Quote of the Day

While you are destroying your mind watching the worthless, brain-rotting drivel on TV, we on the Internet are exchanging, freely and openly, the most uninhibited, intimate and, yes, shocking details about our config.sys settings. ~Dave Barry

Nov 9, 2013

To the Almost-Adults at my Parish

Dear Young People at My Church,

I haven't been blogging much, mostly because I do it for work, too, and I get tired. I saw something awhile back that was important enough for me to put my writer's whining aside and try to make words out of it. I hope you see this, and I hope you know I mean it.

I'm a born traddie. I was in public school through sixth grade and then I was homeschooled. We had teen groups and youth groups and co-ops and homeschool proms. We had our besties and our frienemies (are those the words you kids are using these days?) I'm fairly hip, right? Tell me yes. And also tell me we're still saying "hip."

When I was young, our church was very small. Aside from cousins, I had a small group of friends. There was one boy, and we fought over him a little. Say a prayer for him, as he no longer walks this earth, and trust me, he is very missed. He was one of the good ones.

Through all of my growing up years, I knew people who wore only skirts, those who pretended they only wore skirts, those who wore only jeans (okay, that was me), and one or two who would push the limits so much they invented a new style - Little Skirt on the Prairie. (I'm not making fun, by the way. My most fashionable outfit was an Air Force uniform shirt I got from my dad's buddy, paired with hot pink earrings and a scrunchie. Hawt.) We had the kinda weird friends that nobody could really relate to, and we had the one who showed up out of nowhere looking like a Parisian model. I had friends who weren't allowed at my house because I was in public school, and I had friends who weren't allowed at my church because we "worship Mary." It was a well-rounded childhood, I guess.

Anyway, enough of the MannyRee Story Hour. I watched an interesting dynamic happening a few weeks ago, and it reminded me of those years. I don't know where you all fit in the long-skirt/short-skirt/jeans/sleeves debate. I don't know who is nice and who is just pretending. I don't know who has a crush on who, or who's hiding behind the church to sneak a smoke.

Some kids are weird or hard to get along with. Some are just mean. Some don't know where they belong. Some are just hanging out, getting through their Sunday. And some are already deeply into their Faith. Wherever you are, you have a job to do, and it's important. These people, even the annoying people, are in your life for a reason. Be a beacon. Most of you are - I see it. You are shining points of light in a dark world.

You have not been left with a world that makes it easy to be good. You are living in the very midst of darkness and evil. It's hard to do the right thing in a hostile world. At about age 16, I got the idea that it was me against everyone. The world didn't want my Faith, and my parish didn't want my world. It sucked, and it took me a long time to figure out where I fit. Well into adulthood, actually. Like, last week. And when I did, I realized I don't fit in the traditional sense. Alas, I am no longer 17, and my rebellious streak is still not appreciated among many of my peers. But this day calls for rebellion, albeit pointed in the right direction, and I know that I am this way for a reason.

So, in remembrance of my 16 year old self, I want to tell you that you are a vital piece in the Body of Christ. I'd argue that you are one of the most important pieces. Your energy and potential is unmatched. And most importantly, this is your church. This Church, and our parish, is yours. Even if you screw up, even if you have a bad attitude, even if everyone else has a bad attitude, if you love it or hate it or wish you could just get away from it all, it's yours. The Church is alive and growing, and you are a part of it. Own that. Show up, even when you don't want to. Be kind, and ignore those who aren't. Listen to your conscience - don't let everyone intrude on the conversation, but develop an ear for wisdom.

Grow, live, make mistakes, do good, be a light, and own your space. It is yours, even if I don't agree with you all the time. It is yours even if you are angry. It is yours if you've been hurt by it. Show up and be right with Our Lord. That is all. I want you to experience the beauty and the joy of our shared Faith, and the friends you have because you belong in the Communion of Saints, and the true and honest love that comes from only those things in common. Be a rebel! But have a cause - rebel against darkness and cruelty. Fight for beauty and light and good. We need your generation to stand in the gap.

