Brushing Up on My Map Making Skills

               As a proud Generation X, I admit that I don’t always understand or agree with these younger generation’s methods and madness. Like the whole work life balance thing? Where they refuse to kill themselves at a job in order to maintain a healthy balance between work and play…um, excuse me?? Where is the part where you kill yourself for years at this job, barely appreciated, until you one day make a comfortable wage and have outlasted all the curmudgeons who finally retired so that your office environment isn’t a pit of vipers anymore? As born and bred workaholics, we find the concept of a work life balance as a novelty idea that clearly doesn’t apply to us. There is just too much work to be done.

                One area where they do excel is, and I have a lot of admiration for, is their ability to draw hard lines in the sand. They are really out here drawing up boundaries like Rand McNally mapping out the road atlas. This new generation is forcing people to respect their limits and they have no qualms about cutting off toxicity at the root, even if it’s family. This is where Gen X, and many Millennials even, struggle. See, we were raised with the saying that “blood is thicker than water”, which loosely translates to “Of course you have to deal with their shit, they’re blood.” I’m not talking about “Aunt Cathy has a creepy precious moments porcelain doll collection but we look the other way because it’s a quirk”. No, I’m talking about “Of course your relatives will guilt, gaslight, and emotionally abuse you, but you will deal with it because we aren’t raising no sissies in this house.”

(Seriously, sometimes I wonder what the hell our parents were thinking when they were raising us. But that’s another blog for another day.)

                A few years ago I started to channel that boundary energy, although it came with a truckload of guilt. (Another generational trip wire that us X’ers get hung up on.) After decades of being a people pleasing doormat, I started to get a little bit of a backbone. It was slow growing though, so it looked funny for a few years. Misshapen and bent, a little sad and stunted, but I kept plugging along and holding my ground like these younger groups are teaching us.

                And then my daughter passed away.

                I have found a lot of perspective since her death. I find myself matching energies now. I don’t go out of my way anymore, trying to mend fractured relationships and friendships when they are floundering. Because there was one very important thing that I learned these last few months and it’s this: Those who want to be in your life will find a way to connect. It won’t be a one-sided relationship where you are the only one making the effort or making the contact. If they care about you, and they haven’t heard from you, they’ll reach out and make sure everything is ok. If you’re lucky, you’ll ave a few people who refuse to let you go into that dark night without a fight.

Another important thing that I have learned is that the family you surround yourself with might not be blood, but the family that you’ve chosen for yourself. And that is ok too. I spent many years trying to have relationships with people out of familial obligation. It was exhausting trying to convince myself that a relationship with these people, who didn’t care about me at all, was worth the time and effort. Once I gave myself permission to let them go and not feel guilty about it, it was extremely satisfying and freeing. (Ok, ok, not so much on the not feeling guilty thing. That’s still a work in progress. But the guilt is not crippling now, just slightly suffocating. See? Progress.)

We only have a finite amount of time on the planet. (Unless the ocean aliens are here to provide us with the formula for immortality?? No? Eh, it was worth a shot.) I am not going to apologize for choosing to spend that finite time with people who love me unconditionally, those who make time for me, and those who have the same sarcastic snark humor as I do. And vice versa because I’m not reverse typing that whole thing out again.

Also, I am done apologizing for not liking tacos. I’m sorry but it’s just not my thing. Get over it. Aw dang it, that was an apology. I take it back. I'm not sorry it's not my thing. So there.

 

Love Modern Mom Mayhem? Find me on FaceBook!  (Modern Mom Mayhem)

If you have 30 seconds to scroll, check my Instagram (@modernmommayhem)

Got a tragic toxic family story of your own to share? Send an email to modernmommayhem@gmail.com.

I Can't Find the Off Switch

I’ve been a mom for (indistinct mumbling) years now and it’s gotten to the point where I am not sure I can turn it off. Sure, I still have kids at home that need all the mothering, but what about when it spills over into other areas of your life?

