Top 10 Ways You Can Tell I'm Not a Mommy Blogger

The Mommy Blogging trend is in full force. There are more mommy blog writers, sponsored bloggers, I will add, than any other blogging genre. I don't consider myself a mommy blogger, and when I did a little research into the ways that I am not, I was amazed at the sheer number of them. I was looking for trends in mommy blogging and was also shocked at how powerful the genre is. There are some huge advertising revenues being thrown at bloggers with loyal followings who are willing to support a brand or to stand behind a product. Cleaning and cooking products are marketed toward moms in the first place. Sponsors are finding advertising gold on the blogs of mommies. Which brings me to my list. Here are the top 10 ways you can tell I am not a Mommy Blogger:

10) I am not sponsored. There are no big name brands calling on me to endorse their products. I don't host any fancy give-away contests. I don't belong to a group of bloggers. Would I like to be paid for doing this? Heck yeah! Bring it on! But, until some corporation comes to their senses and begins advertising on my blog wall, I will continue to do this for the pure enjoyment of writing.

9) I do not own a fabulous SLR digital camera. I don't take artsy photos of my kids in charming, brightly colored outfits. I love taking pictures of my kids and I gladly share them, but they do not look like portrait studio shots. At all. In fact, I am usually hoping the person looking at the photos doesn't notice the full laundry basket in the background, or the pile of shoes, or the general chaotic mess. Some photos on lots of  mommy blogs look like they were shot by seasoned professionals for a magazine spread. Too much pressure, man!

8) Some mommy bloggers talk about the beautiful mountain views from their Provo home or the tragedy of beach sand on their hardwood floors. Others blog about travels with their families as they learn about new cultures during their mission outings. I do not live on a multi-million dollar ranch. I live in south Tulsa. Although Tulsa has its charms, attractions and museums, it isn't exactly an alluring backdrop for this blog, leaving readers thinking "How lucky is she?".

7) We think our kids are pretty great, but they are far from perfect. As parents, we are even further from perfect. I may leave out details and crumbs of stories, but I am not the mom blogger who dispenses advice on how to have kids just like mine. Sometimes I wonder about these moms with 2.5 kids who are barely out of diapers telling readers all of their super fantastic ideas on parenting and how awesome their babies are. I wonder what will happen when things get real. The ones with senses of humor will be fine, I imagine. The more serious ladies might not deal so well.

6) I do not have a beef with working moms or childless couples. Wow! There is some serious verbal sparring going on between mommy bloggers and working moms. The world needs less judging and more supporting our sisters, ladies! Yikes! They are vicious! And I found several blogs with titles such as "Dear Know-it All People Without Kids: Shut the F%#& Up!" And "Smug Mommy Bloggers are the Reason Why We Hate Parents". Mean! Shooting verbal daggers at one another like crazy people. I don't want to take part in that. I'm not here to judge. There's room on this here planet for all y'all!

5) I am not a Mormon. There are more Mormon mommy bloggers out there than any other identified religious group. They seriously corner the market. One article suggests that this may be because LDS women are taught from an early age that they should live virtuous and lovely lives, that homemaking is a virtuous life choice and to be engaged in activities that promote family happiness. The church also encourages creativity. Mormon mommy blogs are amazing. Witty, creative, lively and insanely popular.

4) I really have nothing much to contribute. I want to share information so that friends and family can keep up with our part of the family from afar, but I don't really have deep, meaningful and quotable things to say. If anyone is entertained at all by this blog, well, that is a bonus. I don't foresee Redbook calling me anytime soon for an article. I think my chances of appearing in any magazine are pretty slim, unless I make the "What Not to Wear" section of Cosmo, complete with the black bar across my eyes to disguise me.

3) I have no helpful hints to eliminate clutter from your home or get the whites whiter in your laundry. I suck at Pinterest. I look at the crafts and beautiful home decor ideas, but I don't actually do any of the stuff. I have tried a few recipes, but even the cooking pins are mostly just me looking, not doing. Mommy bloggers are the BOMB when it comes to Pinterest. And not just pinning cool things to their boards, but actually doing the stuff that people pin. It amazes me.

2) I don't have a bucket list. I don't have a "100 things about me" list. I don't have a list of tried and true strategies for doing anything. Oh, the lists those mommy bloggers can make. I have trouble creating lists. See? I have resorted to making a point on my list about not being a list maker. LAME!

