It's That Time of The Year: Where I Make Your Ears Bleed

Two years ago, I made a horrible mistake.

I agreed to participate in an online holiday Christmas concert. Because I am a dope. Nothing says Merry Christmas like subjecting your readers to an out of tune carol which slowly causes your ears to seep.

If that wasn't bad enough, I participated again last year. This time, I went solo style, and I tried valiantly to hide the fact I was off key and horrible by wearing a ridiculously low cut blouse. The men folk thanked me while the women folk ran for kleenex to staunch the flow of blood seeping from their ears.

Just when I thought I had retired my Santa hat, Neil banged on my door and insisted I once more don it for his amusement. Because he is a bit of a prick like that, and takes extreme pleasure in watching me publicly humiliate myself.

So I'm back at it, caroling for all my might, singing a ridiculous song with my children all in the name of blogger community and self flagellation.



Sadly, there is no low cut blouse for the boys this year but to make up for that fact, my children went wild and decided to go all Fight Club while the tape was rolling. And because I believe in keeping things real, I refused to edit it out or use the one nice take we did manage to pull off while trying to record our song. I'm pulling back the curtains and letting you all peek into my family's madness.

All while making your ears seep from sadness.

It's my Christmas gift to all of you.

So you should go over and check out the festivities because not only am I singing but a ton of other bloggers are too. Some of which actually can sing. And some, like me, who should never ever open their mouths to do anything other than breath and whisper softly.

I kept the video short, 90 odd seconds so this isn't a great time investment but trust me, it will haunt you forever. The harmonics alone will bring nightmares to small children. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Everyone loves a good train wreck so this is a must watch. Think of the holiday cheer it will bring to your life.

Be sure to leave a comment so everyone knows you watched them in their moment of holiday humiliation. It really is the best way to spead the magic of the moment.

Snort.

Happy Christmas time yo. *Cackles gleefully*

*****

In other news, I'd like to thank Flying Start Magazine for featuring Attack of the Redneck Mommy in their fall/winter issue. It was a lot of fun to do and it's always really neat to see your face in print. If you'd like to read the article (and you know you do) click here and just flip through the online version of the magazine until you see my face. My mom is still annoyed at me for using that picture.

And since we're talking magazines, you should pick up a January issue of Today's Parent Magazine. Because they wrote about me too. Big thanks to everyone over at TP.

Now, go get your jingle on.

I Should Apologize To My Mother

I never thought I'd be a good parent. Before I had children, I firmly believed any off spring of mine was destined to be saddled with a trucker mouth and a one way ticket for polishing a silver pole. I had visions of visiting my imaginary children behind plexiglass screens and listening to them regale me with tales of how they tried avoiding dropping any bars of soap in the communal prison shower.

I never held out much hope that I'd end up being a responsible parent which likely explains why I had a full fledged freak out when I first discovered I was pregnant all those many years ago. (Jan 8, 1996 for the record. I remember the exact day. Because I'm still traumatized.)

However, like discovering one has an unknown talent for yodeling or table tennis, I soon learned I had a knack for this maternal gig. Of course, it helped that I had no choice in the matter, these children followed me around where ever I went regardless of my preference, but it turned out I actually liked being a mom.

It was like discovering a third nipple or that pigs really could fly, I tell ya.

I settled into my parenting role and I became arrogant. I overcame the tumultuous toilet training years, the temper tantrums and the nose picking. I learned I wasn't great at toddler parenting but I absolutely rocked the Mommy show with kids six and up.

I relaxed and started to enjoy the parenting path I was on, confident in my navigational skills and I became cocky.

Because I am naturally a dough head.

My children stopped being six. Or nine. Or even 11. They abandoned their childhood years gleefully and traded them in for a bus pass to puberty and before I could stop them, they jumped on board the vehicle to adulthood.

Leaving me behind, standing at the bus station clutching their forgotten teddy bears and wailing, "Come back to me kids!! I have cookies!!"

Once again, maternal doubt has settled in, reacquainting itself with me like an unwanted high school boyfriend. I no longer feel any sort of maternal confidence and the map I thought I had guiding me towards functional happy adults turned out to be as worthless the counterfeit maps a homeless person sells to tourists who want to see where the Hollywood stars live.