Got a problem? Like Vanilla Ice, Yo I’ll solve it! Need a random parenting tip that I’ve learned in my (indistinct mumbling) of experienced parenting years? Gotcha covered. Need a recipe for a picky eater? No, seriously, anyone got one? This kid is killing me here. Oh wait, are you hungry? I’ll just whip up something really quick for you. No, no, it’s no trouble at all.

Women are always worried about having that maternal instinct when they have children. We worry that we won’t have it, that we won’t bond with our child, or that we won’t know what’s best for our children. No one ever talks about what to do when you’ve developed too much maternal instinct though. Is there an off switch? Can I reset to the default settings if I unplug it and plug it back in? Is there an upgraded model that maybe doesn’t run on such a high setting?

You'd think that knowing the fact that I am a “nurturer” would help. Yet it’s like someone turned the settings to autopilot and the switch is stuck there. There’s just something about the oldest daughter/over achieving/Taurus combination that makes it a permanent feature. The switch has on and onner. (More on? Mostest on?)

Sadly, it’s not even reserved for just the people I know. Are we in a grocery store and you can’t reach something on that higher shelf? Here, let me get that for you. Are you older and struggling to bring your shopping cart back? I’ll take that, you have a nice day now. Do you need directions to a restaurant in town? You just take a left at the light and go three blocks until you see the Walmart sign and it’s on the right.

There have been times when I am convinced that I should have been born in the Midwest, doncha know. That’s the level of helpfulness that I am attaining some days. And if it’s not trying to be helpful that’s killing me, it’s the inability to say no that might. What's that? You need volunteers for that committee? Sure, I can help. You need donors for that fundraiser? Let me get my wallet. Need 8 dozen cookies made for a school function during the week when I already have no time? Absolutely hon, not a problem at all. I can sleep when I die. You need a kidney? Well, I do have an extra one that I'm not using (much).

Is there a support group for this? And if not, should I form one?

"Hello all. Welcome to our weekly meeting of OMM Anonymous. We have a new member tonight. Would you like to introduce yourself to the group?"

"Hi, I'm Kathleen and I'm an overmothering mom."

(group greeting) "Hi Kathleen."

"It all started on D day...Delivery day..."

Wait a minute, what was I thinking? I don't have time to form a support group. I have too much achieving to, er, achieve. Maybe next week then. Right now I have to add over committing and under sleeping to this life's to-do list.

 

 

Want an extra scoop of mayhem? Check FaceBook (Modern Mom Mayhem)

Or add just a dollop of mayhem on Instagram (@modernmommayhem)

Want to spill the mayhem tea? Email modernmommayhem@gmail.com.

A Quick PSA For Sports Parents

                School is in the air again and you know what that means…no time to breathe between work schedules, sports schedules, and playing parent taxi to the pint size piranhas who live with you. Down becomes up, up becomes down, and the flipping equinoxes are wreaking havoc on your sleep schedules. Ahh…the good times we will look back on fondly one day, am I right?

But right now, I’m not going to lie, it kinda (totally) sucks.

                It’s not just because we are spending most of our free time in a car on the way to practice or a game, or spending more time in a car returning from a practice or a game. It’s not juggling schedules of multiple sports kids and trying to shove dinner down their throat at either 3:30 or 8:30. It’s not even being so exhausted that your eye bags have their own set of bags. It’s the damn whacked out sports parents. (Plus all the things I mentioned before too. But mostly the parents.)

Because I was a nerd growing up, I didn’t have the exposure to the athletic world that has become my life as the mom of two sporty boys. So I don’t know if there have been generations of A-hole sports parents or if this is a new trend singular to the meaner era we are currently living in. (THAT is a whole other blog post someday.) Is there a handbook for dummies for nerd parents who breed jocks? If there is, I haven’t come across it yet. How about a cliff’s notes version? Cheat sheet?

As it’s fall, soccer season is in full swing. Both child number 3 and 4 play. One is in varsity high school soccer. The other is on a grade 5/6 travel team. I haven’t noticed a lot of the BS from the younger kid’s games. The varsity games however, are “off the chain” as the kids are apt to say. (Like a decade ago because slang moves faster than the speed of light and I’m old and hold onto old terms that tickle my fancy. For proof see: “tickle my fancy”.) If you’ve never had the pleasure of sitting at a high school sporting event amongst a bunch of overzealous douche canoe sports parents, I highly un-recommend it. It’s kind of tragic. And definitely not for the faint of heart.

