How To Piss Off Mommy Bloggers

Posted on May 29, 2012 | 101 Comments

For the first time in a long time, I wanted to quit blogging tonight. That sounds dramatic and worthy of an eye roll, but it’s me we’re talking about.

Let me back up.

A couple of months ago the talented, extremely humble and ridiculously nice Jill Smokler of Scary Mommy fame agreed to let me put a guest post up on the weekly Society Posts section of her website. It’s basically a chance for people to offer a different perspective on parenting.

Ironic, I know, but go with it.

Anyway, I wrote a tongue-in-cheek post about why I don’t have kids and why parents should probably stop mistaking my general interest as an invitation to inundate me with hourly updates on baby bowel movements. Jill liked it, so we went with it.

If you know me, you know I’m snarky and sarcastic, but I’m never mean. These readers don’t know me, and while the comments on the post were fine, the result on the Scary Mommy Facebook page revealed that not only am I apparently mean, but I’m resentful, untalented, spoiled and selfish—among many other things.

Oh yes, and even though I didn’t title or format the post, they ripped on that as well.

I won’t go into the details, but it really, really got to me. Tell me to suck it up, that if I can’t take it I shouldn’t dish it out, but I had no idea that it would strike such a nerve.

But that fact is that I don’t have an issue with people disagreeing with me. I have an issue with the fact that my character is called into question.

Because while I might not be changing infant diapers, I have changed the diapers of my 90-year-old grandma and spent years dispensing care. 

Because while I might not be thrilled when a coworker repeatedly tells me that the world is ending because her toddler crapped his pants again, I am a good friend and listen—really listen—when people talk to me about whatever it is that they talk to me about.

I might “selfishly write about my veggie steamer and cat” as one person brought up, but I also donated all the profits from my book to the Humane Society, and just as kids are important to some, those things are important to me.

So while I admit that this sounds quite defensive—which it kind of is—it’s really more of a reminder to myself that I am many things.

I am a writer, a daughter, a granddaughter, a sports fan, a cat mom, a friend and someone who knows who she is.

What I am not is mean, resentful, untalented, spoiled or selfish, and I hate how the opinion of a few were suddenly causing me to think that way. I hate how I had a different post planned for this week, but started to wonder, “Is it selfish? Is it mean? Why the hell am I blogging anyway? What’s the point?”

The point is that not everyone will like me.

In fact, some complete strangers flat out hate me because I struck a mommy nerve and got their granny panties in a knot. But as a certain (scary) mommy blogger put it, “screw ‘em.” 

So I’ll brush it off, watch the ballgame and play with my cat tonight because she’s pissed I’ve ignored her while obsessing over this crap. Later I’ll selfishly post about accidentally walking outside without pants on and ranting about neighbor kids because that’s just what I do.

Well, that and piss off mommy bloggers.

Thanks for letting me vent.

Like the blog? Buy the book.

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Abby’s Ark

Posted on May 28, 2012 | 33 Comments

Considering I’m pretty much a minimalist when it comes to everything in my life—save for words, as my rambles demonstrate—it will come as no surprise that the chances of me appearing on “Hoarders” are about as likely as me appearing on “The Bachelorette.”

But with that said, I often feel the need to have at least two of the same things around. Not so I can use both of them at the same time, but so I know that if something happens to the first one, I won’t be left without.

Because of course, anything that could produce even a minor inconvenience should be avoided at all costs.

For example, I have two Hot Shots. If you don’t know what a Hot Shot is, then you haven’t really lived life to the fullest. When your “happy time” revolves around tea every day, this thing lets you heat up water in less than a minute.

hotshot1

I bought the first one at Target a couple of years ago and then they stopped carrying them. My mom realized the gravity of this situation and ordered one for me online as a surprise almost a year ago. I haven’t had to use it yet, but it’s waiting in my pantry.

My pantry also has a backup vegetable/rice steamer that I ordered six months ago when I feared mine was on the fritz (as I use mine at least twice a day), a backup toaster, an extra case of my tea, etc. And I don’t think I have to say that when it comes to food, you will never open up my fridge to find an absence of any of my staples.

But I do have only one fridge.

I will buy a new stick of deodorant, but use the old one until the container scrapes the inside of my armpits. I will squeeze every last drop of a $1.99-tube of toothpaste like it cost me $20. I would use a tube of chapstick until the plastic hurts my lips, but I still maintain that anyone who can keep a tube of chapstick around until it’s gone without losing it is some sort of genius.