1) This is my elf. He has hung on our Christmas tree since I was a toddler. He's old. My brother has one in a green suit. I always loved this ornament. Now, I know that the Elf on the Shelf phenomenon is hugely popular right now. He even had a float in the Macy's Parade. My elf, though...he sits firmly on the shelf. Sometimes I move him to a different shelf or hide him in the living room. Nothing fancy. Not like those mommy bloggers! Mommy bloggers all over the US are coming up with different sneaky surprises and tricks to play with their elves. Some of them are hilarious! Very creative. I just don't have it in me to make my elf do that stuff. My elf is lazy and can't follow through with things. He'd probably get up to some shenanigans for a week or so then quit. Yeah. Lazy elf.

It's only Wednesday...

...and I already feel like hitting my head against a wall.

Me: Hey! Don't you have a Social Studies test tomorrow?
Child: Uh, yeah.
Me: Good! Where's your study guide?
Child: In my book.
Me: Where's your book?
Child: In my locker.
Me: Why didn't you bring it home?
Child: I didn't bring it home because I don't have any homework.
Me: But you have a test! Don't you think you should study?
Child: We did the bee today, so yeah. I did well. I'm ready for the test.
Me: What's the test over?
Child: (long pause) Uh.... Buddha and stuff.

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Child: Mom? Can you help me find two references for my country report?
Me: Sure! What country did you get?
Child: Europe.
Me: Europe is a continent. Which country did you get?
Child: I know it's a continent, but that's what she wrote on my paper.
Me: Well, there are over 40 countries in Europe! Which one is it?
Child: I have to do Europe.
Me: Honey, Europe isn't a country.
Child: I know, but I swear, that's what is on my paper.
Me: Well, where's your paper?
Child: In my locker.
Me: -_-

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Child in Passenger Seat: Ugh. I'm turning the station! This is terrible.
Me: (slapping her hand away from the controls) No! I like this! It's The Talking Heads!
Child: It's weird!
Me: Well, you like alternative music. In the 80's, this was alternative.
Child: I don't like it. It's weird.
Me: (in my head) Too bad, so sad!

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Me: I need to take you to the studio early today. Your sister has class at 5:15 and your brother has basketball practice across town at 6:00. So, you need to be ready to go an hour early.
Child: I don't want to go early.
Me: You always ask to go early! Now I need you to go early and you say you don't want to.
Child: I just want to go at 6:15.
Me: Well, you have to go at 5:15. I can't run back and forth like that. I can't take you at 5:30 when I take your brother to basketball. And even if I did take you at 5:30, that's only 15 minutes less time to wait.
Child: No, it's still more than 15 minutes early. I don't want to be that early today.
Me: You aren't understanding what I'm saying to you. You either go early or not at all.
Child: That isn't what you said.
Me: -_-

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Mike: I don't understand why we have so much mayonnaise in the house. There are three containers in the fridge and one in the pantry. And one jar of Miracle Whip.
Me: Because the squeeze bottle is almost empty, so there is another squeeze bottle in the pantry.
Mike: But there are two jars in the fridge, besides the squeeze bottle.
Me: Well, I don't like Miracle Whip. And when I make some recipes, I measure out of the jar. The squeeze is for sandwiches. The jar is almost empty and I thought I would need it plus the other jar for Thanksgiving, but I ended up not making the deviled eggs or that salad that uses...(looks around and realizes Mike left the kitchen) Well. Never mind.
(an hour later)
Mike: I still don't understand why we have so much mayonnaise in the house.
Me: -_-

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I seem to be talking in circles lately.

I feel frustrated! I don't feel heard!

Must I always repeat myself?

Speaking of repeats, here is a great way to use up leftover pork roast.

Make barbecue sandwiches! Put the roast in a Dutch Oven with some water and bring it to boil. Then cover the pan and simmer the roast until the it shreds easily. This step usually takes about 30 minutes. Once the roast is shredded, add enough BBQ sauce to cover the meat and some (a couple of dashes) dry mustard and brown sugar. Add the brown sugar to your own taste. We prefer sweet BBQ, but if you like yours more tangy, add less. Simmer the BBQ until it is heated through and is nice and bubbly. Serve on rolls with slaw, hot peppers, chips and beans. Yum!

Do you prefer your slaw on the sandwich or on the side? I had never tried it on the sandwich until I was an adult. Now I can't think of a better way to eat a pulled pork sandwich. Of course, those kids won't listen to me and continue to eat theirs on the side...