So, I open my heart to you, the young people at my church. This is not easy for me to do. It turns out that saying these things to a giant group of young adults I hardly know feels exactly like standing in front of a firing squad, reciting "The Jabberwocky" in hopes they they'll like it enough not to shoot. But here goes.

I am so happy we share a parish. You have an enormous task ahead of you - coming into adulthood leaves nobody unscathed. It's not easy, it's not always pleasant, and whether it's one of your peers or mine, you'll probably have to deal with a "mean girl" or two. Don't let them win. Make a point to see beauty - really see it. Experience joy and hope. And please, when my own children are your age, be a beacon to them. When they hate my rules and my idiotic parenting (and I know they will), I'm glad you guys will be the ones they look to for guidance.

With Love,
MannyRee




*UPDATE: I changed this post. I made a mistake and I apologize.





Sep 14, 2013

Pinterest Moms, For the Win!

We had a little birthday party for Madilynn today. I wanted to show y'all exactly how much I rock at birthday parties.

I made crafts, personalized them for each girl, and used them in place of goodie bags after the tea party.
Personalized "tea" cups that are in NO WAY coffee mugs.

I put them with a book in the background because we HEART literature, and Madilynn wanted to read this story to her friends. Also because...well, I'll explain that later.

Fresh baked scones
White chocolate cake with fresh strawberry frosting. And ice cream for the noms.
My birthday girl









Everything went really well. The girls had tea and snacks, and my boys and one of their friends even got dressed up and played "butler", serving everything on silver trays. It was a lot of fun, and Madilynn was very happy with her day.

I wanted to give y'all some tips on how a single mama can give her daughter (and herself!) the perfect birthday memory.

(Do you hate me yet? Don't leave now, because if you really think that's what I'm writing about and then you leave, I will cry.)

Step One: Remember those artsy crafts? If you have one dollar, five seconds, and a Sharpie, this is the craft for you. Turns out that one dollar, five seconds, and a Sharpie were all I had in the world, and I made these cups out of them. Thanks, Pinterest!

Step Two: Fresh-baked scones! Who doesn't whip up a batch of scones for tea every day? (Hint: Me. It's me. I don't do that.) But apparently you can buy them already mixed up and sliced, and you can throw them on a pan and bake them with the cake! 

Step Three: Pretty, pink, heart-shaped cake. Fresh strawberries and white chocolate. I almost died when she asked for this cake. My real-world version was a white cake from a box mixed with some melted white chocolate, then a quick frosting which WAS made with fresh strawberries. But in my house, I refuse to use two appliances for one thing, so after I pureed the strawberries in my food processor, I also threw in the butter and sugar to mix it all up. And then flour, because I didn't have enough sugar. Even still...the cake looked like this:
You see how it's not 100% ON the pan? But still passable, right?
Honest photo time: Don't let those Pinterest moms fool you - creative camera positioning goes a long way.

 And remember the photo with the book?
Remember how I said there was another reason for it? Combine the close shot with the book, and...
You've hidden an entire room's worth of mess that you don't want splattered all over Pinterest.
As for the other snacks?
I keep my own "the Bakery" stickers around to add that authentic flair to my homemade cookies. :)
While high tea rarely calls for mini pizzas, we had them because 'Merica.
If you keep enough food on the table, nobody will be looking at your dishes! (How'd that wine glass get there, anyway?)

 So ignore the Pinterest moms. Instead, enjoy this honest birthday photo. Patched walls that I still haven't painted, laundry on the couch, red eyes from the camera, and the remains of a mini pizza on the table. And six happy kids playing in nail polish.

PS ~ If this were 100% honest, I also post photos of my kids' bedrooms (but we actually kept those closed the entire time, so they don't count) and of myself after I finally got to sit down (it would break the Internet.) Birthday parties, even the small ones, will kill me one day.

