Jen M.L.2013-05-23T02:35:39-04:00Jen M.L.http://www.huffingtonpost.com/author/index.php?author=jen-mlCopyright 2008, HuffingtonPost.com, Inc.HuffingtonPost Blogger Feed for Jen M.L.Good old fashioned elbow grease.Are You Cool Enough to Shop at Abercrombie & Fitch?tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.32374772013-05-08T11:45:16-04:002013-05-08T11:45:20-04:00Jen M.L.http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jen-ml/this article about Abercrombie & Fitch.
Do you remember shopping there when you were in college? I sure do. (Do they still smell like a junior high dance where the boys put on waaaay too much of dad's cologne and they play the music so loud you might get permanent hearing loss?) In fact, I think I still have my classic Abercrombie sweatshirt in my closet. Well, apparently, we shopped at A&F back when they were selling "fuddy duddy" clothes. (That sounds about right for me. I have rarely been on the cutting edge of fashion.) Nowadays, A&F has this total jackhole, Mike Jeffries, running the company and he's doing a really kick ass job (stock price is up, sales are up, new stores everywhere, blah, blah, blah) and he has a secret to his success: He only hires beautiful, thin "cool kids" so that they will only attract other beautiful, thin "cool kids" to shop at his stores, because he doesn't want losers even setting a hairy, fugly foot in his hallowed halls. And just in case the message didn't get through to the uncool, the ugly and the fat people that there is nothing here for you, Mike wants to make it clear that you're not welcome and so he has decreed that the women's clothing line will not carry clothing bigger than a size L or 10.
"In every school there are the cool and popular kids, and then there are the not-so-cool kids," he told Salon.com. "Candidly, we go after the cool kids. We go after the attractive all-American kid with a great attitude and a lot of friends. A lot of people don't belong [in our clothes], and they can't belong. Are we exclusionary? Absolutely."
When I first read this article, I didn't know if I was more impressed with the fact that Jeffries owns his asshole ways or if I was more disgusted that he's such a f*cking d*ckhead who is desperately trying to hold on to his glory days of high school. (Actually, I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that Mikey was a total la-hooo-zer back in the day. Look at how hard he's fought for those bulging biceps and how much he's paid for those sun-kissed locks -- and eyebrows WTF? -- and bee-stung lips. He looks like a genetically engineered geriatric douchebag.) He's an absolute creeper and I don't care how much he owns his actions, they're unacceptable.
When we have young women all over this country suffering from poor body image, I am disgusted that companies like this exist and are flourishing. A size 10 is big?! And it's not just the girls, either. I've spent enough summers at the public pool to know that the average teenage boy doesn't have the chiseled body featured in A&F's steamy ad campaigns. (Luckily, they do make men's XL clothes, though, mostly to cater to the beefier athletes.)
For Jeffries to come right out and say his company philosophy is to be "exclusionary" makes me want to scream and burn my (Size XL) Abercrombie sweatshirt in effigy and break things (preferably a display of polo shirts at my local A&F). I am trying to raise children in this world who have a sense of self-worth (that doesn't come from their stupid fucking jeans) and he continues to do whatever he can to make children feel excluded. Yes, teenagers are still children. And when a major company tells a teenager that they're not worthy of shopping at their store because her ass is too big, what does that say to her? Believe me, she's already self-conscious about that ass, she doesn't need Abercrombie & Fitch telling her that she's too horrible to buy a pair of their jeans. Nice work, d*ckhead.
In the 1990s, Jeffries took over a dying company that sold "fuddy duddy" clothes and turned it into the Mecca of Morons. Reading the articles and looking through the photos of Jeffries and his young employees made me feel sick to my stomach. This company embodies everything I despise. Ignorant, selfish, entitled, foolish, arrogant, elitist assholes who sit around with their fellow douchey "dudes" in their perfectly (identically) ripped jeans and their stupid f*cking racist/sexist t-shirts with gems like "Tig Ole Bitties" and "Two Wongs Make a White" and yuk it up about raiding mommy's medicine cabinet or maxing out daddy's credit card while their asshole parents neglect them to spend time on the slopes or at the beach.
These are the same type of kids who tweet racist shit and tell their sorority sisters to stop being so f*cking boring when frat boys are around. These are the same type of kids who received Participation Awards for every f*cking thing in their lives and have that shit lined up on a shelf in their room, because that reminds them that they're precious snowflakes. These are the same type of kids who kill referees at soccer games. I hate these people more than you know.
My children are not old enough to grace the abs-infested aisles of A&F just yet, but the first time either of my kids asks for anything from this store, I will say Hell F*cking No. I realize that won't matter much to Mr. Jeffries. After all, I'm way too old, fat, short and ugly to be allowed in his store. (I'm surprised he doesn't have bouncers at the door to turn away people like me.) He doesn't care what I think, because I'm not his clientele. Well, that's too bad, because he should care about me and other mothers like me. I am a mother who will influence and educate my kids about shopping consciously. I will raise kids like these girls who "girlcott" places like A&F. I will explain to my kids that we don't support companies that sexualize teens or marginalize people. We will put our money where our mouths are and we will buy our perfectly distressed $100 jeans ANYWHERE else, but A&F.
A&F can kiss my fat ass!
Read more of Jen at People I Want to Punch in the Throat and follow her on Facebook and Twitter.]]>Pourquoi je ne veux pas d'autre enfanttag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.29558382013-03-26T11:11:47-04:002013-03-26T11:13:05-04:00Jen M.L.http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jen-ml/
De temps en temps, je ressens un petit quelque chose et je réalise que c'est l'envie d'avoir un enfant que j'éprouve (et non pas un ballonnement d'estomac comme je le croyais au départ). Quand je ressens ces petites douleurs, je me force à me rappeler que bon sang, j'ai quarante ans maintenant, et que je suis bien trop vieille pour avoir un bébé. Alors je prends un Rennie et je continue ma petite vie.
Cette semaine, j'ai eu l'occasion d'atteindre ma limite en termes de bébés. Quelques semaines auparavant, une amie avait eu un bébé et elle m'a laissée venir le renifler et le regarder sous toutes les coutures, et puis ce week-end, je n'ai pas eu droit à une, mais à deux baby showers. À l'une d'entre elles, j'ai suivi partout une mère et son enfant parce qu'il me rappelait mon fils, Gomer. Je me suis finalement adressée à elle en lui promettant que je n'étais pas une tarée qui allait lui voler son nourrisson. J'ai complètement déchargé sur elle mon obsession bébé: je lui ai dit que son petit garçon me rappelait Gomer et qu'à sa place, je le garderais dans les bras sans le reposer pendant encore au moins un an, parce qu'aujourd'hui, c'est à peine si Gomer, âgé de 8 ans, émet un grognement pour me parler, à moins qu'il ne veuille quelque chose à manger; et ne parlons même pas de me faire un câlin, sauf s'il cherche à faire diversion pour ne pas aller se coucher. Ensuite, mon mari et moi avons bombardé cette femme de photos de Gomer pour qu'elle puisse voir à quoi son fils "ressemblerait" un jour. Oui, on s'est comportés comme des cinglés. Elle a été bien sympa de me laisser m'extasier devant son bébé et de me ridiculiser. Mais il suffit d'attendre que son enfant ait 8 ans, elle se rappellera alors la bonne femme tarée qu'elle avait rencontrée à la baby shower et se sentira enfin solidaire avec moi !
Pour autant que j'ai adoré les douces petites joues et les tout petits doigts des bébés, cette overdose de bébé m'a fait réaliser que je n'en voulais pas d'autre et voici pourquoi :
LE SOMMEIL
Ah.... La chose que je préfère probablement dans ma vie est une bonne nuit de sommeil. Après qu'on soit passé à l'heure d'été, mes enfants ne s'en sortaient pas si bien avec le changement, mais ils étaient au moins capables de me dire qu'ils le vivaient mal, au lieu de pleurer comme des bébés grognons. En une semaine, mes enfants se sont adaptés aux nouveaux horaires, et nous n'aurons pas de souci jusqu'au printemps prochain (le changement horaire à l'automne est plus supportable), alors que les bébés continueront à avoir besoin d'être nourris ou changés au milieu de la nuit, tandis que moi et mes enfants dormirons à poings fermés. Je me fiche de savoir quelle Super maman vous êtes, je ne connais personne qui se délecte à l'avance de ces moments où il faut nourrir bébé au milieu de la nuit. Ca craint. Se lever pour le nourrir, c'est déjà pas marrant, mais voilà le pompon : "Nous avons un bébé de dix mois complètement réveillé, si jamais quelqu'un est intéressé par un baby-sitting", un post Facebook que j'ai lu à 22h45, assorti d'une photo d'un bébé adorable et effectivement TRÈS réveillé. Ha, ha ! Désolée les gars, mais moi je vais me coucher.
