Non-Bloggers Just Don't Understand

So I was Tweeting with  @DonutsMama and @suitcasetricks about their entry in @fourplusanangel 's #TwitterTwin contest and @DonutsMama mentioned that her family thought she was crazy. I told her DH thinks I'm weird when I talk about my blog/Twitter friends. And THEN @DonutsMama said this:

Ok, what's the first thing that pops into your head when you see that? Well, if you're in your late thirties like me, it's Will Smith, baby. (If you are crazy and don't remember that song, here's a link to it.)

Then I thought of @KelleysBreakRm and how she does awesome song parodies - she even did a Will Smith (Hottie McToddie!) one recently - The Fresh Prince of Bel Air theme song which of course ROCKED. So I said I was considering doing one myself. Then @bellebeandog jumped on board and encouraged the idea (as did Kelley!). I jumped in with gusto! And then I remembered how long that song is. So I only did half of it. (You'll thank me for that later.)

So without further ado, I present to you, "Non-Bloggers Just Don't Understand."

You know people are the same
No matter time nor place.
They don't understand that bloggers
Play for high stakes!
So to Tweeters and bloggers all across the land
There's no need to argue,
Non-bloggers just don't understand.

Oh-kay, here's the situation:
My family went away on a week's vacation, and
I brought my iTouch so I could Tweet.
Would they mind?
Umm, well, of course not.
I'll just Tweet for a little while
We're in California - Tweet about style!
And maybe bring my laptop to Hollywood.
Well, maybe I shouldn't...
Yeah, of course I should!

Pay attention, here's the thick of the plot:
My family asked me to get offline - I think not!
Just last week, on the Twitter I had heard about
A cool stat program I needed to join that's called Klout.
It's the latest term I've learned in the Twitterverse.
Tried to get a handle on the Blogosphere first.
Gigi from Kludgy Mom started me on my course
With a B2B program I finished without remorse!
Then I learned about SEO from Aunt Becky -
John Meyer must admit she's not your average mommy!
Support in the blogger world is unparalleled:
Eli Rose Social? My hand they have held!
SITS Girls, Theta Mom, Mamaped - ia,
Studio 30 Plus, BlogHer, TRDC! Uh!

Not to mention all the fun I have with my Tweeps!
One I know has an avi that looks like a sheep!
There's Liz, Kris and Shell, Angie and Lori,
Rachel, Jen and D, and of course, KLZ!
Not to mention Cheryl, Nichole and Katie,
Tim, Erin, Alex, and then there's Natalie.
Jen, Sherry, Kelley; Julia and Yulia.
Wait, hold the phone - did you say Julia Goulia?
No, don't be ridiculous! These people aren't fake!
They're funny and witty and their tweets take the cake!
Some I've grown to know so well it seems like they're kin.
Jessica says some of them even look like twins!
I'd name more, but I must pay some attention
To my fam I'm with since we're on vacation.

It was time to head home, back to KC,
Had the windows down - "Road trip!" - nice and breezy.
Instead of family vacation memories,
The thoughts in my head were re: my online peeps.
I found myself laughing about a tweet or story
That I read on a blog, a forum or a linky.
I 'd tell my hubby and my kids and they would say,
"OK, but you don't really KNOW them anyway."
I tried to speak, I said, "I want to plead my case!"
But my hubby and my kids just made a weird face.
That was a hard ride home, I don't know how I survived it.
The kids just laughed while my husband was driving.

Well, people are the same
No matter time nor place,
So to Tweeters and bloggers all across the land
Take it from me,
Non-bloggers just don't understand.

Revelations

I think the truth of how you feel about your looks is revealed when you have children. Though I didn't realized it at first since when our oldest was born, we thought, "Where did she come from? She doesn't look like either of us." But as she grew from a tiny, shapeless infant into a cuddly, round baby, her features became more defined. She has her daddy's mouth and eyes, but my skin color and hair color. I was surprised that noticing those attributes brought such strong memories to the surface. I remember being young and feeling angry with my mom for passing on the albino gene. I've never been able to tan. Freckles, sure; sunburns, often. I used to wish I had been born in the Victorian era when pale was "in". Until I realized I couldn't have survived without indoor plumbing. And really, I was lucky to be a teen in the 80's when big hair was stylish because until the miraculous invention of the Chi, I had no choice but big.

