Just Because It's Not a Law, Doesn't Make it OK.

They recently made it a law that you can't send text messages while driving. I think it's a good law, since common sense no longer prevails in our society. Not to mention the nearly illegible texts I was getting from a certain friend of mine. But it did make me wonder what other activities they'll outlaw while driving...

- No lighting cigarettes

- No changing the radio station

- No telling stories about your crazy mother-in-law

- No reaching around behind you to grab the leg of the kid who's been kicking.kicking.kicking your chair for the last 17.5 miles

I'll admit to being guilty of doing things while driving that aren't entirely necessary. Usually I'll wait till a stoplight... especially if it's something I should concentrate on, like applying mascara. But I've seen people do some pretty gross things while driving. Dear people... do you not realize that the same technology that allows you to see OUT your windows, lets us see IN them?

We've all seen other drivers pick their noses. I've also seen people floss their teeth, brush their teeth, curl their hair with a curling iron, shave their beards, and apply various forms of makeup. But by far the oddest thing I've seen was a woman who was Ped-Egging her feet while driving! Distraction aside, can you imagine the mess that made in her car?

What's next, bikini waxes?

Don't Bite Your Friends

Recently, while at a friend's house, the kids were watching Yo Gabba Gabba. Can we talk about this show? Clearly the creators were on some very special, very illegal medications while coming up with this stuff. I never did LSD, but it's what I'd imagine an LSD trip would be like.

First we have the guy in the furry orange outfit. Is he a bandleader? A conductor? The exotic uncle you hope doesn't come to the family reunion?

And then there's the giant dancing sex toy. You can't tell me the adults on the show didn't look at that thing and say "Hm... phallic shape, little bumps.... yeah let's put it on and see if the parents giggle."

But the thing that really amused me was the song they were singing; the chorus of which was "Don't bite your friends." I mean, don't get me wrong... I don't want my kids biting anyone. But doesn't this seem like an odd thing to write a song about? What's next, "Don't play with your poop"? Although as the mom of a 2-year-old who's currently obsessed with all things potty, this might be a good idea.

I think they need to make more Captain Obvious songs for adults. "Don't flick off another driver when you did the bad thing" would be a good one. "Muffin Tops and Camel Toes are not attractive" would be another interesting song. Or "Don't complain about your weight while eating a gallon of ice cream." Hmm. This could be fun.

Where's My Helmet?

Having a two-year-old is kind of like having an angry NFL linebacker on steroids in a 30-lb body. Except you don't get the benefit of a helmet and pads.

Squish will get so filled with rage, she does this little dance... which I've aptly named the Rage Dance. She stands in place and waves her arms and stomps her feet and makes a sound like a volcano about to erupt. Why so much anger? Because I wouldn't let her have another bag of fruit snacks. Or Bean looked at her. Or the dog was within 2 miles of her while she was eating. At the height of her frustration, she refuses to talk, which just exacerbates the situation. So I'm trying to teach her to take a deep breath and "use her words." Right now she categorizes every problem as "WANT!!!" or "DON'T WANT!!!" Which is just so helpful.

Everything pisses her off right now. The wind blows her hair, and she's mad. The TV's too loud/too quiet/not a show she likes... and she's mad. Her juice has too much water in it (I'm a 50/50 water-downer), and she turns green and rips her shirt off.

I'm convinced children get PMS. I don't care what they say about hormones not kicking in for several years yet. MINE GETS PMS. And oddly enough, the cure is the same. A little chocolate, a bubble bath, and as little contact with other humans as possible.

After spending all day with my little tyrant, I have to remember to use my manners. When my adult friend is slow walking to the car, I should probably refrain from shrieking "CAR! NOW!" And when I go get a much-deserved coffee, I may not want to stomp my feet and holler "WANT LATTE! WANT LATTE!" and then dissolve into tears on the floor of Starbucks.

Although, who knows... maybe they'd throw in a free biscotti.

They're Not Crazy... They're Moms

You know those people you see walking along the sidewalk, muttering to themselves? They're not crazy. They're moms. Only moms deal with apparently deaf people who are hell-bent on doing what they want, no matter what the consequences. It's enough to make you shuffle along a sidewalk and argue with yourself.

