Obit: Hannah Montana

In case you didn't know it, Hannah Montana is dead folks. 

This last weekend Miley Cyrus hosted Saturday Night Live. Honestly, she was good. Of course I’m worried about her. I’m a mom. No mom (especially of teen girls) can watch this young’ns transformation from Disney songstress/star to slutty-smut-muffin without cringing! She also announced that Hannah Montana had been “murdered.” So sad.

I actually believe she might live to regret those words. She joked about getting all kinds of letters from moms, a few of which I have seen posted via Facebook, regarding her crazy antics at the VMAs and I realized that I do have some thoughts about this.

First of all, Miley Cyrus can sing. She’s actually really good. If you listen to her and ignore the tramping around on video, she’s quite good. She can write music that’s catchy and entertaining. Her lyrics are heart-wrenching. She has a gift. And Disney is the one that allowed all this.

I think by “murdering” Hannah Montana, Miley is turning her back on the image that created her! That is going to be a mistake. She is creating a new image now, and I get her need to be viewed as a “real artist” and not a Disneyfied star, I get that, but really, Miley, do you really think it’s wise to turn your back on everything that made you? The reason you are getting letters from mothers is because you no longer represent anything we want our daughters to admire or aspire to! Your behavior on stage and screen is frightening and shocking, which might be what you want to kill that little good girl image we have of sweet Hannah Montana, but you can do that without having a public nervous breakdown!

Ever since “Can’t Be Tamed” came out Miley has been making a statement. She is trying very hard to get as far away from her Disney image as possible. And honestly, I don’t get it. Hannah was funny, with good comedic timing and even with insipid story lines and fluffy 30-minute dilemmas, Hannah created the Miley Cyrus marketability. Someday, Miley, I think you might be sorry you turned so foul.

I’m worried. I’m worried that like so many before you we will find you in rehab, washed up, washed out and maybe even dead. I worry that your desire to toss away the squeaky-clean image of sweet Hannah Montana you will toss a fan base that might save you. Your fans have grown up with you, but there are still those that are too young still to truly understand the mess you’re creating.

Do you really want to end up like Lindsay, or Brittney? Maybe you do. Britt’s rush to discard her clean image led to early motherhood and a stint on the Crazy list for some time. Do you want to be like Amanda Bynes and end up incarcerated, essentially, for serious crazy? These are your predecessors and look what happened to them when fame and celebrity got their hold on them.

Or, do you want to be like Melissa Joan Hart (who also had some trouble, but who knew?) who now has two sweet children, a relatively stable marriage and a sitcom? Maybe you want to be the next Madonna? I don’t know what your goals are, Miley, but the path you’re heading down makes me sad. Good luck to you and may you figure out who you are before things get too much more out of hand!

The *Getting Better* Part

I am. With some things. I feel like I need a massive ToDo list, but doesn't everyone? I mean, really? 

I took this "are you narcissistic" test yesterday and it turns out I am either totally narcissistic or not at all. There was no in-between state for me. The first question stumped me; 

I can become entirely absorbed in thinking about my personal affairs, my health, my cares or my relations to others.

Yep. I do this. But it's relative because when I think "I" it includes Me, my five children and my husband, also the dog and various others; including my parents and siblings, even the occasional Aunt or Uncle reaches my "worry zone." All these trump everyone else. When I stopped to evaluate if this was I as in just Me, well, I still do this more than I want to. I think about my health more than I want to because it tends to get in my way of doing something else.

Harrrrumph!

The obsessive nature I have over my personal affairs have to do with all the things that need doing like phone calls, appointments, school issues (aka assignments), my writing or non-writing (which happens more than I want it to), my health (and what new symptom am I feeling today?), the health of my children, even my adult children's lives and health are my problem worry!

I don't worry too much about my relations to others except that I think I need to do more service. I think doing more service would help me with my other self-obsessive narcissistic worries concerns.

Today I feel better. I made myself do a few things I didn't want to do and that's that beginning of the upward spiral of a down day from having done too much. 

The Four-Letter L-Word I Hate!

Lazy. I hate the word Lazy. For one, I think it's overused and by people who are judging others.
I admit that I have been called Lazy almost my whole life. It makes me crazy and that's probably because some small part of me believes it... But then I do something or consistently do something and I realize I'm not lazy, I am, however, a number of other things.

1. I procrastinate. Who doesn't do this? Really? Be honest now! We all have things we put off doing because we either hate doing it or don't see the value in doing it. Like dusting, for instance, or housework in general... Really? Who likes doing housework? I mean maybe there are people who like the end result but the actual doing of the work? I don't believe you!

