We Need More Thriller

On November 5th, I heard Christmas music for the first time.

 

It's not that I don't love Christmas. 

 

It's that it is too early.

 

In fact, it made me grumpy.

 

During the entire month of October, I only heard Thriller on the radio ONCE.

 

Thriller is excellent running music.  You cannot run to Christmas music.  You just can't.

 

In my opinion, we could use a little more Thriller, and a little less Christmas music.

 

If it were up to me, I wouldn't allow it until December 1st!

 

Behold - a nice mushroom picture, that has nothing at all to do with Christmas, because it isn't December yet!

 

Picture taken last month at the Butterfly Garden.

 

Alright, readers, am I a grumpy old scrooge, or do you agree?



Not All Moms are Competitive

I'm really busy lately with the jobs and everything else, so I don't have as much time to make cute lunches for the boys anymore.  Often, it's just sandwiches and fruit and chips or something simple like that.  Once in a while, I see a really awesome lunch idea and take a few extra minutes from my day to incorporate it into the boys' lunch.  I do this for one reason:  I love my boys, and I want to make their day a little more special.

Which is why I'm frustrated by all the snippy blog posts lately about bento lunches.  Moms ragging on other moms for their lunch efforts.  Saying that they're creating these lunches just so they can out-do other moms and be "supermoms".  It's hateful, it's judgmental, and it's just plain snarky.

I don't know why these moms are so angered when other moms make their child a cute lunch.  First of all, I don't see why it is their business what another mom packs her kid for lunch.  And secondly, don't you think it's probably a very rare instance that a mom would be motivated to go through all that trouble just to try to put another mom to shame?  Please. 

These happy little faces?  That's what motivates a mom to go through a little extra trouble to make lunch fun:

The other day, I packed the boys some Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles from apples and cheese (which I saw on a Facebook post).  A friend who works in the school cafeteria was really sweet and texted me this picture.  It made me feel so happy - to see my boys' smiling in the middle of the day, and to know that I'd brought them a little extra joy during lunchtime. 

Being a mom is hard enough.  What moms don't need is criticism and hatred from other moms over their hard work in raising their children.  Try supporting each other instead.  It would make the life of that mom a lot happier. 

Litterbugs

I've blogged before about littering, and how it frustrates me.  We live on a mountainous road, and it always shocks me the stuff that people will toss off the sides of the mountain.  Not just your average beer cans.  We're talking entire tables, tires, and -- it has been there for at least ten years now -- in one instance an entire boat.

If this were my land?  I'd be tempted to post signs all along the road with very specific instructions of how to get to the country dump. 

I Got Blog Hate Mail

I knew that if I blogged long enough, eventually it would happen.  I'd watched in sympathy as other, larger bloggers battled the nasty commenters - like when someone wrongly and viciously insulted Helene's child from I'm Living Proof that God Has a Sense of Humor.  But I've tried to keep my blog fairly neutral (in fact, I have a couple of mildly controversial posts in draft mode that I never worked up the nerve to publish - one on why we don't allow toy guns and another that is a humorous take on talking about sex ed w/ your 5 year old).  I guess if you blog long enough, though, someone is going to find offense anyhow.  So 2 years and 3 months later, I got my first hate email:

O'siyo,

I have been offended by your misuse of my family name to increase your google standing. Not only that but the Bear foot you use was created by C. Camp and being used without his permission. I see this as another Rape by the Yonega(Cherokee for White man). I am under Texas law advising you, that beginning Monday. We will be making a attempt to find a legal way to make you stop this another injustice. Our Attorney's and A.I.M (American Indian Movement). American Indian Vietnam Vets etc. will be given a letter of intent. I am sending a letter to the U.S. Marshal's service. It is within their jurisdiction to enforce the American Indian art's and Craft act. To see if in their opinion You have violated this law as well. Warning there have been similar cases around the Country. The outcome was in favor of the Plaintiff and stood up on appeals. Do the right thing!

Stop what you are doing.