Newsflash: I am not a genius, as evidenced by the fact that I read a to-do list note to “clean stove” as “clean Steve” the other day.

Anyway, when it comes to blogging, I continue this doubled-up pattern of neurosis. I like to have another post “waiting in the wings” before I publish one so that I can a) not stress that I have no new ideas or b) hurry up and publish something new if my last post sucked.

My brain doesn’t always let things work out that way—see “I am not a genius” above—but I work with what I have.

And what I have is a veritable Abby’s Ark of things I just can’t be without. Well, I don’t have an extra car or phone or computer, but I do have an extra Hot Shot and vegetable steamer, and sometimes that’s all that I need.

Like the blog? Buy the book—or two.

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Verdict: Not Guilty

Posted on May 24, 2012 | 32 Comments

I don’t talk about it a lot, but when I was much younger I was in a relationship with an older guy for more than five years. He wasn’t a bad guy, but it was a very bad relationship for me that left me feeling trapped and has contributed to many of the issues I still have today.

At a time in my life when that should have been carefree and fun, I was miserable.

I cried myself to sleep way too often.

I tried to disassociate myself from the situation and numb my feelings by developing maladaptive coping behaviors I (unfortunately) still rely on today.

So why did I stay when a couple months in I knew that something was off?

It’s complicated, but aside from the fact that I was young and not 1/100th as strong as I am now, the main reason I stayed was the guilt. Everyone around me was jealous of such a “great catch,” and I was convinced that something was wrong with me for not feeling the same way towards him as he did about me. I didn’t trust my own feelings and came to view them as less valid than those of anyone else.

So as miserable as I was, I stayed.

Needless to say, that breakup was a huge breakthrough—I moved on immediately—and I’ve grown leaps and bounds through the years. And while I still have a long way to go, I’ve learned to manage emotions much better and have certainly built up a strong sense of self.

But sometimes guilt still crops up, be it a subtle ache or a stab in the chest.

It’s rarely guilt over actions. Experience has taught me that feeling guilty in those situations gets me nowhere fast (or perhaps more appropriately, it sends me backwards.)

It’s usually guilt over emotion, at sometimes not feeling things that I think I should feel — which is entirely as screwed up as it sounds. You don’t need my examples, as everyone has those things they feel they “should” be feeling or doing if only to make someone else happy or satisfy some societal norm.

But lately I’m learning to let go—of the past, of the “shoulds,” of the guilt.

Because if I’ve learned nothing else through the years, it’s that a) hitting the garbage disposal instead of the light switch at 2am will cause me to crap my pants and b) guilt serves no purpose.

It fills my mind up with doubt instead of acceptance of things as they naturally are, and when I make decisions just to make someone else happy or because I feel I “should”, it usually just leaves me miserable.

While I know I’m not one of those people that can completely let go — I’ll always be a “thinker” and entirely too sensitive — I remind myself that while I can change my behavior when needed, I can’t change what I feel at my core.

Which, apparently, is the need to include the phrase “crap my pants” in this blog post.

But my point is that years ago I vowed never to feel trapped again. While at the time I meant it in terms of a relationship with someone else, I’ve come to realize that it applies to the relationship with myself more than anything.

Guilt is a self-induced trap.

We all have the choice to let go.

Like the blog? Buy the book.

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Musings on Monie

Posted on May 21, 2012 | 33 Comments

Breaking news: My house isn’t perfect anymore. There are cat toys all over the place, hair on my dining room chairs and a four-legged creature wandering around—and I have survived the past two weeks.

To be honest, it was rough in the beginning and I’m still adjusting. But if I had to get a cat, Monie has turned out to be the perfect choice. Since a few of you have asked how things have gone, I figured it was time for an update—a few of the highlights and a few of the lessons she’s taught me so far.

She hid under my desk for the first night or so, but was lured out with catnip and a brush.

moniehiding

Let that be a lesson, my friends. Legal hallucinogens and massage will do wonders, and I suggest someone sends some over to me ASAP.

I kept shoving her towards food, water, the litter and this cat bed, seeing as I spend a lot of time doing those things myself, and she took to them all pretty quick.

monieinbed

Leopard print cat bed. She is a rock star.

Eventually she executed her plan for world domination by claiming certain spots in the house. I challenged this authority by busting out the vacuum for the first time, at which point she simply shrugged her furry shoulders and walked back to “her” room.

This is a good thing, as the vacuum makes an appearance more than a Kardashian in the news.

