I’m talking to YOU. And you. And you. You too. I see you looking.

If you’re reading this, I’m asking for your help on behalf of Kevin from Always Home and Uncool, his family, and all other families affected by Juvenile Myositis.

You’ve probably never heard of it, but for some families, Juvenile Myositis, an autoimmune disorder in children, is front and center.  This is not happy fun times, you dig?  You can find out more in Kevin’s latest post.  No little ones should go through something like this.  No families should.

Pepsi is giving away a 250K grant and you can vote (see below) to send that money to Cure JM to fund research to help make Juvenile Myositis a memory.

Today is the LAST day to vote, and this proposal has to be in the top 2 to win the grant money.

They’ve *just* slipped to number 3.

More votes are needed.

Luckily, you can help EASILY. And you can vote 3 times, in 3 different ways, right now.

Please vote 3 TIMES today, before midnight EST:

1. Send a text vote: Text 100850 to PEPSI at 73774 (standard text messaging rates apply)
2. Use the Facebook app: http://bit.ly/CureJMonFB
3. Vote directly from the Pepsi website site at http://www.refresheverything.com/makejmamemory

And please share this with anyone you can. Pass it on.

This is easy. It will take so little of your time, yet make such a difference.

Thank you.

Dear Hasbro, Disney, Mattell, et. al

In the spirit of calling Lotus’ missing mojo back from it’s prolonged vacation, here’s a rant I’ve been brewing since Christmas day. This may not actually call that spoiled mojoho back all on it’s own–it’s hard to top foot rubs and chocolates, but I’ll do my best to contribute to the siren song.

*Ahem*

Dear Revered Big-Brand Toymakers,

Beloved gods of toys, who bring joy to millions of children, I am but a humble mother of one who extends these unworthy suggestions for your gracious and almighty reflection:

• If you are going to rate something 3+, then please make the fracking little pulls and knobs actually operable by 3 year-old fingers. If my kid can’t open Wall-E’s trash compartment and shove the little plastic pieces of trash in there on his own, then take that mofo off the shelf and back to the drawing board. “Maaaaaaaama! Waaaaaaalllllleeeeeee!” has been the theme song of my day, and I’m beginning to fantasize about telling my kid that his Wall-E died and throwing it in the trash. Any future therapy bills will be sent your way.

• Make your trains so that my 3 year-old can put them back on the tracks all by himself. Believe it or not, I don’t want to stop what I’m doing every 90 seconds all day long, to keep a train going ’round and ’round on a little plastic track. Hard to believe, I know.

• Make knobs for twisting easily twist-able. My kid did not train for Christmas with a Grip Master. He does not have miniature He-man fingers. I do not want to wind up that stupid toy even one more time, as long as I live.

• Make on/off switches larger than the head of a pin. And while you’re at it, don’t hide them underneath fur and up the ass of the toy! Okay? Really. Why is that necessary?

All I ask is that you make some small modifications to these toys so that your intended customer can use the damned things without constant parental assistance. I like playing with my kid, I really do. But I don’t live in your fantasy world, where I hover in the background wearing an excited smile, just waiting to be needed while made-in-China character toys break down.

Thank you for your prompt consideration.

Sincerely,
Kat
A Loyal Customer

___________________________________________________________________________

When she’s not busy ripping the toy industry a new one or dying her hair pink, Kat blogs at Just Kat Stuff about a little of everything.  She claims to defy description.  Go over and see if you can sum her up.

Car tantrums – the gift that keeps giving.

So nice to be home
but soon we will leave again -
holiday travel!

I feel like I need
a good trip to a Spa to
get over last trip.

Anyone want to
buy me a massage, facial?
I didn’t think so.

Getting to spend time
with family is worth it…
but DAMN, the drive sucks.

Was thinking of a
larger family car soon…
growing family.

But now I’m thinking
a cab with divider glass
is the way to go.

At least I can buy
a set of earplugs before
we leave this next time.

And maybe also
a large bottle of some nice,
groovy, sleeping pills.

Will this ever end? HELL TO THE NO!

I thought about whining to you some more about the awful moments we had during our travels this past week.  I even started writing the post.  It went something like this:

“Whine whine whine tantrums blah blah blah vomit simper wimper fuss diarrhea waaaahhhmbulance traffic jams, blah blah etc, etc, poor me, whine.”

About halfway through I reflected upon things and thought, hey!  Maybe they don’t want to read that regurgitated poop (puns intended) that I’ve really already mentioned in quite enough detail to please everyone.

So instead?  More answers to your questions – because really, I have yet to break into this homework assignment far enough, and I shall continue hammering at it, You Wonderful People!  This may take some time – I don’t answer questions in a brief manner very well, so I really only have room for a handful in each post before the darn thing is long and unruly.

Feel free to add more questions on to the original questions post, and as I move through, I’ll just continue answering whatever you want to know. I’m happy to do it, as I get to it. (Yay for stupid rhymes!)

Previous Posts Containing Answers:

• Answers to “Food-Based” Questions
• The Nipple Showing Question
• Second Installment of Answers
• Third Installment of Answers

Today’s Installment:

Kat asked: “How many kids do you want to have?”

Well, when I was a kid, I thought I’d have “several.”  As I grew older, “several” became more like “3.”  I suppose maybe that has something to do with feeling comfortable with what you’re used to, as there were 3 children in my immediate family growing up.

