A Mad Mom

Thursday, June 25, 2009

On Vacation!

I'll be back Tuesday with something to bitch about, I'm sure!

Friday, June 19, 2009

All Is Right With The World - Sort Of

For once, I find myself in a position where I have nothing to whine about. All is right with my world. It might have something to do with this video that my friend just sent to me. It makes me happy and hopeful that there are people out there like this, intent on uniting the world instead of dividing it.

And I say this on a day when news has reached us that North Korea has a nuclear missle pointed right at Hawaii, with a rumored launch date of July 4th.

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

What A Bunch Of Boobs!

Softball is a great sport for young girls. Even for old girls, like me. I played softball for 30 years, believe it or not. (And no, I’m not a lesbian!) I know what you’re thinking: “I didn’t know they had leagues in the womb!” But really, I’m a lot older than I look. I usually tell people that I’m 39.99, plus shipping and handling.

Really, though, I love softball. I was a fast-pitch pitcher, and later I slow-pitched. I commanded the mound for nearly three decades, then hung up my cleats after a softball accident a few years ago. Long story short, I fell on my head running to first base, after tearing my hamstring and groin muscle simultaneously.

Lesson No. 1: Always, ALWAYS stretch before the game.
Lesson No. 2: When you play with lesbians, you're bound to take a licking eventually.

Anyway, I wasn’t going to let a near-death experience sideline me. (Well, maybe I’m exaggerating.) So I jumped in to help coach my 11-year-old’s team this year. The Stingers. Black shorts, yellow jerseys. Cute little buggers. Coaching isn’t the same as being out in the field and actually playing. Nope. It’s even MORE fun!

My daughter played in a city league, with girls ranging in age from 6 to 14. The little ones were so precious. Their tube socks nearly covered their entire legs and the girls were almost as tall as their bats. One team had the most creative team name I’ve ever heard: Babes Ruthless. Isn’t that clever??

Now that I’ve set the scene, it’s time to whine/bitch about something that’s been bothering me for a while, but I held my tongue until after the season was over because I didn’t want my opinions to color the way my daughter might have been treated in the league.

Here’s my beef, summed up in a picture:

Does anyone else think it’s odd for Hooters to be sponsoring a young girls’ softball league? Does that seem a little out of place to you? That would be like the Jewish American League sponsoring Oktoberfest. Or me getting back together with my ex-husband. It’s kind of a mismatch.

Think about that for a minute: First off, the word “hooters” is downright demeaning to women. It’s a guy word, obviously. I don’t know any woman who refers to her breasts as “hooters,” and you know why? Because it’s degrading, guys! So why would you slap the word “Hooters” on a large, vinyl banner and hang it up on the fence of the main softball diamond for all those impressionable young girls to see?

“Coach Danny, what's a ‘Hooters?'"

One Saturday, an adult in an owl suit showed up to cheer on some of the young players. He was escorted by a gal in tight pants and a belly-baring top who was passing out restaurant coupons. The attention-grabbing owl was from Hooters. Get it?

I was stunned, then outraged. No one else seemed to be bothered by this invasion of innocence. Exposing young girls to the world represented by Hooters can contribute to their early sexualization, don’t you know? Studies have shown that early sexualization of girls can lead to eating disorders, depression and low self-esteem. Certainly the opposite of what we are trying to instill in our daughters through their participation in a team sport.

And what’s a family supposed to do with the coupons, anyway? Take their daughters to Hooters for some half-priced wings to see more young women in tight shirts and barely-there shorts being ogled by “hungry” male guests? I can’t verify this myself, but one of my readers told me that some of the less-endowed waitresses even walk around wearing signs on their shirts that say, “Tip me. I’m saving up for a boob job.”

I repeat: Hooters has NO business sponsoring a girls’ softball league. There are plenty of other businesses to tap into that would be more appropriate for this venue: Chuck E. Cheese, Knott's Berry Farm, Baskin and Robbins, Del Taco (just kidding on that one!).

And those who think it’s perfectly acceptable to take Hooters' money and hang their banners on our daughters' softball fields in exchange for a little “exposure,” well, you’re just a bunch of boobs!

Sunday, May 24, 2009

He GETS Me!

I won’t argue that the Del Taco horse is beaten and long dead. Trust me, I don’t want to resurrect that big stink! But you may have missed the last few responses that have trickled in. FINALLY, my people have come out of the shadows in my defense. Where the HELL have you been? You left me all alone, defending myself against an angry mob with nothing but a sharp tongue. Anyway, I’m glad you finally showed up.

