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  • Being Spoiled vs Acting Spoiled

    Here in America, we are surrounded by overconsumption, overabundance, and overzealous materialism. Excess is everywhere. Go through your house right now and I bet you are surrounded by shit you don’t use, don’t need, but yet don’t want to get rid of.

    What if I need that second rolling pin later?! Say I was making a pie, and also wanted to beat someone over the head, but didn’t want to get flour everywhere. See ~ I NEED 2 ROLLING PINS!

    We have an obsession with stuff partly because of nostalgia, partly because of a fear of scarcity, and partly because it is so easy to get. Corporate Culture has made everything cheaper and more accessible. The seduction to buy things is so engrained in our psyche that we hardly ever question the impulse. Is it essential that I buy another pair of printed leggings with the Buddha’s face? Not really, but that doesn’t mean my butt won’t look cute in them!

    Often times we think we need money because we want to buy more things, but really what we should be looking for more of is time. More experiences. More moments that make memories. Who cares about material objects in the face of a life worth remembering?

    Because I don’t live in an urban environment, shopping is not one of my past times. Go in the woods and fart. Yeah, that is something I do. Go shopping for things? There really is nowhere to go. Except for Target.

    Even though I try to avoid supporting any multinational mega-business, I do sometimes wind up at Target. I mean, it’s not Wal-Mart. But sometimes, I have to get clothes for The Munch, batteries for the remote, a shower curtain, and, you know… leggings that make my butt look cute. YOU JUST CAN’T HAVE ENOUGH OF THOSE!

    The Munch and I probably go to Target once every 2 months and every time we go, she wants to buy a toy. Now I could say, “wait till your birthday or Christmas.” I probably should say that, right!? That way she understands the meaning of patience, and that she shouldn’t just try and fill The Void with crap.

    But then there is the selfish part of me that says, “Well, if I buy her this toy/Lego set/My Little Pony, when we get home she will leave me alone and play with it. Sure it was probably made in a sweatshop with materials that are not only toxic, but also off-gassing poisonous plastic secretions into the house, but did I mention she would also shut the fuck up for 10 minutes?”

    Not every time I enter a store with The Munch do I buy her something, but often times I do. It is not like she has expensive taste, but I also don’t want her to unconsciously devour shit around her that she later discards because it was too available. If we were living in Colonial times, and she only had one baby doll that was missing an arm and half it’s face – but it was all she had – she would love the shit out of that doll. But in my house where she has 10 fucking dolls, it is easy to lose interest because, hey, it’s just one of many.

    It is hard to pretend the world isn’t what it is. I don’t live in an off-the-grid geodesic dome. Acting like my child does, is borderline absurd. I could insist that The Munch only play with wool and wood I whittled into stick people. But I am not sure denial is going to empower The Munch to figure out how to navigate a world that is filled with longings. I want to instill values onto The Munch that build her awareness, not pretend like I can’t afford a $7 stuffed unicorn. I would rather talk about something being produced by a company that “isn’t kind to the people that make the toy,” than sheltering her from the fact that these things exist.

    Yet, sometimes I just buy her whatever the fuck she wants. Because fuck it. So yeah. The Munch is spoiled in that way for SURE! But there is a difference between acting spoiled and being spoiled. As long as she isn’t a selfish dick and gives a shit about child labor laws, this mother is happy.

    munch barette

    October 14, 2015 • 5 years old, Behavior, Family Drama, Mommyhood, Parenting, Playing • Views: 886

  • Legos Are My OCD

    The other day The Munch got a set of Legos for her birthday. She decided she wanted to open it with her babysitter, and I said sure, because I am a casual parent. I am not some corny helicopter mom who micromanages everything.

    But you know what? I fucked up.

    I don’t know what I was thinking. Who am I kidding? Fine, I’ll let my kid do whatever she wants. Sure, jump off this, walk across that, but Legos. LEGOS!? Those things need to be taken care of.

    Legos are my OCD manifestation. The thought of a lost Lego piece gives me hives. The simple notion of building a Frozen castle, and not securing every last fragment in its perfect place, just induced an anxiety attack.

