Blog Posts by Manic Motherhood

The other day I realized that I repeat everything I say. Everything. And I usually repeat it about fifty times before I realize that I'm saying the same thing over and over and over again.

But I think-and this is just a guess-that it's because children are born with a filtering device in their ears. This allows them to only hear stuff like "there's candy in the pantry" or "let's buy Junior a skateboard for his birthday."

They cannot, however, hear you ask them to feed the dog or make their beds or brush their teeth. So you stand there repeating yourself. And after about twenty times, your precious child turns to you and says, "um, did you say something, Mom?"

It's enough to drive a parent crazy.

Of course, my parents went through the same thing. Every night, around 6 PM, my mother would ask one of us to set the table. And we never heard her. Never. It was like she didn't exist. So she'd repeat herself until one of us miraculously regained the gift of hearing and got

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Author's Note: Most of you know me as Manic Motherhood, author of a humor blog. But one of the hats I wear is as a journalist for the Examiner.com. This article stems from an incident in the tiny town a few minutes from my own tiny town. I'm reprinting it here to see what all you feel about it. I will be updating my story today (you can check for the update at Examiner.com) and I promise I will not use any of your comments. I simply want to know what you think about this issue.

Cinco de Mayo is usually a day of celebrations. But in Morgan Hill, a small, Silicon Valley town, Cinco de Mayo got a bit ugly and certainly a lot less festive. In fact, by late morning, five teen boys had been asked by administrators to leave Morgan Hill's Live Oak High School because they were wearing t-shirts and bandanas with American flags on them-turning this small town and one of its high schools into a national focus point for First Amendment rights.

According to published reports, the Live Oak

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When I was growing up, my mom had a stock of phrases she would yell at us. My sisters and I thought they were unique-but we came to realize that they weren't, mainly because we compared notes with our friends and they were hearing the same "momisms."

Of course, we swore that we would never, ever use momisms on our kids. And of course, we use them every single day. So here, in time for Mother's Day, are a few of my favorites.

If you don't eat that you will stunt your growth.

I never understood this. My entire family is short. We're like an oompa-loompa clan. There isn't a single one of us above 5'7 and frankly, that's the men. My grandmother is 5'4 and she was the tallest woman in our family until one of my sisters won the lottery and married a guy who is 6'4, thus blessing her daughter with height and legs that didn't resemble stumps.

Yet, to this day, my mother remains convinced that we're short because of our distaste for spinach and not because of our genetics.

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Since I've become a mother, I've realized the importance of Mother's Day. I mean, I always did something nice for my Mom before, but I never fully understood what a wonderful invention Mother's Day is.

Let's face facts, if it weren't for Mother's Day, I'd never have a day without laundry, washing dishes, or fighting with the dog over the ownership of stray socks. And I'd never have one day a year when I get to sleep in.

Now, I've taught Junior that he must worship me on Mother's Day (hey, he's still young, I have to get my worshipping in when I can; frankly by 15, the kid isn't going to want to be seen with me, let alone worship me for one lousy day). Part of the worshipping involves traditions that have been passed from generation to generation in my family. You know, stuff like breakfast in bed and presents.

When I was kid, making Mom breakfast in bed was the hardest part of Mother's Day. You see, not one of us could cook. Some of us still can't (that would be me). But

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Author's Note: This is humor. I love my son. I complain about my son. He's awesome and wonderful, but when you live with a teen, it's best to blow off steam when the teen isn't around.

Excuse me, but I have a problem. I was not warned that my adorable son would become a teenager. Seriously. Why wasn't I told that at some point my kid would become a teen and suddenly nothing in my world would make sense? I mean, when you're doing the whole "start a family" thing, you'd think someone would mention that cute little babies grow into teenagers.

I have major issues with this. First of all, there's the whole growing taller overnight deal. What the heck is up with that? It's costing me a fortune. One morning a teen's pants are the perfect length. He puts them on the next day and boom! He looks like he's waiting for the next Great Flood. Now my teen wears shorts-which you would think helps a bit in the growing taller overnight thing. Yeah, no. It doesn't. Apparently if a teen's knees

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My son is a tightwad.

He comes by this honestly. Hubby is a tightwad-only he prefers the term "thrifty." But he's a tightwad, just like his son. Hubby hasn't willingly parted with a dollar since 1984, when he bought my engagement ring. And there's some argument about whether that purchase was willing.

Now my personal belief is that a penny saved is a penny better spent on shoes. I have never met a dollar I couldn't spend on something. Clearly, my son didn't get this tightwad thing from me. But even though I think saving is a waste of perfectly good spending money, I still managed to be quite proud of Junior and his thriftiness. When Junior was 6 (he's now 14) I even managed to take advantage of it.

I hate to go to the bank. So sometimes, I would just borrow a stack of dollar bills from Junior's stash and leave him an IOU. Pretty soon, Junior had more IOU's than actual cash and Hubby said I had to make good on my debts. Imagine my surprise when I discovered I owed my son

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I have my mother and my grandmother to thank for making me a mom. I know that sounds impossible-but if it weren't for their love and guidance, I'd be a sniveling mess of a mother with a child running wild in the streets. That's because my mom and my grandmother have always been there for me. They've answered questions, calmed panic, taught me to be the teacher and showed me how to have fun with my son.

All these things have made me a fairly decent mom. Oh, I make mistakes-some huge, some small--and I don't think that's going to stop anytime soon. But for the most part, here's what I've learned so far on my mommy journey from two women who deserve more than just one day for me to thank them.

1. Motherhood is the Hardest Job You'll Ever Love. Motherhood doesn't come with raises, reviews or a corner office. There will be good days and there will be days so awful, you'll wonder what possessed you to have children in the first place. On those terrible days, you'll look into the

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The other day, my 14-year old son asked me if he should shave the tiny, blond mustache that is barely visible on his upper lip. I said no. Actually, I yelled it. Now, I know that seems like an extreme reaction. But you have to understand that we have had bad shaving experiences in my house.

Take the time my son shaved his head. Yeah. His head. He was 8. And apparently it wasn't a fashion statement. And no, it wasn't a protest against me or the establishment or anything else. He just had nothing better to do with his time. So he shaved his head.

And it was probably all my fault.

You see, after a long afternoon in the pool, I sent him to the shower while I made dinner. Unfortunately, he couldn't use his shower since we were putting tile in his bathroom. So he used mine. Now I took the razor out of the shower and told Junior not to use it.

My bad. See, to an 8-year old saying "don't touch," translates to "this is a really cool tool and you should use it to shave the back of

Read More »from User post: The horrors of teen shaving