2. I lose track of time. Hello Facebook! Or any game for that matter. I kind of swore off all online or computer games for a while because I wasted so much time on them. Mahjong is a favorite of mine. I recently downloaded a free Mahjong game app on my phone and played it all the way home from visiting my parents. Yeah, five+ hours. I also started a couple of other games that I used to like to play (Words With Friends aka Scrabble) but I'm only playing with one or two people. I'm also playing What's the Phrase? which is Wheel of Fortune... Yeah, I can waste a lot of time on that---Where did the time go?

3. I can't prioritize. Yeah, I think blogging or reading other blogs are more important than planning dinner or ...dusting! At least when I'm doing it I do. Then my family starts asking, "What's for dinner?" and I get annoyed. YOYO (You're On Your Own) is my favorite dinner to "make." [sigh] but it is not my family's favorite!

4. I am actually pretty busy. Nobody knows the amount of garbage I have swimming around in my brain that I'm actually petrified of forgetting. Making doctor appointments or calling someone about something for my kids or Superman, or even DUSTING that thing that really REALLY needs dusting because even I am disgusted. I forget because there is just too much and even when I write it all down I forget things. Don't get me started on the grocery list. OY! So many times I have forgotten something important. Ugh!

5. I have a few health issues. I'd rather not complain my head off about this but I do suffer from chronic pain and other ailments related to my (supposed) Fibromyalgia and hyperparathyroidism and this stops me from doing certain things... like Dusting, and other things (vacuuming actually causes me pain, but no, dusting does not--lol). The fear of causing myself some pain actually gives me pause when I go to do things and that is also part of the reason I appear Lazy.

Bottom line, I don't believe in my head that I am a Lazy person, but I have been called it often enough that I have issues with the word and with the judgement that goes with it.
Don't Judge Me. You have no idea what's really going on and you probably don't want to know.
Just Don't Judge Me ...and be very careful when you think someone else is "lazy." You are probably wrong about that.
Just saying.

Birthday

Today is "Hulk's" birthday. That is to say, Crackle. He is now 15. Just checked the clock, and yep.

His birth was not my fave. I had a lousy epidural that not only didn't work but hit a nerve (literally) and caused all kinds of extra pain. Yes, more than childbirth without meds.

My Hulk was born blue (not green) and didn't cry until they poked him to take the blood from his heel. This was disconcerting but considering the delivery I had I just sent Superman to oversee the doctor's care of our newborn while I counted the minutes until they removed that thing from my back.

Hulk was an incredible baby. He rarely cried, ate well and slept fantastic. He liked sleeping in his cradle rather than with me (this was new). I knew right away something was not right but it took me nine months to convince his pediatrician and another year+ for us to see the right doctor to get the correct diagnosis.

If you're wondering my Hulk has Klinefelter's Syndrome XXYY variant. Yes, that's the whole title and it affects every strand of DNA in his body. He struggles with everything physical (from eating to writing) and gets frustrated easily.

I know I have written about my struggles with Hulk from time to time but I would never EVER trade him for another child without the diagnosis. He is my Hulk. Mine. I love him. I want him to be happy. I want him to be successful in whatever he wants to do. Right now he says he wants to be a mechanic (he loves cars) and I want him to be able to do that.

What any mother wants for her child. Okay, any good mother.

I was happy to wake him up at 5:00 AM so we could sing to him this morning. I was happy to take him and a few friends to a pizza place with an arcade so he could enjoy his day. I was glad to stop by Toys R' Us and let him get an R/C Car (cars, I'm telling you!) and glad his brother helped him to buy an Android tablet from Ebay.

It's a good birthday for him. Yay!

My Boys

My kids have taken a disliking to their nicknames so I promised them I would give them new ones. Since Snap, Crackle and Pop are more from my era (don't they still use them for the Rice Krispies ads?) and my boys think they aren't "manly" enough they've expressed a desire for change. Fine.

My boys love the Superheroes and each of them really identifies with specific comic book heroes. 

The oldest, who I have (up to now) called Snap really identifies with Captain America. Honestly, to me, he is a super hero! He has been patient and hard working all his life. Even though Cap. Steve Rogers had to go through a process to go from scrawny to spectacular, Snap only had to go through puberty. The comic book Cap looks more like my son, but who doesn't love Chris Evans' Cap? I know I do!

Captain "Steve Rogers" America

Thor (Chris Hemsworth)

My youngest boy, who has been known as Pop, we sometimes call Thor but he is a huge Batman fan so from henceforth he will be known as Batman. He's smart (like the Dark Knight) but coloring wise does resemble Thor more. He would be greatly distressed if I did not call him Batman, however, so Batman he is!