After considering this email a bit, I decided it warranted one response, but if there were further emails I would not dignify them with a reply.  So I wrote -

Thanks for your interest in Two Bears Farm. The name of my blog is not Twobears (like your family name) but Two Bears. The name comes from the alma mater of myself and my husband - we both went to Baylor University and consider ourselves Baylor Bears. However, I'd like to share with you that my great great grandmother was Cherokee. In addition my husband and his family are verified members of the Mdewakaton Santee Sioux Indian Nation. My husband, having a strong identification with his Indian Nation, feels saddened that you would send an email such as this. We are a humble farm family, just making our way in a harsh world, as I am sure you yourself are.

I have emailed my designer about the bear paw print in question. As far as I know, she followed all copyright law in the design of my blog. However, if for any reason this particular graphic is under copyright for which she did not have permission to use, it will be promptly removed.

Washte (Dakota for peace),

Now in case you haven't guessed, the person who sent the email has a website with a similar name to my blog.  I would link it here (I have no issue in sending traffic her/his way, as it is a completely different type of website from my own and I don't see us in competition in any way) however, I have a family-friendly blog and this other site has some questionable advertisements on it.  However, if you google intuitively I've no doubt you can track it down, if you're curious. 

There is no copyright on the phrase "Two Bears" or even on "Twobears".  Nor is there any licensing on the bear paw in question that is by my signature.  So for all intents and purposes, I haven't done anything wrong.  I did receive an email back, stating again that I am using the name solely to increase my google page rank, and also expressing anger that images from my blog show up ahead of this other site's under google images.  Well, hey, like the rest of the world, I have no control over what Google does or does not do.  My PR rank is one above this other site, and I suspect that is only reason why my images show up first.  However, I monitor my stats very closely, and I can honestly say that I have never seen "Twobears" show up in a keyword search for my blog - or any other Native American phrases.  Here's a keyword analysis screenshot taken from Statcounter this past weekend:

In case you can't squint that well, terms used were Playdoh Valentines, couple on a caboose, Asian crockpot meal, amazement square, and jam is too runny can I cook it down more.  What minimal results I may have on Google are the result of over two years of hard work to promote and build my blog - combined with the content of my posts.  I am merely a small rural "Mom" blogger who enjoys writing and sharing my thoughts, and meeting other similar-minded folks online.  I value a peaceful, quiet life, and it's so frustrating when you're just going about your days and someone tries to bring in a bunch of drama.  I'm an Idealist, and when situations like this come up I can never understand the anger and animosity (and, quite frankly, bullying) towards other human beings, without true cause.  So disturbing.  For this reason, I will not read or respond to any further emails from this person.

At any rate, I certainly won't be changing the name of my blog - it's the name of our farm (for the past 13 years) and who we are.  My friend, Valerie,  made me laugh by joking around that I should let her know if the Baylor Bears come after me threatening to sue next.  Sic 'Em Bears!

A housewarming gift from my parents in 2005.

How about you, reader?  Ever had any negative emails or comments about your blog?  How did you handle it?

This post linked with Pour Your Heart Out at Things I Can't Say. 

Those Unhygienic Hunters (Rant)

Okay, so I'm not big on hunting.  But I can respect those who do so responsibly.  Who shoot animals to feed their family.  Who follow the laws of the state where they reside honorably.  Who use extreme caution in the handling of firearms.

BUT.  I hate hunting season.  Aside from the fact that every year some irresponsible, drunk hunter ends up shooting some innocent walker in the woods (oftentimes even sporting blaze orange), I hate feeling like I'm being watched when I run.  I hate that people try to poach on our land every year, even though it's posted and even though I've always said no when people have asked if they could use it for hunting.  I hate that there are people who just take what they want (the rack) and leave massive carcasses out in the woods to be plundered by my dog, who later pukes black tar all over the basement floor.

If all hunters would be responsible, maybe I wouldn't hate hunting season so much, even though it would still make me a little sad, because I really like the deer.  But this year, I'm in an even grumpier state than usual.  Because this year, I went out for a run and over the course of a quarter mile, I saw FOUR water bottles tossed on the side of the road full of pee.  PEE!  At first I didn't realize what I was seeing.  But that's right.  And why?  Because hunters don't want the deer to smell the urine, so they pee in bottles.  And okay, I have a little bladder and can totally get that when you've got to go you've got to go.  BUT TAKE THOSE BOTTLES HOME AND THROW THEM AWAY!  Now every time I run, I have to look at the four bottles full of pee.  And it's not like they're going to biodegrade.  So in February, I'll get to enjoy the sight of four frozen bottles of pee.  And next summer, I'll get to enjoy the sight of four steeping bottles of pee.  And so on and so forth.  Wonderful.