Aug 26, 2013

Diet Cokes of Mass Destruction

I had to run to the store today to buy another million loaves of bread so my kids would be able to eat sandwiches for the next three days. I wanted to grab a six pack of Diet Coke, because my diet is coffee for breakfast, Diet Coke for lunch, and whatever I can convince the kids to eat for dinner.

So, I only had three of the kids, and they happened to be all boys. Boys are so easy to embarrass when you are their mother.

The Coke vendor happened to be standing there, very much in my way. He was already kind of laughing at me, but I don't know exactly why. The Diet Coke was on the bottom shelf, and the plastic bits holding it together were super floppy. I was leaning over them, trying to pick them up without catching them on the ones underneath. The tattooed giant of a soda vendor was watching me because I guess he thinks it's awesome how they always stock the soda so it's hardest to pick up.

One of the cans, hot and freshly shaken from being on the back of a truck, slipped out of the rings and slammed into the ground, exploding all over me. It wasn't like it got a crack and sprayed a little. It exploded. I was still leaning over it, so I just knelt there, eyes closed, waiting for the last drops of Diet Coke to fall from the sky into my hair.

I knew it was funny at the time, I was already laughing. But I couldn't judge the reactions of my sons or the Coke vendor because my glasses had drops of soda all over them. I was trying to clean the lenses, but my clothes were dripping.

When I was able to see again, the Coke vendor had his mouth covered laughing at me, which kind of made me mad because he should have been laughing with me. But I felt better when I saw that he had not escaped the fallout. His shorts were dripping Diet Coke into his combat boots. I said, "I'm sorry, dude." He said, "Happens all the time in this job," and went back to strategically placing Coke cans in such a way as to ensure nobody could pick them up.

My boys were struggling really hard, deciding between being mad at the guy for laughing at me or running away. They settled for staying ten feet behind me and pretending that they were only standing there to watch the show, not because the person standing in the middle of a 15 foot spray of soda was their ride home.

I picked up the 5 pack and began the long walk to the cash register. It was rush hour, all manner of people in the store picking up last-minute items for dinner. You guys, I had Coke dripping off of me - it was very noticeable. Luckily, it was also frightening, because people were staring until they saw me watching, then they would skedaddle into another aisle. They didn't see what happened, they just knew they didn't want any part of whatever I had been involved in.

I found the manager and told her I had exploded Diet Coke, and she asked if the Coke vendor was still there. I told her he was, and she was like, "Well what did HE do about it?" And I was all, "Well, he laughed..." and she left me standing there and went to yell at him. He blamed it on ME, you guys! She asked him what happened and he said, "She just dropped it!"

I didn't DROP IT. It flew out of the rings that were supposed to hold it, most likely the result of some shaking and stocking scheme he came up with while he was driving around today. He probably never dreamed he'd be lucky enough to witness the results of his evil plan. (Oh, I'm onto you, Coke vendor!)

So I was still holding a wet 5 pack, and I took it to the next employee. I held it up and said excuse me, and she looked up and said, "Oh hey!" like she knew me, then she walked away. Lady, I wasn't chatting with you. So I caught up with her and explained. She was no help.

I took the million loaves of bread to check out, along with a new 6 pack of Diet Coke, and the checker, who never once looked up at me, told me the cans were open. They're open? "Well, they're all wet," she said. Really? They're wet because of the GIANT EXPLOSION! That's why my dollars are all soaked in Coke, lady! And also why I look like I entered the wet t-shirt contest for People of Walmart! Wow.

The good news is that I am beyond embarrassment over spilling sodas after that one time when I spilled one right in front of my crush when I was 16, in the middle of the sermon I was giving him about how I never get embarrassed about things. But my boys are still not ready to laugh at this.