LE STRESS
Vous vous rappelez quand vous étiez maman pour la première fois et que vous stressiez à propos de tout? Le bébé a-t-il trop froid? Trop chaud? A-t-il assez mangé? Pourquoi ne veut-il pas dormir ? Est-ce que je devrais le réveiller? Est-ce qu'il respire? Suis-je une bonne mère? Est-ce que j'en fais un pourri gâté parce que je le garde toujours dans les bras? Son cerveau est-il suffisamment stimulé? Est-il trop stimulé? Rien qu'à écrire ce paragraphe, je sens mon rythme cardiaque s'emballer et le nœud dans mon estomac revenir. Certes, c'était bien plus facile au deuxième enfant. Mais la semaine dernière, on a dû écourter notre visite à l'une de mes amies qui en est à son troisième, parce qu'elle devait emmener son bébé se faire peser, car encore tout petit. Moi-même, j'ai eu un de ces bébés riquiqui qui devait être pesé régulièrement. Cette période était surréaliste, parce que c'est la seule fois de ma vie que je me suis tenue près d'une balance en PRIANT pour qu'elle soit lourde: "Allez Gomer, dis-moi que tu as pris 500 grammes! Même 250, ce serait formidable! Ou juste quelques dizaines! Maman aimerait que tu aies des jambes bien dodues!" Vous devriez voir Gomer maintenant. Vous ne devineriez jamais qu'il a pesé autrefois 2,5 kilos. Aujourd'hui, je m'inquiète parfois qu'il prenne trop de poids! Zut, peut-être qu'en fait le stress ne disparaît jamais complètement, mais qu'il change simplement d'objet. Mais quand même ! Je préfère ce stress-là que celui d'un bébé.
LA MERDE
Non, je ne parle pas de la merde au sens propre du terme. Bien que ce n'était jamais vraiment drôle non plus. Il est certain que je ne regrette pas les jours où mes enfants me pondaient un énorme truc nauséabond juste avant que nous sortions dehors. Non, je parle de l'équipement. Le sac à langer, le tire-lait, les biberons, le chauffe-biberon, la glacière pour le lait, le transat, l'espèce de couverture duveteuse pour recouvrir le siège qui garde bébé au chaud (vous aurez compris que mes deux enfants sont nés en hiver), la poussette (la poussette-canne, celle spéciale jogging et finalement la double poussette), la balancelle, le trotteur, les cubes/anneaux à empiler, les puzzles, le doudou, les peluches, les bodys, les petites chaussettes, les tonnes de paquets de couches et de lingettes, la couverture, les tasses/gobelets, le lit parapluie, le loquet de sécurité toilettes, la chaise haute, les coins pour le mobilier, le réhausseur, les cache-prises, les bavoirs, les "bloque-porte", les tétines, le coussin d'allaitement, et le tapis d'éveil.
Bien entendu, il y a toujours plein de trucs à se traîner avec les enfants plus grands, mais pas autant qu'avec les bébés. Je suis allée dans un magasin de puériculture pour acheter mes cadeaux pour les baby showers ce week-end, et je ne pouvais pas croire les NOUVELLES conneries qu'ils avaient inventées depuis la naissance d'Adolpha. Des coques de téléphone assorties à votre sac à langer (parce que ce serait une faute de goût si ce n'était pas le cas), des matelas à langer en mousse à mémoire de forme (ce bébé a un meilleur matelas à langer que mon propre matelas), une baignoire bébé avec thermomètre intégré (c'est prévu pour les grandes angoissées - "L'eau a l'air assez tiède pour mon bébé mais comment être sûre ???"), et mon préféré, un morceau de plastique à 11 dollars, qui s'accroche à votre poussette, votre caddie, etc., de sorte qu'un enfant puisse s'attacher à quelque chose quand vous êtes ensemble dehors. Parce que la main ne suffit pas pour se tenir à une poussette ou à un caddie ? Si vous pensez acheter ce truc, vous devriez aller en acheter deux, parce que c'est clair que vous allez l'oublier et le laisser accroché au caddie la première fois que vous l'utiliserez. Moi je sais que je l'oublierais.
LA FLEXIBILITÉ
Alléluia! Nous n'avons plus besoin de régler notre emploi du temps en fonction des siestes. Chaque fois qu'on quittait la maison, j'avais l'impression que j'étais obsédée par l'heure. Mes enfants étaient de bons dormeurs, mais s'ils s'endormaient dans la voiture, ils ne se rendormaient PAS une fois transportés dans leur lit. Adolpha était célèbre pour s'endormir à quelques mètres de notre fichu garage. Nous étions alors obligés de rouler pendant une heure pour qu'elle fasse une sieste à peu près décente. Mais si je n'étais pas d'humeur à rouler, il m'arrivait de la laisser certains après-midi attachée à son siège auto, avec la porte de la voiture et celle de la maison ouvertes afin de pouvoir l'entendre quand elle se réveillait. Comment? Vous pensez que je suis une mère indigne parce que j'ai fait ça? On commet des actes désespérés pour que son enfant fasse la sieste. Je connais des gens qui ont scotché leurs enfants à leurs couvertures parce que ces lange d'emmaillotage si à la mode n'existaient pas encore. Ne jugez pas.
Hier mon mari et moi avons organisé un voyage imprévu avec nos enfants et nous n'avons pas eu besoin de nous inquiéter de ranger la moitié de la maison dans nos valises ou de savoir où chacun dormirait. Encore quelques années, et nos enfants feront leurs valises tout seuls !
LE SAC À LANGER
Oui, il faisait partie de la liste plus haut, mais il mérite bien un paragraphe à lui tout seul. J'ai été si bête la première fois que j'ai acheté un sac à langer. J'en voulais un de la marque Coach (parce que vous me connaissez et vous savez que j'adore cette marque). Ce que je n'ai pas calculé, c'est que cette saloperie était affreusement lourde VIDE. Maintenant, remplissez ce sac avec à peine la moitié des conneries que j'ai mentionnées plus haut et vous vous trimballez avec un sac pesant plus lourd que votre propre bébé. Quand Gomer avait six semaines, je me suis traînée chez le médecin parce que je souffrais de terribles douleurs dans le dos. Il a jeté un coup d'œil au bardas de conneries que j'avais trimballées avec moi jusqu'à son cabinet: un sac à langer de 10 kilos (chargé avec assez de trucs pour me permettre de tenir une semaine en cas de tempête de neige), un tire-lait (parce que j'étais une vache à lait de fraîche date et que je procédais à ma traite toutes les 20 minutes), une glacière pour mon or liquide, et un bébé dans une nacelle. Il m'a jeté ensuite un coup d'œil, a secoué la tête et m'a dit que je souffrais "du mal de dos de nouvelle maman". Il m'a prescrit un sac à langer plus léger (avec de quoi tenir environ deux jours), une poussette (pour transporter l'essentiel de mon matos) et une sieste, pour que je recommence à réfléchir logiquement.
Je suis certaine qu'il y a bien d'autres raisons pour lesquelles je ne veux plus d'enfants, mais je n'ai pas le temps d'en faire toute la liste ici. C'est l'heure d'aller me coucher et je me réjouis à l'idée de ces huit heures de bonheur sans interruption !
]]>Pourquoi je ne veux pas d'autre enfanttag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.29470162013-03-25T04:56:42-04:002013-03-25T05:29:24-04:00Jen M.L.http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jen-ml/
De temps en temps, je ressens un petit quelque chose et je réalise que c'est l'envie d'avoir un enfant que j'éprouve (et non pas un ballonnement d'estomac comme je le croyais au départ). Quand je ressens ces petites douleurs, je me force à me rappeler que bon sang, j'ai quarante ans maintenant, et que je suis bien trop vieille pour avoir un bébé. Alors je prends un Rennie et je continue ma petite vie.
Cette semaine, j'ai eu l'occasion d'atteindre ma limite en termes de bébés. Quelques semaines auparavant, une amie avait eu un bébé et elle m'a laissée venir le renifler et le regarder sous toutes les coutures, et puis ce week-end, je n'ai pas eu droit à une, mais à deux baby showers. A l'une d'entre elles, j'ai suivi partout une mère et son enfant parce qu'il me rappelait mon fils, Gomer. Je me suis finalement adressée à elle en lui promettant que je n'était pas une tarée qui allait lui voler son nourisson. J'ai complètement déchargé sur elle mon obsession bébé : je lui ai dit que son petit garçon me rappelait Gomer et qu'à sa place, je le garderais dans les bras sans le reposer pendant encore au moins un an, parce qu'aujourd'hui, c'est à peine si Gomer, âgé de 8 ans, émet un grognement pour me parler, à moins qu'il ne veuille quelque chose à manger ; et ne parlons même pas de me faire un câlin, sauf s'il cherche à faire diversion pour ne pas aller se coucher. Ensuite, mon mari et moi avons bombardée cette femme de photos de Gomer pour qu'elle puisse voir à quoi son fils "ressemblerait" un jour. Oui, on s'est comportés comme des cinglés. Elle a été bien sympa de me laisser m'extasier devant son bébé et de me ridiculiser. Mais il suffit d'attendre que son enfant ait 8 ans, elle se rappellera alors la bonne femme tarée qu'elle avait rencontré à la baby shower et se sentira enfin solidaire avec moi !