Anyway, she sounds like a gremlin when I brush her every morning, didn’t get the memo that 10-year-old cats are supposed to aloof and reclusive and was called “husky” but healthy by the vet.

fatmonie

Weee! We’re working on the “husky” thing.

Plus, she tried to eat the same fake plant I tried to water, so apparently she fits right in.

But in an effort to make this post slightly worth your while, I will dig a bit deeper and say she is teaching me a couple things.

First, she’s shown me she’s a creature with a tremendous capacity for love. I was a complete stranger taking her home that day and she was willing to trust and love me almost immediately. I realize she would’ve been that way with anyone taking her home, but it just goes to show that her heart was open to love.

Second, despite her rough situation, she wasn’t defensive or mean (even though I wouldn’t have blamed her if she was.) She was/is curious, affectionate and willing to experience a new situation with courage and joy—and catnip—but not bitterness.

Third, I can unplug. The time before bed I might have spent online/screaming at a blank computer screen is now often spent playing with her. I can also set boundaries and say “no.” When I want my time, you can bet I still take it—despite her whining and attempts to lick me.

sunsleep

Side bar: She tries to lick me. She’s a weirdo.

And while I’m trying very hard not to get annoyed when she wants attention all the time — I don’t do needy— those times when I do snap at her seem to be forgotten by the next time out paths cross, which is often, seeing as she follows me around. But she never holds a grudge and seems to take things as they are—in that moment—and nothing more.    

Finally, if I don’t completely secure my bedroom door at night, I will wake up and roll over to see a 13-pound cat on the pillow next to me.

I’m still learning.

Buy the book. Save a kitten. 

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Take Me To Your Leader

Posted on May 20, 2012 | 54 Comments

As much as I like blogging and social media, it seems like people are taking this stuff a little too serious at times. To be honest, it’s getting a little creepy.

And while I don’t have personal experience with “traditional” cults, I did a little research and found the following characteristics that apparently define them.

Do any of them sound familiar?

“Cult”ivating Community

The group is focused on a leader to whom members seem to display excessively zealous, unquestioning commitment.  

“I will read ANYTHING that (insert blogger here) posts—even if they publish a theory that unicorns are the driving force behind global warming—and I will tweet it out multiple times a day despite the fact the “big” blogger has no clue who I am.”

The group is preoccupied with bringing in new members.

“Do you follow me on Facebook? On Twitter? Do you subscribe to my posts? Have you checked out this page yet? Grab my button!”

The group is preoccupied with making money.

Lately it seems as if blogs are just billboards for ads. “See my sponsors on the side? Your ad could be there! This post was brought to you today by (insert company that has nothing to do with the blog post.)”

Questioning, doubt and dissent are discouraged or even punished.

This is evident when a blogger’s followers take to defending the blogger in the comment sections of posts and are personally appalled when someone questions a point that was made—and then that reader is promptly banned from further comments.  If you’ve never noticed this, try reading healthy living blogs. Trust me.

The group has a polarized us-versus-them mentality, which causes conflict with the wider society.

People who don’t blog/tweet/Facebook “don’t understand,” which is something people who blog/tweet/Facebook don’t understand.

The group’s leader is not accountable to any authorities.

Anyone can blog, which mean anyone can say anything they want at any time without (relatively any) consequence.

The leadership induces guilt feelings in members in order to control them.

“I’m only two followers away from (insert random number)!  Help me get there by tonight, or else God will kill a kitten!”

Members are expected to devote inordinate amounts of time to the group.

“After you link up, be sure to read at least 35 of the other posts here, leave comments, come back here and tell us that you left a comment, tweet about which post you liked best and then post it to your Facebook page.”

But have no fear!

If you find yourself  taking things too seriously, remember that you have free will!

You don’t have to believe “them” when they say, “if you don’t post a picture, an update or an announcement of everything from your lunch to the cold you’ve been fighting, how will anyone know about your willpower or dedication? How will anyone congratulate, commiserate or validate your feelings or your feats?”

Remember that you will know, and that just because you didn’t post it online, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. After all, one should be posting the best parts of their life that happen authentically and not living life for the best thing to post.

I know the pull is strong, but you can be stronger.

You can break free!

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go tweet out the link to this post. Oh, and by the way…

Like the blog? Buy the book.

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Easy as 1, 2, 3

Posted on May 16, 2012 | 43 Comments

When given a set of instructions, my OCD kicks into overdrive and I find myself reading them over and over until I have them basically memorized and then refer back every five seconds to check what I’ve read and what I should do.