Aug 17, 2013

14 Moms Who Cannot Even Believe You Right Now

Because yesterday I pretty much gave dads all over the world permission to break out the Super Glue and permanently affix themselves to a sofa cushion, I feel a tad indebted to the moms today.

I don't have time to look over every post I've written to see if I have done the obligatory Mommy Blogger Ode to Moms post in the past. I probably have, and it was probably crazy enough to be somewhat reflective of what kind of mom I was at that point in my life. Now, who knows what I do?

But either way, writing about motherhood is much more difficult for me. Dads are easy because you can distract them with beer and then they forget what you said about them. Moms are only distracted by naptimes and I just don't have a lot of those laying around to show off to you guys.

So, I present to you:

14 Moms Who Cannot Even Believe You Right Now 

With a hat tip to BuzzFeed...I'm not sure if they own Internet lists, but it's safe to assume they corner the market.

 

1. This mom, who cannot even believe that she is still trying to explain algebra to you. 

2. This mom who is pulling this plant out of her house AGAIN cannot even believe that you haven't learned to use a toilet.

3. This mom who is so totally shocked that you would even think to do what you did that she is leaving you in the park and taking this cow-shaped plant home in your place.

4. This mom, who knew she shouldn't have worn the skirt without pockets, cannot believe you locked her out of the house.

5. This mom cannot even believe your obsession with her glasses. Cannot. Believe. It. Stahp.

6. This mom who cannot believe that you are still walking in the same direction, even though she's been making the "turn around and RUN" face at you for two minutes.

7. This mom can't even look at you right now. She cannot. She cannot believe you would wear that to the beach. She just can't. 

8. This mom, who is in so much disbelief over your Facebook profile she is actually going to copy it. DO YOU GET IT NOW, KID? DO YOU? Please.

9. This mom...just...no. Just get. out. She just can't.

10. This mom who cannot believe that you still think she is gone when you're playing peek-a-boo. Get it together, baby! She's always there!!!

11. This mom, who has actually lost her mind at this point, cannot believe that you would eat her face cream again. Let her show you, child. Look. LOOK AT THE FACE CREAM GOING ON HER FACE! 

 12. This mom cannot believe that you were so bad in the store that she had to put herself in a time out.

13. This mom who, if she wasn't so tired, would not even believe that you stayed up all night and now she's falling asleep on her first night out in three and half years. 

14. This mom just cannot believe that you didn't help with the groceries. She hopes you're not hungry this week, boy.

You'll notice that my own mother is not on this list, because she is the most amazing mom in the world. She can ALWAYS believe what I did! (Not really, but I know her "I cannot even believe you right now" face, and trust me, Internet, we'd all be so full of shame we wouldn't come out of our rooms for a week!)

I love you to the best mama in the whole wide world and even in the entire Internet!

Aug 16, 2013

Someone Dropped Their Feelers on My Blog

This little blog has gone through a transformation. First, I eliminated (most of) the sometimes words (aka: "grownup words"), then I tried to cut out some of the snark from my dark years. Finally, I started in with the talk of Heaven and babies and all sorts of holy and feely things that weren't part of my Personal Brand. In reality, they were...and they are. So naturally, they came spilling forth in a torrent of half-done thoughts and Big Words I Don't Really Use in Conversation.

You're welcome.

But today happened, y'all. It happened, and it happened after the last week, which was full of disappointment and discouragement and all sorts of chaos. So what is a snarky blogger from way back to do without her snark?

I'm going to try on "Encouraging and Positive" and see how it fits. (Spoiler Alert: It doesn't.)

A letter, for the dads...

Dear Dads of the World (and I know you're all reading this...),

To the dads who cast aside fears and doubts when that little line turns into two (or a plus sign, or a blinking neon sign screaming that your life is about to change forever), thank you for that infinitely precious look on your face the first time you hold your child.

For every dad who spends hours every day away from his family to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table, thank you is not even enough. The perseverance it takes to go on, day by day, to maintain the status quo is nothing short of heroic.

