Wordless Wednesday: Enter Sandman
Join in the Wordless Wednesday fun! Link up with Angry Julie Monday!
Rescheduled: lia sophia Jewelry Party
"Excuse me I Thwarted" Thursday
**This is where I make up for allowing life/work/Nugget/eating/blah, blah, blah to make me completely forget neglect to participate in Wordless Wednesday with Angry Julie Monday. Please forgive me. Also, this picture was taken last year or the year before, I can't be too certain. Remember: forgiveness.
The Chihulichacknockawingwongdiddlydoo (I forget the name of it) Festival at Desert Botanical Garden
It only makes sense...I think.
It only makes sense that for post number 300, (that's right my blog is 25 {some sort of units of time} old today}) I make an appearance somewhere else. Like on my long lost, in-a-good-way-creepily stumbled upon twin's blog. Right? I thought so.
Not only will you get a crash course in how to trick people into knowing how the hell to pronounce my blog's name, but you'll discover I'm not the only absolute freak who speaks to gnomes. So there!
Enjoy booshy my friends, I do. (Mainly because we're practically the same and I'm ever so vain like that.)
Noodle-y Legs
I'm back from Mumzy-napping and my legs are officially noodles.
My back hates me for all the fun I tried to have so there's that to tend to in the next couple of weeks.
I'm taking today to wind back up, readjust to having the Nugget around (whom I missed terribly the whole time I was gone and *may* have had a meltdown because it seemed as though I missed him more than he missed me...but...then again...he's only two for Pete's sake.), balancing the budget, scrubbing the hotel germs off all of my clothes, and snuggling up Husfriend 'til he don't wanna snuggle no more. Which I doubt will happen. He missed me too.
Lots of awesome stuff coming up that I cannot wait to share with all of you. Well, the 5 of you left reading. What the numbers?!
And we're convinced men have selective hearing?
Here it comes. The opposition. From the mouth of a mommy. Gasp. Shriek. Terror!
I, after reading the article, we all know which one that's been rustling our feathers and getting the panties all up in a wad, don't see what all the big fuss is about. I understand where the misconception that The Bash was intended has stemmed from, but for the most part think everyone is doing what we all get pissed at our other halves for: Hearing what they want to hear.
So this may not be as simple as, "HELLO I TOLD YOU THREE TIMES I'M HAVING THE GIRL'S OVER FOR A JEWELRY PARTY TODAY!", but the principle is precisely the same.
The title. Offensive...but only out of context.
The mocking tone about the subject matter of the fabulous Bloggy Bootcamp not being about hiding veggies in the kids food. Offensive...again only out of context.
After reading and reading and reading and reading the article both to myself and to willing audiences (okay, on a road trip for a week long girl's trip is probably not willing as much as frustratingly forceful) I cannot seem to wrap my head around how the bulk of that article is a reflection and expression of the hurdles being overcome in this new realm of community between mothers and women alike. That in a time where knowing your neighbors (let alone their names) is not a common reality, we're building "the village" among women with similar and often different interests, but essentially the same. Damn. Needs. And that some of them, with their talents are being offered jobs, products, and brand representation. Oh snap! (and also, bless their hearts)
Exactly how I took that article. The author didn't attend the conference, network with amazingly influential women, connect on a mass of differing levels just to bash the efforts, the unity, the power force behind what we're all doing as writers and mothers. She did it to bring attention to it. TO THEM. The ones she willingly mentions, by name, and direct blog url, driving excessive amounts of relatively unique traffic to what some curious minds may not have ever ventured to explore. A positive thing.
This may get me castrated from the "mommy blogging" community (hell, I haven't felt considered in the slightest as a mommy blogger still since I occasionally talk about having pretend, creative advertisement sex with strange people willing to fork out their money perhaps insinuating that I have a between-the-legs-dangler). Damned if I'll sit by and feel like less of a woman, writer, or mother for that matter because so-and-so disagrees with THAT article. For once, I'm hopping in the side car of the bandwagon. Maintaining my geeky, awkward, "so cute and young" outsider status to voice my honest opinion on all the bullshit hullabaloo. I pulled out the shit guns ladies and gentleman. Pardon the fan, this could get messy.
Every refute I've read so far has focused on the two things that *could be* considered offensive if taken completely out of context. The title. The subject matter.
Move on. No one is begging you to prove yourself.
I've always lived by the notion that if you're so deeply offended you have to parade your offense for the world to see (or in this case read), guilt is the driving force behind it. Whenever I've felt offended by anything it's because I recognize the truth of the statement in reference to my words or actions. It appears as though some out there, based the level of frantically, passionate and prompt refute, maybe, just maybe, sorta kinda feel like they should be doing it differently. Maybe?
Tuck. Roll. Diving head first. Off. My. Soapbox.
Natalie Portman said is best in Garden State, "Sidecars are for bitches."
I'm a bitch.
You're welcome.
If I make thirty cents in a month I'll be stoked.
I'm obviously having trouble recruiting any sponsors for BlogHer '10 in NYC with my Sleep With Me campaign, shocking, I know, so I'm going to try this ingenious idea out for a month*.