Pour autant que j'ai adoré les douces petites joues et les tout petits doigts des bébés, cette overdose de bébé m'a fait réaliser que je n'en voulais pas d'autre et voici pourquoi :
LE SOMMEIL
Ah.... La chose que je préfère probablement dans ma vie est une bonne nuit de sommeil. Après qu'on est passé à l'heure d'été, mes enfants ne s'en sortaient pas si bien avec le changement, mais ils étaient au moins capables de me dire qu'ils le vivaient mal, au lieu de pleurer comme des bébés grognons. En une semaine, mes enfants se sont adaptés aux nouveaux horaires, et nous n'aurons pas de souci jusqu'au printemps prochain (le changement horaire à l'automne est plus supportable), alors que les bébés continueront à avoir besoin d'être nourris ou changés au milieu de la nuit, tandis que moi et mes enfants dormirons à poings fermés. Je me fiche de savoir quelle Super maman vous êtes, je ne connais personne qui se délecte à l'avance de ces moments où il faut nourrir bébé au milieu de la nuit. Ca craint. Se lever pour le nourrir, c'est déjà pas marrant, mais voilà le pompon : "Nous avons un bébé de dix mois complètement réveillé, si jamais quelqu'un est intéressé par un baby-sitting", un post Facebook que j'ai lu à 22h45, assorti d'une photo d'un bébé adorable et effectivement TRES réveillé. Ha, ha ! Désolée les gars, mais moi je vais me coucher.
LE STRESS
Vous vous rappelez quand vous étiez maman pour la première fois et que vous stressiez à propos de tout ? Le bébé a-t-il trop froid ? Trop chaud ? A-t-il assez mangé ? Pourquoi ne veut-il pas dormir ? Est-ce que je devrais le réveiller ? Est-ce qu'il respire ? Suis-je une bonne mère ? Est-ce que j'en fais un pourri gâté parce que je le garde toujours dans les bras ? Son cerveau est-il suffisamment stimulé ? Est-il trop stimulé ? Rien qu'à écrire ce paragraphe, je sens mon rythme cardiaque s'emballer et le nœud dans mon estomac revenir. Certes, c'était bien plus facile au deuxième enfant. Mais la semaine dernière, on a dû écourter notre visite à l'une de mes amies qui en est à son troisième, parce qu'elle devait emmener son bébé se faire peser car encore tout petit. Moi-même, j'ai eu un de ces bébés riquiqui qui devait être pesé régulièrement. Cette période était surréaliste, parce que c'est la seule fois de ma vie que je me suis tenue près d'une balance en PRIANT pour qu'elle soit lourde : "Allez Gomer, dis-moi que tu as pris 500 grammes ! Même 250, ce serait formidable ! Ou juste quelques dizaines ! Maman aimerait que tu aies des jambes bien dodues !" Vous devriez voir Gomer maintenant. Vous ne devineriez jamais qu'il a pesé autrefois 2,5 kilos. Aujourd'hui, je m'inquiète parfois qu'il prenne trop de poids ! Zut, peut-être qu'en fait le stress ne disparaît jamais complètement, mais qu'il change simplement d'objet. Mais quand même ! Je préfère ce stress-là que celui d'un bébé.
LA MERDE
Non, je ne parle pas de la merde au sens propre du terme. Bien que ce n'était jamais vraiment drôle non plus. Il est certain que je ne regrette pas les jours où mes enfants me pondaient un énorme truc nauséabond juste avant que nous sortions dehors. Non, je parle de l'équipement. Le sac à langer, le tire-lait, les biberons, le chauffe-biberons, la glacière pour le lait, le transat, l'espèce de couverture duveteuse pour recouvrir le siège qui garde bébé au chaud (vous aurez compris que mes deux enfants sont nés en hiver), la poussette (la poussette canne, celle spéciale jogging et finalement la double poussette), la balancelle, le trotteur, les cubes/anneaux à empiler, les puzzles, le doudou, les peluches, les bodys, les petites chaussettes, les tonnes de paquets de couches et de lingettes, la couverture, les tasses/gobelets, le lit parapluie, le loquet de sécurité toilettes, la chaise haute, les coins pour le mobilier, le réhausseur, les cache-prises, les bavoirs, les "bloque-porte", les tétines, le coussin d'allaitement, et le tapis d'éveil.
Bien entendu, il y a toujours plein de trucs à se traîner avec les enfants plus grands, mais pas autant qu'avec les bébés. Je suis allée dans un magasin de puériculture pour acheter mes cadeaux pour les baby showers ce week-end, et je ne pouvais pas croire les NOUVELLES conneries qu'ils avaient inventés depuis la naissance d'Adolpha. Des coques de téléphone assorties à votre sac à langer (parce que ce serait une faute de goût si ce n'était pas le cas), des matelas à langer en mousse à mémoire de forme (ce bébé a un meilleur matelas à langer que mon propre matelas), une baignoire bébé avec thermomètre intégré (c'est prévu pour les grandes angoissées - "L'eau a l'air assez tiède pour mon bébé mais comment être sûre ???"), et mon préféré, un morceau de plastique à 11 dollars, qui s'accroche à votre poussette, votre caddie, etc, de sorte qu'un enfant puisse s'attacher à quelque chose quand vous êtes ensemble dehors. Parce que la main ne suffit pas pour se tenir à une poussette ou à un caddie ? Si vous pensez acheter ce truc, vous devriez aller en acheter deux, parce que c'est clair que vous allez l'oublier et le laisser accroché au caddie la première fois que vous l'utiliserez. Moi je sais que je l'oublierais.
LA FLEXIBILITE
Alléluia ! Nous n'avons plus besoin de régler notre emploi du temps en fonction des siestes. Chaque fois qu'on quittait la maison, j'avais l'impression que j'étais obsédée par l'heure. Mes enfants étaient de bons dormeurs, mais s'ils s'endormaient dans la voiture, ils ne se rendormaient PAS une fois transportés dans leur lit. Adolpha était célèbre pour s'endormir à quelques mètres de notre fichu garage. Nous étions alors obligés de rouler pendant une heure pour qu'elle fasse une sieste à peu près décente. Mais si je n'étais pas d'humeur à rouler, il m'arrivait de la laisser certains après-midi attachée à son siège auto, avec la porte de la voiture et celle de la maison ouvertes afin de pouvoir l'entendre quand elle se réveillait. Comment ? Vous pensez que je suis une mère indigne parce que j'ai fait ça ? On commet des actes désespérés pour que son enfant fasse la sieste. Je connais des gens qui ont scotché leurs enfants à leurs couvertures parce que ces lange d'emmaillotage si à la mode n'existaient pas encore. Ne jugez pas.
Hier mon mari et moi avons organisé un voyage imprévu avec nos enfants et nous n'avons pas eu besoin de nous inquiéter de ranger la moitié de la maison dans nos valises ou de savoir où chacun dormirait. Encore quelques années, et nos enfants feront leurs valises tout seuls !
LE SAC A LANGER
Oui, il faisait partie de la liste plus haut, mais il mérite bien un paragraphe à lui tout seul. J'ai été si bête la première fois que j'ai acheté un sac à langer. J'en voulais un de la marque Coach (parce que vous me connaissez et vous savez que j'adore cette marque). Ce que je n'ai pas calculé, c'est que cette saloperie était affreusement lourde VIDE. Maintenant, remplissez ce sac avec à peine la moitié des conneries que j'ai mentionnées plus hauts et vous vous trimballez avec un sac pesant plus lourd que votre propre bébé. Quand Gomer avait six semaines, je me suis traînée chez le médecin parce que je souffrais de terribles douleurs dans le dos. Il a jeté un coup d'œil au bardas de conneries que j'avais trimballé avec moi jusqu'à son cabinet : un sac à langer de 10 kilos (chargé avec assez de trucs pour me permettre de tenir une semaine en cas de tempête de neige), un tire-lait (parce que j'étais une vache à lait de fraîche date et que je procédais à ma traite toutes les 20 minutes), une glacière pour mon or liquide, et un bébé dans une nacelle. Il m'a jeté ensuite un coup d'œil, a secoué la tête et m'a dit que je souffrais "du mal de dos de nouvelle maman". Il m'a prescrit un sac à langer plus léger (avec de quoi tenir environ deux jours), une poussette (pour transporter l'essentiel de mon matos) et une sieste, pour que je recommence à réfléchir logiquement.
Je suis certaine qu'il y a bien d'autres raisons pour lesquelles je ne veux plus d'enfants, mais je n'ai pas le temps d'en faire toute la liste ici. C'est l'heure d'aller me coucher et je me réjouis à l'idée de ces huit heures de bonheur sans interruption !
]]>Why I Don't Want Another Babytag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.28838062013-03-20T16:29:19-04:002013-05-20T05:12:02-04:00Jen M.L.http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jen-ml/my blog almost two years ago felt a bit like giving birth and while sometimes it's my favorite child, I still don't count it.)
Every now and again, I get a little twinge and I realize that it's baby pains I'm feeling (and not gas pains as I had originally assumed). When I get these twinges I have to remind myself that I am 40 freaking years old and I am way too damn old to have another baby. So, I take a Tums and I go on with my day.
