This post was hard to write.

When I was in elementary school, I had a lot of friends. I was a safety patrol, got good grades, was in a close-knit group of girls, and was basically a pretty confident and happy kid.  My life was happy and safe and I had no idea that things would ever be different.

That is, until I rolled into the halls of Jefferson Davis Middle School in sixth grade.

Before then, I knew I was a little chubby and that the glasses I had to wear weren't the height of fashion.  I didn't think much about clothing or hairstyles.  I was just a kid who loved horses and riding my bike and having sleepovers with my friends.

But sixth grade changed everything.  Most of my friends ended up at different middle schools so I was forced to make friends with all new girls who had mostly come from the same school and had already formed a tight bond with each other.  Evidently my clothes weren't the "right" kind of clothes and I was developing a lovely case of pre-pubescent acne, so things weren't off to a great start.

I remember two episodes of really, really horrible bullying when I was in 6th grade. I know there were more, but two of them really stick out in my mind when I think back.

The first was a Wednesday. I know it was a Wednesday because I had piano lessons on Wednesdays and my mother picked me up from school.  She was running a little late this afternoon so I was waiting around for her, my multi colored folders clutched to my chest. I was wearing an outfit entirely of red plaid.  Red plaid button down shirt and red plaid shorts.  I paired the outfit with my red framed glasses, red socks, and black knock-off Keds. Picture it.

A group of girls came to stand around me. They were older, probably eighth graders. They started talking to me, asking me questions. "Who are you waiting for?" "Where are you going?" "What's your name?" 

I answered each of their questions politely as they asked them... but every once in a while I would feel a sharp jab in my behind, like a tiny bee sting.  I didn't know what it was and it would happen so fast.  Finally, I noticed one of them had a safety pin hidden in her hand. They had been poking me with the pins as they talked to me. There was nothing I felt I could do, either. I was so much smaller than all of them and there were at least four of them and just me.  There were no teachers around, no adults at all. I was at their mercy.

Finally my mom pulled up and I quickly got in the car, bursting almost immediately into tears as we drove away.

The second time that really sticks out was on the bus. Our bus was really overcrowded, to the point where we had three kids sitting to each seat.  The bus driver assigned us seats to make sure we'd all have a seat.  My seat was in the middle of two popular eighth grade girls. I remember sitting between them, trying to take up as little room as possible, my arms crossed so they wouldn't encroach on anyone else's space, my legs tightly together and my books on my lap.  It was then that the eighth grade boy who was assigned the seat directly in front of me turned around.

"Don't you know you're too fat?" he taunted me "You shouldn't be allowed to sit anywhere near girls as beautiful as these. You don't deserve to breathe the same air as they do. You're ugly and fat. You're an ugly, fat cow." He went on and on, the whole hot, sweaty, and sticky four mile bus ride. It felt like an eternity.

I hated him, but again, there was nothing I could do. I wouldn't cry in front of him. I didn't talk back to him. I stared him in the eye the whole time he talked to me.  The girls giggled and told him to stop, but they enjoyed it.

There were other small events where I was bullied that year. It got to a point where I refused to ride the bus home at all and started bumming rides from my best friend whose mom was the school crossing guard or I'd walk across the street to my cousin's house and tell my mom I'd missed the bus. A few times I just walked the four miles home.

I never told my mom and dad how bad things were. I was humiliated, embarrassed to be such a dork, ashamed that I didn't stand up for myself. I felt weak and powerless and I didn't want my family to know that side of me.

That year crushed me. I went from a happy and confident kid who made good grades, to a sad, uncertain girl who didn't do her homework and barely skimmed by. I wonder how things might have been if I hadn't undergone that bullying.

Now I'm all grown up, with two kids of my own in middle school. I try to talk to them about bullying, try to ask them how things are for them. I try to give them a leg up and make sure they have the "right" clothes and whatever else they need to feel confident.  So far, I think they're doing okay. They don't seem to be facing the same kinds of torture I faced. And I attribute a lot of that to awareness and education. (October is Bullying Prevention Awareness Month.) I think the schools, at least around here, have done a lot more to prevent bullying and make schools a safer place for our kids.