I'm Batman

Crackle is a challenge to rename because he loves so many different heroes. I considered The Hulk because he can go from reasonable sweetheart to raging jerkwad in a little under 60 seconds. But that's just mean. 

The Hulk (Mark Ruffalo)

I also considered Iron Man, because who doesn't love snarky Tony Stark? (or RDJ as Iron Man? Hubba hubba!)

Robert Downey Jr. as Iron Man

Then there's Spiderman, but he's never been bit by a spider--radioactive or otherwise; Hawkeye (mmm... Jeremy Renner!); Aquaman--Crackle does love to swim; The Flash--because he's also a runner, but that's not necessarily a good thing...

The Amazing Spiderman!

Hawkeye (Jeremy Renner)

Aquaman

The Flash

You see my dilemma?

So I am asking for a vote, who do you think Crackle should be named after?

Let me know on my Facebook page!

Meet the Parents

So I didn't write a post for Mother's Day or Father's Day so I thought I'd elaborate on my parentals now. It's my Thankful or Thoughtful Thursday post (I am skipping my Review Wednesday because I've been behind all week and this is the one post I've actually had in my head all week!) and I am very grateful for both my parents. They are both amazing and wonderful people even though they are very different from me and from each other.

Well, hopefully I am not so different from them but I fear that I probably am.

My Parents 1959

My mother was born in Oklahoma and raised in California by a (mostly) single mother. All she ever wanted from life was the white-picket-fence life she never had. She got that, for the most part, although my father left her to do a lot herself because he worked so much. I won't say she never complained but she was always appreciative of my father's efforts.

There are six children in my family. Five of them are boys. Then there's me.

My mother and I did not get along when I was a teenager. I was difficult (no, not much has changed...) so I do not blame her. However, I do think she thought I was going to be more like her (read: good) as a teen than I was. I also think she hoped I would be more compliant (What?) and less stubborn. We clashed.

As an adult our relationship greatly improved as I realized how FREAKING Awesome she really was and how much she did and always had done for me and my sibs. My mom was pretty much always around so I didn't know what it would be like to NOT have her around until I was the one that left.

My mother is the most thoughtful person I know! She is the one that remembers everybody's birthday and makes sure to send a card. If she's late sending one she feels terrible and will call to tell you it's on it's way. She makes food for people, good food! My mother is one of the best cooks I know (I did not get that gene!) and if my father were a different kind of man he would weigh 1,000 pounds!

My mom is the one that wrote to me when I traveled all over the world. She sent me letters and pictures regularly. I always knew what everyone was up to because of those letters and pictures. I still have them.

Once I had children of my own I really realized how wonderful my mother was/is and grew to really appreciate her! She would laugh her head off when I would tell her things Sunshine would say and do (even as a baby). She cries with me when I talk about the difficulties with Crackle. She encourages me when I tell her I want to be more than "just" a mom (terrible of me, I know, but it is what it is). In short, my mother is now one of my very best friends! I love her more than I could ever express in words (even me!) and I doubt she knows that.

My father was born in Canada and raised in the boonies until high school. His entire family moved to California in the 50s. He was raised with both parents and gaggle of siblings. He has always been a hard worker and proponent of education.

My father got his BS in Physics from Cal State L.A. while married (with children) and working nights in the Dairy department of Safeway. Around the time I was born (#3 of 6) he finished college and got a job with TRW working on the Apollo program. He had a little something to do with that whole Apollo 13 thing... If you ask him he will show you his five-inch-thick manual he wrote for it!

In the early 70s he started his own business and has been an entrepreneur most of my life. In the beginning he worked long hours, seven days a week (or so it seemed to me). Nowadays he still works (although he should be retired) but mostly from home, which he has done for a long time. Because of my dad's hard-working efforts my mom was always able to stay home, which is what she wanted.

My Parents 50th Anniversary

My dad has always been my Super-Hero. Even though he was gone working so much when I was young, I still thought he hung the moon. I think it's a little-girl thing, but I'm not sure. He has always made me feel special.

My father is the smartest person I know. He is also the most optimistic and most stressed out person I know. That might sound conflicting, but if you know him you know what I'm talking about.

He is calm, he is kind and he is funny. At least I think so. That is the dad I know.

I only remember him ever being mad at me less than a handful of times. I know my brothers have different stories, but for whatever reason he has never really been mad at me. At least not to my knowledge.

My dad is the pillar of strength in my life. Next to Superman (my husband), I admire him the most. I strive to make him proud of me but know that really, he will always love me no matter what. Actually, I know this about both my parents.

I feel so very grateful to have had two parents that love me, make me feel loved and are still together after 50+ years! I know that's unique and I still lean on them in many ways.