    The Munch and her babysitter however, only built HALF the Lego castle! I pretty much lost all relationship to my sanity. Munch even had the audacity to have brought some of the Lego characters upstairs to play with in her CINDERALLA CASTLE! You can’t do that Munch!! You can’t move the Lego pieces.

    So I OF COURSE let Munch stay up until 10 pm last night because we HAD to work on her Frozen castle! This was an emergency after all She first had to take apart her “art Lego,” – these are the sculptures Munch had put together all willy-nilly because she thought they “looked pretty.” NO MUNCH! That is NOT they way they go! I also had to scavenger hunt for all the pieces Munch thought she would attach onto other castles – LIKE THAT DOESN’T MATTER! What do you think these are Munch? TOYS?!

    I don’t play Legos with The Munch. I take over Legos. After I got really into it, she kept asking if she could help, or “put the orange piece on, or something” – but I no. I can’t let her “play” with her Legos. I have to do it ALL MYSELF because I’m the only one that can do it right!

    The late night Legos

    lego-blog-(i)

    July 13, 2015 • Birth • Views: 1093

  • Hating Your Parents

    You know how you once thought you would never turn into your parents, and then you realize, “oh fuck, I am totally just like my parents?” Yeah… so do I.

    There are many things my mom did to me when I was a kid that I SWORE I would never do. She ate my Halloween candy when I was at school, she also ate my valentine chocolates when I was at school, and then she once bit the head off my Easter bunny when I was at school. OBVIOUSLY I SHOULD HAVE NEVER GONE TO SCHOOL!!!

    Along with her penchant for sweets, my mom’s also a compulsive cleaner. If you are eating in her kitchen, she will tidy around you as you try and finish your meal. She will even go as far as to pick up your plate and wipe the table clean mid bite. She is obsessed with order and everything being in the right place – kind of like Martha Stewart on meth.

    Because my mom likes things to be neat, she was also always moving our stuff and throwing things out. In her mind it was clutter, but to my brother and me, those He-Man toys were important!!

    The way I learned to deal with my mom’s ways was deciding personal possessions are meaningless. One day you could come home, your things would be missing, and you just moved on. Maybe that Godzilla doll did have go, even though now I would never know where its vagina was. These are the questions of my childhood that will remain unanswered.

    But it turns out that I am now also a compulsive cleaner. I’m constantly moving Munch’s stuff around and giving away old shitty toys I can’t look at any more. I try to be discerning, and only abandon the objects she discarded, but sometimes my instincts are wrong. There have been moments where she looks at me with rage in her eyes and asks, “Where is that one Barbie shoe that was in that box?! I NEED IT!”

    Kids have a lot of fucking shit, and their shit takes over your house like an infestation. In every room there are remnants of plastic toys to step on in the middle of the night. It’s hard to escape, and sometimes you just want to purge and say, “fuck all your stuff.”

    In order to deal with the vomit of neon littering the house, I ordered some furniture for Munch’s room so she could better organize her toys. She spent all night putting everything away in just the right place, and we were both happy with the result. But then I went downstairs, looked at the living room, and felt like there was still too much crap. There was a table that was covered with her paraphernalia, and I really wanted it put away.

    Okay so here is the thing about Munch. She’s an installation artist. She creates these set ups, and then refuses to play or touch them because she put so much effort into their arrangement. I’m not trying to stifle her vision, but it’s also super annoying because then there are these shrines of her “work” I’m not supposed to touch.

    So what did I do?

    I cleaned up the fucking table.

    What happened when she saw it the next day?

    She was fucking pissed!