Now, I want you to keep in mind that these are adults. Grown ass men and women who act like their kid walks on water and cannot ever be called on a foul or whatever the ref is saying down there. I just know he blows the whistle and half the crowd will boo while the other half clap. Now, I myself have indulged in ref bashing, but all in good humor and only because they are all like 230 years old and can’t hear what I am saying anyway. I think that dissing the ref calls is standard protocol for all sports events. It’s probably in some how-to-sports handbook. What isn’t in the handbook though, is making derogatory comments about the KIDS who are playing the game. I’m not talking about the “he got a little handsy there” or “I think number 12 is pushing a lot tonight”. No, I mean the parents who will call the kids names (moron, dumbass, idiot etc.) or say mean things about a TEENAGER who is participating in a high school athletic competition. I’d like to say that this is a gross over embellishment and I’ve never seen it happen. I’d also like to say that I didn’t know the kid it was said about, or that he is one of the nicest kids I’ve ever met. I’d ALSO like to say I punched that imbecile parent in his mouth. Sadly, however, I cannot say any of those things.

But let me reiterate this part if you didn’t catch it: IT’S. A. HIGH. SCHOOL. SPORTS. COMPETITION.

Your kid aint going pro Lucinda. They are not being scouted by David Beckham’s agent and they are definitely not going to be the next Pele or Messi. (Do you like how I worked the knowledge of the only 3 soccer players I know in there?) You’ll be lucky if they continue playing through college. Even if they do, they probably aren’t going to make time for it on the weekends once their 9-5 kicks in and they become members of the sad adulthood membership that no one wants and yet are anyway. If they were going to go pro, do you think they’d thank you for being the jerk causing a ruckus in the stands? Here’s an idea: Why don’t we stop perpetuating the overzealous doucheyness and just be supportive and practice good sportsmanship? Is that so much to ask?

So Ben, back off. Calm your tits Tiffani with an i. It’s just a bunch of kids kicking a ball up and down the field. Take a chill pill. No literally. Take a Xanax or something.

 

Love Modern Mom Mayhem? Find me on FaceBook!  (Modern Mom Mayhem)

If you have 3.5 minutes to scroll, check my Instagram (@modernmommayhem)

Got a sports event epic battle of your own to share? Send an email to modernmommayhem@gmail.com.

How to Introvert

Introverts are going to take over the world someday.

Ha ha ha ha ha. Just kidding! Unless it’s happening from the safety of home over a zoom meeting, the world is safe from an introvert takeover.

There are a lot of misconceptions floating around regarding introverts. I think that term has become synonymous with anti-social. That’s really not true. (Well, mostly.) We are as social as anyone else. We will just need to leave earlier so that we can find some peace, quiet and 5 minutes (or hours) to hear our own thoughts. What, you'd like to know more about that shy, solitary animal known as the introvert? I thought you'd never ask! May I present:

A Guide for Introverting

You must love your own company. I have met people who are unable to be alone. Like EVER. They need people around all the time. I don’t understand this. I love being alone. Quiet does not intimidate me, it rejuvenates me. It puts the pep in my step and the twinkle in my eye. Some people need a three ring circus all the time. I need a circus that went out of business due to a huge clown scandal and is now abandoned.

You must have introvert hobbies. Much like enjoying our own company, introverts also have a variety of hobbies suited to our solitude. This is why you see us enjoying solo activities like reading, writing, gardening, quilting, podcast/audiobook listening, or tv watching. We can amuse ourselves for hours on end without human interaction. In fact, our happy place almost always includes a secluded place where we can while away hours pursuing these hobbies. Don’t worry, we will come up for air and be social again…eventually. (There's a greater possibility of this happening if there's food involved though.)