I still felt that way until my recent miscarriage.  During the time directly following that unfortunate event, I had episodes where I was pretty sure I never wanted to have another child.  Instead, I wanted to cling to the idea of getting back the one that had died.  Whatever your ideas about the death of a child may be, it is of no consequence, because what I wanted was that very same child, at that very same time, in that very same flesh. And that, friends, is impossible, so I was coming to the point of stubbornly wanting none if I couldn’t have exactly what I had wanted.

The proverbial sour grape, I guess.  Probably more like the tortured, wounded heart.  I needed more time to grieve.

There’s no amount of “healing” that can happen to make it all better.  Writing helped.  Reading and talking to others helped.  Being there for other people now helps.  I do better on a day to day basis, as far as managing my emotions.

Of course, being pregnant again also helps, even if I’m a nervous ninny a lot of the time.  It gives me something else to worry about and look forward to, so my emotional cup is crowded with other things, and there is less room for the swirling currents of pain and sadness.

I do keep thinking about December 24.  That is the day the baby was due, and it is creeping up on me.  I’m not sure what I will feel on that day.  Today when I thought about it, I cried a little. Perhaps playing Santa will take away some of the pain.

I am just fine now with having 2 children, but I am anticipating the impending stress of having a newborn, a 3 year old, a husband on the road, and several Internet jobs calling for my attention, all at one time.  I’m thinking maybe 2 children will be enough to drive me completely batshit nuts fulfill my life.

LONG ASS ANSWER short?  Two children, kthxbai.

**************

Kerrianne asked: “Heels or flats?”

OH BABY.  Shoes?  We’re talking shoes, here?

I AM A SHOE HOARDER.

I love shoes. Flats, heels, whatever!

Hawt boots rock.

Cute shoes make me happy!

For pity’s sake, I even over-shoe-shop for my kid! He has 6 pair that fit him right now. (Even if he did call them “shits” at one point.)  Yup.  I have a problem. Heh.

**************

Veronica asked: “Are you nervous about the results of the Bloggies?”

Now THAT will show you how dated these questions are.

Yes, I was nervous about the results.  In many ways, I am very laid back.  But I am driven, and if I enter into something, I cannot fail. Must not fail.

So yes, I was nervous.  When I found out I made it to the finals, I was 100% dorkishly happy and stupidly spastic.  Being there with my beloved friend Alli made it that much more golden.

We both lost to that outlandish whore, Jezebel.

Bah!  We are better than Jezebel.  And way, way hotter.  So there.

(Seeing this hot piece win her category made it all better, though.)

**************

Marylin asked, “When are you going to get that monkey you were on about in the Blog365 forums?”

HAHAHAHA!  I told practically EVERYONE that I had a monkey and it would dance for them, or I was going to get a monkey and they should pet him, etc, etc when I was on cocaine (aka participating in Blog365).

But, Marylin, I DO have a monkey.

He’s 2 and his name is Braden.  You may have seen me talk about him?  *snort*

As for the Hippopotamus I also mentioned a lot during NaBloPoMo? No comment. *coughmyownasscoughsneeze*

Is this post too long?  Did you read it all?  Do you give a crap at all anymore?  No?

Good, me either.  More later!

Just for a moment.

Sometimes you have to give in.  Sometimes you have to reach out.  Sometimes?  You have to do something just because your soul said, “Please, can we do this?”

Yesterday, we drove south for over an hour, on a whim, with a 15 month old in the back seat, just to look at something.  Just to touch it for a few minutes.  It was a Colonial home that was built circa 1900, on 10 acres.  We drove south for over an hour, with baby snacks and juice and diapers and songs like “ABC” and “The Itsy Bitsy Spider,” because it’s for sale, and my heart ached to see it in person.  Ached to stand on that old front porch. 

John humors me like that because he loves me.

I was so at home standing next to the bubbling creek on the property… looking out over the rolling hills into the blue sky… with nothing commercial for miles and miles and miles.  Just trees, bare of leaves.  For now.  But my mind’s eye could see their summer coats of shiny, green leaves, waving in the breeze. 

Grass under my feet… I could imagine the stark contrast of the white stars against the black night sky that would happen on that spot in hours time.  If I closed my eyes, I could see the garden I would plant on the acreage.  I could hear my son playing and splashing in the pond, with a big dog that we’d have. 

I wonder if John could hear the creak of the tire swing hanging from the tree in the front yard?  Or see me sitting under the shade of the magnolia tree around back, reading a book, as the tree burst with fragrant white blossoms over my head.  Maybe he could hear the birds singing, like I could.  Maybe he was lost in that moment, too?

I guess sometimes you have to let your heart dream so hard that you let it drag you for miles and miles just to touch something with your own hands, just for a moment, even if it means your dream will fall and break at your feet.

We decided that it’s just too far away from the town we need to be close to.   

So we drove all the way home again. 

Between the Colonial and our (rented) home we talked about desire and life and money and old age.  We touched on needs and hopes and the dreaded Practicality and Responsibility. 

We breathed in life, we breathed out patience.

Braden screamed and fussed… he laughed, sang, and talked.  He bucked, thrashed and complained, and at one point, he peed all over me. 

Then we drove the rest of the way home, and I had cold piss all over the side of my shirt. 

But I was happy.

When we got home, Braden ran all over the living room wearing nothing but a shirt and socks, laughing and screaming. 

With stars in our eyes, we watched him run to the curtains and twirl himself up in them over and over again, giggling madly as he fell to the floor, then jumping up to do it all over again.

We breathed in life, we breathed out love.  And it felt just right.

It was a great day.