    Munch: AHHHHHHHHH WHAT DID YOU DO???
    Toni: I cleaned up in here.
    Munch: MY TABLE!!!? WHEN DID YOU DO THIS?
    Toni: Last night when you were sleeping.
    Munch: WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT? YOU SHOULD HAVE ASKED ME FIRST!!!?
    Toni: I’m sorry. But you wouldn’t let me clean it, and it was driving me nuts.
    Munch: I WORKED SO HARD ON THAT!!!
    Toni: Yeah, but then you never played with any of those toys again.
    Munch: THAT’S BECAUSE I WORKED SO HARD! THAT WAS MY COLLECTION!
    Toni: I’m sorry, but it looked really messy.
    Munch: I AM SO CROSS WITH YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
    Toni: Look, you can’t just put your toys everywhere. That’s not fair.
    Munch: WHERE IS ALL MY STUFF?
    Toni: It’s right here in these bins.

    I showed Munch the bins, and to be honest, I did get rid of some of the things that were on the table. Like I don’t know… a pile of rocks she brought in from the driveway. But I also kept a lot more than I wanted to. Munch then started tearing through the bins and throwing things across the room looking for all her nick nacks.

    Munch: IT’S NOT ALL HERE! WHERE IS THE LITTLE BUNNY WITH THE MISSING HEAD??!!! I AM SO CROSS WITH YOU RIGHT NOW!!!! I HATE YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
    Toni: Dude, that isn’t fair come with me. Lets go on a tour of this house.

    I then proceeded to drag her into every room in the house.

    Toni: Whose stuff is this here?
    Munch: Mine.
    Toni: What about here in this room. Whose stuff is this?
    Munch: Mine.
    Toni: Come upstairs. What about here in the hallway – whose stuff is this?
    Munch: Mine.
    Toni: Do you see how your stuff is all over? You can’t monopolize every room in the house! You’re not the only one who lives here. We have to compromise okay?
    Munch: Fine. I will make my collection again, and if you touch it, I will throw your computer out the window.

    Pretty sure I won’t be touching this table for a while…

    art-table-blog

  • Just Another One of My Total Failures – No Big Deal

    Do you ever have those moments where you are like, “Wow… I am really embarrassed that just happened. Thank the universe no one was here to witness this totally humiliating experience. I pray this information never gets out because I don’t think I need to be judged on this complete failure.” Yeah… well I had one of those over the weekend and I am going to share it with you because I don’t know why…

    I feel like some context is in order. So I have been a “sober” person now for almost 6 years – which is a really really long time for a person like me who loves not being sober. Then last summer I dabbled in drinking coffee – which soon became the best time of my life because it got me high as fuck. My system was so pure from the absence of outside influences that caffeine was like meth. FUCKIGN AWESOME. But after about 2 months I had to quit. It got too intense, and my afternoon crashes were ugly – like its 5 am and your coke dealer won’t call you back so you tape over all your windows so to never face the sun again kind of ugly.

    A year went by, I was coffee-free, and all was good. Then a few weeks ago, I said to myself “Don’t be such an extremist Toni. You can do this. 95% of the adult population does this. You can drink coffee if you want. Just have it 4 days a week… Monday – Thursday, when you have the most work. Then don’t drink any for the next 3 days so you don’t become an addict… or so you don’t dull the high of Monday by getting too used to it…” Good thinking right!!?? Don’t create a dependency in order to still feel the potency of the effects! I should totally be a drug counselor right? “Listen, if you do heroine every day, it will lose its effectiveness – so instead doing it casually every few days for maximum impact.”

    What I didn’t anticipate was how hard the days would be without the coffee. Friday through Sunday I would be pushing through in this total state of “blahness” – unable to find my mojo. There was no meaning, no joy, nothing to kick start my morning into a frenzied state of productivity. I was existing, not living. Am I being a dramatic you say? NO I AM FUCKING NOT!!

    Now here is the thing about spending the day with a kid… or at least my kid. If I am in a good mental place, I can handle pretty much anything she throws at me. The more self- possessed I am, the better I can manage the complexity of my child’s moods. Although it might sound cliché or corny, taking caring of myself is the number one effort of social activism I can partake in. When I am truly centered and in control of my emotional being, I can handle the chaos of existence with grace. Yet when I am experiencing my own inner turmoil, it is easier for me to do things I later regret.

    The times that I handle The Munch with maturity and embody the model of behavior I want her to live up to, then I can feel like I am doing a decent job as a parent. Yet when I am fragile and too easily influenced by The Munch’s emotive state, those are the instances I am not exactly a “good example.”