You must be a great listener. Introverts can be Chatty Cathys (or Chatty Chads), but we also can be amazing listeners. If you need someone to vent to, we are the ones who have your back. Spew all that workplace vitriol and feel better about yourself for having a safe space to get it all out. We won’t judge, believe me, we’ve met “people”. And we’re generally not big fans. We will probably be impressed that you kept that volcano inside for as long as you did without going on a punching spree.

You have a small group of friends. When you’re an introvert, you don’t need scads of people in your circle. In fact, your circle will probably be small and contain a handful of close, trusted individuals. We are loyal to those we deem “our people” however and have no issues becoming the problem if you mess with someone we love.

You’re creative and/or are a problem solver. Is it because we spend so much time in our heads that we can come up with creative outlets and solutions? Maybe. Is that is why we tend to like making art or music or writing? Again, it’s possible. When you become one with the gray matter you’re hauling around upstairs (I mean your head, not like jars in the attic. Gross.) you can untangle those puzzling matters easier than one who hasn’t even met their brain. (That’s probably less an introvert thing than having to deal with stupid people though.)

You like socializing in small doses. Even the most reclusive of souls need to “people” occasionally. While we may not party hardy every single weekend, we have been known to cut a rug every now and again. Sure our social battery drains faster than a late model iPhone in dire need of upgrade, but we earn bonus points for every hour we can manage to stay upright and not melt into an overstimulated puddle of human.

If you can relate to these, congratulations! Your introvert application has been approved. We will send the zoom link for next month’s World Domination Planning Meeting to the email address provided on the application. Happy Introverting!

 

Love Sarcastic Mayhem? Find me on FaceBook at Modern Mom Mayhem.

Do u\you like scrolling? Check out the 'Gram  (@modernmommayhem)

Want to share your mayhem? Send an email to modernmommayhem@gmail.com.

My Theories Could Use a Conspiracy

          Comedian Ron Funches has a monologue (Skit? Set? Bit?) where he’s talking about someone who doesn’t believe in conspiracy theories and he replies, “I understand not believing in ALL of them, but you don’t believe in ANY of them? You think that the government is just batting a thousand?”

If you have never heard it, it’s quite funny. Not only because it’s true, but also because Funches has delivery and comedic timing down to a T. While I am not a tinfoil hat wearing conspiracy theorist, I do enjoy a good conspiracy. Maybe it’s my love of spooky, paranormal crap. Or perhaps it’s because they’re interesting. Whatever the reason, I do enjoy some of them.

Now, before you come for me, I’m not talking about the whacked ones. I don’t think that Elvis Presley and Michael Jackson are still alive and in hiding. I’m not claiming the moon landing was fake or that the Government is hiding proof of aliens…oh wait, that one was actually on 2023’s bingo card. Scratch that. All I’m saying is that a well thought out, coincidental conspiracy theory adds a little spice to life. Some je ne sais quoi if you will. (I think that's French for "all that and a bag of chips".)

The idea that is currently holding me enthralled is that The Simpson’s, you know the animated show that’s been on since the 1900’s, has some sort of predictive superpowers. They are apparently the Nostradamus of cartoons. And while it may sound too crazy to be true, the parallels that I have seen have truly induced a thought provoking “well I’ll be darned” and even a “That’s just crazy!”.

Now whether or not this is just some creative editing, I don’t know. The point of a conspiracy is that you can’t look too closely under the surface lest you burst the belief bubble with too many facts. I don’t want to ruin the intrigue with evidence or any contrary thoughts. I just want to revel in the wonder that there’s someone on the Simpson’s writing staff having psychic episodes and predicting things that actually happen.

Picture it: Writer guy is sitting, stumped, at his desk, hoping for some inspiration. All of a sudden he goes into a fugue state and when he emerges, an entire episode has been mapped out.

Or perhaps its writer chick with a keen third eye that she’s repressed her whole life. She’s aways had “feelings” but has always chalked it up to intuition. Writing is her passion and despite her predictions coming true multiple times she’s still unaware of her goddess like powers because she’s pretty much a hermit and often works remotely from home.

(Uh, yeah, so I like to read fiction…probably not apparent though, right?)