I don't deal with bullying anymore as an adult.  Even though I'm still overweight and I still occasionally wear glasses and I often don't wear the "right" clothes.  As an adult the game has changed and if someone were to call me fat or make fun of me, they'd probably not do it to my face.  (I'm sure it has been done behind my back.)

So I was saddened to read about a message sent to a morning news anchor in Wisconsin, a clear case of bullying in adulthood.  Check out her response to her bully here.  Go ahead.  I'll be right here with a tissue when you get back.

What an incredible role model she is to everyone. Not just her daughters, not just young women, but everyone.  If only we could all be as gracious and beautiful as this amazing woman.  If we could all teach our children to be kind and open minded, to stick up for what is good and right. Just imagine how our world would be.

This is true redneck innovation right here... you may want to take notes

I don't know if your house is like my house, but if it is then you know a little something about what I like to call "The Shoe Dilemma".

Simply explained, this is when one or more of your children can't find their shoes. The Shoe Dilemma has plagued all three of my children on numerous occasions - sometimes it even gets me.  Sometimes it affects only one shoe, sometimes both, but at least once a week we seem to have an episode.  It most frequently gets us when we're already late for something and it results in me screaming and yelling, tears from at least one child, and quite often feet being crammed into shoes that are too small.

Evidently, The Shoe Dilemma is so traumatic in my house that Bug decided the other day that he would just jump in the car without shoes at all, rather than invoke the chaos that would come from admitting that he couldn't find his shoes.

Did he think I wouldn't notice? I'm not sure. I think this was a case of "I'll cross that bridge when I come to it" in his head.

To be fair, my kids are true Florida children. They run around without shoes a lot. True Florida kids play outside barefoot, ride bikes barefoot, run over to their neighbor friend's house barefoot and probably jump in a few mud puddles on their way there. In fact, over the summer I'm pretty the boys didn't put a pair of socks on their feet even once.

At any rate, we were really just going to run a few errands and pick up The Man from his office (his truck is out of service right now, which is a whole other blog entry) so maybe he thought he'd get away with it.

But, by the time we got The Man and conversed, it was decided that we were all hungry and wanted to grab a pizza at a local restaurant. 

It was then that we discovered Bug's bare feet.

So what's a crazy Spaz family to do? Stop in at the Walmart and grab a pair of $1 flip flops? Just go home? 

No way! 

Nothing a little sharpie can't fix. 

(It totally worked, too.)

File this one under "Things That Make Me Crazy" - The Drop Off Circle

I know I'm not the only one that fumes over this. I know there are other parents out there that also get the urge to jump out of their minivan and bitch slap another parent in the wee hours of the morning. I know it's not just me.

You see, every school day I drop Goober off at school. The other two ride the bus, but since the elementary school isn't too far from the house I still drop him off in the mornings.  If you're a parent who drops your child off at school, then you're familiar with the concept of the "drop-off circle".  I know it works slightly different at each school, but the concept is basically the same. 

If the door that your little darling exits your vehicle from is within the "red zone" it means he or she is safe to get out of the car and should do so. In the example shown here, the first six cars should all kick their precious sweethearts to the curb and exit the circle. Then the seventh car should proceed all the way to the position previously held by the first car and another six children will exit their vehicles. Are you all following me?  These are the rules of all drop off circles across the nation. 

This morning, The Spaz Van was behind a Black Escalade in the drop off circle and since we were within 10 minutes of school start time, it was a packed circle. 

As you can see in this picture, the Black Escalade is well within the "red zone" and thus a child should be exiting the vehicle. What you can't see in this picture is that The Spaz is arguing with Goober about his missing ipod and not paying attention to the fact that no child is exiting said Black Escalade.

Now, the only thing that should hinder the perpetual motion of the drop off circle is when there are people in the crosswalk and the "Stop Sign Man" stops the flow of traffic to allow them to safely cross. Accidentally stopping in the crosswalk is the BIGGEST no-no of the drop off circle and will be met with evil stares and admonishment from Stop Sign Man.