Laundry and other disasters

A few years ago, I washed my son's jeans that were in the laundry basket. His ipod was in the jeans pocket. It was ruined. The rice trick didn't work. He was mad, but at himself. I think he was a little bit mad at me, too, but he knew better than to suggest it was somehow my fault. He used his saved gift money to replace it. He learned a lesson about taking care of his personal property and has not since lost or ruined an ipod or phone.

A couple of years ago, I washed a load of light colored laundry in which a red ink pen was pocketed. The pen successfully survived the washing machine, but exploded in the heat of the dryer. There were red ink smudges on every single article of clothing in the load. Given the size of our washer, a ginormous super sized front loader, you can imagine how many clothes were ruined. Many of the articles of clothing were uniform khakis and oxfords. Blouses and skirts. A couple of Mike's dress shirts. I tried a few suggested methods that were claimed to be fool proof for removing ink stains. They didn't work. I lodged a complaint to the family. I already spend a ton of time on laundry, I don't want to add time to that by checking every pocket. Please, I asked, check your pockets! Out of paranoia, I patted down the laundry for quite some time after that.

I have accidentally washed a couple of Nintendo DS game cartridges.

About a week ago, I washed a load of Mike's laundry. I now wash our clothes separately from the kids' clothes. They help fold and put away the clean laundry now, so it helps to keep theirs and ours apart. When the washer was finished and I pulled the clothes out, there was a wad of paper all stuck together. It was some sort of small notepad. I took it to Mike, apologetically. It turns out it was a very expensive section of psychological testing material. He was pretty unhappy about that.

Last night I washed a load of school uniform clothes. I grabbed all of the school jackets as well because they are navy blue and we have two cats and a dog and they need at least a weekly washing. I patted down the clothes quickly and determined them to be ink pen free. Before going to bed, I tossed the load into the dryer. This morning when I got up, I went downstairs to fold the clothes before the kids woke up so that their uniforms would be ready to go. There was a huge mess in the dryer, as a bag of Famous Amos chocolate chip cookies had melted and there were chocolate smudges on every article of clothing. I shouted a few choice words, then shoved them all back in the washer with a cupful of vinegar along with the detergent. They all came clean and were dry in time for the jackets to be worn to school. It turns out Dominic had a bag of cookies in his jacket pocket, so I couldn't really get angry at him since he didn't know I was going to be washing the jackets.

I just pulled a load of clothes out of the washer and found a mechanical pencil. It turns out that the learning curve is kind of low, here.

Keepin' it real

I was chatting with a friend, and I told her that the previous night we had a bonfire in the back yard. She commented back, "You are so lucky.". Although it's true that I am really lucky and blessed (I had just spent the last 22 days extolling the blessings bestowed upon me and my family on Facebook after all!), the mental image she had of our family bonfire fell way short of what actually went down.

She admitted that she had a romanticized vision of s'mores, a von Trapp Family style sing along, togetherness...lovely! 

Well, we had s'mores. That much is true. But we also had a sullen teen boy who could think of about four other places he would rather be than outside with us. He didn't contribute to the conversation much and pretty much just put up the hood of his hoodie and tried to be invisible. 

The other kids seemed to have a pretty good time, but I did have to threaten to send inside the next person to use the "F" word. That's right. They wouldn't stop using the word "fart" and it was grating on my nerves! They were also cracking each other up talking about episodes of "Sponge Bob". I guess I was in a grumpy mood because I got tired of that, too. "Can we PLEASE talk about something else?" I asked. By now, it was apparent I was the wet blanket of the party. 

Nope.

Mike then suggested to Mary and Clare that they grab their guitars or ukuleles and make some music. They didn't want to, but we both urged them. "It'll be fun!" we said hopefully. Well, once again, I think the kids had fun (except for Stephen) but they were singing silly and monotone. I was a little annoyed.  I tried to sing along to Blackbird, but it, uh, wasn't in my range. Translation: I am a terrible singer. They played a bit more, then put the instruments back in the house. Not a very von Trapp moment. 

