Category Archives: mommy bloggers

Focus 52: "Cold"

This weeks prompt has had me so frustrated.  Cold.  How on earth do I do “Cold” when I live in Florida and the temperature is a balmy 73 degrees?  Florida has been the hold out in the United States as the ONLY state that did not cooperate during “Snowmageddon 2011”.  Every single other state in the union had snow on the ground except Florida.  Not even a hint of frost in the weeks since the holidays.  Nothing.

So, I search my house for the usual suspects.  My refrigerator?  That’s cold.  Perhaps some sort of artsy photo of my fridge which looks more from the exterior like a photo album? It’s covered in photographs of my kids, my niece and nephews.  My grandkids.  My children.  My husband and myself.  Bleah. Not feeling that idea at all.  A photo of my thermostat set at 68 degrees with the air conditioning on “high” because it is so warm in my house?  My photo cannot convey the feeling of cold like that.  What can I shoot that would convey a feeling of cold?

I go to the bathroom in my barefoot.  It’s freezing on the tile floor.  My legs get goose bumps! Oh, a pic of goosebumpy skin for “cold”!  Alas, by the time I grab my camera, the goosebumps dissipate.  My moment of “cold” is gone.  It IS cold in my house though.  My nipples are rock hard glass cutters right now.  My boobs straining against the fabric of my t-shirt would relay the look of “cold”…but hey, Jan is running a family show on the Focus 52 project, so perhaps a set of high beams pointing south is not the way to go. (However, the photo can be sent to whoever has an interest in seeing it.  Simply fill out an email with “erect nips” in the subject line.  For a meager fee of $9.95, I will forward the photo to you.  I accept PayPal.  I will also be happy to supply you with a receipt for your tax returns.  The desire to look at 44 year old erect nipples would clearly be a charitable gesture and probably would earn you a deduction on your return.  Offer not valid in Canada.  Sorry, Jan. LOL) 

I turn on YouTube for some musical inspiration and listen to one of my favorite songs, “Cold” by Annie Lennox.  Didn’t really inspire much of anything except my desire to listen to the rest of the album, Diva, which is arguably one of the best albums of the 1990’s…or like, ever.  She’s an amazing songstress with the vocal prowess of a thousand lovebirds all cooing in perfect harmony.  However, there is nothing “cold” about this moment and so, my idea of musical inspiration falls flat.  I sit here, staring at the screen…empty as the thoughts in my head.  All roads are leading me no where.  I turn to Google Images and pop “cold” into search bar and hit “I’m Feeling Lucky”.  I get this.  Sure. Leave it to me to find the ONE site on the entire internet that has the word “cold” in it…but is under construction.  Seriously?  Billions of sites with the word “cold” in it and I manage to find the one site that is as barren as a woman’s womb post hysterectomy.  Great.  So, I do it again, only this time…I hit “Images”.  It suggests: Are you looking for “cold sores”?  Um, no.  No, Google, I am not and if I were…I most assuredly would have found them during my stint as a single woman back in the 80’s because, well…it was the 80’s.  Think “free love” during the 60’s…only with neon colors, shoulder pads and replace the pot with cocaine.  I politely decline the offer of cold sores and hit Images again…with just plain, old fashioned, herpe-less “cold” in the search bar.  I am presented with this picture:

which is awesome and all because A) it’s true and B) it takes you to the artists site who drew the above picture which is the infamous Natalie Dee of Toothpaste for Dinner.  And, in what can only be described as Six Degrees of Separation/Kevin Bacon style…Natalie Dee is the artist who drew the little princess that adorns my header, sidebar and all the comments I leave for you people.  The irony is just too much to wrap my head around.

The internet is a strange and wonderful little paradise of coincidences and extraordinary occurrences, is it not?

It is at this point that I give up.  I will have to just take the stupid refrigerator picture that I thought of earlier and just be done with it.  Nothing else is coming into my head at this point.  I’m tired, it’s 6:45 in the morning and it is friggin’ freezing in this house.  I leave my office, shutting the light off behind me.  I have to wake up my son for school in about 20 minutes so to go lay down in my bed right now would be the equivalent of foreplay without orgasm.  It would feel good for about a minute but then, I would have to leave before sleep comes and frankly, that’s just a damn tease.  As I am walking down the hall, I circle back and decide to just check in on my sleeping son.  And…there it was.  My picture!  The moment!

I run back into my office and grab my camera to take a shot of this:

My baby boy. All bundled up in his comforter, pulled up to his neck…because he is, wait for it…wait for it…

COLD.