Stop Sign Man stopped Black Escalade this morning to allow children to cross safely in the crosswalk, allowing Black Escalade another chance to deposit their shining star of a child within the red zone.

Again, no child exited Black Escalade.  This, however, was the spot that Goober did exit The Spaz Van as it was safely within the red zone.  He left the car without so much as a "Bye Mom" since he was irritated with me for lecturing him about taking care of his belongings.  Again, I paid no attention to Black Escalade since I was preoccupied with Goober's lack of love for me.  But that's not really the point.

So when traffic started to move again, I absolutely assumed that we would be moving completely out of the drop off circle, considering Black Escalade must have taken at least one of the two opportunities to say goodbye to their beloved angel.

This is what happened next. 

Yep, that's what it looks like. Black Escalade wouldn't DARE make their cherished treasure of a child actually WALK more than absolutely necessary, so Black Escalade stopped right at the gate, ignoring all drop off circle rules. So I, of course, had to slam on the brakes and ended up totally in the middle of the crosswalk.  For the entire time that Black Escalade's prized pet fumbled with the gigantic door and attempted to collect her pink glittery backpack, I dealt with the heated anger from Stop Sign Man. 

I was so furious with Black Escalade that I nearly followed it so I could yell at the driver at my first available opportunity.  But I wasn't wearing a bra and I certainly didn't want to be the crazy mom with no bra losing her mind at some unsuspecting parent - who probably had done her hair and had on full make-up. No doubt she was on her way to a morning yoga class or to grab a vanilla latte with her girlfriends at Starbucks. 

No resentment here. Really. 

More Chick Fil A Propaganda! One dirty liberal's opinion.

(I don't really call myself a liberal. But most of my family does. Hi guys!)

Two posts in one day. It's a record!!

Okay, it's not a record. I think I've done it before. Just not lately.

But today I'm doing it.  And why?? Because I posted that last one.  And when I did, as I always do, I viewed the post on my blog so I could see how it would appear to all of the four people who might read it.

And I saw this:

A propaganda ad right there on MY BLOG!!!

When I was in 7th grade I joined academic games. I was a little bit of a dork. Whatever. I loved academic games. They taught us about propaganda and taught us how to identify it. My 12 year old brain latched on to that concept and has been holding tight ever since.

I understand that some of my posts could be labeled as a sort of propaganda. They're my opinions and I express them and I'd love it if everyone in the world agreed with me. Sort of. That might be boring.  But I'm not shady about it. It's all out there for the world to see. And in case I need to put it more bluntly: (ALERT! Dirty Liberal Opinion Ahead! Conservatives, click away now!)

I think Chick Fil A makes a darned tasty milkshake but I refuse to give them another penny of my hard earned money so they can give a portion of that penny to organizations that wish to take rights away from other citizens. 

So any way, I clicked the ad.

And it brought me to this page:

And I thought, well, of course I support everyone's RIGHT to freedom of speech and religious expression. I support rights. Pretty much all of them. Generally, I think having rights is a good thing and I'm all for them. Hooray for rights!

Did you notice what it says in the fine print at the bottom of that picture? I'll read it out loud to you, just in case.  It says "*Voting in the Chick-Fil-A freedom of speech and religious expression poll entitles you to receive conservative alerts from Townhall.com."

Oh joy! I love to be entitled!  

I think it's ironic that this particular conservative propaganda is using rights as a way to persuade people to agree with their hate-filled agenda. 

We have the right to take away your rights!

So yeah, don't click that, kay? Or do click it. It's your right to choose. :)

It's been a week and a half...

Not since my last blog post. Clearly, I can't manage a post more often than every few weeks. :)

It's been a week and a half that I've been sleeping like a normal person.

I sort of hate the term "normal person" as if you're supposed to feel somehow less than human if you don't do something the same way everyone else does it. Viva la resistance!

Except for in this instance.

I've talked about my desire to be a morning person before. I've tried a lot of different things to get myself on a "normal" schedule. Melatonin, warm milk, chamomile tea, exercise in the morning, exercise at night, not eating past a certain time, I could go on all day.