    So this is what happened… We were at her swing set, and Munch wanted me to make her baby doll act frustrated. Part of me was like “yeah I guess I could do that…” but this other part of me was like “entertain yourself by swinging on your swing kid.” Like I said before, I wasn’t exactly in the best frame of mind from the coffee detox, and sometimes you just want your child to deal with their own life and not have to be their damn clown.

    Toni: Munch, why don’t you just swing for a bit and let Mamma stare off into the nothingness contemplating the futility of existence for a bit.
    Munch: No Mamma, don’t do that! Make the baby act frustrated!
    Toni: Fine…. What should she be frustrated about?
    Munch: Just make her act frustrated!!
    Toni: Dude, this isn’t “Improv 101!” I need some direction or something to go on. What do you want the baby to be frustrated about???
    Munch: MOM JUST MAKE THE BABY ACT FRUSTRATED!!!

    Ummm so that is where I got frustrated myself… and threw the baby. NOT AT MUNCH MIND YOU… I just threw the doll high up in the air, and she landed with a thud by Munch’s feet. Now this was a confusing moment for us both. I didn’t hit Munch with the baby because I am a coordinated person who knows how to land a shot if I wanted, but I did fling the baby in Munch’s overall direction. Albeit it was a lob, to throw a baby is a little… ummmm… juvenile.

    Munch looked at the baby, then at me, down at the baby again, and once more at me. I was pretty ashamed by my actions, but tried to blow it off to save face.

    Toni: Mamma, just threw the baby huh?
    Munch: Yeah… good thing it didn’t hit me…
    Toni: Yeah… Mamma is pretty silly right??

    Munch wasn’t buying it. She then also remembered that I never made the baby frustrated. The culmination caused Munch to be quite angry with me, so she took off her Minnie Mouse shoe, and threw it at my head.

    Doink!

    It was a perfect shot. We were both equally surprised because Munch normally doesn’t have the best aim… but this throw would have gotten her into the major leagues.

    A number of things were going threw my mind at this point. Number one was, “Holy fuck my kid just threw a Minnie Mouse shoe at my head!!!” Then of course, “well I did just throw a baby… BUT I DIDN’T hit her!!”

    I really didn’t know how to react or what to say. I needed a minute to sort all this out, so I kept quiet, got up calmly, and left to go inside. I stood in my kitchen and did what any normal person would do when faced with a dramatic conflict – I started doing the dishes and talking to myself. “Listen Toni, you have to redeem myself as an adult who acts with rationality and not emotional impulse. You are the grown up. You can do this!” After about five minutes The Munch came in looking for me.

    Toni: Munch, I am really angry with you for throwing a shoe at my head.
    Munch: Well… you should have ducked.

    (Although not the apology I was looking for, that is some pretty flawless logic)

    shoe-throwing-blog-(i)

  • Finding Femininity

    “Mamma, can I paint my nails?” was not a question I expected my two-year old would ask me.  Not that I have anything against nail polish, but since I never paint my nails I wondered where The Munch had been exposed to this practice.  But then I remembered how her sexy babysitter has red toes, and then realized of course The Munch wants her feet to look sassy like hers.

    The Munch is often around women.  She observes how they behave, and identifies herself as a female like them.  When I spend time with my friends and Munch, she sees herself as one of the girls.  You know, a couple of gals hanging out, just one happens to be slightly bossier than the rest and infinitely more dramatic considering The Munch is ready to cry without any shame under any circumstance.  Actually, come to think of it she fits right in.

    Munch is beginning to notice elements of femininity and wanting to apply them to her own being. But part of her fitting into this world of feminine culture means that she is enacting behavior that is way beyond her years.  For example since a few of my friends are pregnant, The Munch looks at that as an experience she should be having too.

    Munch: “Mamma, I have a baby in my tummy.”

    Toni: “You do?”

    Munch: “Yeah, it’s a teeny tiny baby.  Do you want to feel it?”

    Toni: “Sure.”