This has all the makings of a perfect conspiracy recipe. A little mysticism, a pinch of uncertainty, and just enough realism to make even the most diehard cynic have a kernel of doubt. At the very least, it beats the Covid-vaccine-tracking-device conspiracy theory, right?

 

Want extra mayhem? Find me on FaceBook at Modern Mom Mayhem.

Sometimes I post mayhem on Instagram too (@modernmommayhem)

Need to spill the tea on your mayhem? Send an email to modernmommayhem@gmail.com.

Just Give Me a Quiet Place to Lose My Sh!t

           The mood is somber here at triple M today. It’s been 9 days since my daughter unexpectedly left us from what we believe to be an undiagnosed cardiac issue. It’s been 9 days since I lost one fourth of my heart.

            I am from the generation that was told, “If you don’t stop crying, I’ll give you a reason to cry.” The generation taught that tears were a weakness, and feelings were for sissies. The generation where it was the oldest child’s responsibility to set an example for their siblings. We were raised to shove those pesky feelings down so deep that we wouldn’t be able to find them with a map and a microscope.

            After the initial shock and the rivers of (sissy) tears of that first day, I found myself to be almost numb. Everyone expected me to be a sobbing mess on the floor, but it’s hard to fall apart when you’ve lived so long being told to hold it together. Even if you’re only held together by duct tape and sheer strength of will. Humor is the crutch holding me upright. I lean on it pretty hard. “How can you joke at a time like this?” Because if I don’t laugh, I’ll crumble into 1,000 pieces.

And oldest daughters don’t break.

After the shock came the decision fatigue. You don’t realize how much has goes into the planning of a funeral. Obituary, prayer cards, burial versus cremation, flowers, headstones, burial plots...it’s a lot. I survived those first few days by checking items off a list. But at the end of the day, I felt like one more decision to make might have just sent me over the edge. If you had asked me if I wanted chocolate ice cream or strawberry, it probably would have short circuited my brain.

We have been fortunate enough to have a beautiful support system of family, friends and co-workers. Many times over the past week we were told “If you need anything, please let me know.” Which would be great if we knew what we needed. But we didn’t. We still don’t. We are taking everything one day at a time, one hour at a time, one minute at a time. We are Dory and tell ourselves to just keep swimming.

“Please let me know if there’s anything you need.”

I need my child. I need a lifetime more of memories. I need to see their face every Sunday at the dinner table. I need song recommendations and Tik Toks sent at 1 AM. I need a time machine so that I can go back and hold on to that last hug a little longer.

But I can’t say that.

So instead, I smile and say, “Thank you.”  

My oldest son, who was closest to his sister, said he was angry that the world has continued in her absence. When answering work call questions, he wants to ask, “Haven’t you heard the news?” And I get it. Because our world has ceased to be the same. We have to find our new normal. We envy those who haven’t had a catastrophic event turn everything upside down.

So I put on my brave face for the world. The one that says “Yes, I will survive this tragedy.” I will try to find out how to live in a world without that beautiful soul that should be here. I will try not to be angry with a deity that would take a life so young, one that had barely lived. And I will try to find a quiet place to grieve and cry my sissy tears.  

 

 

Need more mayhem in your life? Find me on FaceBook (modernmommayhem)

Much, much more mayhem? Occasionally I remember I’m on Instagram (@modernmommayhem)

Want to share your parental anecdotes or inspire a future blog? You can email me at modernmommayhem@gmail.com.

Sometimes You're the Windshield, Sometimes You're the Bug

            Some months when I come here to write my blog, the creative juices flow so well that I have to bring a cork to stop from flooding the entire room. Other months I struggle to find something to say or strain to find my sense of humor about whatever I’m writing about.

This month is one of the struggle months.

I don’t even know why. I’m rarely at a loss for words and I always have an opinion on something. If you don’t believe me, ask my husband. We are two opiniated peas in a pod. Yet this month the words have dried up faster than a glass of water in the Sahara. Trying to force this blog this month is like trying to have a bowel movement after eating an entire wheel of cheese. (At least I imagine so, never having eaten an entire block of cheese in one sitting.)