I've gotten a huge response that people think my ploy for bail money crass honest approach to recruit conference sponsorship, was fresh, but they just don't have anything for me to promote otherwise they would totally pay me for my wit. Well, here's your chance you smoke blowers generous, ego-stroking readers of mine!
I've created a donation button on my sidebar that will exist until April 13th*. It can be used at your discretion with no minimums because I'm nice like that. Nice in the sense that while I'm down here groveling at your feet for your spare pennies, I'll also cut you a sweet break. You're welcome.
*Pending the success of my quirky cyber pan handling, the button may stay up longer. Thrice times a charm, you're welcome.
Speeches are for presidents and valedictorians.
Nugget's two year well check resulted in two words I never fathomed for my little buddy, at such a young age, to have as suggested treatment for his "lack of 2-3 word phrases":
Speech Therapy.
Those two words, after being processed (slowly and with many a hard swallow and fighting off of tears for the sake of sparing his pediatrician another viewing of my ugly cry) translated into two more disturbing words: Gut-wrenching. Which, I suppose is really one word because of that hyphen in there. Or does the hyphen accentuate the fact that it is indeed still two words? To be perfectly honest, that’s totally beside the point.
What I'm trying to get at here, is, well, I don't really know I suppose.
All throughout my childhood, I grew up "gifted". I was flawless…at least in the eyes of the administrators of the educational system in which I was raised. Husfriend, he had speech therapy. He had speech therapy in MIDDLE SCHOOL to correct the trouble he was having making the “S” sound. That right there is the understanding I've had my entire existence of what speech therapy is intended for: To address impediments like slurs, annunciation hurdles, lisps, etc. Far be it for me to not be completely floored when Nugget’s pediatrician staked claim that the absence of his 20+ word vocabulary bank and failure to use groups of two to three words to communicate at this point is terms for therapy. Kind of like terms of endearment, except doesn’t quite turn you on nearly as much.
You guys, HE JUST TURNED TWO!!
Gurgley balls you guys! Gurgley! (Maybe he’s having issues because his mother doesn’t use “real” words in her common vernacular. Side note: speaking in rhetoric; no need to address this one.)
Perhaps, okay most likely, the shock has settled and I’ve successfully transitioned to the denial phase of this coping process. I just can’t believe that bringing Nugget to a speech therapist is really truly going to be the most effective means of expanding his communicative skills. He associates extremely well, almost better than most kids his age.
Counterpoint one: He doesn’t interact with other children very often….if ever. Nugget is almost always, I’d say about 80%-90%, around adults. When he does have the chance to get together with other kids his age, he’s attentive, sharing, babbles in Nuggetese, says what toy he’s sharing as he hands it to the other child.
Counterpoint two: Husfriend is not talkative…at all. Yes, I talk a lot. Yes, Nugget is around me for a majority of the day. No, Husfriend does not talk a lot. No, that doesn’t necessarily mean there’s nothing going on in that brain of his. He doesn’t have the desire to hear his own voice as much as someone else in the family. *cough*
Counterpoint three: Nugget’s independence is uncanny. It’s not that he has ADD (trust me, we’ve had it checked out), but he is a very self-sufficient toddler having no reason to cater to a sibling’s needs for stimulation. There are times that he and I will be in the midst of a wicked game of “choo-choos” where he will stand up, grab his trains, and start heading upstairs to his bedroom. I will ask, “Can mommy come play choo-choos?” To which he responds, with a disapproving shake of his head and a wave of the arm, “Bye bye!” In my eyes, that is communication at its best…for a two year old. Which, by the way, did I happen to mention that? That Nugget’s pediatrician is recommending speech therapy for a two year, one month, and three day old toddler?!
*sigh*
Now I turn to you, you almighty sexy beast of a blogosphere. Be my village on this one. My psyche and my sanity (Which are kind of the same thing or so I’m told.) are at stake. This may not seem like such a big deal to some of you, especially in the grand scheme of things and stuff that parents are told about their child in these routine visits, but to me, to us, it is the biggest thing we’ve had to delve into when it comes to our Nugget. Have you ever been urged to seek speech therapy for your toddler? How did you cope? What tools did you use to broaden their communication skills? Flash cards? Videos?
I would love to hear from you or of someone you know that has experienced a similar nudge from their pediatrician. I dare not try Google just yet for fear of my self-diagnostic dependency on webMD. He may turn out to be pregnant.
Wordless Wednesday: Nugget Norris
Lia Sophia Jewelry Party
Today you turn old and I stay forever young.
Wordless Wednesday: Quick Ray! Life is Good!
Want to join in the Wordless Wednesday fun?! Link up with Angry Julie Monday!
**Diclaimer: I was neither persuaded or compensated by Quiksilver, Ray-Ban, or Life is Good for slathering the title of this post with their goodness or snapping this photograph of my darling Nugget sporting all three at once. However, if any of you would like to persuade me with your money and/or amaze balls products, get in touch!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