    Munch: “In my tummy, my baby has her paci, and her bottle, and her toys, and her teddy bear, and a lollipop in case she gets hungry.  Can you feel the toys in there?”

    Toni: “I sure can Munch.”

    Simone De Beauvoir talked about how we are born male or female, which determines our biology, but masculine and feminine traits are purely a socialized phenomenon.  She believed there was nothing inherently different about baby boys or baby girls, and that gender is enforced through conditioning.

    I love Simone De Beauvoir and even named my dog Mona after her, but now that I have a daughter I feel conflicted by her hypothesis.

    I don’t see myself as intentionally conditioning my daughter to have feminine traits.  I am not even sure I consider myself to be all that feminine.  It is not like I go around wearing pink talking about my period all day. I just sometimes where pink and talk about my period on the days it’s happening.  Is my womaness a genuine part of my personality, or just something I picked up as a child from other chicks who picked it up from other broads who picked it up from other skirts?

    Is this something that I should be stopping?  There is nothing overt I am doing to make Munch interested girly shit.  These are decisions she is making on her own volition.  I never pushed baby dolls in her face and demanded she play with them.  Those were the toys that she naturally gravitated towards. Maybe that is because she sees me mothering her, and in turn wants some to mother- because I am her example.

    How can I break this cycle of conditioning femininity when much of this influence is a consequence of my simply existing, and allowing her to observe other women?  Femininity isn’t something you find under a rock, but discover through being around other females you adore.  The young emulate adults the admire, and even if I am the biggest “tom boy” in the world, there will still be traits she picks up from other broads she respects.

    Kind of like The Munch being really excited that her “poe nails” are painted red just like her babysitter’s.

    finding-feminnity-blog-(i)

    finding-femininity-blog-(i2)

     

     

  • Can I buy my Happiness online?

    When I was a young child life was much different.  If I wanted something, I actually had to go to store and find it.  Doesn’t that sound wild? Almost as extreme as having to walk 9-miles to school, in the snow, with the wind blowing in my face both directions while wearing shoes made of Kleenex boxes.

    There was no online shopping in the 80’s.  So as a 5-years old when I really wanted Teddy Ruxpin for Christmas, my parents had to drive around for hours searching for him.  After a whole day of their lives was spent frantically going in and out of Toys R Us’ they finally found my precious talking bear- only to find out that the reason I had wanted him was to see how he worked, and then didn’t give a flying fuck about him anymore.

    Okay, that was a dick move on my part.  But it wasn’t totally my fault.  Teddy Ruxpin looked so seductive in the commercials.  Like he was the Charmin bear come to life.  Once I realized you just stuck a tape in his ass so he could tell you some asinine story, the novelty quickly wore off.  But don’t blame me alone.  Blame the marketers! The ad guys! I was not a spoiled little shit!

    The Munch lives a pretty sheltered life, I am willing to admit that, but one day I mentioned the concept of buying something online for her.  She really wanted foot pajamas like her cousin Calvin, but Target didn’t have any.  So I explained I would get the jammas on the computer while she was sleeping. This was a strange concept for The Munch to understand, but once they came in the mail she was pumped.

    My issue with online shopping is that there is no effort involved.  I mean besides flapping your fingers around on a keyboard.  This breeds a disconnect between the thing you think you want, and what you are actually are buying.  The idea of material objects is irrationally seductive. Hey computer, I WANT ALL THOSE LEGGINGS!

    But when you are actually shopping and holding something in your hand, you have to identify with it more than if it were just on a screen.  Of course there are extreme cases of shopaholics where the act of spending and acquiring goods is a rush, but even if you have a semi-normal relationship to consumerism, it can still be corrupted in the ethereal world of the Internet. Not only do I want all those wrap-around dresses, but I WANT THEM TODAY!

    I didn’t realize that this concept had been so deeply imprinted into The Munch’s psyche until she was visiting with my mom this weekend.  She saw a doll catalogue that my mom (who The Munch calls Manna) had lying around.  Why my mom has doll catalogues floating around her house is yet to be determined, but once The Munch found it she was flooded with things that she desperately desired.

