If you're just catching up to the blog, I wrote a post a few days ago about an egregious act toward my daughter. 

I used A LOT of expletives in that post, as they are my favorite – I foresee explaining to my child down the road the expressive language of adults. Let's look upon it as vocabulary building, will you? –  but I wanted to make it clear that I wouldn't have actually told the old hag to go fuck herself. Probably warranted, and would have made me feel great, it really doesn't have quite the impact I'd like... anyone can yell obscenities. 

I'd have preferred to defer to control, and had I the misfortune to witness, with my own ears, the ugly, unkind words she spewed to my daughter I would've responded as follows:

"Excuse me? What did you say to my daughter?" 

I'm sure in her drunken stupor she'd have slurred some words at me to which I'd have responded "Who are you?" and without taking a breath,  "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were Queen of the Universe. However, I don't care who you are, you will not speak my daughter that way when she has done nothing to you." 

I can only imagine that she'd continue with some mumbled words which I would've waved off and continued "That was not a question. I'm speaking now. You will sit there with your mouth closed and listen carefully." I'd pause, just long enough so my following words would have ample effect, and my body language would be somewhat imposing and authoritative. "You must be a very lonely, sad woman with a heart of stone to not catch such an infectious attitude of a small child", I'd continue. "I'm so sorry for you. I can only hope death puts you out of your misery shortly."

I think that makes an impact. You? Yes, sometimes "fuck" feels so good to scream at idiots, but fortunately in real life control allows subtler ways to get a point across. 

I also find myself imagining she's been run over by that bus my husband mentioned, and death did put her out of her misery – and the world's – so quickly. 

Top: Lovebug engrossed in Baby Einstein Signs sign language, Middle (left to right): new big girl car seat, good morning from San Francisco, passed out on floor from a long day of activities, Bottom: snack time, bag packed and ready for flight to San Francisco, with daddy at Fisher Man's Warf (battleship, submarine, and alcatraz in background), playing at a park in the San Francisco city

I'm beginning to think it follows me around like a black cloud.

You know, negativity? Er, attitude?

I don't really know what you call it.

You'll recall my experience last year in New York, changing my baby – yeah, so it was ON A TABLE – in a restaurant where there was no where else to change her. You might call it "bad parenting". I'd say leaving my kid in a soiled diaper is "bad parenting" and you're an ass, but who's keeping score?

You might also recall some of my tales about people shocked I'd take a baby on a plane. Nurse her in public. EAT OUT!

You know, the usual ridiculousness. So why is it any different, or any less expected, when this shit happens again and again?

Oh, I don't know maybe because I have a pretty great kid who's a very happy, outgoing baby. Of course, she has her moments where she might whale in a restaurant, but usually it's short-lived – and I mean like under a couple minutes because I'm quick to occupy, entertain, pick up, etc...

To be fair, this really wasn't my experience, per se.

Today? Today, we were enjoying a late lunch. Lovebug had already eaten at her usual time, but she sat in a highchair while I lunched with one of my fab mother and brother-in-law's. Lovebug was jovial and VERY content. Now, I'm pretty aware of my surroundings – which means I people watch and make mental notes of kind-looking people, and the one's I note as assholes who might have some remark about a baby... in  public. I mean, can you imagine?

I spotted her straight away. The old bat sipping her wine, by herself, with a book. I pegged her right off. You might say I'm judgmental, I say I'm a good judge of character. Tomato, tomato. But I'm always on the money.

So, we lunched and chatted, and Lovebug hung out content to go through the contents of gammy's makeup bag, play with my bracelets, and munch a little bread. Remember, she's a toddler so she waves at random peeps and occasionally lets off a shrill squeal or two. ALL NORMAL.

We're nearly done and the hubs shows up, and eventually we realize some other family members are sitting at a table across the room – we're in San Francisco for the anniversary of the Golden Gate. (This is important later.)

The hubs gets up to go see said family members and takes Lovebug. She's been walking now for over a month and is SUPER mobile and likes to go. AGAIN, NORMAL.

Being the happy, social little butterfly she is, she walks around the restaurant from one end – where our family is – to the other – where we're sitting – not bothering anyone. Er, except crotchety, old ladies, apparently.

After several minutes of this, I switch places with the hubs. Lovebug takes off and my husband retrieves her, not before he, my brother-in-law, and mother-in-law hear something like "you're obnoxious, go sit down, and shut up" from the old bitch to my sweet, little, innocent, happy-go-lucky daughter.

Ooh, this old bag is just lucky I didn't hear it. I think I might've stabbed her in the eye with a fork. WTF? First off, I HATE the words "shut up". Second off, you're lucky my little girl is too young to understand you. If she'd have been older, you could have damaged her little spirit. Who the fuck – yes, I don't use the "f" word much on this blog but I couldn't think of a more appropriate time – are you? There isn't enough happiness in this world, and you want to kill it? Go fuck yourself.

Since when is a little waving at random peeps and a few, occasional, shrill squeals a crime? Or obnoxious? I'd say the obnoxiousness came from this crazy old hag.

