that would also have been very easy to do. As soon as I knew Livi was on the upswing, I turned onto my butt, cried, caught my breath, nearly stripped naked for I was boiling hot! And let my stomach regain it’s composure. Whew, it’s hard seeing your babies suffer.***

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This time of year tends to bring a time of reflection… a time of examination. This holiday, in particular brings out the “I’m so thankful” attitude… A holiday with a name like THANKSgiving will lead a person to behave in such ways… 

I have so much to be thankful for, yet I find I behave like spoiled brat. I fail to be thankful when I whine about my tepid cup of coffee… as there are people fighting wars for a drop of water. I fail to be thankful when I complain about my aching muscles because I HAD to work out extra-long because I have access to way more food than I will ever need… Meanwhile, a father works his fingers raw to maybe bring home enough grain for the day. I fail in thankfulness when I feel exasperated by my children, and meanwhile mothers mourn the loss of a child. I fail when I curse the broken washer because I have 4 loads to do, while a young girl washes her one article of clothing in a river. There are wars, famines, natural disasters, hardship, unimaginable atrocities… and I have no idea what is really going on out there.

Ya know?

Despite my shamefully frequent oversights… I AM deeply thankful for my life and the delightful fruit that fills it. I feel I am one of the richest women in the world when it comes to the important stuff. I am thankful for my incredible family, my good health, a warm home, an education, freedom to vote and complain, and I have had the unique blessing of having incredible friends throughout the course of my life… I am dumbfounded. 

I hope you all have a wonderful holiday… and are dumbfounded by the richness in your lives.