But one response in particular stands out because it’s from one of the loudest critics of me in this fray. His name is Jouda Mann. Probably not his real name, but still. He’s a Farker, and what I love about his final response to me is that he GETS me! Jouda is right on the money about who I am and my purpose behind writing this blog: It’s where I go to scream when something’s bothering me. Where I let it all out and gain composure before I blend seamlessly and sanely back into the mainstream. I don’t bitch and whine all the time. But I do it all the time here.

This world is full of so many different people and viewpoints. Just look at what’s going on in the Middle East. But that doesn’t mean that it has to get ugly. Less prejudgments and more tolerance can go a long way. Thank you, Jouda, for demonstrating this.

I copied Jouda’s response below so that you don’t have to go fishing for it. But before you read it, take a look at this video. For those of you who don’t quite understand a mother’s primal instinct to nurture and protect her children, this might enlighten you some. It’s also a wonderful testament to how two different species can get along in this mad world, if only we come from a place of understanding.

Jouda Mann said...

For the first question, I live in Texas, and I have never even seen a DelTaco. But I do have an analytical mind, and I know that the figures I cam to might not be accurate, but they're close.

As for snowflakes:The Urban Dictionary defines "Precious Snowflake" thus:Child of extremely overprotective and/or self-absorbed parents. Coddled from birth, their mommy and daddy will get stupid, ludicrous rules added or changed because they cannot fathom the idea that their kid might have to learn humility. Often turn out to be stuck-up, spoiled pains in the ass because they get everything they want.We Farkers, as you have labeled us, use that term to indicate our disgust with people who seem to show us these traits.

I think that the reason you have garnered this attention from the Alt community is because many of them know how to read words, but they do not know how to read the correct inflection in the words. They just assume that you are another butthurt loud mouthed mom who's gonna raise a big stink.However, in your case, I will admit that it's unfair.

I took the time to read some of your blog posts, and while you do come off as somewhat standoffish and a little uppity, one can see that you have taken up these blogs as a way to blow off steam. I can also tell that while you are concerned about the welfare of people in general, and your children and their friends in particular, you don't take yourself as seriously as it might appear on the surface.

Actually, since you and I got over jabbing at each other, and talked to each other as human beings, I can tell that we would probably have some very interesting conversations. You be Shawn Hannity, but with less Crazy, and I'll be Kieth Olberman, but with less smug attitude and condescension.

Monday, May 18, 2009

And The Ground Rumbled!

Last night, as I was reading some of the inspirational and truly moving responses provided by my newest fans, The Farkers, the floor beneath me rumbled, then my office chair started shaking, then the walls took on a life of their own. My first thought was, "OMG, the angry Farker mob is coming to get me!"

Then I heard my daughter scream, "Earthquake!" and it shook me out of my reverie. (Learn more about the shake-up here.)

We ran to the front door of our condo, and I'm not sure why people do this anymore. The Red Cross doesn't recommend it. (Here's what to do instead.) All our neighbors up and down the long, narrow condo complex poked their heads out their doors. I saw heads I had never met before. "Did you feel THAT??" they said nearly in unison.

What a silly question. I wanted to say, "Um, no. It's just a complete coincidence that we're all standing at our opened doors at the exact same time, looking scared and confused (and a little thrilled, I might add), some of us like the neighbor across the way in nothing but a T-shirt and undies." Of COURSE we felt that! In fact, my cat bolted so quickly up the stairs, I wasn't sure I'd ever see her again.

My daughters were afraid to go up to their rooms to sleep. But the Sandman eventually won out. Nope, it wasn't THE BIG ONE this time. And I think that really disappointed some of my crazy neighbors. But when THE BIG ONE does hit, there's not a whole lot you can do in about 10 seconds (5 seconds of which are wasted by you trying to figure out if it's an earthquake or not) but cover your head and hope that your sins have been forgiven.

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Mad Mom Responds To Del Taco Uproar

First off, welcome to my blog. Glad you found me in the dark of night, even if you were carrying torches and pitchforks. Nothing like a public lynching to get your day off to a good start!

I thought it best to create a separate blog to respond to all your responses, so here goes:

Look, you don’t know me, and I don’t know you. So while I could react very defensively to some of the vicious, mean-spirited attacks on me, I’m not going there. Nope, not me. I’m above all that. I’m resilient. Made of rubber. I soar with eagles.

Well . . . I’ll try not to go there, anyway. But you know, I am human. And female. So I may be little, teensie-bit offended by your barbs. But I’ll try not to show it. Turn the other cheek. Shrug it off. Bounce.