    Munch: “Manna, I want this doll right here.”

    Manna: “Well, there is no store to get that doll right now.”

    Munch: “You can get it on the computer.”

    Manna: “Oh I can?”

    Munch: “Yes go on the computer and you can pay for it.”

    Manna: “Okay.”

    Munch: “I wanna see.  I wanna see too!”

    Manna: “Alright well sit next to me.”

    Munch: “I want that baby too!”

    Manna: “Munch, you already have that baby.”

    Munch: “NO I DON’T!”

    Manna: “Yes you do, that is the same as Water Baby, just with a different outfit on.”

    Munch: “NO THAT IS A DIFFERENT BABY”

    Manna: “Pretty sure I know my babies and that is the same as the one you have.”

    Munch: “Can I get that baby then?”

    Manna: “Okay but for your birthday.”

    Munch: “Can I get the stroller too?”

    Manna: “The running stroller?”

    Munch: “YES!!”

    Manna: “Okay.  Done.  The baby and the running stroller on their way.”

    Munch: “But I want to have them now.”

    Manna: “You can’t have them now they are coming in the mail.”

    Munch: “NOOOOOOOOO!!!!! I WANT TO HAVE THEM NOW!!!!!!!!”

    The proceeded to fight about The Munch wanting her toys now and my mom saying she had to wait.  So my mom calls me on the phone to fill me in..

    Manna: “Your daughter is absolutely insane did you know that?”

    Toni: “I did.  But why now?”

    Manna: “Well she made me order some things for her online, and she was angry that they weren’t here right away.  So then she used my phone to have a pretend conversation with you and said ‘Mamma, get me my fucking stroller now!’”

    Toni: “Maybe the new family rule should be no more online shopping.”

    Manna: “Maybe you should stop swearing around her too.”

    Toni: “Maybe I fucking should.”

    online-blog-(i)

     

  • Don’t Tell Me What To Do!

    No one likes to be told what to do.  Whenever someone tells me to do something, my first reaction is to do the opposite.  Probably why I always end up getting into trouble.  “Toni, don’t touch that bat, it carries diseases” well… not if you are wearing a condom.

    When you have a kid you are constantly telling them what to do, and sometimes they listen, and sometimes they are like “go fuck yourself.”  I can’t blame The Munch for not wanting to succumb to all of my demands.  Even though I am way smarter, and the majority of my requests are not only sensible but for her benefit, she will undoubtedly rebel.

    Sometimes I can anticipate here revolt, and sometimes she catches me totally off guard.  Her uprising against my logic can throw me off my game and confuse me.  Maybe she is right and I am being unreasonable? Does she really need to pee before taking a nap?  Should I risk the chance she urinates in my bed?  And then an hour later while ripping the sheets of my mattress I wonder why I let myself be manipulated by her mutiny.

    The insurgence of a toddler is intimidating.  It is never just “no thank you Mamma, I would rather not leave the park now.” If The Munch is pissed and doesn’t want to do something, I better get ready for battle.

    But now I have this new strategy.  You know how you might take a toy and talk as the toy’s voice to play with a kid right? And be like “Hey, its me.  Bear.  You want to smell my fart?” to make them laugh.  Well my friend Sarah told me, “just have the toys tell her to do things that she doesn’t want to do. If it’s coming from the toy, rather than you, she will do it.”

    Fuck yeah she will.  Even though my toy voice is undoubtedly creepy and out of a Stephen King movie, this method totally works!  I guess things are way more annoying coming out of my mouth… but when coming from her owl – no problem!  So for all you future boyfriends of the Munch, if she is not listening to you, just grab a stuffed animal and let them to the talking!

    talking-animals-blog-(i)

     

  • Got Your Nose! (But Seriously, Give it Back)

    You know those fun little games adults used to play on you when you were a kid?  Like grabbing a quarter from behind your ear, or pretending to get your nose and then using their thumb as a decoy.  Remember how sweet and innocent that was?