There was a little bickering, a little bit of griping about smoke blowing in some eyes and a little bit of conversation. It wasn't a BAD overall experience, but after chatting with my friend, I realized that sometimes leaving out the details can leave a lot to interpretation. I don't tend to keep it real all of the time because I don't like to come across as a complainer or as someone who isn't grateful. Then I started to wonder if it seems like I am misrepresenting our family? Painting us with a broad, rosy paintbrush. We are far from perfect. We love each other but sometimes bicker with one another. We are sometimes boring. Conversations can get vulgar. We love to laugh, but sometimes nothing funny happens. I like to tell stories about our experiences, but I do tend to leave out the minute details. Especially the ugly ones. Sometimes for brevity, sometimes for the reasons I stated above. (gratitude, non-complainer) I want to be real, but there seems to be a fine line there.

 I will continue to write about our family and I encourage you to imagine everything I am telling you about, but then imagine a little backstage foofaraw. Because that's usually what happens. Sometimes the foofaraw is the story, but sometimes it is just the thing in the background keeping our feet planted firmly on the ground.

Holiday season kick (and punch) off

If this is what the apocalypse will be like, I prefer to go down without a fight. Just like the drowning families in the Titanic. I don't have it in me to fight over things like this. Holiday season 2012...ready or not, here we come!

There's always room for pie

We like pie here at the Basso house. Maggie has never ever wanted a birthday cake, but has always had birthday pie, candles and all. We picked a day in July and call it Pie Day and we make a bunch of pies then eat them. Pie Day. It's a good thing.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving an we are having PIE. We will start out our meal with some traditional fare, turkey and what-not, and we will end the meal with plenty of pie. All anyone has to do is ask for it and that type of pie will be made. I am thankful for many things in life, but today at the top of my list is the fact that my kids enjoy helping to bake pies.




Everyone have a wonderful Thanksgiving Day. Enjoy your friends and family. Do me a favor and choose to NOT shop on Thanksgiving and if you can help it, stay home on Black Friday. That is my gift to you...permission to skip out on the X-mas frenzy and prepare your home for a Christmas to remember. I don't want to get all rant-y and negative, so I'll spare you the preachy post I had previously written. (oooh....illiteration) Instead, I will wish you a happy Thanksgiving and let's prepare our hearts and homes for a solemn Christmas season.

Peace!

Things that make me uncomfortable

People seem to like lists. I know I like them. I don't know why we find lists interesting, but we do. Maybe we like to look for relatable things in list form. Who knows? I was thinking it would be fun to do a list. Lots of bloggers do a list called "100 Things about Me". The thought of doing a list like that made me feel really uncomfortable, so I figured, hey...I could write a list about things that make me uncomfortable. Here it is:

1) Going to the store to buy a pregnancy test. That is a really personal thing to have to do, and I always feel like the cashier is judging me and thinking about how weird it is that I am buying carrots, milk and a stick that I will later pee on.

2) Even worse than the the pregnancy test, is going to the store to buy a lice removal kit. That is very embarrassing. Especially if there is a line behind you. And especially if suddenly, your head has an itch. You know what everyone is thinking.

3) Thinking about other people going to the bathroom. Especially famous people or the Pope.

4) When someone talks about medical procedures, stitches and band-aid removal.

5) When someone I am talking to has eyes that don't track. I'm never sure which eye to look at.

6) If someone I don't know very well plays a song on the guitar or piano and gives me direct eye contact, I'm never really sure what I should do. Smile? Nod my head to the beat? Makes me uncomfortable.

7) I'm a bit tactile defensive. The feel of chalk on my hands, playdough, fabrics that are "crunchy" like tulle, micro-fiber and touching cloth when my hands are dry all make me feel really uncomfortable. Even thinking about it...shudder...

8) Going to an unfamiliar restaurant which has a board menu, deli style, behind the clerks. The more complicated the menu choices, the more uncomfortable I feel. I always imagine the people behind me are irritated and the person taking my order is looking at me with an impatient look on their face. I always feel rushed and then have buyers remorse.

9) The words moist and slather.

10) Sometimes I'm talking with someone and I misunderstand them and answer in a way that doesn't make sense, and I can tell by the look on their face that I totally missed the mark but they graciously go along with my answer and suddenly it occurs to me what they really meant. Awkward and uncomfortable.

11) When I notice a booger in the nose or lipstick on the teeth of a person who isn't a close friend. I always wonder if it is more embarrassing for them to have me mention it or if I should just let it go.

12) Waving back at someone and realizing they were waving at someone behind me. Then having to smile and act like I was waving at someone behind them.

13) Compliments.

14) Lists that end in an odd number seem unfinished to me and make me feel squirmy and uncomfortable.

15) Unless the odd number is 15. Fifteen seems like a good place to stop. And so I shall.