Mama Needs a Microchip

Okay... I'm hitting a wall. It's the wall I've heard of before. The wall that is splashed with graffiti (not the really cool mural type graffiti, but just that uninspired tagging type graffiti with block letters in black marker) that says, "You can't have it all!"

When I start to feel sorry for myself for not having everything, I have to step back and review what I do have. I have a little cottage near the beach. I get to work from home or a coffee shop or on the road or wherever I can get wi-fi. I have a crazy but wonderful family. And because of my big mouth and my understanding of social media, I now have a budding consulting business.

What more could I want?

I want to still be able to get in and read all my favorite blogs. I want to stay up all night on Twitter having long discussions about the awesomeness of merlot and chocolate chip cookie dough without feeling exhausted the next morning. I want to be able to do my client's work and my fun and spend lots of time with my kids and husband.

I want to be able to type and run at the same time. I get so many ideas when I'm out for my morning jogs by the beach. But by the time I get back home, my genius ideas (that I'm sure would change the world) are gone with the wind...

I want to find a way to take all the ideas that pop into my head all day long and categorize them quickly before they become mist in the air. Then, I'd like to take those ideas and have a team to present it to that will take my wonderful amazing ideas and implement them. Maybe some minions. Can I have some minions, too?

You know what I really want (other than those minions)? The thing that I think would be awesome... what I really really really want... is a microchip in my brain.

I was watching Transcend Man on Netflix the other night. The documentary is based on the book by futurist Ray Kurzweil, The Singularity is Near: When Humans Transcend Biology. Part of me was watching the movie kind of worried about the long term implications of living forever. I don't know that I'd want to live forever, but some of the things I saw in this documentary were pretty fascinating. Imagine tiny chips floating through your bloodstream monitoring for illnesses. Or being able to move a robotic hand with your mind.

So why can't I have a chip in my brain? One that allows me to take my fleeting genius ideas and put them in a folder with just a few blinks? Or a chip that shuts off my need to sleep and, BONUS, makes me more alert during the day? While we're at it, can I have a chip that makes my body process potato chips and pinot noir as necessary building blocks rather than organisms that add pounds to my ass? That would be nice.

Wouldn't it be great to have chips embedded that make us better at... everything? I know what you're thinking. You're picturing The Terminator and the end of the world and all that, right? Yeah, I thought about that, too. But then I forgot about it. Because I didn't have a chip in my head to put that in a file to think about later.

It would be really great if one of you amazing techie geniuses out there could create the chips I mentioned. I'm submitting myself as a specimen in the experimental process now. If you need me, I'm pretty easy to find. I'm the one walking around with stickies and a pencil... like a caveman with a chizel and a stone slab.


A Long Overdue Spanking

Have I told you lately how much I hate being called Mommy? Not by my children. Although, oddly enough, they never call me mommy. They say Mom or Mama, or in the case of one of my children, other names that shall not be used here. So of all the terms, endearing (or otherwise) that my children use to refer to me, Mommy rarely comes up.

But people unrelated to me seem to have no problem calling me Mommy.

So I'm done fighting it. Call me Mommy. Whatever.

The ironic thing is that I've been a mommy longer than most of my Mommy Blogger friends. Twenty-three years next June. Yep. Back before wipes popped up. Back before car seats clicked into and out of strollers. Back before *shudder* Mommy Blogging!

Some things never change, though. Like moms telling you what to do. They hover over your ass waiting for a reason to tell you why you're doing it wrong and how you should do it. And that's why I didn't really want to jump on the whole Giving Advice thing. Because I didn't want to be THAT mom.

But you all asked for it.

Since I'm gonna let you call me Mommy, I think it's only fair that I get to spank some of you. I have a few words for some of you mommies out there. Two in particular. Three if you add in an expletive:


I mean SERIOUSLY girls!! Who ever told you it was going to be a walk in the park? Who ever said it was smooth sailing? You had to know what you were getting into! I mean, you read like EVERY goddam book out there. I know. You reviewed them all, ad nauseum, on your mommy sites! And honestly, with just about every convenience a mom could ever have in the history of motherhood, and all kinds of information at any time of day available at your fingertips, how the hell can you complain about ANYTHING?

Still, some of you find the inconveniences of motherhood too much to bear.

These are the three that some of you seem to love the most:

Lack of sleep.

We've all been there. Every. Single. One of us. Deal with it. Sometimes it makes you really crazy. Go see a doctor. They give you these little pills that make you sane until your natural sanity comes back... if it was ever there in the first place. Do what you need to do to catch up on sleep. Ask a friend over to give you a break. Sleep when the baby sleeps. Cut back on Lattes and Mountain Dew. And for Pete's sake, turn the computer off. All that time you spend crying into Twitter, you could be resting!

You don't have time for yourself.

Make time! It's not that hard. Yes, you can find a sitter. Yes, you can co-op with a friend. Yes, you can TELL your husband that you are going out for an hour of alone time. Go get a pedicure or take a walk or watch a movie by yourself. Do something. ANYTHING. Just stop complaining already!

Your body is not bouncing back.

Well, that's what happens when you get stretched out to hell and back. Don't tell me your own mom didn't tell you that. And being home with the kids and all those snacks is pretty hard, too. I get it. But even us older moms had work out videos. Do you know how annoying Jane Frikking Fonda is? I do! I also know how hard it is to work off the baby fat. I also know that only I can make it come off. Whining to others is just annoying and not very productive.

You don't need to go to the gym or wait for the perfect class to come along. There are plenty of workout shows and videos and gear to buy. Trade in one of your $500 strollers (Holy crap, I still can't believe you guys pay that much for a stupid stroller) for some equipment. Exercise while the babies are sleeping or busy playing. Or get up before everyone else gets up.

Just do it!

And don't expect it to come off in six weeks like that Sex in the City bitch, either. She had a tiny body to begin with, and then she had a personal chef and a trainer come every day until she could be strapped back into a teeny little dress for that one cover photo that made you all think that it was perfectly normal to be back in a size zero less than two months after popping a kid out. It's not normal. It took you nine months to get into that shape. It's gonna take you about that long to get back to normal. Deal with it.

Et tu, Mariska?

God bless Mariska Hargitay. She makes being a detective sexy. Not since Jillian Anderson played Dana Scully on X Files have I wanted so much to carry a badge and look stearnly at suspected criminals and/or aliens.

Alas, she has joined the This-Mom-Shit-is-Hard group.

When I saw my favorite bad ass chick detective go soft and complain about the obvious, I lost it. I felt like I needed to get all Cat Lady on her ass and give her a swift roundhouse kick. What did she say that set me off on this rant that probably pissed half of you off? Well... apparently, being a mom of TWO babies is harder than mothering just one.


Mariska Suffering from Two Child Syndrome

They actually said "suffering!" I swear!!!

Now I don't know if she's really suffering or if she (or her publicist) have read enough Mommy Blogs to realize that suffering through regular mom stuff is like, The New Black. Maybe she's paving the way for her own Gwyneth-like mini-empire and needs to connect with "real" moms.

Whatever the reason... it struck a nerve.

And so I felt compelled to rant.

It could be the moon. Or that I'm PMSing. Yeah, probably that. But it was a long overdue spanking. And I'm sorry if I offended any of you, but really... you all keep calling me mommy, so you kind of asked for it.

Now go brush your teeth.