Pick a Card, Any Card.....

Did I ever tell youse guys that I used to read Tarot cards for fun & amusement? No? Well....I did. Great party trick, I must say. I wasn't half bad at it, either. I didn't manage to pick up any hot guys with it, but there were quite a few people who said, "Wow, you can tell that about me from the cards?"

Erm, yeah.

Actually, there was a few lines that you could pretty much say to anyone and they would fit. Things like "you sometimes feel misunderstood.....you feel like you have to act one way in public that totally contradicts how you feel in private.....your teenage years were difficult....you feel the opposite sex is a mystery you will never completely understand.....". Sure, some of the cards "meant" something or other, but if you went totally general and tailored the answer to reflect their feedback, you could get "amazing" results.

Coming from a long line of con artists and bullshitters par excellence probably helps, too.

The card below was never one that I picked to represent myself in a reading (I was taught that you normally use one of the "face" cards in the Minor Arcana, or "suits", not one of the Major Arcana ones to represent yourself. It smacks of egotism, especially if you chose something like "The High Priestess" or "Death". Yeah, riiiiiight, buddy!)

That being said, I always did like this card. I've depended on unexpected help coming at my hour of need throughout my entire life.... ;)

You are The Star

Hope, expectation, Bright promises.

The Star is one of the great cards of faith, dreams realised

The Star is a card that looks to the future. It does not predict any immediate or powerful change, but it does predict hope and healing. This card suggests clarity of vision, spiritual insight. And, most importantly, that unexpected help will be coming, with water to quench your thirst, with a guiding light to the future. They might say you're a dreamer, but you're not the only one.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Hat tip to Suzanne for this one.

Check out the link and see what comes up for you. Oh, and don't forget....if you do, tell me if you think it accurately depicts who you are or not.

Especially if you get "The High Priestess" or "Death". (BTW, Death is not a bad card in the Tarot deck. There truly are no bad cards in the deck, regardless of what someone tells you. Anyone who says they can "predict your death through the cards" is full of it, but you knew that already, didn't you? I mean, if it were possible, tarot card readers should be able to see it coming and make necessary arrangements, right? So if it comes up, be sure to share. Chances are it is NOT predicting your imminent demise. Honestly. Any decent card reader could tell you that.)

But the two of pentacles, however......that card.......well, oh, boy....it means.....if I were you.....

gotcha!! ;)

I'm the World's Worst Mommy.....And I'm Surprisingly OK With That

Yup, you read that right.

I've only been doing my new gig for a little over six weeks. I have since found out that I have done irreparable damage to Joey in so many different ways, it's amazing he still breathes without assistance....and has even thrived.

A modern freakin' miracle, lemme tell ya....

What has the poor child endured, you ask?

Let's start from the beginning.

1) I had him via cesarean section. I get a marginal pass on that one, since it turned out I would have needed an emergency one anyway. Joey's cord was going to be delivered before he was if I had insisted on going for a normal birth. That was a recent development that didn't show up on my last ultrasound, and something the doctor only found out about once he cut me open. My reason (eighteen hours of labor, stalled progress, possible stuck shoulder leading to potential paralysis for the rest of his life in said shoulder, and a very large baby at 10 lbs, 2 oz.) still doesn't cut it with some birth nazis.

2) I actually used the term "birth nazi" when I couldn't stand how this one broad was pontificating about how anesthesia during childbirth was a crutch and there was no real reason for epidurals.

Me and my mouth dug that hole even deeper when I stated that once we started having "natural tooth extractions" or "natural appendectomies" I'd reconsider my position that the whole no-anesthesia shtick is just misogynistic crap perpetrated by some misguided male physicians and self-hating women. (Ever notice how all the "natural childbirth" philosophies were started by men? Lamaze, Bradley, Dick-Read....all men. After all, childbirth has been painless for men for centuries.....)

At least I put a sock in it before I blurted "Why the hell didn't you just squat in a field then, instead of forcing other women to hear you scream while they were giving birth? You think we wanted to hear a complete stranger screech for hours down the hallway, honey? Listening to that howling sure wasn't part of my birth plan." The birth nazi was ready to kill me as it was. No need to spike the ball.

3) Oh yeah, my birth plan. That's a good one.

For those of you who are birthin' virgins, a birth plan is where you plot out how you are going to bring your kid into the world. You specify who will be allowed in the room, if it's going to be immortalized on video, and what drugs, if any, you want available. It seems like a lot of them involve scented candles, soft music, and lights turned down low. Kinda like a seduction scene, only no booze (dammit!!), and the nudity involved isn't particularily erotic.

My birth plan didn't involve any of that. I knew damn well that I really wasn't in control of the circumstances. Whether it was going to be easy or difficult would be impossible to predict. So my birth plan went something like this:

I go to the hospital. I bug the crap out of everyone by asking anyone within earshot for an epidural the minute I walk in the door. Receptionists, food delivery people, other expectant parents checking in, janitors who don't speak English, nurses....I beg them all for blessed relief. Finally they have enough of me and arrange to get me the good stuff to shut me up. I consider naming my son after the anesthesiologist if he gets there in a reasonable amount of time. I deliver the kid....somehow. Maybe vaginally, maybe c-section, could be out my damn ear for all I know. I leave a few days later with the most beautiful baby boy ever born in Florida.