This does not mean I am good with them, as you know, but it’s not for lack of preparation. I maintain that I simply lack the gene that allows for implementation.

However, it’s become apparent that many adults these days lack the preparation, the implementation and the desire to actually read the instructions that are given to them.

Some examples, you say?

I have at least three.

Four-Way Stops

This is not nuclear physics. Basically the first vehicle to arrive at a complete stop is the first vehicle allowed to leave the stop sign. 

But yet people either speed right through or sit there and appear to contemplate the angle of the sun in proportion to the trajectory of the moon before concluding they should go — a decision often influenced by the fact everyone is waving them on with one select finger or honking their horns.

I know the rules and will stand my ground with one exception: If your car is held together with bungee cords and duct tape, I will always yield to you. You clearly have nothing to lose.

Email

Hypothetically speaking, let’s say I send out an email that ends with, “I have attached the form with the deadline included. Thanks, Abby.” Please note that my name is also included in the signature at the bottom of the email and in the return email address.

I can’t tell you the number of times I get a reply along the lines of, “Hi Anny/Amy/Bob! Can you please send me the form and let me know when the deadline is?”

And…headdesk.

This shows a blatant lack of effort and respect for my time, and also that of Anny/Amy/Bob, wherever and whoever they may be. And for the love of avocados, if it instructs, “Reply back directly and do not ‘reply all.’” Do not “reply all.” In fact, do not ever “reply all.”

Ever.

Self Checkouts

Despite the fact that the machine tells you what to do step-by-step both visually and out loud, it seems “scan item,” “place item in the bag” and “insert money” is interpreted as “poke at the screen for 5 minutes,” “yell about how you can’t find the picture of the bright yellow fruit on the screen” and “try to cram wrinkled dollar bills into the slot while swearing.”

And yet these people keep returning to the self checkout lanes as if actual interaction with the cashier is too much of an inconvenience.

I suppose if nothing else, watching these people justifies the necessity of the “do not eat” warning labels on silica gel packs.

Let’s hope that they follow directions.

Like the blog?  Buy the book.

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A Perfect Storm

Posted on May 14, 2012 | 33 Comments

Friday was a good day.

After work I went with my mom to buy her flowers and hanging baskets for Mother’s Day, per our tradition. I got my petunias in the ground, went for a walk and simply enjoyed the sunshine and the fact that I could finally work outside.

flowerbasket1

Ooh! Pretty!

Saturday wasn’t so great. I hate everything that I write as of late, so I’ll just share that I ended up wallowing in an emotionally dark place for a variety of (seemingly inexplicable and unrelated) reasons.

And we all know how wallowing is an extremely productive use of time.

At any rate, in the middle of one of my “moments,” I decided to go for a walk. Now, I’m the queen of preventative measures in that I plan for just about any contingency that may arise. Umbrellas, flashlights, extra napkins —you never know when you’re going to need them.

But seeing as there was only a 10 percent chance of showers that afternoon, I just laced up my shoes and took off. All was well until dark clouds rolled across the previously sunny sky. I ignored, as I’m prone to do when impending unpleasantness may occur.

However, it was hard to ignore the sprinkles and then outright downpour that followed a few minutes later. I had no umbrella. I had no towel. I had no ark in which to load pairs of animals and seek shelter. I kept walking — as I obviously had no other choice — but I was wet and cranky.

Then I started to wonder why. I wasn’t dressed up and ready to go to a wedding — unless a T-shirt, workout pants and unwashed hair were the nuptial attire — and I wasn’t carrying the Olympic torch with me. Why did it matter if I got a little wet, if I got a little uncomfortable?

It didn’t.

I couldn’t control it and wasn’t prepared, so I simply kept walking along. But while I didn’t melt, I instead melted down, and a mixture of raindrops and teardrops were streaming down my face by the time I got back home. The rain stopped, but without an emotional umbrella to bust out and use, the tears just kept raining on down.

And I kid you not, a pile of bird shit landed two inches from where I was sitting on my deck, so be thankful for small miracles.

At any rate, in the interest of wrapping things up with a nice tidy bow, I’ll pull a metaphor from bird shit and me being creatively/emotionally constipated to walking in the rain and sitting with discomfort over a variety of things.

Storms — emotional or otherwise — eventually clear up with time, and umbrella or not, I have to keep walking each day.

After all, Sunday the sun shone again.

P.S. I could also twist a metaphor about always being ready for a shit storm, but I’m trying to be positive here. Work with me people, work with me…

Like the blog? Buy the book.

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