So, um . . . do you really think my blog makes me look FAT??

Anyway, for the sake of brevity, let me sum up your responses this way: About 98% of you think I am a bad mom who stifles her children, a prude who needs to get laid, an overreactive psycho divorcee who is screwing up her children for life because I try to shelter my daughters from society’s attempts to oversexualize them.

It's a wonder that I get anything done around here.

I just have one question for all the people out there who have these lovely thoughts about me: How many of you are parents? I suspect not many. Because if you were a parent, you would understand the need, the impulse, the fierce, mother-bear instinct to want to protect your children from things they don’t YET need to know about.

And I don’t think an 11-year-old needs to know what “bagging a hottie” means! Let’s stay focused on the issue here! One of you named “Anonymous,” and there were many, made my point for me when you said that 11-year-olds already know all about sex because they’re giving each other blowjobs in middle school.

Where do you think the knowledge of blowjobs is coming from, Anonymous? Could it be that there aren’t enough boundaries out there between adults and children? That the line between what children need to know and what they don’t has become terribly blurred, possibly in the name of entertainment? That maybe we are exposing our children to messages and information that they don’t need to understand yet at their young age?

All right, maybe the call for a boycott was a little overreactive, I’ll give you that much. And yes, maybe I shouldn’t be feeding my kids fast food. But it was the middle of the afternoon, we were far from home, the kids were hungry for an after-school snack, what was I supposed to do? Drive around until I found a Mother’s Market or a vegetarian co-op? No time for that. We had an appointment to get to in 10 minutes.

Sifting through all the negative comments, I came across a few CONSTRUCTIVE ones that I think are worthy of mention. First, the one that suggested I ask everyone to recycle the Del Taco bags, not throw them away. VERY good point. Very green of you.

And then this one, which I think sums up all the hysteria in a very logical, non-emotional way. Whoever you are, thank you for being the voice of sanity in a sea of madness:

Poor choice in advertising on the part of Del Taco.

Poor choice of food on the part of mom.

Del Taco: Please consider changing your advertisement to something that might be more appropriate for families with young children.

Families with young children: Please stop feeding your kids dinner from the nearest fast food joint.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Zac’s New Movie – NOT Cute!

Wouldn’t we all love to go back in time to when we were 17 and make decisions that could have altered the courses our lives ended up taking? That’s the premise behind Zac Efron’s new movie, “17 Again.”

Nice premise. But here’s the problem (and you’ll want to click out of this quickly if you haven’t seen the movie and you don’t want to know what happens in the end): Zac’s character got his girlfriend pregnant when they were 17, and he married her. Two kids and many years later, this guy is filled with regrets and “what ifs.”

After two hours on the screen of Zac reliving his very predictable glory years in high school, he realizes that getting a girl pregnant at 17 and marrying her was the right thing to do, after all. And suddenly he has a new appreciation for what he had all along.

Leave it to Hollywood to glamorize teen pregnancy once AGAIN in “17 Again!” Two years ago, it was “Juno.” And wasn’t that smart-mouthed, sassy Juno so adorable, you just wanted to be her – the young girl who accidentally got pregnant, had the baby, then gave it up for adoption right before she went to Senior Prom?

“Juno” and “17 Again!” are the kind of movies that make you all warm and fuzzy inside about teen pregnancy. And THAT’S the problem! These movies are aimed at the teen set, and the danger is, these teenagers leave the theaters thinking that it’s OK to get pregnant when you’re 16 and 17, because it all works out in the end. Just like it does in Hollywood. Life all wrapped up in a pink or blue bow.

My 15-year-old daughter saw this movie with her girlfriends. I didn’t know what the movie was about (except that it was rated PG-13) until I picked them up afterward and they spilled the entire plot and ending for me. Surprised by it all, I asked one of her friends in the car, “What did you think of the ending?”

“It was SO cute!” she gushed.

CUTE?! Since when is getting pregnant at 17 a cute thing? How can my sensible message of college-career-marriage-and-THEN-babies possibly compete with the multi-million-dollar-mega-watt-charm of Zac Efron, who is basically telling these young kids that it’s OK to skip to the end and have babies, first?

Is it any wonder that teen pregnancies are on the rise again for the first time since 1991?

How about if Hollywood made a movie about a teenager who does everything right – gets good grades, stays away from drugs and alcohol, respects her parents, graduates from college, lands a decent job, moves out on her own, falls in love with a great guy, gets married and has babies, in that order?

Or is that just TOO boring??