So this is my *sort-of* tribute to my parents.

Happy Mother's/Father's Day, Mom & Dad!

And Happy Early 54th Anniversary (next week) too!!!!!

Not Whining About Forgiveness...

In my quest to not be a whiner (and to blog every day) I am writing today about forgiveness. As a parent, specifically. Forgiving our parents and forgiving our children. 

I'm not about expectations. I think they are appropriate in certain settings, like school for instance, as there is a level you want to reach before adding more information or learning. But when it comes to behavior I believe expectations should be outlined pretty clearly and when they aren't followed or aren't followed as specifically as you hope then you need to let the rest go.
There are definitely lines that can be crossed as a child or parent, abuse for instance is unforgivable in the sense the you should never allow yourself to be in the position to be abused again, but that doesn't mean you never ever forgive the abuser. You need to forgive to let go of the poison in your mind but it's not a carte blanche for more abuse. Never!
I think the way for forgiveness is through understanding and empathy. When you become a parent you realize that your parents probably did the best they could with what they knew (this philosophy is very similar to the way I feel about regret). We all make mistakes. Nobody will ever be the perfect parent. Anyone who thinks they can or will be is mistaken. Your children will find something to criticize no matter how much you try to be unlike your parents. Actually, it's kind of funny how that works. You try to Not be like your parent and your kids will still find something you did wrong. It's inevitable. It doesn't mean they don't love you but it does mean when they are a parent they will, in turn, probably do things differently than you and their kids will --inevitably-- find something wrong. 
I pretty much guarantee that.
The point is that we must learn to forgive our parents for being weak and human and faulty. I truly believe that they (generally) try their best and we have to give them kudos for that. 

My Aspirations are not high...

It is us, the unforgiving, that ultimately suffer when we don't forgive. It doesn't mean you have to be close or even have a relationship (as I stated above, NEVER allow abuse to occur) but you do have to forgive or it bogs you down. 
I am always hoping my kids will forgive me. I try to be a good mom but I know I fail. I know my kids love me and there are aspects of my relationship with my children that I know I excel at but others... well, let's just say I hope when they have children they will see how hard I tried to be the best I could with what I knew and know. 
More than anything I want them to know that I love them and in my fumblings as a parent I only want them to be happy and more successful than me. That's my goal, and I believe the goal of any good parent. 

Once You Have Three

I have a theory that once you have three children it really doesn't matter how many more you have, your sanity is shot.

I have five.

Don't get me wrong, I love my kids, I would not send any back (not today anyway) nor do I regret having any of my children. Also, they were all planned and wanted. They all have the same dad (and mom). I conceived and birthed all five kids with my husband, Superman. We wanted them all. What we didn't realize is the emotional and psychological toll they would have on both of us.

As I said, after three it really doesn't matter. I was still mostly sane after babies one and two (both girls, fairly easy pregnancies, & deliveries). Pregnancy #3 tried to kill me. Snap rocks now, but as a conceptualized, fertilized egg he started giving me problems. By baby #4 (tidbit here, I labeled all my medical "folders" as "Baby #1," "Baby #2," etc... much to the chagrin and amusement of my children) I was as crazy as the Mad Hatter (MOVE DOWN MOVE DOWN). I also couldn't go shopping, go to church or even go to the bathroom with ease or even alone. Those little fingers under the door? Yes, it's true.

When I was pregnant with Crackle I had severe sciatica and while shopping at Vons one day with Snap in the seat (he was big enough) and Sunshine & Princess hanging on the sides, Sunshine decides to "let go" and BOOM! The cart fell over (so yeah, Snap was dropped on his head as a baby... as the saying goes...), I leaped sideways to catch my baby and OUCH! Something went RIIIIIIIIP! and I was down for the count. I pretty much limped the rest of my pregnancy.

But that is all beside the point, the point is that once you have three you run out of hands and even when or if you have a partner, they outnumber you. The early years are hard because your most intelligent conversation has to do with whether or not to put the jelly on the peanut butter or on the other slice of bread (Do Not Do It Wrong!) or maybe, if you're lucky, you can find a Blue's Clue or give Dora directions. If you're lucky.

Then you get in the Elementary school years where, if you are uber-parent, like I wanted to be, you are involved in PTA, SSC, Dance, Soccer, Softball, Cub Scouts, etc. etc. etc. (yes, we did all those things...) and eventually something has to give.

For me, I suppose, it was Crackle. I knew immediately something was wrong but it took 9 months of convincing to get my Pediatrician to agree. Then it took another year to get a diagnosis--which actually didn't matter because we were already doing everything we could. For the last 14 years or so he has been a huge focus and distraction for me. I can't work, but I can (and do) go to school -- all online.