In the end it took a bout of ridiculous insomnia and the resulting pure exhaustion to reset my body. It's not exactly something I'd recommend, but it's just what happened.  It wasn't planned. I had actually sort of given up on that whole "normal" routine.

I don't think I slept in July. I'm fairly sure I must have dozed off a few times, but I really think there was no real sleep that happened. My brain never shut off, I never stopped thinking, worrying, obsessing over things that had to be done or created or organized or cleaned. I would lie down in bed, feeling nothing but tired, and not sleep. And when I did finally drift off, some noise, movement, something would inevitably wake me up and I'd go back to thinking.

It was really bad, y'all. It all culminated at Munchkin's birthday party a couple of weekends ago. I was going, going, going, planning, cooking, cleaning, entertaining, laughing, lathering, rinsing, repeating. And when it was all over I just collapsed into bed.

And I slept for over 12 hours. Nothing would wake me. Evidently The Man went to bed and woke up, the cat jumped on my head, the dog barked, the kids fought over who had control over the remote control. And I slept.

Ever since I've been falling asleep with no issues whatsoever every night by 11 pm. And I often wake up completely unassisted by the alarm clock around 6 am.

It is the craziest thing ever.

And it's not just awesome because I'm asleep when I'm "supposed to be sleeping" and awake when the rest of the world is bustling around. It's awesome because I am in such a better mood.

I'm becoming (I'm a little nervous to say it) a morning person. I don't even need coffee. I'm just awake. And sort of happy. 

There's no mad rush in the morning because I overslept, I'm awake before everyone else and my mornings are peaceful and calm for the first half hour. If the kids can't find their shoes I don't even snap at them. I sort of think it's funny.

I sure hope I can keep this up for... well, forever.

The Spaz mourns the loss of Chick Fil A's Peppermint Chocolate Chip Milkshake laced with hate and homophobia

I think it was about a year ago that I learned that Chick Fil A donated a portion of its proceeds to organizations that support "the traditional view of marriage". I know it's been at least 8 months or so because I went through the entire holiday season without one of their incredible Peppermint Chocolate Chip Milkshakes that they make during the holidays because I refused to give the company a dime.


Even though those shakes are incredible.


Seriously - the chicken sandwich has nothing on that shake.


But I digress, y'all. Just because a company can make a fabulous milkshake, doesn't mean they're doing anything good for our society. Not to mention that the desire for a Chick Fil A chicken sandwich actually almost killed me and burned down our house once. 


So when Dan Cathy, president of Chick Fil A opened his mouth last week and told the Baptist Press that the company was "guilty as charged" for backing "the biblical definition of a family" and facebook went all wonky with people posting and sharing anti-Chick Fil A images and articles, I was sort of happy.


It's like when you know that your best friend's boyfriend is a jerk but she doesn't realize it... and then she finally does.  While you're sad that she's sad and you're sad that he's a jerk, you're just so darned relieved that she finally dumped his sorry ass.


That's right, Chick Fil A... you're like a jerky boyfriend. All pretty and alluring on the outside, but filled with nasty ugliness on the inside. 


Reading the arguments for "traditional family values" that have been sweeping the internet over the past week seriously make my stomach turn.  They're such bad arguments with no real basis on fact or research. 

Some quotes I've gathered from the Interwebz on the subject:

"I'm personally tired of intolerant leftist propaganda that hates, smear and mocks religious people mercilessly."  Right, because the Christian agenda that hates, smears, and mocks gay people mercilessly is so much more refreshing.

" it's just that fatherless and motherless homes produce criminals at a significantly higher rates. Fact, not opion. Look at prison stats." These kind of statistics make me insane. Where is the statistic that lesbian and gay couples produce criminals? This is the most basic example of comparing apples and oranges ever. What logic said "single parent households" = "households with parents of the same gender"?

"Can't a person or a company have a thought or opinion about something or somebody and people just say " Oh, that's how thay feel about that" and MOVE ON !!!" Absolutely, ignorant facebook poster! We can move on to the next establishment that doesn't support homophobia. Enjoy your hate sandwich!