It turns out, all those skills I have been teaching my children for the last 14 or so years have bit me on the arse. Independent thought, problem solving skills, independence. They are all just tools my children now employ to drive me bat sh!t crazy. I'm pretty sure I taught them about personal responsibility, politeness and respect but they seem to have chucked those skills off the bus in favour of the preferred eye roll and cheeky retorts.

Worse yet? They are JUST LIKE ME. I have no one to blame for this other than myself. That sound you hear? It's my mother's cackles of glee. Damn my husband for leaving me alone with his children and trusting me to mold them into smarter sassier versions of myself.

Last week my daughter waltzed out of the bathroom looking like she had just been in a make up session with a blind clown and she glared at me, just daring me to comment about her makeup.



She's 14. Which, to my mind, means she's still young enough not to have to trowel on any paint to look beautiful. Plus she is beautiful. Not in a, every mother thinks their kid is good looking but in a boys mouths drop when she walks in a room and I'm polishing my shotgun because I'm too young to be a grandma way.

This kid needs makeup to enhance her beauty the way I don't need a bra to keep my girls perky and pointed in the right direction. But in the spirit of letting my baby grow up and experiment in a healthy way, I've allowed her to wear small amounts of makeup carefully chosen by me so that she doesn't feel like the class freak in a school attended by Taylor Momsen wannabe's. (I am in no way responsible for the drying up of your ovaries or testicles if you click that link.)

A bit of mascara, some light eye shadow and colourless lip gloss. What more could a beautiful 14 year old need?

Well, according to my daughter, she needs foundation two shades too dark, eyeliner circling her eyes to ensure she looks like a beady eyed raccoon and blush applied in a way not even Mother Nature herself would recognize.

I looked at my kid's face and silently swallowed my coffee, wondering what the appropriate course of action would be. Other than marching her straight to the bathroom, pinning her down and scrubbing it off with a dirty wash cloth.

"You went a little heavy on the makeup today did ya?" I casually ask as she threw hot daggers at me with her eyes.

"It's FRIDAY. You said I could wear makeup on FRIDAYS."

Well yes, yes, I did. But when I said that I sincerely thought my kid wasn't blind either.

"It's a little dark. And is that foundation? Where did you get foundation from? I don't even wear foundation."

"I went to the store on my lunch break and bought some." Like Duh Mom.

"I think we need to revise the rules a bit honey. Apparently I left some wiggle room and I'd prefer it if there weren't any."

At which point my daughter huffed off back into the bathroom and reemerged looking only slightly less orange. Slightly.

"Better?"

It's like a trick question and I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't. How does one navigate being a sensitive supportive mother and not an overbearing shrew who pushes her stubborn child further away than puberty is already dragging her?

Why can't she be more like the docile non-make up wearing teen I was who always did what her parents asked of her?

(Shut up Mom. This is my blog. Get your own.)

"It's a start, Fric. When you start applying makeup you just need to ask yourself if your father would approve. Use him as your inner guide." (Nothing like throwing their father under the bus in times of stress. I feel no shame.)

"Dad doesn't like me wearing any makeup!"

Bingo! I told you the kid was quick. "Exactly. So go lightly or the privilege will be revoked."

"YOU ARE SO UNFAIR. YOU NEVER LET ME DO ANYTHING! YOU JUST WANT TO CONTROL ME." She continued on in that vein for a few minutes but I'll be honest, I started to tune her out. Years of marriage have honed that skill like no one's business. After she stopped I looked at her and asked her if she was finished.

"YOU NEVER LISTEN TO ME."

Busted.

"Oh, I'm listening. I'm just filtering. Choosing to weed out the angsty crap and hear only the goodness. I'm pretty sure I heard you say I was the best mother ever, a mom who supports you and allows you to go out of the house even if she looks like a relation of Tammy Faye Baker. I'm sure I heard you say you are thrilled I'm a mom who allows you to voice your opinion even if it's disrespectful, irrational and over the top. I'm pretty sure you just said you are happy you have a mother who hasn't grounded you for being a smart ass and you are thankful I haven't crushed you like the teenaged bug you seem to want to be. Am I wrong?"

The sweetness of my tone was belied only by the look flashing in my eyes, blinking "Danger Will Robinson! Danger!"

My kid isn't the only one who can throw hot daggers with only her eyes.

Fric looked at me, weighing her options in her head, trying to decide if this was a battle worth fighting.

"No, I guess not." Then she sighed heavily like only a teenager can and went back to the bathroom and reemerged as the child I gave birth to.