This week I had the opportunity to get my baby huff on. A friend had a baby a few weeks ago and she let me come over to sniff and stare at her baby and then this weekend, I went to not one, but two baby showers. At one baby shower I stalked a lady and her baby because he reminded me of Gomer. I finally went up to her and promised I wasn't a creeper who was going to steal her baby. I completely unloaded my baby crazy on her and told her that her little boy reminded me of Gomer and how she should probably never put him down for at least another year, because now 8-year-old Gomer will barely grunt at me unless he wants food, let alone hug me unless he's stalling at bedtime. And then the Hubs and I bombarded her with pictures of Gomer so we could let her know what her son will "look like" some day. Yes, we're complete wackos. She was sweet to let me fawn over her baby and make a fool of myself. Just wait, when that baby is 8 she'll think back to the crazy lady she met at the baby shower and she'll feel solidarity with me then!
As much as I enjoy the soft little cheeks and the tiny fingers of babies, all of this baby overload made me realize that I really don't want another one and here's why:
SLEEP
Ahhh... probably the thing I enjoy most in my life is a good night's sleep. After Daylight Saving (I saw on the news that there is no "s" on the end, who knew??) happened, my kids weren't rolling too well with the changes, but at least they could tell me how miserable they were instead of crying like cranky babies. Within a week, my kids were on the "new" time and we won't have a problem again until next spring (the change in the fall doesn't hurt as much), but babies still need a feed or a diaper change in the middle of the night and me and my kids are slumbering away. I don't care how much of a Super Mom you are, I don't know anyone who looks forward to those middle of the night feedings with a baby. Those sucked. Getting up for a feed was bad, but this was the worst: "We have a wide awake 10-month-old if anyone is interested in babysitting" is a Facebook post I just read at 10:45 p.m. accompanied by a picture of an adorable, VERY wide-awake baby. Ha! Sorry, suckers, I'm off to bed.
STRESS
Remember when you were a first-time mom and you stressed about everything? Is the baby too cold? Is he too hot? Did he eat enough? Is he eating too much? Why won't he sleep? Should I wake him up? Is he breathing? Am I bonding enough? Am I spoiling him because I never put him down? Is his brain being stimulated? Is he over-stimulated? Just writing this paragraph raised my heart rate and put a knot in my stomach all over again. Yes, it was much easier when the next baby came along, but one baby friend I saw last week is on her third and we had to cut the visit short, because she needed to take the baby in to get weighed, because she's still so itty bitty. I had one of those teeny tinies that needed to be weighed on a regular basis. Those days were surreal, because it was the only time in my life I stood next to a scale and PRAYED for it to be heavy. "C'mon, Gomer, gain a pound! Even half a pound would be great! How about a few ounces?? Momma needs some chunky legs on you!" You should see Gomer now. You'd never guess he once weighed five pounds. Now sometimes I worry Gomer weighs too much! Crap, maybe the stress never leaves, it just changes. Still! I'll take this stress over baby stress.
THE SHIT
No, I don't mean the literal shit. Although, that was never fun either. I sure don't miss the days when my kids would manage to produce a bath-worthy blow out just before we'd walk out the door. No, I'm talking about the gear. Y'know, the stuff: the diaper bag, the breast pump, the bottles, the bottle warmer, the milk cooler, the infant seat, the fuzzy cover thingy to go over the seat to keep the baby warm (can you tell my kids were both winter babies?), the stroller (umbrella and jogger and eventually a double), the bouncy seat, the exersaucer, the stacking rings/cups/blocks, the puzzles, the lovies, the stuffed animals, the onesies, the tiny socks, the boxes and boxes of diapers and wipes, the blankets, the sippy cups, the co-sleeper nest, toilet locks, the high chair, corner guards for furniture, the Bumbo, the outlet protectors, the bibs, the door latchers, the binkies, the Boppies, and the tummy time mats.
Sure, there is still shit with older kids, but not as much as babies. I went to Buy, Buy Baby to purchase my shower gifts this weekend and I couldn't believe the NEW shit they've come up with since Adolpha was born. Cell phone covers that match your diaper bag (because it would be tacky if it didn't match), memory foam changing pads (that baby has a nicer changing pad than my mattress), a baby bath tub with a built in thermometer (this is for the ultimate worrier -- "The water feels cool enough for the baby, but how I can be sure??"), and my favorite, an 11 dollar piece of plastic that clips to your stroller, shopping cart, etc. so an older kid has something to hold onto when you're out together. Because carts and strollers are hard to hang on to with just your hand?? If you're going to buy this thing, you should go ahead and get two, because you know you're going to forget and leave it attached to a shopping cart the first time you use it. I know I would.
FLEXIBILITY
Hallelujah! We no longer have to plan around nap-time. I felt like every time we left the house I was watching the clock. My kids were great sleepers, but if they fell asleep in the car, they could NOT transition back into the bed. Adolpha was famous for falling asleep in our flipping driveway. We would then be forced to drive around for an hour while she got a semi-decent nap. If I wasn't in the mood to drive around, there were several afternoons I left her strapped in her carseat in the garage with the car doors open and the door to the house propped open so I could hear her when she woke up. What? You think I'm a terrible mother because I did that? You do desperate things to get your child to nap. I know people who duct taped their kid in their blankets, because those fancy, burrito swaddling blankets hadn't been invented yet. Don't judge.
Yesterday, the Hubs and I planned an impromptu trip with the kids and we didn't have to worry about packing half of the house or where everyone would sleep. Another year or so and those kids will be able to pack their own suitcases!
THE DIAPER BAG
Yes, it was listed above, but it really deserves its own mention. I was so stupid the first time I got a diaper bag. I wanted a Coach diaper bag (because you know me and my love of Coach). What I failed to recognize was that that bitch was leathah and heavy as hell EMPTY. Now, fill it up with just half the shit mentioned above and you're carrying a bag that weighs more than your baby. When Gomer was 6 weeks old I dragged my exhausted ass in to see the doctor, because I was having terrible back pains. He took one look at the assortment of crap I'd hauled into the office with me: a 20 lb. diaper bag (loaded with enough stuff to get me through a week in a snow storm), a breast pump (because I was a newly-minted dairy cow and it seemed that I was pumping every 20 minutes), a cooler for my liquid gold and a baby in an infant carrier. He took one look at me and shook his head and said I was suffering from "new mommy back pain." He prescribed a lighter diaper bag (with maybe just two days worth of supplies), a stroller (to carry the bulk of the shit), and a nap so I could start processing logic again.
I'm sure there are many other reasons why I don't want anymore babies, but I don't have time to list them here. It's my bedtime and I'm looking forward to my eight hours of uninterrupted bliss!
* Names of the blogger's children have been changed.]]>Hey Girl... Happy Valentine's Daytag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.26693712013-02-13T18:00:29-05:002013-04-15T05:12:01-04:00Jen M.L.http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jen-ml/
I've written a letter to that girl.
Dear Jenni [because you know, I was still Jenni in those days],
How's it going, girl? Happy Valentine's Day. I'm from the future. Yeah, your style doesn't get much better as you age. Sorry. But look how good your teeth look now! I know those braces seem like a real pain in the ass, but they're really going to pay off. And look at your hair! Amazeball invention: the straightening iron. It's like your very best friend in the future. I know it seems crazy to think you might actually want to straighten that glorious permed hair, but someday, I think you might realize that you've got a face for straight hair -- and hats (you might try a hat now). I'm not trying to be bossy or anything. It's your hair. But between the braces and the perm it's just... a lot going on. That's all I'm saying.
Anyhoo, let me get to why I'm writing. I know you're home alone today and it sucks. I know you think that you're never going to have a Valentine, but that's not true. Now, before you get too excited, let me just go ahead and burst your John Hughes' movie marathon bubble: you're not going to marry Jake Ryan. You're going to marry Long Duck Dong. Actually, that's not true either. The Hubs is probably closer to an Asian version of every character Anthony Michael Hall ever played in the '80s. That's not bad, right?
Your Hubs is funny. Like really funny. You're going to laugh your ass off. Every day. He's super smart too. I know, I know. Right now, smart guys are not that appealing to you. You sort of like that burnout bad boy, but honestly, Jenni, have you thought that one through? The best he can hope for is any job that doesn't run a drug test. Maybe you won't listen to me about the perms, but you need to trust me on this one: You want a smart guy.
Wait until you see your kids. I know you think you want five or six kids, but I'm telling you that shit is foolish. You can barely handle two. You're going to have two really beautiful, sweet kids. Just stop while you're ahead, because who knows what else you might get.
Now here's the kicker: Right now, you're sitting home alone wishing you had someone around. Fast forward 27 years and you'd do anything to get the house to yourself for the night. Crazy, right? You're going to be so loved that you'll dream of this night.
Well, I've got to get back to the future now. Your kids are home from school and everyone wants a snack and I have to quiz your son on his spelling words and work with your daughter on her reading and give everyone baths and sign permission slips and write checks for their soccer camps this summer and make sure the Hubs is cooking dinner (yeah, he cooks -- Wow! Right?). You enjoy your night alone, because you're not going to get many more.
And oh yeah, go easy on the half priced chocolates the day after Valentine's Day, OK?