    So I decided I would play those game with The Munch.  I gently tugged on her nose, ever so slightly, and said the expected phrase “I got your nose” showing her the supposed nose between my fingers.  She of course thought this was delightful, and quite hilarious.  So I thought to myself.  “I have done a good thing.  I have passed down this generational gift, and now she too can experience the nostalgia.”

    Yeah, that was until she tried to get my nose – and almost ripped the thing off my face!!  Now I live my life in total terror.  Out of nowhere she can attack me with her ninja skills, try to tear my nose bone out of my skull, and then sweetly say “I got your nose Mamma.”  I am not sure if she is a sadist, or genuinely doesn’t understand that you are not supposed to literally detach my nose from my body.

    I should have quite while I was ahead, but instead I had to push it.  I tried the trick of mysteriously finding the quarter behind her ear.  Again, this brought her much joy, until I tried to put the quarter back into my pocket.

    “That’s my Money Mamma!! MINE!!! AHHHHHHHHHH DON’T TAKE IT!!!!”

    Okay fine keep it – you capitalist.

    Then later on that day she started taking her filthy little nails and scraping the back of my ear.  And mind you, these things are sharp!

    “Ow Munch.  What are you doing to my ear?”

    “I am looking for the money?”

    “No munch there is no money behind Mamma’s ears.  It was just a magic trick.  Its not real.”

    “It is real!! There is money behind your ears!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! I WANT IT!!”

    So now not only do I have a bloody nose, but also bleeding ears that are sort of falling off my head.  Barely hanging on by a string of ear flesh.  Think I am going to stick to games like “go fish” from now on.

    (Check out Munch in her old-timey coat and pocket book!)

    got-your-nose-blog-(i)

  • Share Bear

    Some cultures don’t have the word “mine” because everything is considered “ours.”  For them, personal possession isn’t a concept because all property is communal.  Although I think this is a beautiful notion, I was raised in an environment where my Dad’s popcorn was his, and to even think of taking some I had to consider what life would be like without fingers.

    American individualism means that we are very attached to the idea of “I,” “mine,” and “me.”  The person is more important than the collective.  Although we are taught values, and to honor other people by being aware of their needs, that doesn’t take away that our filter is clouded by the idea of “how will this effect me” more than “we.”

    I would say that I am a generous person.  I am giving with what I have: my money, my time, my home, my love.  But when I view something as mine, and feel ownership over it, I don’t like to share it.  I mean, of course I do share – after all I did graduate from the 3rd grade.  But I do so begrudgingly.  More because I don’t want to say “no” than actually wanting you to have a bite of my cupcake.  And to be honest, I say “no” a fair amount too.  I guess I really like cupcakes.

    But since having a child I have had to share everything with her.  I shared my body with her when she was living inside of it, I shared my precious lady parts with her when she burst out of them, I shared my boobs with her as she survived off of them, I share every single thing I eat and drink with her even though she backwashes and her hands are gross.  And you know what? I want to! I even ENJOY sharing with her.  Those crazy mommy hormones make sharing with her feel better than having myself. I would rather The Munch had the last bite of avocado because it is more important that she eats.  My excessive love for her means I want for her more than I want for me.

    But everyone has their limits.

    Last night when I was putting The Munch to bed she decided she wanted to bring my teddy bear into her crib.  Now, I now I am a grown ass woman, but I have been sleeping with a stuffed animal my entire life and that is my teddy bear.

    Toni: “Munch, that is Mamma’s teddy bear.  But it back on my bed please.”

    Munch: “No I want to bring your bear in my crib.”

    Toni: “No sweetie.  That is Mamma’s.  You have all your babies, your seal named Penguin, your weird vagina looking monster thing… Mamma only has one bear.  So can you put him back please?”

    Munch: “No but I want to bring him in my crib!!! Please Mamma.”

    Toni: “Okay Munch.”

    Did I want to share my bear with her?  No. Not at all.  Did I say yes? Of course I did. I am her mother and my love is unconditional.  And because the second after she feel asleep I took it back.

    (Tell me that is not a vagina monster???)

    share-bear-blog-(i)