Is it genius? No.  A masterpiece? Not by a long shot.  But, what it IS is real.  A precious, non-pretentious, non-staged moment in time that gave me a heart warming picture to share with all of you.  When our babies become teenagers, it is rare that we have a moment of peace with them.  It’s always something, somewhere, somehow.  They are too busy to slow down to talk to you…or, when they want to finally say something, of course it is always at the same moment that now, YOU are too busy to slow down to talk to them.  But, when they are sleeping, time stops.  You are transported to a time when you held the cards, you had the power, you called all the shots.  You fed them, you bathed them, you dressed them and then, that wonderful moment where you laid them down to sleep for the night.  How peaceful they looked.  How quiet and sweet when their big teenage gaping maw is not blathering on and on in your ear, on the phone, in front of the television or with the stereo playing way too loud…despite the fact they have headphones on.

Right now, at this moment…he is my little boy.  And he is cold.

I put another blanket over him.  Tousle his moppy brown curls, now tiger striped with peroxide orange streaks from his latest teenage whimsical decision to bleach his hair and plant a kiss on the top of his head.  In 5 more minutes, I will be waking him up for school.  He will be a moody, agitated, annoyed teenager again and I will be the screeching banshee standing over him caterwauling “YOU’RE GONNA MISS THE BUS…GET UP!!!”

But shhhh…because right now, he’s still my little angel baby…all wrapped up, snuggled and content.  And suddenly, this really cold house feels warm again…right along with my heart.

I am a Mommy. I am a Blogger. But…

I am not a “MommyBlogger”. I have to admit that mommy bloggers make me want to eat my own eyes out of my skull. No, I do not think that every single thing my children do are precious. Frankly, they annoy the piss out of me on a daily basis. I come from the Roseanne Barr school of mothering. I gave you life…what the fuck more do you want from me. If by the end of the day, you aren’t dead…then I did my job.

I really tried to get into the Mommy Blogger community, but apparently, if you have teenage children or worse yet, adult children who are married and on their own, they have no use for you. You can’t compare diapering tips on a 14 year old who had died in Xbox heaven. And, you certainly won’t get any compassion if your 22 year old is on her second baby in the course of her three year marriage.

So, I tried Granny Bloggers. Well, most of them are too old. They knit shit and bake cookies shaped like little pine trees with green Christmas sprinkles. I buy the pre made dough and then eat most of it before the cookies even hit the oven.

I got to wondering…does this mean I am doing a shitty job with my kids. And I am here, now, on no sleep for a day and a half to say this:

I am a pretty righteous fucking mom and a cool ass grandmother to boot.

My kids talk to me about drug use, abortion, politics, birth control (though my daughter keeps kind of missing the mark on that one) and all kinds of other bullshit that most kids don’t talk to their moms about. I’m friends with my kids on facebook mainly because their friends find me a huge source of entertainment. Yeah, I talk about blow jobs and lube and spicing up the old marital bed. And you know what? They laugh at me. They think I’m funny. Their friends think I’m the cool mom and say “man, I wish I had a mom like yours”.

So, fuck mommy bloggers who don’t accept me because I don’t fall into the Betty Crocker book of how to be a mom. And fuck granny bloggers who don’t feel that a one year old grandchild possibly qualifies me as an experienced grandmother.

No one in my house is going to Harvard, but both my babies are/have gone to college. My daughter made it to 17 before losing her virginity to the boy she was dating for two years. Her next great love of her life…she married. She’s Pro Life, much to my dismay…but someday, her own daughter may give her a lesson that changes her mind. And my son? He’s a democrat in the making. Average grades. Great musical talent…rocks the fucking guitar like no ones business and all self-taught.

Basically, for a mother who has done absolutely nothing to nurture her kids, my children are Fan fucking tastic. People tell me “CP, you must have done SOMETHING right”. And maybe I did…just by always being honest with them. I never made them believe in Santa or the fucking tooth fairy. I give them their Channukah presents unwrapped with the tags still on them in case they want to take shit back.

So no, I have no clue about the best kindergartens to send your little prodigies to. I have no idea how to make cupcakes for Spirit Day. I let my son dress up as a serial killer for Halloween because it was fucking hysterical. My daughter had more make up at age 14 than I have ever had in my 43 years of life. I just loved buying her girly shit.

But my kids are LOVED. I mean, LOVED. Like, I can’t get through a day without them hugging me or kissing me or at very least texting me. They definitely got the raw end of the deal with me for a mother. But I taught them how NOT to be…and that in itself is a lesson learned.

I shall leave this off with my favorite quote from Roseanne, Domestic Goddess who taught me all I know about mothering Jewish children:

“They’re all mine. . . . Of course, I’d trade any one of them for a dishwasher.”

Or a nice set of Louis Vuitton luggage.

I am still a Jewish Princess, after all.