Love,
Jen
Follow Jen on Facebook or Twitter.]]>Which Downton Abbey Character Are You?tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.25902582013-01-31T14:19:29-05:002013-04-02T05:12:01-04:00Jen M.L.http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jen-ml/ Downton Abbey and I have spoilers in this post, so if you are not yet caught up, go watch it now and come back. And if you haven't yet seen it. Ugh. Get on Netflix right now and get caught up. You can thank me later.
I missed the first two seasons and had to catch up on DVD once I realized my error. I'm not sure what took me so long. This show is right up my alley:
Historical drama -- check.
Beautiful house -- check.
English countryside -- check.
Soap opera plot -- check.
It has everything I love in a TV show. I enjoy a good TV show or movie or book, because I love to escape reality. It's not like my reality is so bad, but who wouldn't want to imagine living in a gorgeous mansion in the English countryside surrounded by a devoted and loyal staff who anticipate my every need? Duh.
When I watch shows like Downton I like to imagine that I'm just like one of the characters in the story. Usually, it's the heroine (because really, who wants to be Daisy?). For several episodes I've gone back and forth trying to figure out which character I'm most like. I'm, of course, one of the Crawley sisters. I can't be a maid. I like Anna just fine, but I'm not going to escape my reality for her life. Nope. I'm a Crawley, for sure, but which one?
There's Mary. She's the oldest. I'm the oldest. Her parents adore her. My parents think I'm swell. She's got men courting her all the time. I get courted a lot too. At seven months pregnant I got hit on by a couple of high school boys and invited to a party if I brought beer. (Best. Day. Ever.) She's a bit bossy. I'm a bit bossy. She's flawlessly gorgeous. I'm decent looking. She's kind of a bitch. I'm kind of... Wait. I don't want to be Mary.
There's Sybil. She's a free spirit. I'm a free spirit. She's not afraid of hard work and she becomes a nurse during the war. I'm not afraid of hard work, but I am afraid of blood, so I couldn't be a nurse. She gets romanced by the hot foreign chauffeur and whisked away from her family to start a new life. The Hubs is not a hot foreign chauffeur, but he likes to drive me places and he is an immigrant, so that's pretty close. Sybil's going to be a mother. I'm a mother. Sybil... is dead?? Sybil died!!! They killed Sybil. I can't even believe it. Great. Now I can't be Sybil.
So, who's left? Oh yeah, what's-her-name.
Edith. The middle daughter. The angry one who likes to stir up trouble. I'm angry and I like to stir up trouble. Edith worries about being a spinster. If the Hubs ever left me I'd totally be a spinster. There is no one else in the world who could love me. I'm sure of it -- even old codgers with bum arms. Edith can't have breakfast in bed. I never get breakfast in bed. After she gets jilted at the altar (thank goodness we don't have that in common) Edith drags herself out of bed and writes an op-ed to the newspaper about women's voting rights. I write about women's rights. Damn. I'm Edith. I'm the frumpy, cross, homely writer one who can't eat breakfast in bed.
On second though, maybe I'll just be Mrs. Bird.
Which Downton character are you?
This originally appeared on Jen's blog People I Want to Punch in the Throat.
Follow Jen on Facebook and @throat_punch.]]>10 Rules Every Grandparent Should Knowtag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.25696292013-01-29T12:18:46-05:002013-03-31T05:12:01-04:00Jen M.L.http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jen-ml/daughters. Rules for sons. Rules for my kids when they're at playdates. Rules for moms who host playdates. Rules, rules, rules. I enjoy a good list of rules, even if I hate to follow rules (don't we all?).
Now, I have a new list.
Rules for Grandparents.
Disclaimer: Now, now, I know my parents will read this blog and before they get their knickers in a wad, I will say: You are good grandparents and even better free babysitters, so just relax over there. These are not all about you. Just have a laugh -- and maybe stop watching so much "CSI" in front of my kids. Adolpha knows what "blood splatter" means.
Actually, that's a good place to start:
1. Be mindful of what you're watching on TV in front of my kids. I helped you sign up for extended cable, now use the directory and find "Scooby Doo," because "Game of Thrones" is not appropriate viewing material for my kids.
2. Be a good sport. When you attend my children's sports games, do not heckle them, their teammates or their opponents."Move your ass, Number 3!" is never acceptable -- and yes, everyone gets an award. I have to deal with it and so must you.
3. Grandchildren are not show ponies. Don't dress them up and parade them over to see Old Mrs. Chapman next door so they can "cheer up" her and her cats with the new songs they learned in Spanish class this week.
4. Keep your passive-aggressive threats to yourself. "Don't worry, if your mom says 'no' you can always come live with grandma" will get you banned from my house. Or I might call your bluff and leave two kids and all their belongings on your front porch. School starts at 8:20 and Gomer needs over 100 of the same objects for the estimation jar and Adolpha needs to bring healthy snacks. (Do you even know what those are? Because I barely do.) Oh, and don't forget to take some photos with Flat Stanley and get everyone new soccer cleats. I'm off to the spa!
5. Car seats are mandatory. Yes, yes, I know. Somehow, we all survived childhood without car seats, but now you're old and you drive like shit so buckle them up.
6. You are not a doctor. Whiskey is not an acceptable treatment for teething and Vicks VapoRub is not the cure-all for every ailment.
7. Stop trying to buy their love. You never tried to buy my love, so why are you trying to buy theirs? They love you. They do not need any more crap from the Dollar Store. Now, if you want to make a donation to their college funds... those are always accepted and appreciated.
8. Go easy on the sweets. Try serving some real food along with all the sugar you allow them to consume. For example, if they have donuts and hot cocoa for breakfast, then lunch can't be leftover donuts with a Pixie Stick for dessert.
9. Bedtime is 8 p.m. sharp. I'm being generous here. At home, bedtime is 7 p.m.. I've given you a whole extra hour of fun time. Bedtime is not a "suggestion" -- unless you want to keep them tomorrow as well.
10. Did I ask for your opinion? You had your chance to screw up a kid and now it's my turn, so pipe down with all the unwanted advice.
If you thought this was funny, please vote for me at Circle of Moms Top 25 Funny Moms contest. Thanks.]]>Kimye Is Having a Bay-Bay!tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.23994232013-01-02T21:35:54-05:002013-03-04T05:12:01-05:00Jen M.L.http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jen-ml/
Where do I even begin with this hallowed event? First, let me congratulate Kim on landing a baby daddy that can at least afford to keep her baby in fur onesies and solid gold binkies and all before she's even legally divorced from her husband, Kris Humphries! (BTW am I the only one who thinks Kris looks like his mouth is always hanging open and looks like he's going to say, "Hey, babe... oh, never mind, I forgot.") Anyway, Kim's mother, Kris Jenner, must be so proud of her not-yet-divorced daughter getting knocked up by a wealthy rap star who hasn't made any indication he has plans to marry her.
Oh wait, of course she is. This is a girl whose whole family's claim to fame is that she made a sex tape that was caught up in some sort of brouhaha when it was leaked (probably by a family member) and then she had to go to court where she was awarded $5 million.
Of course Kris Jenner is thrilled. She is like Kim's pimp. She probably brokered the deal with Kanye herself. She probably told him she can get E! to televise the birth (sponsored by Shape Ups, of course) and they can split the money and now he can be part of the official Kardashian holiday card.
It was time to branch out the Kardashian line. Literally, this morning on the news, one of the reporters said something like, "I"m not sure what they have planned, but this is a great branding and marketing opportunity." The possibilities are endless. After whipping up some revolting -- I mean chic -- maternity clothes, they can sell ad space on the baby bump to the highest bidder. Then after televising the birth of the baby, there's always the chance for a spinoff reality show where we can watch Kim take the baby to Mommy & Me classes in six-inch stilettos and interview nannies all while she hawks some weight loss company. Plus, the products! Imagine! Kardashian Kribs, hair extensions for babies (how embarrassing to have a bald newborn) or inserts for diapers so babies can have the Kardashian booty.
I'm sure Mama Kris is already way ahead of me planning a baby line. Sure she's got other grandchildren she could have exploited, but those are Kourtney's kids. Ugh. Kourtney doesn't have the "kache" that Kim has. Kanye and Kim make "Kimye." There isn't a cute nickname you can make up for Kourtney and her baby daddy, Scott Disick. There aren't any "branding" or "marketing" opportunities for someone who looks like a whiny, spoiled Eurotrash douchebag!
I would just like to congratulate Kimye on successfully consummating their relationship and I would like to send a little message to their baby. (My guess is Kimye, Jr. will have an official Kardashian-endorsed Twitter account by noon where I can message him/her.) Dear Kimye, Jr., declare emancipation now or put yourself up for adoption. Do it now before your parents name you something stupid like Kornell.
Read more of Jen on her blog People I Want to Punch in the Throat.]]>Postpone the Marathon, Mayor Bloombergtag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.20650922012-11-02T15:19:49-04:002013-01-02T05:12:01-05:00Jen M.L.http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jen-ml/
I can't even believe that this is in the works. Sure, it has the potential to be a huge revenue boost for the city, but it also has the potential to be the biggest clusterfuck ever witnessed.
