Nips, Lips, Hips, ‘N Fingertips











{November 6, 2008}   I don’t blahg here anymore.

I stopped blogging here when I was in the process of becoming a Therapeutic Foster Parent.

I started a blog about my journey of foster-adoption, And Foster Baby Makes Five, at blogger.com. It is private, due to laws about confidentiality regarding the sharing and transmission of images and information about children in foster care– but if I know you, and you send me an email, I can send you an invitation.

This election brought out the fierce Mother Liberpublican in me, so I started a new blog on November 5 to get some things off my chest. It is open to the public and located here: http://motherliberpublican.blogspot.com/

You know you want to see what I’m up to.

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Okay, probably the best/worst childhood horror story I have of late is this little nugget:

I was in our “Jack & Jill” bathroom (a bathroom with two doors to be shared by the occupants of two or more bedrooms), and I was getting ready to get into the shower, so I was bottomless but not yet topless, when I heard a shriek from the bedroom where my two sons were supposed to be playing nicely with their LEGOS. So I hurry across the hall to their room, expecting to see blood, only to find that DS2 has unplugged the stereo and deprived DS1 of his new addiction, listening to KLOV (local Christian radio station). Quickly and quietly, I remedied the situation by plugging the stereo back in. This involved bending over, and I did not have on any underwear, but I am their mom and they are my kids and they are still too young to think anything weird about nudity so I thought nothing of it. Back in the bathroom, with the monitor on, I hear DS1 say to DS2, “Did you see that disgusting thing hanging out of her butt?! Wasn’t that embarrassing?!” I explained to DS1 later that I wear tampons when my period is heavy, apologized to him for going into his room without any undies on, and promised him that it would never. happen. again.

Yet another reason to go back to the Instead “things” or break down and buy a Diva Cup!

Or as DH says, yet another reason to go topless instead of bottomless!



{February 28, 2006}   Not-so-fat Tuesday

Never having been to Mardi Gras in New Orleans, I can only compare this year’s celebration to celebrations past based on what I see on TV. Obviously, this year’s event holds more meaning for most. Hopefully no one is there this year just to see tits. And then again, the city does need the money, and a fool and his money are so easily parted. But, as usual, I digress…

What jumps out at me is that it’s SIX MONTHS later and we as a country have moved on. We are still passing the buck, playing the blame game, turning away. We have moved on to the next big story.

Just in case you haven’t been paying attention, or haven’t seen any of the “news” coverage of the ninth ward today, it’s still a big fucking mess there. Entire blocks are still in total ruin. There is rubble everywhere. Sheets and hoses and windows hang from the trees. Homes that were destroyed are still destroyed, they’re just not full of water anymore. Instead, they are now full of mold and rats and who knows what else.

The various news channels have their typical takes on the scene: some are reporting a “Frozen in Time” city, a “Tale of Two Cities”- the spins are as ridiculous as ever. One local news channel pretty much blamed N.O. residents for voting to have some say in what is done to their homes, for not letting them just bulldoze it and haul it off without so much as a prayer. That newscaster, or whatever idiot news editor came up with that particularly demeaning and unenlightened spin on the story, has obviously never been in a natural disaster.

Yes, when you have survived death, you are glad to be alive. Yes, you are aware that your things can be replaced but you and loved ones are irreplaceable. But that doesn’t change the fact that you need to sift through your personal rubble. It’s part of a process that helps people to heal. They need to see it for themselves, to feel the loss fully, in order to let go and move on. People who don’t understand that need to work with computers, not with people. And they need to get the damn microphones out of their faces, and let someone with a heart do the talking. I’m just sick of the talking heads without hearts.

How long will it take us to rebuild one of our greatest cities? What does this say about how we treat the poor in our country? Why is New Orleans still at ground zero?

“Poverty is the worst form of violence.” ~Gandhi



et cetera