To every dad who "makes it" in the business world and knows his true value rests in those precious bundles of potential he's brought into the world, the rest of the world thanks you for your contribution to society.

And for the dad who isn't bringing home enough gold coins to make a diving pool, and still knows he is the richest of all, let me tell you that your children stand to gain ever so much more from life than from lifestyle.

If you have ever come home, exhausted from a day's work, and spent an hour playing catch, or having a tea party, or listening to the never ending saga of the Mario Bros., you are The Man.

For any father whose child is not sitting on a curb, waiting for him to show up but knowing that he will not, you are making a difference. If you come home from work, sit on the couch, turn on the TV and generally make an ass of yourself, you're making a difference. I don't recommend doing it that way (don't throw things at me, moms!), but let me buy you a beer sometime and tell you about how much your mere presence is changing the world.

For the daddy who is reading bedtime stories tonight, tucking freshly bathed kids in, or waking up to chase another monster out from under the bed - you matter, dude. You matter a LOT.

To the dads who are able to watch proudly as their little boy or girl graduates, when they look out through the lights in their faces on stage and see you sitting there, wow. Always be the face they find when they are blinded by the world around them. Always.

To the daddy walking his little girl down the aisle, she is so proud to dance with you tonight! Your example is what led her to choose this man to partner with for the rest of her life. And all the dad dancing you've embarrassed her with through her whole life...well that just gives her more to remember.

For every dad whose children believe in him enough that they are ready to believe in bigger things, well done. If your kid knows fatherly love well enough to have an understanding of his Father, you have given him the most priceless gift.

To the dads who hold a grandchild in their arms, seasoned from the experiences of fatherhood into a man who knows exactly how precious this little child is, enjoy this time. You have earned it.

For the daddies holding the hands of their crying children in the last moments of life...


 And my own dad, I may not claim to know you half the time, but that's what makes you Dad. And for the record, I'd trade a thousand "fathers" for my very own Daddy. I love you.

~MannyRee




Aug 10, 2013

End of Summer Blues

I know that a lot of parents are happy about school starting again. Back to the eight, blessed hours a day that the kids have somebody else to fill up all of their "bored" time. I have never been one of those parents. I like it when my kids are home.

But the last few days have been something new. Approaching our very first school year starting out with all six at home, the only thing the school year is bringing is more to add to our schedule, with a side of even more time together.

Now keep in mind, I'm the mom who loves when we have blizzards because we are stuck in the house and nobody can go anywhere and I get to live out all of my Laura Ingalls fantasies. But this summer, the kids haven't seen their dad in over a month, which means they have been with me 24-7 for weeks, except two nights they spent with their aunts. No problem - I got this.

The major problem is that they have been with each other that much.This results in a lot of down time spent plotting new ways to launch hangers and shoes at one another, and the only people who are safe from such assaults are the ones nearest mom.

That means that, for about three weeks now, I have had at least one person glued to me for 16 hours of the day.

A normal day in my house looks like this:
Please be kind to my child with the Hershey Kiss head. Also the one with the short leg, as he makes up for it with his giant face.

And during the summer, most of the days look like this:


But the last few weeks have more like:
 

So as you can see, we could use a little break. Next week, they will be going to see a grandmother. If all goes well, the hanger launching will be forgotten by the time we start school.

Jul 31, 2013

Travel Tips for Mason

My baby brother left on his Epic Journey yesterday. Obviously, he's a little kid and he needs help.

So...




10. Catholics aren't allowed to get married outside of the country of their birth. It has something to do with the whole..uh...churchy...um...yeah. You'll be grounded.

9. When you're on an airplane, chew gum. When you're on a bus, get off of it and call a cab.

8. When one is traveling, one would do well to bring one's eldest sister goodies from distant lands.

7. If you meet people who say, "Oh, I know someone from the US..." and expects you to know who they are talking about, do not be offended unless their friend is a Yankee.