Unlike the scented candle crowd, I fulfilled my birth plan completely. (Candles aren't allowed in the hospital....fire hazard. Oops.)

4) I apparently have doomed my son for years of embarrassment in the showers at high school by not circumcising him. I don't know, but the idea of whacking off part of his anatomy without anesthesia didn't appeal to me much. And yes, with the set of lungs this kid has, I would have known exactly when it was happening. Hell, I could hear it when the nurses changed his diaper and I was still coming out of the anesthesia for my c-section. That was bad enough.

I might have reconsidered for religious reasons if we were Jewish. But even though our last name sounds Jewish, we're not. So with that reason gone, we decided to go with the American Association of Pediatricians recommendations and skip it.

Besides, if he wants it done later, I'd rather that he would be old enough to say if he needed more anesthesia, thankyouverymuch.

What the hell are guys doing staring at each other's schlongs in the shower, anyway??? Ewwww!!

5) He has had formula. Quite a bit of it. He will have more in the future.

To some women (usually the birth nazi type), this is tantamount to child abuse. Yet my son wasn't gaining enough weight until I supplemented. Go figure.

6) After determining that I can't make enough milk to breastfeed only, I've decided to look upon breastmilk as an appetizer or dessert for the little mite. Yes, I've tried everything including fenugreek (it made me smell like an IHOP), mother's milk tea (I hate licorice-tasting crap like anise, but I'd still probably be drinking it if it didn't give me horrible stomach cramps that made me crawl to the bathroom....not a good thing when you are recovering from a c-section), and oatmeal. At least the oatmeal didn't taste horrible, especially with a smidgeon of strawberry jam. I've tried all the miracle cures, but nothing has helped increase the supply. I'm at peace with the fact that I cannot be a walking milk bar.

Otherwise, to be honest, I'd have given up weeks ago. Let's face it. It's boring and hurts like hell. The minute Joey sprouts teeth and bites me is the minute I quit doing it. I am not going to be one of those women who breastfeed for four years. No way, no how.

7) I didn't save his cord blood in case he gets a horrible disease sometime in the future. I decided to spend that money (approximately $1500 to start, with about $100 to $200 in annual storage fees thereafter) for his college savings instead.

8) I don't use cloth diapers. I'd consider it if there was a diaper service in Brevard County, but I can't stomach the idea of washing them out myself. Trust me, there have been some of them that could only be described as "unholy". Thank God I could toss 'em and not have to see them ever again once they go to the diaper pail.

and finally

9) I'm vaccinating my child. He's getting all his shots. Hell, I'd arrange to get him the ones for yellow fever and cholera if I could. Hemmorhagic fever? Sure! Bring it on! If there was one for ebola, he'd be poked for that, too. My family has wandered the globe even before there was a term like "the Jet Set". I don't know where this little guy will wander, but I sure as hell don't want him picking up evil microbes if it can be avoided.

I don't buy all this "vaccinations cause autism" crap. If it was true, then why have the rates of autism continued to go up even after they've taken thimerosal (a mercury-based preservative that theoretically causes autism to this conspiracy crowd) out of the shots in the mid-90's? Could it be better diagnosis, like in the case of ADD? Funny, but I never see anyone claiming that vaccinations cause ADD like they supposedly cause autism, and rates of both have skyrocketed. Hmmm.

As long as there are a bunch of people running around leaving their kids vulnerable to things like whooping cough, measles and mumps, you bet I'm getting Joey poked. A tiny little shot that makes him (ok, me too, when I see him screech in pain) cry for five minutes is better than a vigil at his bedside hoping that he doesn't get some of the nasty aftermath of the above diseases....especially when he didn't have to go through the infection in the first place.

What's worse is that virtually all of those diseases are preventable with a tiny little stick. I don't understand how some people still can risk their children's health that way.

All three of those diseases I mentioned are on the upswing. With the amount of world travel that we take for granted, are you really that sure that we couldn't have a possible polio outbreak, for example? Talk to the Saudis about that....they had one during the hajj. People from literally every part of the planet participate in that, and then fly home. We didn't get an outbreak, but Nigeria did. Some of their "enlightened religious leaders" counseled against vaccinations for boys because they thought they were part of a cunning Jewish plot to make Muslims impotent. I kid you not.

I guess they didn't get the autism memo....

There you have them. Nine instances of bad parenting, depending on who's doing the critique.

Yet, Joey is growing bigger. He's in his 3 month clothes already, with the occasional sneak into the 6 month clothing stash. He's even given me a sweet, toothless smile on occasion, and has babbled excitedly at me. Ok, he's had longer conversations with Mr Bear, but he's still tried to include me in his attempts to talk.

He's even raised his big ol' heavy head to look deeply into my eyes....right before he ripped out a huge belch that startled the dog. It could have been worse. He farted himself awake once and the resulting gas chased his Daddy out of the bedroom. Joey spared me that one.....I guess it was one of those male bonding things I'll never understand.

I'm sure that soon enough he'll let me know just how horrible I am at this whole mommy business. It will probably be around the time that he can fit into the Superman footie jammies (with detachable cape!) that I got him last week instead of the "Beethoven for Baby Geniuses" CD all the good mommies got their little dumplings. I'll give him a time out or a swat on the butt, and he will formally dub me "The Worst Mommy in the World".

Good thing he won't know the half of it, right?