Have you seen the city? I've seen enough pictures of places like Staten Island, Queens and lower Manhattan to know that the city isn't in any shape to host a marathon this weekend. I can (sort of) understand the people who are in favor of the race happening who say things like, "It will empower the city" or "It will raise awareness." Huh. Like I said, I sort of understand them. It all sounds good, but it really doesn't mean shit. Because you know what else empowers the city? Electricity being restored and garbage getting picked up. Do you know what also raises awareness? Telethons and pictures of the devastation. It looks like a war zone in some of those places. I saw pictures this morning of a woman cleaning out her mother's home where the water reached the roof of her home. There is nothing left to salvage. That picture inspired me to give money to the Red Cross more than watching a bunch of runners trot through New York City ever will.
I read a story about two little boys whose bodies were just recovered after they were swept from their mother's arms during the storm. I don't know about you, Mayor Bloomberg, but it just feels dirty and wrong to host a marathon less than a week after that mother's tragedy.
With so many people still suffering without power, heat, food and clean water it just seems like a dick move to announce that the marathon will go through this weekend, because it will "lift spirits." I tell you what, if I was one of the people stuck in my cold and dark apartment the last thing that would lift my spirits would be a bunch of runners. Unless those runners are bringing me a hot pizza and a new battery for my cell phone, they'd better watch it, because I might throw my rotten week old food at them as they passed by.
The marathon is a huge undertaking on a good day. I've seen it. (You didn't think for a second that I've actually RUN the marathon? Ha.) No, I didn't run. I just watched it run by while I waited for the street to open back up again so I could hit the mall. I've seen how much work it takes and I've seen how it can tie up traffic and police resources. It is a total pain in the ass on a day when everything is working right. The city is already a mess, why add more mess to it?
Because it's about money. If Bloomberg cancels the race the city is out millions of dollars in revenue. OK, but how are all of these out of town runners (with money to spend) going to get to New York? LaGuardia is barely opened at this point and all of the other local airports and doing what they can to stay on schedule. Where will they stay? Hotels are full of locals who are either homeless now or trying to find a warm bed for the night. How will they get around? Subway service has resumed partially, but there are still lots of places you can't get to very easily. Lines for the bus are outrageous and gas is scarce for cars and taxis and generators. The marathon officials have said that they will get runners around on private buses, but wouldn't that money be better spent on rescue and clean up efforts?
And what will this undertaking cost the city? Not just in dollars, but in time wasted that could be spent helping people. Just think how much time has already been spent agonizing and strategizing how to keep the marathon going. Imagine if that brain trust got together and started working on ways to clear streets of debris or something like that?
It's so easy for these officials and organizers sitting in their warm, well-lit homes each night stressing about how they can keep the marathon going. I doubt any of them are in a place without power or food right now. I doubt any of them are sitting in shelters or digging through the rubble that was once their home or burying their loved ones lost in the storm. If they were, I'd guarantee the marathon would be the last thing on their minds.
I read that another concern is that the runners would have to refund their pledges that they've raised if they don't run so that's millions of dollars to charities too.
As someone who has a couple of avid runners in the family, I have donated to their causes when they run. If they came to me now and said, "I'm sorry, the New York City Marathon is being cancelled and I can't run. I'll have to refund your pledge to XYZ Charity" what do you think I would say? Do you think I would say, "Yes, that makes sense. I want that money back, you lazy SOB. I was only giving that money because you were running. Now that charity doesn't get anything from me. Sorry, suckers!"
Of course not. I think MOST people would say, "I'm sorry you can't run. You must be disappointed. I know you've trained hard and this was a dream of yours, but hopefully you can run next year. In the meantime, please make sure my money gets to the XYZ Charity."
Most people are not assholes. Most people understand that a major storm of epic proportions has just raged through New York City and it makes absolute and total sense to cancel the race, but still distribute the donations that they raised. If a donor didn't think that way, I wouldn't worry, karma will definitely catch up with him!
I'm not saying the race needs to be cancelled this weekend -- just postpone it, Mayor Bloomberg. Your city is not ready. Help your fellow New Yorkers first and then worry about the bottom line.
This is a tough one and people are divided on the topic. What do you think? While you're leaving me your comment, be sure to donate to the relief efforts too.]]>Sports Bras: An Open Letter to Their Manufacturerstag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.19641562012-10-13T18:39:31-04:002012-12-13T05:12:01-05:00Jen M.L.http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jen-ml/
Hi there. I'm Jen. I am a 40-year-old mother of two.
Actually, allow me to introduce myself in a language you can understand: I'm a 38 DDD.
I have always had a ridiculous time bra shopping for these small boulders I carry around and I'm always cursing your names. You've probably heard me yelling "Damn you, Maidenform, and your barbed underwire!" or "I hate you, Vicki! Your secret is to just push everything to the top and hope it stays put!" from various dressing rooms around the country.
You bra manufacturers have been doing a bit better over the years with making more comfortable and more supportive bras for everyday use, but would it kill you to make them pretty too? Girls with "girls" like mine need a bra that is a workhorse and attractive. Think about how beautiful those Budweiser Clydesdales are; they can haul a lot, but they look good doing it. And don't even get me started on the prices you charge!
As much as I'd like a gorgeous and affordable bra, I'm getting off-topic. That isn't why I'm writing today. Today, I'm writing to you about sports bras. WTF, you guys? Have you even tried on your so-called sports bras you try to sell to the girls with the coconut-sized boobies?? Did you ever invite a couple of chesty girls over to sample your wares before you sold them to the stores? I don't think you did. I think you guys took a regular-sized sports bra and just sort of enlarged it and called it good.
I've recently started a new workout regimen. I'm not running or anything crazy like that, but there is a fair amount of bobbing and hopping and such. I decided I needed a sports bra to help contain the girls and make it more comfortable to exercise without slapping myself upside the face with an errant breast.
If your bra can handle these, then let's talk!
The first one I tried was from the Just My Size brand. I figured, hey, this brand knows big girls and surely they understand our plight and they've made a bra that can withstand a workout and keep everything in its place. Ha!
This bra was a joke. It was the worst one I tried. It was like wearing a t-shirt with a bit of elastic around the edges. My boobs literally fell out of the bottom of this piece of crap. What the hell?
Next I tried Danskin. I should have known better. This is a brand that caters to the boobless. Their XL sports bra is like a strangling tube top that can barely cover the middle of my boobs. Once I finally wriggled into the damn thing my boobs were squishing out the top, the bottom and the sides. I think there was even a bit of boobage shoved around behind me! I looked like two dachsunds fighting inside of a child's leotard. I practically had to cut myself out of the damn thing.
This week, I picked up a Jockey bra that was touted as having a "new and improved fit" -- or some sort of "buy me now" jargon. When I put it on, I was moderately impressed. Everything fit where it was supposed to and there was very little cleavage seepage. My only complaint is the support. It's still a bit more jiggly than I'd like. You're getting there, Jockey! Keep trying.
What I'd like to propose is that we work together. I will help you design the perfect sports bra for the lady who probably will never go for a run or do a jumping jack in her life, but would love to have the support to do so if she so chooses.
I can try out your prototypes and tell you what is good and what is bad. For instance, I've seen a lot of sports bras that zip up the front. I'm guessing that would be bad for the XL boobies. I can't imagine the pain of catching a bit of excess flesh in a zipper.
What I'm thinking of is a cross between a giant Ace bandage that you can wrap tightly around the girls and secure with heavy duty Velcro and one of those Moby Wrap baby carriers. Maybe it could be a product that does both? You can use it to carry your baby OR strap down your melons and go for a jog. Because it's multi-functional I won't mind paying $65.00.
You guys let me know when you're ready. In the meantime, I'm going to go find some duct tape and strap these babies down and get ready for my workout this morning with Kris.
ALSO ON HUFFPOST: LINGERIE ADS DESCRIBE THE 'HORROR' OF A BAD BRA ]]>How Dumb Must You Be to Watch Honey Boo Boo?tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.18612482012-09-06T13:02:14-04:002012-11-06T05:12:01-05:00Jen M.L.http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jen-ml/I wrote about Toddlers & Tiaras and now I am back again on this topic.
There is a new TLC hit show Here Comes Honey Boo Boo. WTF, TLC? Just when I thought TLC couldn't sink any lower, they have shown us that they can. In case you haven't heard of this show, let me enlighten you. Basically, TLC created the horrible Toddlers & Tiaras and opened the world's eyes to the train wreck that is children's beauty pageants. TLC was lucky enough to have a break out star, Honey Boo Boo, whose whole claim to fame is that her whole family look like extras from Deliverance. On T&T Honey Boo Boo was a tyrant who swilled her Go Go Juice (some high energy concoction) right before she hit the stage so she could wow the judges with her moves and her spray tanned belly. The language that they speak (I've been told that it's English) is so garbled and fucked up they need subtitles just so you can understand when Honey Boo Boo's pregnant sister tells the world she needs to go to the hospital because her "biscuit" hurts or Honey Boo Boo tells you "A dollar makes me holler." It sounds like something a stripper would say. After realizing the Hillbilly Gold they had, TLC offered Honey Boo Boo and her family a reality show. The show beat the Republican National Convention in the ratings and it is assumed it will also beat the Democratic National Convention. I realize it's a lot to ask, but just once every four years couldn't we stop watching the shit on TLC and watch the shit at the national conventions? I realize it would be a lot more fun if Mitt Romney said, "A dollar ain't worth a holler -- make it two and I'll think about it" or if Barack Obama said, "I want to protect women's biscuit rights." One of Honey Boo Boo's one liners could make the perfect election slogan for either party: "When you're a champion, you're still a winner."