6. Don't talk politics. Someone back home is bound to hear about it and get totally upset about it. Look what happened to the Dixie Chicks...you may have to wait till they're on "Where are They Now?" to find out.

5. If you come home and start pronouncing common foreign words and places in their original accent rather than the accent you were rightfully raised with, you have to put a dollar in the d-bag jar. (I'm sorry, there is no polite replacement for that word.)

4. Go to church.

3. Keep in touch with your family.

2. If you suddenly find yourself naked, running down the road with screaming people chasing you, DO NOT WORRY. You are not coming out of a blackout. You have merely been transported 18 years in the past. You parents are gone, and your sisters are trying to keep an eye on you.

1. Do not, under any circumstances, do that again. I will not look for you this time.

If you want to keep up with my brother's journey, you can do so here.

Jun 28, 2013

Mashed Potatoes



My kids are away for the week, which typically lessens the amount of fires to put out on any given day. But yesterday was the WORST EVER.

Both my dogs were to go in to be fixed, which, as you know, is routine and it happens every day and it’s nothing to worry about. There are two elements here that go into why this couldn’t just be an easy trip down the road to the vet’s office. 

Firstly, Shucks like to run away, and he’s very fast. As we’ve discussed in previous posts devoted to this dog and his love for chickens, he cares very little about what I have to say on the matter. Aside from this fact, he is the best dog I have ever had, and he loves me muches, which is important later in the story.

Éowyn is a Great Dane, which is a Very Large Dog. At just a few months old, she stands at my waist and weighs over 60 pounds. At least 55 pounds of that weight is her mouth, which she uses as a defense against anything from wearing a collar to Shucks’ poor, drool-covered ears, by merely holding it open while producing massive quantities of slobber. 

So, I leash the dogs and walk to the gate. Éowyn likes to play leapfrog on the leash, jumping sideways over Shucks and tangling everything up until we all fall over. Shucks and I, not being interested in this game today, were targeted with the Open Mouth of Doom resulting in Shucks’ leash being pulled out of my hand. He looked at me as if to say, “I know. I know. But SEE YA!” And off he went.

I decided to drive around and look for him, but Éowyn, wanting to see what mischief Shucks could get into, refused to get in the truck. After about twenty minutes of coaxing on my part and balking on her part, I picked her up, shoved her in, and started the truck. I was lucky that Shucks knew he was to go on a Super Fun Car Ride, so he came bounding back home when he heard it start.

So I finally get both dogs to the clinic, wait in a room for awhile, and it’s time for them to go to the back and for me to leave. The both walked to me and looked into my eyes. Shucks, who loves me so much, said, “I love you so much.” (With his eyes; he can’t really talk, yo.) Éowyn said, “Why are you paying attention to him? Let me put my mouth on something.” And I start crying like a baby and run out of the office.

Fast forward a bit, I had a dental appointment in the afternoon. I more nervous about the dogs’ surgeries than was at all appropriate and I hate the dentist. I sat in a waiting room for 30 minutes, and the hygienist came in – brushing her teeth ­– strolling around the waiting room chatting with the other patient about how she may as well buy her jeans from Target, but she always buys $400 jeans and just can’t bring herself to shop at Target. That annoyed me on two levels: One, because I have a thing about brushing teeth. I don’t like to watch people brush their teeth and I hate when people watch me. GROSS. Two, I can’t even afford Target jeans, so whatever.

During the three hours I was being tortured by various employees at this office, I came to realize that people in the dental profession must be on the highest level of narcissism. (If that describes you, please don’t be offended. I can’t really tell you why you shouldn’t be offended, but it works if I just tell you not to be, correct? U mad, bro? We’re cool, right?) Back in the old days, this type of person would pick a nation to rule or something that put them in a position to force people to hang on their every word and put those same people through unspeakable pains in a dungeon somewhere. Because torture and stuff is mostly outlawed these days (I know), these people turned to dentistry.  