But that’s life right? Sometimes you’re the windshield, cruising along life with a clear view and a goal of where you are going. Other days you’re the bug, flying along and having a pretty decent day until WHAM! A windshield jumps out in front of you and now you’re a bug sandwich.

(Quick verbal detour here: WHAT is in bug guts that makes it impossible to clean with my windshield wipers and washer fluid? I am using Windex and literal squeegees, and this stuff is like cement. What’s worse, sometimes it smears. So now you have cement bug gut lines across the window. It’s maddening.)

Being the oldest daughter, Generation X, a people pleaser (pick any or all reasons), I loathe letting anyone down. Even if it’s the 9.5 people who come here every month to read a quirky anecdote from my life. (Why .5 you ask? Because I’m sure that at least one person finds themselves here accidentally and leaves without finishing the post. Or a Gen Z finds themselves lost to all my antiquated references. Or someone just finds me abrasive and not their cup of reading material. So half.)

So this is really just a lengthy apology letter. To all 7 ¾ of you who may visit here monthly looking for a small chuckle or a glimmer of hope that your kids will grow out of their d-bag phase. (*Still 50/50 odds there, sorry.) And for any of you who may feel the need to get their monthly quota of mayhem, well, I guess it’s a good thing that I’ve been writing this blog for over a decade now. Go back and binge some classic mayhem from the early days.

I was probably funnier back then anyway.

Well, probably less tired at least.

            Until next month my amigos. I’m sure I’ll have plenty to say. And if not, I’ll make up something believable. You know, kinda what I do every other month!

 

Need visual mayhem? Find me on FaceBook at Modern Mom Mayhem.

I even remember to post on Instagram occasionally  (@modernmommayhem)

Want to share your mayhem? Send an email to modernmommayhem@gmail.com.

Just Take the Dang Picture Already

                 I’m one of those moms who takes hundreds of pictures. Vacations, outings, holidays, special moments, soccer matches or Saturday morning…..I have almost 2 dozen photo albums and a bulging Shutterfly account. If you’re wondering, yes, they are all notated on the back and in chronological order in albums. (C’mon, it’s like you don’t even know me after 10 years.)

                Because if there is one thing that I’ve learned in my 26 years of parenting…if you blink, you’ll find yourself the parent of a 26 year old, wondering what the hell happened and where your size 6 jeans went. (They were last seen many, many maternity pants ago.)

                I think pictures are my way of coping with children who refuse to stay little forever. (Even though I ask them pretty much weekly to stop growing up.) In six months I will have a senior in high school for the third time. My youngest will be starting middle school. I find myself in this weird flux where I am starting to look forward to a time when we are empty nesters and able to travel and trying to hold onto every single moment from their childhood before they fly the coop for good. If you had told me 20 years ago that I would one day become a maudlin old lady, I would call you a bald-faced liar. And yet, here I am. A maudlin old mom trying to hold on to her babies through digital imagery.

                I think back to the early years of my two oldest children, before digital cameras and pictures you could order straight to your mailbox, and I feel like they got gypped. Not only do I have limited photos of them, but I have hardly any pictures of me with them. (This was pre-selfie. I know, I’m ancient. I prefer the term “antique” though.) And as I got older, I started to get very self-conscious about being memorialized as I was in that moment. I felt awkward, messy, fat or unkempt. I didn’t want my kids to remember mom as I was at that specific point in time. Which was stupid since that’s exactly how they remember me. But instead of judging me for having messy hair or a squishy tummy, they remember hugs and snuggle and laughs. If there is one thing I could go back and tell myself, it would be to take the picture. You are going to want those memories one day. Messy hair, exhausted from sleepless newborn nights, or in a bathing suit at the beach, just take the picture. I can’t believe how many more memories I could have saved in pictures that I didn’t want to take. (Just think, I could be well over two dozen albums by now!)