The only positive thing I can say about this show is that I read yesterday the family is making around $10,000 an episode. I just hope they're putting that money in a college fund for their girls. Who are we kidding? It's going straight to wigs, Mountain Dew, chicken nuggets and spray tans.
If you waste your time on this show, please tell me: Why??
Follow Jen on Twitter @throat_punch.]]>My Husband Thinks He Can Scale Mt. Everest and Other Lies He Tellstag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.17999812012-08-18T12:23:53-04:002012-10-18T05:12:09-04:00Jen M.L.http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jen-ml/
"What?" I said.
"I'd go after that shark! I'd catch that shark."
"What are you talking about? You would not."
"Yeah, I would. I'd catch that sucker!"
"You do know that the hook in the mouth doesn't kill the shark. You must actually kill it with a weapon of some kind, right?"
"I know. I'd bring it up on deck and then I'd stab it to death with a knife!"
"Listen Nanook of the North, I've seen you squeal like a little girl and run away from a spider, the hell I'm going to let you bring a live shark onto the deck of a boat and trust that you will have the nerve to stab it."
"Shut up, spiders are different. I would sooo kill a shark."
"Wow. What it must be like to walk around with such an enormous head. Is there anything you can't do? Besides kill spiders, of course."
"I'm thinking..."
This right here is my problem with the Hubs sometimes. One of the things that attracts me to him is his confidence. He has so much confidence in himself it bubbles over and lifts me up too. Sometimes his confidence gets out of whack and he just becomes an asshole spouting about all the things he's sure he can do (like kill a shark with a paring knife). For instance, he believes he could be a/an:
International Super Star -- When I first met the Hubs he told me that when he traveled to Taiwan as a young man he was often mistaken for a Taiwanese super star. I asked him which one. His reply? "All of them." He can't dance. He can't sing. He can't act. I'm not sure what he would have done there. Just think, I could be living the high life in Taiwan with their answer to Ryan Seacrest.
International Secret Agent -- Every time we watch a Bourne Identity type of movie, the Hubs always reminds me of how he "could" have done the whole CIA thing, he just "didn't want to." He chose to marry me and have kids together instead. Riiiight.
Writer -- A few months ago I was complaining about writing. I was blocked and I didn't have any ideas that I thought were good. The Hubs told me that writing is "easy" and I just needed to sit down and crank something out. I suggested that if it was so "easy" to write a blog like mine then maybe he should write something too. He wanted to guest post on my blog, but I thought that was too easy. He already has a built in audience on mine. I dared him to start his own blog and build it by himself. He started one. Check it out and tell me what you think.
Golf Pro - Several years ago the Hubs started playing golf. He became a bit obsessive one summer and played quite a bit. One day he announced that he was considering turning pro. What?! This is a guy who had played golf for a couple of weeks. "I could totally do it by the end of the summer," was his reply. Forget Tiger Woods starting at two years old. The Hubs thought 33 was a fine age to start his new career. Luckily, I got pregnant right after that and he realized he didn't want to be on the road so much with a new baby at home. Yeahhh, I'm sure that's why he gave up that dream.
Bowling Pro -- Yesterday the Hubs broke 165 during our free bowling session. I think that says enough.
Race Car Driver -- I would be a widow on the first turn. I'm sure of it. But the Hubs thinks there's nothing to controlling a car at 200 mph. He is a bit concerned about when he gets to pee. His shy bladder is what's stopping him from this career.
Look like an after picture on PX90 -- The Hubs swears he was buff before he met me. I can't find any proof other than a picture of him when he was about 10 where he looks like a leggy little girl pretending she's a Charlie's Angel. (A bowl cut on such a pretty boy looks a lot like Sabrina.) He tells me that if we "wanted" to, he'd do PX90 for a month and come out the other side looking like a kung fu master. He just doesn't want me to "feel bad" about myself since I don't look very (girl) kung fu master. If he doesn't do it, then we can both be lazy coconuts together. He's worried it could be awkward for our marriage if one of us is so much hotter than the other. What a guy! Always thinking of me.
Hot Dog Eating Champ -- This is one he could maybe do. If you ever eat with the Hubs you will notice that he is a skinny guy who can put away a ton of food. It's as if he has a hollow leg to store it in. If he could master any of the things on this list, it would be hot dog eating champ.
Scale Mt. Everest -- I won't allow this until our children are old enough to be fatherless, because I am positive he won't come back. Just because you own a 15 year old NorthFace jacket that was purchased at the outlet mall, it does not mean you are a mountain climber.
The Winner of Survivor -- The Hubs fancies himself a playa. He thinks he can outwit, outplay and outlast everyone else. Ha. Have you heard the term "angry drunk?" The Hubs is an "angry hungry guy." He gets pissed when he doesn't eat on a regular schedule. After the first week without food he would go stark, raving mad. He would most likely kill a wild boar in the jungle and eat it raw. He would come back to camp smeared in blood and scare the shit out of everyone else there. They would promptly throw the challenge later that afternoon and vote his crazy ass off. Either that or his "evacuation" schedule would be thrown for a loop (because he can't even take a shit on a public toilet, let alone crouch in the woods) and he would suffer a bowel obstruction and have to be life flighted out at day 13.
Nah, the Hubs needs to stick to what he does best: taking care of our business(es). If the Hubs went on any of these tangents it would take time away from the work that needs to be done to keep our real estate business going, this blog rolling and our children fed. (All I do is write, people. The Hubs does the rest.)]]>Magic Mike, Shut Your Pretty Mouth and Just Dancetag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.16653162012-07-11T14:40:44-04:002012-09-10T05:12:03-04:00Jen M.L.http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jen-ml/DISCLAIMER: I don't think there are any spoilers in here, but I can't be certain. I think we all know what this movie is about. I'm not going to reveal any plot twists or the ending, or anything like that. However, if by reading this review, the mystery of "Magic Mike" is now ruined for you, I'm sorry. Now, go get a life.
If you are a faithful reader of mine, you will know that my friend Sandy really wants to see Magic Mike. She's been talking about it for a couple of weeks now, and she was trying to get a couple of us to go with her. Our friends all declined for one reason or another. Sandy turned to me in her hour of need. What was I supposed to say? What kind of friend lets another friend go and watch prosthetic penises flop around in a fringed nut sack alone? I knew that if nothing else, there would be delightful eye candy (and I love eye candy as much as the next person) and there would be something good to write about. I am happy to say, Magic Mike delivered on both of these fronts.
So let me set the scene for you:
Sandy and I decided to see the movie at our cheaper theater in town (neither one of us was willing to shell out AMC Fork & Screen money for this destined-to-be classic). We arrived a bit early and bought tickets. We were shown to a small theater full of heaving bosoms and giant tubs of popcorn. We had noticed there was a later showing that would start in a half an hour, so we decided to go and seek out that theater instead. Sure enough, it was empty and we got prime McConaughey-viewing seats. We settled in with our small bags of popcorn and waited. The theater filled up around us with all middle-aged women. I noticed we were under-dressed. These women do realize the actors can't see them, right??
There was some tittering and giggling going on, but nothing too intense... yet. Our movie was about to start and I was out of Coke. I ran out to the concession stand to get me and Sandy a refill. The 15ish-year-old boy behind the counter tried to make small talk while he filled up my drinks.
"What movie are you seeing, ma'am?" he asked.
"Magic Mike," I said.
"Oh God!" he exclaimed. "Get out of here!"
"Excuse me??" I said.
"I'm kidding. Actually, not really. Why are you seeing that?"
"That's a dumb question," I said.
"I know. Sorry. But... ugh. I thought you might be cooler than that."
Well, thank you, 15ish popcorn vendor. I appreciate that, but I guess I'm not.
"Would it be better if I said I was here to see Spiderman?"
"You're seeing Spiderman?" Another 15ish boy said as he stepped into our conversation and started sweeping up spilled popcorn.
"No. Magic Mike," soda boy said.
"Oh. Eww," said sweeper boy.
"What? You guys don't stay late and watch that one when everyone goes home?" I asked.
"No way. Here's your drink. Enjoy your movie," said soda boy.
What those boys don't know is that Magic Mike is not for women. It's a bromance. There is more male bonding going on in this movie than stripping or sex with women.
I don't know what I expected exactly, but that wasn't it. I didn't expect a guy to literally say to another one,"Let's be best friends." Are you fucking kidding me?
I didn't expect men to make promises to take care of one another -- and honor those promises.
I didn't expect all of the man-on-man, semi-naked, well-oiled hugging that all of these dudes were doing with gusto.