Right now I'm dealing with a tyrant of a 2 year old. I spend every day locked in a battle of the wills. I think I'm winning. But I will let you know for sure when I see what nursing home they finally put me in. Today it was over whether or not she was going to eat breakfast. I tried begging, teasing, bargaining, making it fun, guilt trips (hey, I was raised Catholic... I can guilt trip with the best of them)... and finally decided that with the amount of chub my little Squish has been blessed with, she will not starve any time soon.

Bean seems to be suffering from hearing loss. I literally screamed "SOCKS! SOCKS! SOCKS!" for about 2 minutes straight this morning in a pathetic attempt to get her to school on time. Just once I would like her to look like she's not a third world poster child. For 35 cents a day, you can give this poor child socks!

I'm fairly certain NONE of my other jobs were this hard. I don't remember having to work this hard to get a report out of a manager. "Come on, Mr. Brown.... who's my favorite manager? Give me the report and I'll let you take a long lunch!" Or yelling at my staff when I needed their articles for a deadline... "ARTICLE! ARTICLE! ARTICLE!"

I need a paid leave of absence.

What is strength?

Recently, we had one of those weekends that really tests you as a person.

My mom almost died. She had a medical condition she wasn't aware of, and was rushed into emergency surgery. I got the news while in the middle of shooting a portrait session. There's nothing like talking to your mom before surgery, and knowing it may be the last time you talk, and then putting on your game face for a client. I've now taken care of clients while having an ovarian cyst rupture, while having a miscarriage, and while worrying about my mom in emergency surgery.

We also found out that due to a banking error, we bounced several checks and had to pay all of the attached fines. We were thankfully able to borrow money to cover it until our other funds were accessible on the next business day. But we then had a list of calls to make to straighten out the bounced checks.

My oldest daughter, Bean, developed an infection in one of her lymph nodes. She had a golf ball-sized lump on the side of her neck. After being assured she was NOT contagious, she spent the night with some friends. Only to find out the next day she had strep throat and had most likely infected all of her friends. I spent the next several days trying to limit Bean and Squish's interactions with each other. Not easy with a 2-year-old. Squish thankfully didn't get it from her, but BigGuy did.

In the same weekend, I also got guilt trips from well-meaning relatives about areas of my life that they don't agree with. Said relatives tend to forget that I'm an adult and am fully capable of deciding what's right for me. They made some wild assumptions about what's going on in my life, based on very little accurate information. The kind of assumptions and judgments that make you want to move very far away and forget you even HAVE relatives.

With all of this stress, my medical condition flared up. I was unable to walk without assistance, and had intense pain. Frustrated with everything happening around me, and my lack of physical strength, I broke down and cried. I don't like feeling weak.

Then I tried to take a step back and analyze my situation better. If I was talking to a girlfriend going through the same things, I would have been amazed at her strength. I would have encouraged her that she was doing a better job than she realized. So even if I don't have the kind of strength I want, in some ways I'm stronger than I give myself credit for.

Does this tie make me look fat?

Today I was wondering why you never hear a guy complain about his weight. You don't catch him checking out his backside in the mirror, or griping about how a tank top makes his arms look flabby. Everyone knows I love my BigGuy, and he'll be the first to admit he's no muscleman. But he's not self-conscious about it. As long as the kids are safely asleep behind closed doors, he will proudly parade around naked.... a feat I will only attempt when sucking in, lifting, jutting, and hoping he's had enough beer to think I look hot.

Every guy I know (no matter what he looks like), thinks he's DARN sexy. When asked to rate themselves on a scale of one to ten, most of my girlfriends averaged around a 3 or 4. My guy friends averaged around a 20. Because 10 just wasn't enough to contain all their hotness, natch.

I have to wonder if this stems (at least in part) from Hollywood's blatant double standard as far as appearances. Almost every sitcom you see on TV has an overweight, normal-looking husband, and a hot wife. Where are the shows with cellulite-ridden, chocolate-eating housewives married to ripped underwear models? It only seems fair.

As a photographer, I KNOW that the images I see in magazines are heavily airbrushed and tweaked. But it's still hard not to look at that perfect body and compare it to my own.

I guess I need to be thankful that BigGuy doesn't hold me to the same standard as I hold myself. He'll gladly wolf whistle and holler compliments at me that would make a construction worker blush. He doesn't see the cellulite and the love handles. Maybe this is one area where I need to see the world through his eyes.