As she left to catch the bus I called out to her, "You look beautiful Fric!" That may have been pushing it seeing as how she rolled her eyes so hard she almost went cross eyed permanently.

I watched her walk towards the end of the drive, flanked by her brothers, and I marveled at how quickly these kids of mine are growing up. And how I'm fully unprepared to deal with this beast known as puberty. Parenting was so much easier when it revolved around Legos and Lite Brites.

15 years later and I'm still getting screwed. No one tells you that when you get pregnant dammit.

A Guide to All Things Etsy

It's no secret I hate shopping more than I hate shaving my armpits. There are a million things I'd rather do than fight a horde of consumers in a mall. Things such as milking hamsters. Or changing cat litter. Or breast feeding an angry wolverine.

So when I discovered Etsy, it was like the stars shone a little brighter and a choir of leprechauns started serenading me.

I've fallen down the Etsy rabbit hole and I can't seem to claw my way back out. It's a sickness, I tell you.

Since I enjoy finding new and interesting things on Etsy, including some gems from the brilliant site, Craftastrophe I thought I'd highlight a few of my personal favorites. Because, tis the season of shopping. I mean, tis the season of giving. But since I'm far too talentless and too lazy to actually make things for the people I love myself, I'm stuck shopping.

It's a vicious circle, yo.

My Etsy love started early, when I spotted this piece in a treasury guide. I have a passion for fiber art and this little guy called to me. My husband hates him, but I think it's because he's threatened that he's not the prettiest man under my roof any more.

Clayrew Shop

Then one day I saw Chicken Little Muerte and I knew I had to have it for in my kitchen. I have been collecting Day of the Dead skulls for a few years now and the cheekiness of this piece just made me smile. I also bought his brothers Moo Muerte and Pig Muerte. Because I am nothing if not an equal opportunity carnivore. My husband? He has started to twitch when ever I tell him another Etsy package has arrived.

Mivida Creations by Carmela Chase

When we adopted Jumby last year, it meant we'd need a new Christmas stocking to hang on our none-existent chimney. My mom had made custom stockings for our entire family when Shale was still alive and offered to create another one for the Jumbster. But I wanted a fresh start with my new son, so I turned to Etsy to see if there was anything that caught my eye.

There was. Because Etsy is magical. A few weeks later and our family had new stockings for everyone. Including Shalebug. Because even though he is gone, he is far from forgotten.

Jingle Sox by Deekie Belle Designs

And perhaps, my most favorite Etsy treasure, ever, is perhaps the creepiest. What can I say? I have a thing for dead animal parts tickling my neck. I'm saving my pennies up to buy the bird head brooch. Because I'm pretty sure wearing that is a sure fire way of keeping the crazy people far away from me when I venture out in public.

Loved To Death

These few things are just the tip of the Etsy iceberg I've got hidden over here. I'm an Etsy whore, I admit it. So, without any further ado, here are a few picks that have currently caught my eye and I thought I'd pass along to you. Enjoy! (And a big thank you to all my twitter friends who sent me links to their favourite Etsy shops. It took me THREE hours to go through all the responses and check out all the shops. I love that you are my Etsy enablers.)

Jewelry

Every girl needs a little bling in her life. I'm all about shiny silver flower necklaces.

Eninaj shop. So filled with lovelies.

I love statement necklaces and I am in love with this one. In fact, I'm in love with the entire shop.

Urbanite Jewelry

I love me some pretty rings. Big rings. Because I have big, oversized man hands. (Thanks Dad.) I'm particularly fond of this ring. It speaks to my gnarled knuckles.

TK Jewelry Design

A ring etched with a quote from Emily Dickinson? Sign me up and slip that baby on my finger. Pretty please. There is so much goodness in the shop that I could hardly chose my favourite.

Lisa Hopkins Design

My husband rarely wears a suit. It takes a funeral or a wedding to force him into one. And then he spends the entire time, tugging at his collar and whining about how uncomfortable a monkey suit is. He says this as I'm wedged into a girdle, wearing three inch spikes on my heels and trying to pull the pantyhose out of my arse. The man doesn't know uncomfortable. But if Boo wore a suit more often, I'd buy him these cufflinks. Because steampunk is cool. And this artist? He's local. Yay!

A Second Time Jewelry Designs

Kids

Every year I wander around the stores aimlessly looking for cool things to impress my kids with when they rip open their parcels on Christmas morning. This year I found it. Zombie sock puppets. If that doesn't scream cool, well, I'm old and hopelessly out of touch.