                By the time that I got over myself, I was always the one behind the camera, not in front of it. There are many vacations and Christmases past where there might be one, possibly two, pictures of me. I enlisted my husband to take photos of me just to have proof that I was actually there. Now I just have to get him to send them to me. I got a glimpse of his camera roll the other day and there were so many adorable pics of the boys on there that I had never seen, let alone saved and printed for the albums. (Yeah, I would definitely be over 24 with those.)

                In our kitchen we have a digital screen that we view pictures on. It cycles through them and it’s a nice variety of images from the last few years. Probably my favorite picture on there is one that was taken by a stranger. When you’re trying to incorporate your whole family in a picture it’s usually a selfie type of snap with someone’s head half out of the picture or squished in at the bottom. You are grateful to have the whole family together but it’s not the same as a picture taken by someone else, with entire bodies of all family members! (Look at that, we had legs the whole time!) So when this lovely women saw us struggling to squish ourselves together for this picture she offered to take it for us. I try to pay that small favor forward whenever I can. If I see someone doing the selfie squish, I will offer to take their picture. Or if I see the photographer combo swap with them taking turns to get everyone in the pics, I will offer to take the picture. Because one day, it might be their favorite picture too.

                While I’m not telling you to meet my fanatical level of picture taking, (it’s probably best if you start slow and work up to obsessive), I do encourage you to take more pictures. Friends, family, pets, sunsets, flowers…. whatever makes you happy. And if your eye spies the selfie squish or photographer swap, offer to take the picture. Maybe we can all pay it forward enough to make it a thing.

 

 

 

Need constant mayhem in your life? Find me on FaceBook (modernmommayhem)

More mayhem than that? Occasionally find me on Instagram (@modernmommayhem)

Want to send me some parental anecdotes or divine inspiration for a future blog? You can email me at modernmommayhem@gmail.com.

America Needs to Swipe Left

Well, it’s another election year, and while I am the last person who usually knows anything about politics, I find myself unable to stay quiet on the debacle that our Presidential process has turned into.

                I feel like this is a lifetime movie where the young, jaded divorcee is trying dating apps. But not the good dating apps, the really terrible ones.  Where the potential suitors (candidates) have too much spray tan and are actually 20 years older than their profile pic. They chat you up, saying all the right buzz words, and then after months of thinking you’ve found the one, agree to meet in person, and then you find out that you’ve been catfished.

                Swipe left America.

                It’s mind boggling to me, that in a country with 341 million people, that our best candidates are great grandpa, napping in his recliner at the family potluck, and his younger con-man brother who’s on the back porch trying to scam your second cousin into a sketchy timeshare. Both have one foot in the grave and the other foot in dementia. Which brings me to my next question. Why aren’t there age limitations on the president? We won’t allow anyone younger than 35 but you can be 5 minutes away from death and still qualify for a good ole campaign run? I agree that we are in desperate need of term limits, but we also need to give serious consideration to the age at election. If you are eligible for social security, maybe you should stay home and watch reruns of Mash. That’s all I’m saying.

                Please, don’t get it twisted. I’m not an ageist. Until it comes to the person we are giving access to the big, red war button. Then yeah, I really want someone who doesn’t have age related hand shakes. Call me crazy, but I’d feel a lot better about a president with a cool head and calm hands. It’s not even asking that much. I am not asking for a rocket scientist to run the country. (Although, maybe we should have some educational requirements. This is, after all, like the biggest job that one person could ever have. Managing an entire country. Responsible for its entire military system. I mean, uh yeah, kind of a super huge deal.)

Wait, I’m getting off topic again.

                But even if we discount the age factor, we definitely should not discount criminal activity. If you ever have, or are currently, facing federal indictment, that should disqualify you. Hell, if you’ve faced any indictment at all, have criminal charges on your record of any sort, or if you stole gum in the fifth grade…maybe we shouldn’t consider you trustworthy enough for this position. I don’t care if you’re the Pope or God himself. If we can tie nefarious, treasonous, or downright illegal acts to your person, you’re out of here. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. We are in serious debt and cannot afford it anyway. Why this isn’t second nature anyway, I cannot fathom. I guess I can chalk this up to yet another sentence that I never thought I’d say. (Uh, or type.)  