"way to go chick its about time people start standing up for the way they feel and not all if us want gay anything shoved down our throats its a sin plain and simple and just the fact you recognize its not normal is wonderful Thank You Jesus and you too!!!!!!!!!"  This post would make Jesus cry. I am sure of it.

Oh... I could go on and on. But you can go look for yourself if you'd like. Chick Fil A's facebook page is just full of this garbage.

So what did I do about it?

I made a tee shirt. 

Of course I did. 

And 15% of the purchase price of this shirt will go directly to whiteknot.org in support of the right for everyone to marry the person they love, whether they have girl parts or boy parts or no parts at all. 

I'm proud to stand up for what I believe in and I fully recognize that Dan Cathy has every right to stand up for what he believes in.

Even though what he believes in is bigoted, closed minded, and darn right sad. He has every right to believe in it and give his money to organizations that believe in it, too.

That's the beautiful thing about Free Speech. I can say what I want, you can say what you want, Dan Cather can openly be in support of the "biblical family" and we can all give our money to whatever organizations we believe in. 

Oh, and about that milkshake?  I found a recipe here that will probably do just as well and one here that even makes it almost vegan! Isn't the Internet just a wonderful place?

WTF is a playdate?

Seriously, y'all. What is it?

As most of you know, I have three kids. I think, so far, I've done a pretty good job with them. They're relatively well-rounded and well-mannered. I mean, I guess Bug could stand to see sunlight a little more often, but he's my oldest and therefore my practice kid. I'm entitled to a little bit of screw up with him, right?

We have never had a playdate. I don't think we have anyway. I'm not really sure what it is exactly.

My kids have friends and they play with other kids. They have friends from our neighborhood, they have friends from scouts and other activities, they have friends they met at school, they have friends by proxy because I am friends with their parents, and they have cousins. Occasionally they ask to go over to someone else's house and hang out for a while or spend the night.

They've spent lots of afternoons over at one or another of my friends houses playing with my friends kids because I wanted to go see my friend.

But have I ever met another mom at the park and exchanged numbers so my little darlings and her little darlings can have a playdate? Ummm... no. Do people really do that?

What happens at these "playdates" anyway? Do the mom's hang out with each other and make painful small talk while the kids do crafts? Or do I get to drop my kid off at your house for two hours and go read a book in the park?

Maybe the ultimate question is actually why? Why do mothers feel the need to arrange play for their children when, based on my personal experience, kids do a great job of arranging play for themselves?

When my kids were younger, before school and activities where they met other kids, we just went to the playground to play. There were always other kids there and they made friends in all of 30 seconds. Sure, they never say Billy or Sally again, but I'm fairly sure the lack of long-lasting bonded friendships at age 3 isn't causing my kids any stress.

Bug, Munchkin, and Goober are pros at making friends at any random place. The beach, the park, the library, wherever. I've never once felt like I had to arrange a playtime for them with another mom. But I hear about it so much. Like it's the norm.

It is a mystery to me.

Everybody has those days. Mine was yesterday.

Yesterday was one of those days when nothing would go right. It was as if a general cloud of gray funk had settled over the Spaz household and it was stinking up the place. I won't go in to every little thing that went wonky yesterday, but suffice to say that by the end of the day I was drinking a mason jar full of cheap, boxed red wine and reading O Magazine in the bathtub... a sure sign of a rough day.

Days like that make me wonder where I went wrong. The Man and I are pretty honest. We don't cheat people, we don't lie, we don't steal. Aside from the occasional necessary mis-truth ("Of course that new haircut doesn't make your face look fat!"), we're pretty much on the straight and narrow. 

I don't know about you, but when I was growing up I was told constantly that if I worked hard and did the right thing that life would always work out for me. As I've become an adult, I've learned that sometimes that just isn't the case. There are times when I watch dishonest people continue to profit on their dishonesty, while people who stay true to themselves and work hard are run over by the crowd. 

Yesterday I reacted to all of this in a manner much like a 6 year old. "It's not fair!" I stomped and pouted and ate carbs. Lots of carbs. Covered in cheese. With my boxed wine. 