So yeah, if you're reading this and you're a responsible hunter who does what you need to do to treat the animals with respect and feed your family and not litter your bottles of pee on our planet, then more power to you!  Can you please pass your influence off on all those other hunters? And my apologies for coming across overly harsh on this post - not trying to offend anyone - just very frustrated by the poaching on our land, and the littering of bottles on our road (since originally drafting this post, I have spotted two more bottles of urine disgracing our street :-( ). 

As a public service announcement, do not ever do a search for "nasty hunters" under google images.  Trust me on this one.  I learned the hard way.

This post linked with -  Things I Can't Say. 

Lowlights and Highlights, All in a Mom's Grocery Trip with 3 Boys

So one of my least favorite things to do with all 3 kids is take them to the grocery store.  I usually try to slip in on my own at some point when my mom or husband is watching the boys.  On the rare occassion I take all 3, what results is typically mayhem and meltdowns.  So it was with dread that I ventured at grocery store trip this week with all three.  I did a lot of prep work with Pierce about being a good listener and such when we got there.  Meanwhile, Reid was feeling grumpy and sad, the result of a fever (which we found out later is from roseola - so yay for me spreading contagious gunk - oops!).  Cort was in an unusually chipper mood.

So we got to Kroger and I saw the race car double carts.  I couldn't find plain double carts.  So race car it was.  The race cars are just great for bored kids, but they are a nightmare for the parent. They are completely oversized, clunky, hard to steer, and the one I grabbed had a loud wheel.  Fabulous, right?  Here is what one looks like:

Pierce was totally into driving the race car, Reid sat next to him, and I carried Cort in the Bjorn.  Things were going well in our first stop, the veggies.  I loaded the bottom of the cart with wonderful colors from kale, turnips, acorn squash, summer squash, button mushrooms, grapes, and bananas.  Then we headed into the natural foods aisle.  Unfortunately, there was a man stocking the goods, and there was no way I could make it through with my monster race car cart.  So I slowly started backing away (no way could you just turn one of these carts away) and there was a woman standing right behind me.  I almost ran into her.  Immediately I apologized, but she let me have it.  Admonishing me, she said that I was lucky I hadn't completely knocked her over and thrown out her bad hip.  She went on and on.  Then she said "YOU stay right there.  Don't YOU move until I can get my cart safely away from YOU and YOUR KIDS".  Meekly, I did as she said, while she stomped off with her "bad" hip.

Gosh I felt bad the rest of the trip.  Nothing like a verbal lashing from a complete stranger to make you feel miserable.  And of course, to make matters worse, I continued to have difficulty steering the cart around corners, and it felt like I was always in someone's way.  Suddenly, I just knew that every single person in the store was giving me a dirty look.

I tried not to let on, though, that I felt so overwhelmed and disturbed.  I continued to pick our groceries, letting Pierce choose a lunch box for preschool and making my way through the store.  All three boys did just great, except for Reid, who had to cry a few times because he felt so bad.  Pierce took over the mothering role for me, patting his brother on the back and hugging him from his side.

We finally finished and made it to the checkout.  Pierce was sad he couldn't reach the checkout to help me load up groceries (the cart was just too huge) but he made up for it by being so sweet to Reid.  And I was still stuck on that horrible lady.  Running the whole thing over and over in my head, while putting goods on the belt and chatting with Pierce.

That's when a sweet lady behind me in line spoke up. 

"You know, I've never seen a mother with 3 kids as calm and attentive to her children as you are in the grocery store.  I can tell you are a really great mom"

My heart warmed straight out of my chest.

And then I burst into tears, lol.

I told her that moms never get compliments like that and it had absolutely made my day.

I don't know if she truly knows how much her kind words meant to me right then and there, but I know they will be positive fuel for grocery trips in the future.

Exclusive Track Will No Longer Include Me. I'm a little BITTER.

On the nights of the All Comers track meets, I typically get the kids ready and head to the track an hour before the meet starts.  This way I can get in a speed workout before the meet.

So it was with dismay on Tuesday that I arrived to the track to find this:

Someone had put a thick layer of mulch across every single lane of the track.