                I guess America is the jaded divorcee. We have suffered through two bad marriages and we don’t really want to date anymore, but everyone keeps telling us that there are plenty of fish in the sea. (Which, quick side note, is a weird metaphor for relationships. Wouldn’t that be better advice if you were starving and someone stole the fish you caught? Anyhoo.) We keep trying to break up with these poor candidates but this dating app, I mean democratic process, doesn’t seem to want to work with us.

                Plus the app is buggy as hell and keeps crashing. Someone needs to put in a ticket with the developers.

 

For those who practice the Pagan Rabbit Holiday:

 Happy Easter to my Peeps. (See what I did there?)

 

 

 

Finding yourself lacking mayhem in your life? Find me on FaceBook (modernmommayhem)

I can also be found occasionally on Instagram (@modernmommayhem)

Want to send me a personal note, a comment, or share one of your funny parenting stories? You can email me at modernmommayhem@gmail.com.

People Need to Reset Their Privacy Settings

           In this digital day and age of internet creepers and prevalent social media bullying, parents have to teach their children safety rules and online etiquette. You know, in addition to manners, respect, walking, talking, bathing, feeding, and the basic human functions that we already have to cram into 18 short years. We have to hammer home the importance of not talking to strangers both in real life and online. Most significantly, we have to ensure that they know to NEVER reveal personal information online.

Sadly, there are a lot of adults who did not get taught this lesson.

Yes, that’s right, I’m talking about all the people who overshare extremely personal information that no one needs to know other than god and themselves. (To be honest, God has also asked that you stopped sharing info with him. It’s causing him anxiety.) The people who are so in love with themselves that they post countless selfies, lest we forget what they look like when the last pic was posted 4 and a half minutes ago.

I’m not sure why people feel like they need to blast all the intimate details of their lives on social media. Is it that they need the attention? Is it a generational thing? Gen X came with automatic privacy settings set to the highest level and we will happily mind our own damn business, thank you very much. I’m just saying, it’s real cringe to read these overzealous posts.

(It’s ok for me to say “cringe”. I got permission from one of their generation to use it in this extremely applicable setting. It might have sounded a little like “Don’t say that ever again” , but I'm sure that was granting me permission.)

But if you DO decide that you can’t stop posting things like #divorced or #breakup or #single or #thesedamnkids, then I demand a full account. I don’t just want one side either. I’m going to need a complete, detailed account of both sides of the story if I am truly going to pick which side I’m on. If you want to air your dirty laundry, stop half assing it and just put it all out there. It’s our right as the friends and/or family being subjected to these overly dramatic ramblings. When I’m making my popcorn to sit down and devour the latest session of “Your Big Fat, Melodramatic Life”, I need to know if you’re the antagonist or the protagonist. Am I rooting for you or against you? Are you the perpetrator of the crime of the victim? If you’re going to drag us into your saga, then make sure we are invested. How are we supposed to care from one series of questionable hashtags on a photo? (Which has to be a selfie of course. It’s in the handbook of rules handed out at the over sharer’s anonymous meetings. Which is never anonymous because they all want you to know who they are.)

I don’t want to know. Honestly, I don’t. I don’t use social media to be (shudder) social. I use it to be stalk my favorite celebrities and post funny memes. I use it to post pictures of my kids for family members that we don’t see often. I use it to watch standup comedy and funny animal videos. If you want to involve those pesky feelings that Gen X was trained to ignore, then you’re going to have to do better than a few cryptic words and number signs. (Yes younglings, the hashtag was a boring old number sign when I was your age. That’s your historical fact for the day. You’re welcome.)

Now, unless you’ve gotten both sides of your story ready to be presented, complete with colorful graphs and damning evidence, I’ll just go back over here to minding my own business. It’s not as exciting as everything y’all got going on, but it’s definitely a lot more peaceful.

Well, until the kids find my hiding spot again.

 

 

Need more verbal mayhem? Find me on FaceBook at Modern Mom Mayhem.

I can sometimes be found on Instagram @modernmommayhem.

Want to share both sides of your story? Send an email to modernmommayhem@gmail.com.