Dear Tacky Police:

I have a confession to make. Not an apologetic confession, but a "feel obligated" confession. I'm only doing this because I'm thinking that if you're watching me? And I DON'T confess? You'll think I didn't know that what I'm doing is...tacky.

(You're not paranoid if they're really watching you ;)

Those fake Christmas candles that go in the front windows of the house at Christmas? The ones on like...solar timers? Or something?

Mine are still up. On the window sills. On purpose. Because I want them there.

Now, I have solar lights at the base of the outside windows. But THESE lights, the Christmas candles, are amazing. They're like...night lights with balls. Night lights for big boys, as opposed to little girls with princess-shit by the bed.

These lights are soft yet bright, competent without being pushy, there when needed as opposed to in my FACE.

I might marry these lights. So. Apology rescinded.

My bad ;(

May I vent for a moment?

We're sitting here in The Institution the other day, doing whatever, when The Not Nice Kid pipes up and asks, "What's 'nigger'?"

The air sucked out of the room. The Nice Kid and I stared at each other, horrified. Simultaneously, we asked, "WHERE DID YOU HEAR THAT?"

Now, this is Alabama. And I realized a long time ago, I have to be more cautious than people from other places, because I get labeled a racist more readily than they do. I know that I went to school when schools were segregated, but I don't remember it. I don't think I've ever seen separate water fountains or bathroom facilities and if I have, I was too young to remember that, too. But still...this is Alabama. So I'm very careful. And "nigger" is one word that doesn't get used around here. (If you know me? You're pretty sure that's the ONLY word that I don't use. My decibel and profanity levels are in direct proportion to my alcohol consumption. Bad mom.)

And do you know what she said?

"It's in this song."

It's a word in a song sung by a BLACK guy.

I raised a child for 11 years, who had never heard the term, and all of a sudden...here it is. As presented by a black guy.

I CAN'T MAKE IT GO AWAY IF YOU WON'T SHUT THE HELL UP.

The Nice Kid explained, "It's okay for them to say it. It's racist if we do."

In a perfect world, honey, in a perfect world.

(no subject)

Rites of Passage...

The sex video is today or tomorrow, I think. The Not Nice Kid is alternately amused and grossed out. The rest of us are just amused...she just turned 11...give it a couple of years ;)

 

The Nice Kid texted me from school the other day. (No, she doesn't have her phone at school. I mean, it's not like I don't trust the public school system to LOOK OUR FOR MY KID or anything. ) "Mom, I got in trouble."

 

Damn. I assumed it concerned attire...there IS a dress code but it's sort of ambiguous and inconsistent. She doesn't drink or cuss or fight, so...whut?

 

She has a friend, a young man, who recently announced he is gay. It's one of those...well, duh! moments. WE all knew, glad you joined the party. (Crackin' myself UP!) There was, predictably, backlash. They're teenagers...lots of drama. For a minute or so and then everyone gets all torn up over...a new car or a bad haircut or all the other equally important events in teen angst.

 

TNK is sitting in class, and there is a kid behind her who is ordained in a church. A rolling around, chanting in the aisles, creatively interpreting the bible, church. (Now SEE...to ME? THAT'S a problem. Tops? He's 16.) And this kid is badmouthing the recently-announced gay child. He says to TNK, "You're a faggot lover." To which she replies, "You're an ignorant ass."

 

As I explained to her, the problem was NOT in her reaction...she was right to stand up for her friend. The PROBLEM, and I hope she remembers this, was in her choice of descriptive nouns. "Ass" may not have been the best choice of terms. We'll work on this.

 

So here we are, driving down the road and discussing the proper terminology for telling someone to mind his own business...AND THAT'S WHAT THIS IS ABOUT.

 

I. Don't. Care. What. You. Believe. Mind your own business.

 

And I would appreciate the same consideration. I have a friend who grew up Pentecostal, the showpiece in a family gospel band. In one of our discussions about sexuality and gays and God and choices, he pointed out: "God made me this way. It's NOT a choice...no one would choose to be ostracized and beaten up and 'different' and sissy. There's a reason; and someday I'll know what it is."