Sock Zombie. (Like a sock, only undeader. Hee!)

When we brought the Jumbster into our family the Internets graciously welcomed him into the redneck clan. One of my internet friends, the awesome Amy Turn-Sharp, sent Jumby an organic wood rattle. She made sure it was something his wee twisted hands could hang on to, and boy does he hang on. You can't pry that rattle out of his claw. He'll hit you with it first. These toys are beautiful and fun. And every wee child should own one. Jumby says so. Well, you know. If he could talk.

Little Alouette

Every kid needs a superhero cape. I used to make my kids pretend by tying towels around their neck. Imagination is good for the soul, right? But if I had seen these, I'd have been all over it like stink on a dog. There is even a really cool cape for all the super Moms out there. I'd totally rock it.

Baby Pop

I was never much of a doll lover as a wee girl. Plastic barbies just annoyed me. I was always sensible. But then I saw these dolls. They are fantastical and perhaps a wee creepy. Just the right combination to spark an overgrown girl's imagination like myself.

Loopy Boopy Art Dolls

Art

I love Alice In Wonderland. Before Tim Burton burned out my eyeballs with his version of the movie. So when I saw these prints, I snagged them. All three. They are hanging in bedroom, over my treadmill. Sparking my imagination. Or they would, if I used my treadmill for something more than a large clothing rack.

Little Bluebird Studios

I love this shop. It speaks to me. Especially this print. Because I'm fighting the shadows every day. I'd buy them all if I had money. Which I don't. Because Etsy keeps stealing it.

Kellie Draws Pictures

I have a thing for texture on my walls. And I'm not talking about the holes my kids keep accidentally knocking in them. I love these porcelain sculptures. I adore them. I covet them all.

Element Clay Studio Ceramics

Sometimes a girl just needs pretty. This is pretty. And I want it. I figure if my husband can hang a dead deer head on the wall I can hang some pretty felt flowers. Seems like a fair trade to me.

Dashing Etc.

Home and Office

My mom used to do ceramics when I was growing up. Some of my earliest memories is the smell from the kiln and her repeatedly telling my brother and I to not play by it when it was firing her work. I've had a soft spot for pretty ceramic things, ever since. I particularly love these pieces. But I would gladly buy everything in this shop. You know. If they accepted monopoly money.

Hope Johnson Ceramics

I'm a bit of a bear in the morning. I know, shocking, right? I need my caffeine fix immediately after crawling out of bed, and I prefer to drink my java out of mugs that make me smile. Bonus points if they remind me that I'm not crazy, I only feel like I am. *twitch*

JMN Pottery

For as long as I can remember, I have kept a journal. There is nothing quite as soothing to me than scribbling my thoughts and ideas into a beautiful journal. I have a growing stack of them, all tucked away, waiting to be found long after I'm gone. Or when my kids find where I hide them. I love these journals. Especially this one.

La Paperie

I love my dog. Nixon is my fifth child. He keeps me warm at night when Boo is away and I always giggle when the two of them start growling at each other over who gets to sleep next to me. More often than not, Nixon wins. Don't worry Boo, I love you too. I promise. But Nixon is a bit of a pansy a$s and a princess when it comes to cold weather. He needs a coat. One just like this. It's almost as cute as he is.

Annie's Sweatshop

I love to crochet and knit. And I've morphed into a bit of a yarn snob. Which is tragic for my bank account but oh so wonderful when I finish making my creations. I love yarn. Especially art yarn. Like this. I love this shop.

Pancake and Lulu

Everyone needs to ring in the new year by tossing out the ragged old calendar hanging on your wall and carefully pinning up a new one. Of course, I think you should buy MY calendar and support the National Eating Disorders Association. But if half naked bloggers hanging on your wall doesn't ding your bell (what is wrong with you??) then you should consider buying this calendar instead. It's lovely.

Greeblemonkey

And finally, (because this post has been long enough) I love these thank you cards. Perfect for the thank you notes you'll have to write after the Christmas season. They're simple and the letterpress adds just the right touch of elegance. I love this shop. Entirely.

Cardamom Press

Now go forth and get your Etsy on.

*Have a favourite Etsy shop not listed here but want to send it some love? List it in the comments. Or just tell me that I have twisted taste. Tis what my husband does on a regular basis. Wink.*