Fortunately, like I said, I wasn't there to hear this. My mother-in-law told her off. And as if to add insult to injury, the old bag added a "She needs a reality check." Really? Really? Excuse me, but I think you need the reality check you old sourpuss. My husband told her she was lucky I wasn't there, because the last time I had a confrontation the opposing party was kicked out. He also told her she'd probably be hit by a bus due to karma. One can only hope.

Okay, so I mentioned we're in town for the Golden Gate anniversary... doing fireworks. There are a bunch of us here, and we tend to take over the place. We can't help it. We make friends with everyone where we're staying. We're here for a week, so we know the waiters in the joint. We run into each other around nearly every corner. There are bound to be several of us in one place at a time. I guess that may be obnoxious. I guess being a curious kid – going through gammy's makeup bag– is obnoxious. Waving at people you don't know? Certainly, obnoxious.

Once again, I'm flabbergasted. Are there any nice people left in this world?

I don't want to toot my own horn, but I'm always considerate – at least I try to be – of those around me. I will let you go in front of me in the market if you have less items... even with a cranky baby late for a nap. I will hold a door for you... young and old. I try not to judge you until I've walked in your shoes... unless you're an asshole. Where's the fucking love? I generally believe in karma. BUT I'm wondering where the karma bitch is. My daughter is the sweetest thing you'd ever have the pleasure of being around – somehow, we lucked out! – and I just can't believe the shit that follows us around some days. I really should start wearing my boots more regularly.

.........................

I think I owe the cranky, old crone a thank you. Yes. You made for great blog fodder!

In celebrating my dad yesterday and dedicating the sign that will be posted on the highway as a reminder of his tragic death, I was lucky enough to spend a moment – a moment I'll remember for as long as my mind is sound – with my dad's aunt.

You see, she's not just my dad's aunt, but my grandmother's (my dad's mom who passed away one week after, at nearly the exact time of, my dad's death) sister.

Why is that so important?

Seeing her yesterday for the first time since only weeks after my daughter was born brought a flood of emotion to my heart.

She looked at me, and I could've sworn it was my grandmother I was looking back at.

It was already a day of emotion – emotion I can rein in when in a public venue, but that still pangs me nearly three years later.

It was a special day. Not just a celebration of my dad, the man he was, and the dedication to his memory, but a real, rare moment with family.

What she said, after everyone had gone resonated with me...

When I think that sometimes things aren't perfect, or my heart wishes for things, I will remember her words, and know just how wonderful things truly are when you're living in the moment.

Appreciating every moment, and living in that moment is all we can do. Things change from day to day, and you never know what each day will hold.

Treasure the moments.

Nearly three years later.

A conviction.

Time. To reflect on the reality of it all.

Acceptance. Or maybe the recognition that he's gone.

An opportunity to regard him fondly.

Remembering a man who spent his life in support and service to others.

The other day I was going through some new clothes sized 18 months that Lovebug received for her birthday. She's 13 months and still wearing a few 9 month and mostly 12 month outfits. "What's annoying about that?", you ask. All. the. damn. tags.

Armed with a pair of scissors, I set about removing the tags so I could put the clothing in the next batch of baby washing and get it into the dresser and closet – I've been sorting through and reorganizing. I think I started to get a hand cramp after only the second outfit!

It's ridiculous! Not only is there the normal tag with a price, but if it's a set, look out. There's one of those plastic doohickies that attaches the top piece to the hanger and then each subsequent item is attached by another separate doohickey. As if that's not enough, there's a price tag with a $0 price marking on EACH individual piece... because it's a set.

Really? How necessary is all this? I know people steal, but maybe one large doohickey that goes through each piece would work? And what's the purpose of a price tag on EACH item? Can you say overkill?

As if moms don't have enough shit to do in a day we need to spend our precious time cutting thousands of unnecessary doohickies from children's clothing. I'm just sayin'. Stop the insanity of stupid shit!

The end of last week met with a variety of emotions over the Time magazine cover photo and feature article. I think all of us moms had a reaction, and all of us who blog, blogged.

Whatever the sentiments, we're all moms. And Sunday marked a day in which we're celebrated for the job we do: mothering our offspring. With that in mind, I took a look at my own mothering, and wanting to celebrate the blessing – my daughter – I've been given, I put all the anger I had for Time and its cover photo aside, hugged my little girl, and relished in the fact that my daughter is a happy, healthy, well-adjusted 13 month old despite the fact that my parenting style may be less than perfect. So, what better way to celebrate?

Two words. Dance. Party!

photo credit

Recently, my daughter was given a wand – yes, a princess isn't complete without her wand – but this wasn't just any wand. It's a disco globe flashing wand! So. much. FUN! And a dance party isn't complete without a disco wand and of course, some disco music.

Not of the disco era, I can still appreciate me some disco music, so I found some music from Saturday Night Fever and cranked it up. I whipped out some disco moves, while my daughter stared, and then laughed. She eventually came around and started shaking the wand. After a long day which consisted of my usual run, errands, and some housework, my stamina couldn't keep up. Lovebug took over the booty shakin', and even tried to coax the dog in on the action.