Though S has beautiful strawberry-blonde hair and creamy skin and gets lots of compliments now, the day will come when she'll be surrounded by kids who are tan and ask her if she ever gets to go outside. And even though everyone knows the sun is damaging, and the experts tell everyone NOT to get enough exposure to be tan, S will rue her genetics. But my hope is that she will someday be able to forgive me for that as I've come to forgive my mom. Though I don't love my freakishly white skin, it doesn't bother me like it used to. I've gotten to where I can laugh about it.

The same is not true for all my attributes that I feel less than fondly about. Fast forward a couple of years to when Baby R was born. She was clearly, from Day 1, my child. She looked just like my dad. Just like me. One of my best friends came to see us in the hospital and said exactly that and followed it up with, "She has your nose!" He meant it in a sweet way. But it marred my ideal view of our perfect child. I wanted to yell, "No, she doesn't!" I have always hated my nose. I broke it when I fell out of the top bunk when I was 3. It's been something I've been self-conscious of since. That one comment sent my mind on a rapid replay of a life's worth of self-rejection because I was uncomfortable with my looks. And my heart broke to think my sweet baby girl would have to relive that. Of course, it may have been the postpartum hormones kicking in, too.

Now that Baby R is a year old, I see her beautiful face and radiant smile and think to myself, she's gorgeous! What am I worried about? And then I realize, if she's gorgeous, and she looks like me, then that means I must be gorgeous, too. That's a tough concept to embrace this far along in life. I've posted before about learning to be comfortable in my (pale) skin, mainly to teach my children to be confident in their appearance. It's a struggle, but one I'm trying to win every day.

Kids Are So Gross

While I'm kind of "on a break," I thought I'd bust out some old posts, some from here and some from BlogHer. This one I posted on BlogHer a few months ago. Enjoy!

I adore my kids. I love being a mom. And most of the gross things I thought I wouldn't be able to handle before I had them really don't bother me, like snotty noses and slobbery kisses. But when it comes to food, there are times I can hardly keep my stomach from churning.

Our 10-month-old for example. She's all about drinking from a cup right now. I put about a tablespoon of water in it and help her tip it up. She squeals with joy when I bring it towards her open mouth, and then she bites the edge with all the might she can muster from the two chicklets in her bottom gum. She makes an "ah" sound into the cavern, enjoying the noise. Inevitably, she's able to wrest it from my grasp and manages to spill a little (or a lot) all over herself.

Were it just the water, it would be downright adorable. Oh, but it's not just water all over her face, arms and hands. No. It's sticky cantaloupe juice, pieces of green beans and chunks of oatmeal which oftentimes ends up in her hair as well. It's like a baby mud mask, and when she has a cold, like today, it's crusted to her face with a layer of snot. I take a wet washcloth to the little cherub and scrub away. Once her face is as clean as I can get it in the 30 seconds I have before she's twisted away and started screaming bloody murder, I wipe down her soft, doughy arms and hands and do my best to get everything out from the sweet rolls and between her chubby fingers. Thank goodness she so stinkin' cute.

Moving on to the 3-year-old. I really focus on the positive with her eating habits. She's a really good eater at this point. She likes most foods and is still willing to try a lot of new ones. I was such a picky eater, I was worried she would be, too. And that may change, but for now, I'm counting my blessings. Except when I'm counting to ten and holding my breath so I don't gag from the mix of ketchup, mustard, mayo, Ranch and barbecue sauce she's made and is now dipping into with anything as reasonable as a chicken nugget to as bizarre as a chocolate chip cookie.

Or when she's eating meat.

Oddly enough, she wasn't born a big fan of meat, but has become quite a carnivore in the last six months. She LOVES her daddy's ribs. She's like a cartoon character putting the whole thing in her mouth and stripping it clean. And when he smokes chicken thighs, she peels the skin off and eats it. Or like tonight when we had grilled pork chops and I had cut all the fat off of mine and she gobbled those pieces up. I had to walk away from the table for a minute.

But just when I think I can't take another gross moment at the dinner table, she'll do something incredibly sweet, like thank me for making her favorite food or washing her favorite dish. And there's no amount of Fear Factor-esque events that could possibly discount her smile in those moments. I'm so thankful they're mine.