We did have another baby after that. We listened to a couple speak about their 14 children. I felt guilty and we both felt there was at least one more child, maybe two, that needed to come and join our family. Call it whatever you want but we felt that way and it took another year to get pregnant. My baby, Pop, is my blessing. He is smart (almost too smart, actually), sweet, cuddly and even now, makes me feel loved and complete. We weren't able to have another. The last pregnancy nearly did us all in as I was put on bedrest for five months before he was born. I don't recommend that. Especially when you have four other children under the age of eight as I did.

Just saying.

Anyway, so my sanity has been in question for some time and I suppose I will continue to talk about this since --on a serious note-- I have battled clinical depression most of my life and until recently have been on medication.  Since I only have three at home, and they are all pretty self-sufficient (even Crackle, to a certain extent), I guess I think I can handle it.

You can stop laughing now...

What I know is that I lost my mind around 1997 when number 3 child was born... And I'm still looking for it. I keep hoping that I might find it somewhere here, blogging and writing and doing and talking about what I love.

Wish me luck... Or send me meds.

Adventures in Parenting: Oh SNAP! Crackle Popped!

It's been a week.
I had full intentions on restarting my Blog with a Bang last week but here we are and I haven't updated in over a week. So much for my Season of Sanctification and being better than ever. I'm lucky I have actually survived the last week. I'm still wondering if I have.

I almost drowned when I was six. I went to sleepover, my first ever, I think. We stayed up and watched "The Brady Bunch" and participated in whatever it is little six-year-old girls do on Friday night. I was a bed-wetter and I cannot remember if I wet that night but I do remember that I was one of the first asleep. I was like that back then. Maybe that's what triggered the inability to go to bed first later in my life, I don't know but back then I was not afraid to go to sleep when I was tired. I was sure whatever was going on without me certainly was not as interesting... I mean, I wasn't involved so how could it be interesting?

The next day was exciting. What I remember is getting to go swimming in my friend's pool. There had to have been 10-12 girls there and I myself would not do that. I did let my girls have a sleepover once where we had over 10 girls show up and it was a disaster. And we didn't have a pool, they were just rowdy girls who thought I would be a pushover... I wasn't. Anyway, I digress. The mother had forethought and hired a lifeguard which was a good thing, for me. Thinking I was a smarty-pants (and I think on a dare) I pushed myself into the deep end ... and proceeded to drown. What I remember is closing my eyes and when I opened them again the lifeguard was holding me. I passed out in the water. I have no idea if they did mouth-to-mouth on me or not. The first thing the mom asked me when I "woke up" was if I wanted a sucker. She meant candy but I had a baby brother and I knew a sucker was a pacifier so I responded just like I would by retorting,  "NO! I'm not a baby!" and proceeding to hop back into the pool for more. I think I did, but maybe I didn't.

I do not think they told my mother about this incident. That was the weirdest part. Wouldn't you? I mean She was obviously a good mother, she hosted this huge party and even hired a lifeguard but she didn't tell my mother that I almost drowned? That's just crazy. But I don't think she did, and actually I get that too. Who wants that kind of stigma? But what if I had drowned. Trauma & lifelong counseling to all around! Every little girl at that party would have been screwed up.

It happens.

Parents screw up their kids every day. It's inevitable. Maybe the kid is just difficult or maybe the mom is having a bad day one day and BAM! screwed up kids. Sometimes the kids screw each other up. That happens too. Some parents should not be parents and that I get as well. I also believe that people can change, people can break the cycle of bad parenting. I believe that.

And what is the point of all this? I worry all the time that I am a bad parent. I have three boys at home. I have two girls living away from home and thriving on their own so I know (because of them) that I can do some things right. The three boys? I don't know. I worry that I'm tired. I'm sick. I have trouble functioning (although I do better with Fibromyalgia or Post-herpetic neuralgia, or whatever it is I have--than I ever did with depression!).

Last week was a doozy. I am coping with a very difficult and volatile middle child who can only be held accountable to a certain extent--of which I am uncertain. Every single day is a challenge. Every. Single. Day. Decisions have to be made and sometimes those decisions can break your heart. The point is that a good parent makes decisions that are hard. Good parents do hard things. Good parents take their kids to the doctor, to school and to church. Good parents call the sheriff on their kids when they are threatening to hurt themselves or others. They let the sheriff take them when they cannot keep them safe. That's what a good parent does. Even when they don't want to do it, and it breaks their heart.

Ergo. I am a good parent. It's not really the adventure I would choose, but I am a good parent.