So we goofed around and tried to find someone who knew about the mulch.

No one did.

Finally others in charge of the All Comers meet arrived, and they worked together to clear one lane.

But alas, by this time it was too late for my workout.

Pierce, was not disturbed at all by the delays.

He took the opportunity to dig in fresh dirt along the edges of the track, saying that he was a Baby Jaguar (thanks, Diego).

Now, even worse (MUCH WORSE) than the mulch situation is this:

That's right, a fence is going up around the track.

A big fence that will involve a turn stile. 

Supposedly, the fence is to keep out skaters and bikers (neither of which I have EVER seen on the track in all my workouts there over the past 7 years).

What does this mean for me, mother of 3, seeking to regain my fitness?

It means that I'll be excluded from the track.

My jogging stroller will not fit through a turn stile.

The track is technically for the high school.  But it is also supposed to serve the community.  Tax payers dollars and all that.

However, it will no longer serve me or other parents with jogging strollers.

I find this disappointing.

I had really gotten into a good groove with my track workouts.

Now, I either have to find a babysitter to go run on the track or I have to find another track.

Bummer.

On a brighter note, here is a picture of Pierce, with all 3 of his medals he earned this summer by participating in the All Comers meets:

Me and the Sea

Some people need chocolate.  Others a glass of wine.  Still others, their favorite tv show.  All those things are great.  Me, though, I need the ocean.

Not every day.

Not even every month.

But at least yearly.

It all started when I was a teenager.  I was going through a rough time and one evening had an opportunity to walk on the beach solo for a couple of hours.

What happened during that walk changed my brain.

It rejuvenated things.  It filled me with clarity.  I knew the steps I needed to take - the things I needed to do - to fix some of the struggle in my life.

Since then, I've needed my yearly oceanic visit like some people need a yearly visit home.

Indeed, it is like coming home to me - even though I've never had the opportunity to live at the beach.

I don't need the sun.

I don't need the food.

I don't need the beach blankets.

What I need is just raw ocean - me and sand and water.

In fact, sometimes the ocean is infinitely better in mid-November.  Cold, angry, stormy.  I love the ocean no matter what its temperament.

It has been a year and two months since I've seen the ocean.

This is making me grumpy.

It seems like every single Facebook friend is currently posting pictures of their trips to the beach.

ARG!  Unfriend them all!

OK, not really.

Note to husband:  might be in best interest to plan mini camping trip to Eastern shore for early fall.  Cheaper and more pleasant than dealing with wife gone crazy. 

I Scream, You Scream, We all Scream for MORE Ice Cream!

You know what irritates me? 

The fact that one serving of ice cream is 1/2 cup.

Does that seem like a serving to you?

Do you know anyone who only eats 1/2 cup of ice cream at a time?

Talk about an unjust world.

If you fix yourself a bowl of ice cream - well, 1/2 cup is like ONE really big bite.

I move that ice cream servings should be at least 1 cup. 

Yeah, that means that we'd all be getting more calories per serving.

But hello, none of us were only eating 1/2 cup to begin with.  Get with reality ice cream serving sizers!  A serving of ice cream in the Real World doesn't limit itself to a measly cup.

That is all.

Oh No She Didn't - When Mean Girls Attack

During the 4 1/2 years I spent working juvenile probation, I was very aware of the prevalence of "mean girls" in the community.  I focused my work on females (no one else in the office wanted to deal with them; my coworkers stating they were too dramatic, so my boss was more than happy to give me the female cases).  I can't tell you how many times I had a girl in my office crying or ranting over the bullies at school.  I was constantly listening to stories of a group of girls "banking" (slang for beating up) one another.  It's CRAZY out there.  But until last week I'd never witnessed one of these incidents first hand - except in the movies.

Last Tuesday we went to the All Comers track meet again.  This is open to anyone and everyone in the community who'd like to come out and run.  It's a family friendly event, and indeed, large groups of families show up.  All kids who run get medals (but adults run too).

We arrived early so I could do my usual track workout (which I do every Tuesday).  It poured rain, so I had that whole drowned rat thing going on by the time All Comers rolled around.