 

So TNK and I are working out how this should be handled. First off I explained to her...it's not Faggot Lover, it's Fag Hag. She fell OVER laughing..."Mom! Where did you get that?" THEN, I explained that at ANY time, in ANY situation, that someone starts explaining theology and God and righteousness and...OH YEAH.....JUDGEMENT????? The correct response, right in the middle of the discussion is, "Oh my gosh!!! I have to check my email!!" And in response to the puzzled looks and questions? You explain..."Well! OBVIOUSLY I missed the email from God, giving YOU the right to judge!"

 

My kitchen is a recently-remodeled disaster, I haven't seen the floorboards in my car in almost a month, I HAVE to either start exercising or picking out tombstones, these kids need to start taking their grades more seriously and........YOU HAVE TIME TO WORRY ABOUT SOMEONE ELSE'S SEXUALITY??? You have time to worry about someone else's drinking habits? You have time to worry about someone else's clothing choices or yard decorations or marital status?

 

I figure...if I can get myself even CLOSE to right? I've done what I was supposed to do. I can't save mankind or fix the economy or reverse global warming. I CAN? See to it that the elderly couple across the street have a warm supper when the power goes out. See to it that the menagerie of animals living at The Institution, because they're too ugly and un-cute for anyone else to want them, are adequately fed and pampered. See to it that my kids know someone loves them and that my childhood friends know I'm glad they're there.

 

What I don't get? Is wasting my heart condemning someone else for something I don't understand. The way I learned it? God understands. That's His job.

 

End of sermon.

 

Now, if you'll just GET THE HELL OUT OF THE LEFT LANE? Before you go to hell for being an IDIOT? I'll be fine ;)

It may not even be in color ;(

Oh, Lord, y'all...it is time. Luckily, last time. But it is time for...The Sex Video. The one they show in school. The Not Nice Kid is in...fifth grade? I'm pretty sure ;) and Friday I got a permission slip...no wait. That's not what it was.

 

It was an invitation.

 

APPARENTLY, there are parents who screen this sort of thing. Now, this is a nice little private Catholic school and I'm pretty sure there aren't any chains, creams or alternative sexual practices in this film, but then again...I'm on the third kid. The one who's lucky to get fed or picked up from school...which is really funny because I forgot her at soccer practice last week. In my defense, I was at The Nice Kid's tennis match but...yep. Slam ass forgot TNNK. Luckily, I have backup parents who look around the empty parking lot and say, "Ooops, CG forgot her kid again." They deliver ;)

 

But the paper had a place for me to check whether or not I would attend tonight's screening of the film. I checked "will not attend." Returned it. And then emailed the teacher because, just in case? Told her: I'm pretty sure I've got this down, but let me know if y'all have come up with anything I've never heard of or tried.

 

Professional student. English, History, Education, Nutrition...creative sexual practices as taught by the Catholic Church? Probably not ;)

 

Do keep in mind that I lovelovelove me some Catholics. Given the school choices around here I, as a faithful lapsed Methodist, chose the Catholics because I want my children taught tolerance. And if you're from this corner of the universe? There are some really mean judgemental people attending church four days a week around here ;(  I am, unfortunately, related to most of them.

The Pictorial Definition of Too Much Information

I snapped this photo while sitting in traffic the other morning.

So there I am...la-la-la...minding my own business, enjoying the weather, tickled pink that it was Friday...la-la-la...when I notice something odd about the "I feel compelled to tell you how many children and dogs I have" sticker on the vehicle ahead of me.

So I crept closer.

"Oh, Lord, not only are the cats and dogs represented on the backglass, but the dang bird is there, too."

Closer....

"Oh, shit. Is that a dead grandparent? Like, In Loving Memory of Papaw?"

Closer....

"Oh, sweet dead angel baby."

Yup. Angel baby. Dead baby. Stuck. On the window of the car. Along with the five children still of this world.

I would ask you all to explain this to me, but I really don't want to know.

Dear Blogspot....

This is the third time this week I have tried to post something, and you have completely ignored my composition. The composition I compiled under the tab "Compose." So please, in the spirit of comradery and cooperation? Kiss my ass ;(