The Female Crazy …

I was fifteen years old the first time I called my mother a bitch ($0.25).  My own daughter returned the favor when she was just four.

It happened on a hectic morning after I had told Anna to put her gymnastics leotard on as I was getting into the shower.  It was inside-out, so she took it downstairs to my husband, who didn’t understand why she had brought it downstairs and told her to put it away.  Caught between two mis-communicating parents and too young to articulate to either of us that she was at an impasse, she began to melt down.  Eventually my husband put her in Time Out for not listening and that set in motion a series of events that forever changed the way I view my daughters, myself and women in general.

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Frozen: Top 10 Reasons I’m Over it

Disney’s Frozen, which has grossed over $1.2 billion dollars worldwide, decisively proved that millions of mothers worldwide can be cajoled into shelling out fistfuls of dollars to satisfy their daughter’s insatiable appetite for princess-themed entertainment.  This is a well Disney has been going to for decades — our entire lives, ladies — and we keep lining up to hand them our purses.  Don’t worry, the next goddess in Disney’s princess pantheon won’t hit the big screen until 2018, and you know what that means: they’ve got 4 more years to squeeze all the blood from the Frozen turnip.   I honestly don’t know how we’re going to survive it, because we’re nine months in and I would rather pluck every last one of my nose hairs than watch this movie ever again. Continue reading

Why Frozen is causing my daughters to throw-down in fisticuffs …

Charming and cute the first twenty times I watched it, Disney’s highest grossing animated film of all time has officially worn out its welcome in my home. Frozen has transformed my innocent, tone deaf little girls into hip-swaying, mane-stroking, crotch-high-slit wearing pageant princesses and I am officially one Let It Go rendition away from the booby hatch. Continue reading

What happened next in the bathroom …

I don’t intend for this to be a serial blog where each entry is a
continuation of the previous one. However, I felt liked I owed an
explanation of the bathroom goings-on from my first post wherein I referenced actual physical injuries.  My scabby arm will surely heal but I will carry the emotional wounds with me forever. Continue reading