Even though there were lots of people, I noticed MeanGirl right away.  She was strutting around in black capri tights and a form fitted white tank top.  Stick thin, there was no doubt that she could pull off this outfit.  Long, rich brown hair swung with panache in her pony tail, tied neatly with a large white bow.  She wore full makeup, even though it was a hot and steamy day.

I also noticed another girl right away.  Let's call her NiceGirl.  She was gangly and had a small pot belly, sporty unruly curls and she wore an ill-fitted hot pink tank top and a white running skirt.  A sprinkling of acne dotted her t-zone.  Her stride, as she jogged around, was just slightly clumsy, as though she'd just had a growth spurt and hadn't quite adjusted yet.

Both girls ran the 800, a two lap event around the track, with a large number of males.  The girls were in a pack of about 5 individuals who seemed to stick together in like pace.  Things seemed to be going just fine until the back corner of the last lap.  Suddenly, MeanGirl took off.  NiceGirl had been ahead of her, on the inside.  MeanGirl, who was behind, suddenly SHOVED NiceGirl with both hands.  And I do mean SHOVED.  I watched in shock as she then passed on the inside (a big no-no in track events).

I turned to look at two of my fellow Striders members who'd been watching this play out.

"Did you SEE that?"

"YES!  And at an All Comers meet too!"

MeanGirl was pulled aside by an older man who was on that end of the track, and he talked to her for some 15 minutes.  I don't know who this guy was, but I can only hope she was getting one heck of a lecture about her etiquette.  Seriously, it was all I could do as she sashayed past not to make a comment myself. 

What ever happened to kindness?

Josh the Mountain Junkie Fish and Poor Charlie

Friday was a special craft day at the library.  They were making the coolest things with the kids - fish wind socks, jellyfish mobiles, and more.  I was all kinds of excited to go, but Pierce said he'd rather go to the mall.  The mall?  I don't even typically like to go to the mall.  But I'd been promising Pierce for 2 weeks that I would get him a fish, and he was eager to go pick one out.

So I loaded up all the kids in the car (which, incidentally, takes 11 minutes what with all the carseat buckles and stroller business) and we headed out to the mall.

I had asked Pierce, "What do you want to name your fish?"

"How 'bout Josh?"

This was completely out of left field.  Josh?  The only Josh I know is the Josh I went to senior prom with...some 18 or so years ago.  Is there a Josh on Diego?

"Josh?" I asked, perplexed.

"Yeah, my fish is a Mountain Junkie!"

Oh THAT explains it.  Josh is the race director of the trail race series I have been running this spring.  But as far as I know, Pierce has never even talked to him.  Isn't it funny, though, the things kids pick up?

So we got to the mall to pick out Josh, and I wandered into J.C. Penney's to pick up a new purse very quickly, because the one I've been using for the past few years (seriously) was busted.  As we're walking the aisles this little boy comes up to us.  Short but muscled, with spikey brown hair, Pierce takes to him like cupcakes.  He says, "Hi!  I like your motorcycle shirt.  That's just like the motorcycle on Diego.  Do you watch Diego?"

And that was enough.  Charlie was latched on to us.

Meanwhile, I'm walking slowly through the store, peeking over clothes racks, looking for what must certainly be a frantic mother desperately seeking her son.  Where could she be?  Surely, any second now, there would be a page over the system for this charming little boy.

Charlie, who informed us he was four, seemed to evade Pierce's frequent and distressed question, "Charlie, where's your mommy?!?"  Charlie was too busy skipping up and down while making excellent motorcycle noises.

Finally, at least 15 minutes later, Charlie pointed out his mother.

Was she in tears as I would've been?

Was she frantic?

Was she angry?

No.  She was too busy gabbing to the lady at the cosmetics counter. 

She offhandedly looked at me, laughed, and said, "Looks like you picked up a fourth boy."

WHAT?!?

I don't think she'd even noticed Charlie had been gone for so long.

What kind of mother is she?

How do you not care where your child has been in a store?

YOUR FOUR YEAR OLD!

It's supposed to be like an instant panic button the second they are out of sight, isn't it?

Even Pierce picked up on the utter WRONGNESS of the situation and said sadly to Charlie, "Do you want to come home with us?"

Should I have said something to Charlie's mom?

I didn't, but now I kind of regret not making an offhand comment that maybe she should keep a closer eye on her son. 

What would you have done?