Don't judge. It stays fresh for six to eight weeks after opening and the packaging is environmentally conscious. That's right. 

Today I woke up way earlier than I should have, given the time I went to sleep, and decided that I needed to put on my big girl panties and just keep going. Life is hard, y'all. It's tempting to give up, hop in my trusty old minivan, point it north, and go cry on my mommy's shoulder until I feel better. 

But that's not going to get me anywhere in the long run. Eventually I'd still have to deal with all the problems I've left at home and one thing I've learned is that problems I ignore just turn into bigger problems that can't be ignored later. 

So here I am. Like Dory. "Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming."

Horseback riding, online love, Legos, and tee shirts - a Summer with the Spaz

We're about a third of the way through the summer and things have been busy!

Munchkin has been spending most of her summer at La Petite Cheval Farm, riding horses, mucking stalls, having lessons, and getting dirty. If I would let her throw a sleeping bag down in a stall and spend the night there she would, but alas, I do need to bring her home in the evenings and make sure she eats dinner and showers. She reminds me so much of myself when I was a kid, rushing to the barn as soon as I woke up and only coming home when the last little bit of light was escaping over the horizon. If I can keep her interested in horses instead of boys throughout middle and high school, I'll consider it a job well done.

Goober and Bug have been driving me crazy here at home. Bug has met a girl who he talks to online... all day long and late into the evening.  But she's NOT his girlfriend and don't you even dare to say that she is! Goober spends his days playing with the dog, building gigantic LEGO creations, watching television, and asking me if we're going to leave the house at any point in the day.  I think he might be bored.

I've been selling Fifty Shades of Grey tee shirts like hotcakes. This is a major phenomemon, I tell you. They're going all over the world. Australia, the UK, and all fifty states. Everyone needs to express their love of Christian Grey.  And I love it.

But I'm really hoping to branch out to some new designs soon. We're working on our off-etsy store (to be unveiled soon!) and spending all of our time getting that in order so I haven't had a lot of time to work on designs. But soon... soon!

What was I doing again?

Today is one of those days when I don't think I'm ever going to get it together. It's quarter to 4 and I have no idea what I'm doing or what I'm supposed to be doing. The Internet and its beguiling shininess has distracted me from reality for hours now and I'm preoccupied over the fact that I've been sneezing non-stop since I woke up. Is it a cold or is it allergies? I won't know until it stops or I'm laid out in bed whining about how I feel like death.

I know there were important things I was supposed to do today. This is why I can't have a real job where I go somewhere and people pay me to accomplish things for them. Surfing the Internet and sneezing doesn't pay.

I think it might be a cold. I will distract myself with my next thought.

Do you ever feel like you are on a precipice? I feel that way right now. I feel like my life is about to change... and though I'm not sure which way it's about to go, I feel that it must be a good change.

I have never been too afraid of change. You see people all the time, stuck somewhere... maybe in a job they hate or a marriage that makes them sad or living in a town they feel chained to. They're on reality shows all the time and some therapist will diagnose them with the "afraid of change" label.

I've never understood the fear of change. If something is making you unhappy - change it. Do something different. If it gets worse, change it again. It's amazing, this ability to change.

It's probably why I may have appeared flighty for a lot of my young life. Flitting about from one thing to another, moving, changing, learning a little from my mistakes (not nearly enough - but a little), and making new ones.

Change is one of the luxuries of life that is taken when you have children. Because every day I want to be something different (I still don't know what I'll be when I grow up) and every day I fantasize about what life might be like somewhere else. Just today I found myself pricing lofts in Brooklyn's Williamsburg district. Maybe living there would provide me the inspiration I would really need for my writing, maybe there I'd write the next great novel. Maybe I'll just continue to live vicariously through Hannah from Girls.

For now my life must remain somewhat constant. Living in our aging ranch house in the boonies with suburbia rapidly encroaching, sending my kids to ethnically homogeneous schools, and driving a minivan with character.

Whatever precipice I am at will not include Williamsburg or a third floor walk-up with exposed brick. It will still include all the main players in my life and probably the minivan, too. I'm still excited to see where I might be going next.