I didn't expect Channing Tatum to leave so many clothes on. I didn't pay to watch him hump a stage in baggy sweat pants. Get that shit off and let's see your money maker!
Where's the beef?
I didn't expect Matthew McConaughey to have a comedic role. I assume it was comedic. If it wasn't, then he just made an ass out of himself with his ridiculous outfits, bad perm and corny dialogue.
I didn't expect so much plot. I'm being gracious here to call what little plot Magic Mike had "plot." I'm just saying that I went to watch hot men gyrate and strip. I don't need to hear about their hopes and dreams and plans for the future. I could give a fuck what any of them want to do. Shut your piehole and show me some meat!
I did expect better dialogue. I'm not sure who the screenwriter was for this movie, but many times it felt like Steven Soderbergh told Channing Tatum: "You're walking on a beach with this girl and you're flirting awkwardly with one another, but you're cool about it and deep down she really digs it. Just make up the dialogue as you go along. And... action!"
I didn't expect the three middle-aged women (dressed to the nines) behind us to come in with booze hidden in their oversized handbags. I could smell the hooch every time they took a swig. Besides the booze, they acted like little school girls every time they saw a marble sack. They giggled and swooned and gasped every time those guys shook it. I hope they had smelling salts in their bags along with their wine coolers. A favorite dance move in Magic Mike was to throw a chicks legs over a dancer's shoulders and pick her up so his face was in her business. The first time this happened, I'm pretty sure one of the women behind us orgasmed. Or at least it sounded like it. Sandy and I were hoping the women would get confused and start throwing money at the screen. It would have paid for our popcorn.
I can say a few positive things about this movie. McConaughey might have been laughable, but for 42, he looked damn fine in his leathah pants. I've never been a big Channing Tatum fan, but I'm beginning to understand the hoopla. That boy can move (just wish he would take off his sweats and stop talking so much -- Chatty Cathy).
I think Sandy summed it up best: She would like to see it again in the privacy of her own home on her big screen with a mute button and a remote to fast forward to the "good" stuff. I would watch that version again.
Read more of Jen's blog at www.peopleiwanttopunchinthethroat.com]]>The Endless Summer Conversation Loop of Suburban Momstag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.16524192012-07-11T10:20:16-04:002012-09-10T05:12:03-04:00Jen M.L.http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jen-ml/
In the last few weeks I've left the house a lot. I've been spending a good amount of time at the pool and the movies and shopping. I encountered many groups of moms clustered in Target aisles, observing swimming lessons and/or waiting for a movie to start. I could overhear their conversations and I realized they talk about the same sh*t. All. The. Time. It didn't matter where I was, it was just variations of the same conversation on a loop. Here's a mashup with all the topics covered:
Mom 1: We're trying to keep Felix engaged this summer. It's so hard since he's in the gifted program.
Mom 2: I know what you mean! Even though we chose not to do the gifted program since it just seems like such a waste of their time when they're this young -- we're still struggling with finding more things for Eugenie to learn about. He's read everything the library has on organic farming, space exploration and algebra.
Mom 3: Oooh... we're very into organic farming this summer. We found a delightful farm just 60 miles from here where you can go and harvest you own food and pay for it by the pound. It's such a great deal. The kids and I spent four hours picking blueberries and I paid 30 dollars. It was only 90 degrees, but we took water and it was wonderful! I took pictures. Do you follow me on Instagram?
Mom 2: When did you find the time to visit the farm? Tennis has kept me soooo busy this summer I barely have time for anything else.
Mom 1: I know what you mean! Alejandro is working my tail off! Thank God, he's literally working my ass off! I'm down a size and I need to be. I'm such a pig this summer. I ate ice cream twice already!
Mom 3: It's strange. I can't seem to keep weight on this summer. I guess it's since I'm running around so much this summer or something.
Mom 1: Lucky you. I have to put in at least 2 hours a day with Alejandro and I still have to watch what I eat.
Mom 2: Please! You're both skinny minis. I'm the biggest of this bunch!
Mom 3: Are you eating gluten free? Since I've cut wheat and processed food from our diets we've all shed weight without trying. It's done wonders for our skin and hair, too. Look at Anastasia! Twice this week I've been stopped in this very Target and asked if she is a model.
Mom 1: Oh I know that feeling! Zebediah has been getting that all week at his virtual reality gaming design camp. It must be so awkward for him when complete strangers are telling him that he could model!
Mom 2: I'm with you on that one. That started for us back when Capri was a newborn! She stops traffic wherever she goes.
Mom 1: Well, it's been great seeing both of you. We must get together soon!
Mom 2: Yes, we should have some time in August after we get back from our cabin in Colorado.
Mom 3: We'd love to try and work something out. Let me know when you two come up with a date and I'll see what we've got going on.
And they sashay out the door.]]>Open Letter to Silly Celebrity Momstag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.14247202012-04-13T17:25:41-04:002012-06-13T05:12:01-04:00Jen M.L.http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jen-ml/
Hi, it's me again. Jen, the opinionated one. Or, as my friend, Tina will someday call me: The Jeneral.
I know, I know. I can't stop harping on you guys, but you just keep putting your bat shit crazy out there and I can't help myself. I just have a few suggestions for you and then I'll go back to ranting and raving about minivans and elves.
OK, to start with -- can we please, please, please just stop with the semi-naked pregnancy pictures (or post-multiples pregnancy, I'm looking at you, crazy Nadya Suleman)? I simply cannot stand to look at another (obviously airbrushed) magazine cover of you guys in all your glory. No one looks good. Not even Demi Moore looked that great and she's pretty banging, so the rest of you look fairly revolting. Please, I beg you, stop posing nude when you're pregnant (or not attractive, Nadya) and unleashing that shit on the world. (My eyes!) Get your attention fix some other way -- for instance, start a blog, I find that works for me.
Also, it's bad enough when the young actresses are doing this, but when you trot your sad, desperate ass out and release an old nude pregnancy Polaroid of yourself (on your grown son's birthday -- Happy Birthday, Sweetie! Ewww.), I just want to smack you. I'm talking to you, Kris Jenner! At least you weren't airbrushed, but that actually backfired, because everyone else is and so you looked especially bad. I'll give you props for rocking the granny panties, though.
The next strange thing I'd like to address is the new phenomenon of "Silverstoning." You know, when you chew up your baby's food and tongue him down with the paste that you make. I know the video has been everywhere, but in case you missed how Momma Bear feeds Baby Bear, here you go.
A lot has been said about this parenting technique and I'm ready to add my two cents. WTF? Don't you own a blender and a spoon, Alicia? You're not a cave dweller without modern day tools. There is no reason to chew up your food and spit it into your child's mouth! (Actually, it looks a little too close to French kissing for my taste. I wish you would just stand back and spit, it would make me feel less icky when I watch the video.)
You're worried about what your baby eats? You want to make your own baby food? Fine. No problem. Just do what everyone else does! Get out your blender or buy the Baby Bullet and puree the hell out of your vegan feast and then take a spoon and feed it to your child. Also, some of us like to feed our children at the table. Maybe you don't care, but I'm not as wealthy as you are and can't replace my couch when the kid urps chewed up avocado on it. My children don't spew food anymore and they still aren't allowed to eat on the couch.
I digress. Let me get back to my point, you've already done a pretty good job screwing him up by naming him Bear, please don't feed him like an animal too.
Next up is January Jones and her placenta eating fetish.
When you're pregnant, the first book someone hands to you is What to Expect When You're Expecting. There is a chapter in there about weird food cravings. They cover the basics like pickles and ice cream and whatnot. Tucked away is a strange chapter about the preggos who want to eat dirt and soap. I do not remember the chapter about wanting to eat your placenta after the baby is born, dirt was as weird as it got.
I have a crunchy mom friend who reads this blog. She is a chiropractor and a doula. If anyone I know would eat her own placenta it would be this girl. The other day I was in her office being forced into a human pretzel and I asked her if she ever ate her placenta. It could be my imagination, but I think she almost broke my arm when I asked her. "Are you crazy?!" she asked. "Of course not, Jen. That's nuts!"
So there you go, if my crunchy friend thinks it's nuts, then it must be fucking bonkers.
I read about the procedure and I have to say it's not as gross as you'd think. The placenta is cooked, dried out and ground up into capsules -- much a like a Tylenol. You just swallow it and go on with your day.
I realize that celebrities aren't like the rest of us. I think you'd have to be a little crazy to want to be a celebrity and I think being a celebrity would make you a little crazy, so it's a vicious circle. All I know is that the pressure put on "regular" women to be good moms is tough, I can only imagine what the celebrity moms feel.
The next celebrity mom who comes along has a high bar to get over. She'll need to pose naked each trimester when she's pregnant, YouTube the home/water birth live for the world to see, fry up her placenta and eat it like a steak, chew up a few bites of placenta and mouth feed them to the newborn with breast milk. The dad will need to eat a piece, too, so he can properly bond with the baby. Then she'll need to pose naked a week later to show that her body has "bounced" back, practice diaperless potty training and unschooling, co-sleep with the child until adulthood, and oh yeah, then pose naked again at this point to show she's "still got it."]]>