My dentist is fairly good at talking while inflicting pain, but the hygienist (we’ve established I already didn’t like her, right?) was another story. 

Her: Open! I’m going to shove some stuff in your mouth and give you three shots. Slowly.
Me: :::complies:::
Her: So…Director of Social Media? What does THAT mean?
Me: Arhghghkkkkfhghghgh

And so on. For a couple hours.

When I was allowed up from the chair, half my face was swollen and numb, and the other half was in dire pain. They chose that time to charge me $370 more than they had promised me this would cost. Unable to argue, I paid and left.

I cried all the way to the vet because I don’t even know…everything hurt.

I waited an hour at the vet to pick up my dogs, because the lady said that the doctor needed to speak with me about the blood tests they had done.

When a doctor needs to speak with you about blood tests, the correct response is to FREAK OUT. So I sat next to a sobbing woman and her sick dog, and freaked out for both of us.

They put me in a room and dropped my dogs off with me. Shucks looked at me and said, “I still love you SO MUCH, even though whatever happened to me back there was NOT COOL. Let’s both agree to never speak of this again.” Éowyn slobbered all over my jeans. I had reached the limit of what I could endure. I mean uncontrollable, ugly, my-life-is-over sobbing, just as the doctor walked in.

He gave me a deer in the headlights look, glanced back at the door he just walked through like he was planning an escape, and asked, “Are you okay? Are the dogs all right?”

I’m in total toddler-style meltdown at this point, so I sob, “Aren’t youuuuu supposed to tell meeeeee that?”
He said they were fine, blood tests were normal, and I could leave.

Thanks, man. 

Me and the dogs came home and chose our respective places on the couch where we took turns crying and comforting each other until my brother-in-law brought me mashed potatoes which turned things around for me. I gave the dogs the mac and cheese I couldn’t eat, and they felt all better, too. 

Southern, bad for you, comfort food can fix anything, is my point.

Jun 25, 2013

A Case Against Rules

I have always been a rebel. Now that I'm a 33 year old mother of six children with a Grown Up Job and two dogs and a bird and I buy things like washing machines and car parts instead of pot and spray paint*, I should have grown out of it. But no.

Now, I think there is a reason.

There should not be all these rules.

I am dead serious, so for those of you who know how sarcastic I can be, please understand that I mean this.

Look at the rules we have here in the US, as a nation. For instance, the way we buy a house and the land upon which it sits, yet we pay money to the government for it every year. You know what? No.

Or what about how long it takes to get your taxes done? What is that about? No more taxes. No. I mean it. No more federal government, period.

Let's look at state rules. The state is in charge of education. Why? What qualifications do these people have? So guess what, state? No.

How about cities? One city near me has a rule that residents cannot grow a vegetable plant over six feet tall. A woman had her entire garden (and source of food) destroyed by  police because her tomato plant was almost at the limit. And what's the point, anyway? Shut up, city.

I lived in a city that would fine you if your lawn grew over three inches. Three inches, you guys. You know what? It's my grass, I own it. If I want three and a half inch blades of grass it is my own business. Let me ask you: Who has the time? Who has all this time and energy to be all, "Man I hate those four inch blades of grass. I am going to make them illegal!" And then what neighbor has time to call the police and tattle about it? Really, America? Really.

There's a guy in his seventies being fined thousands of dollars for, get this, feeding birds. In his yard. Birdfeeders, y'all. 

And while I'm at it - garage sale permits? Also no.

Or how bout those homeowner's associations? I refuse to live anywhere with an HOA, because I don't need some over-evolved PTA mom telling me what kind of car I can own, where I can park it, and how loud I can play music on property that - wait for it - is already mine. I realize that some people like this kind of life, because God forbid that you live next door to someone with an RV that isn't parked correctly. Lives ruined, folks. Lives ruined.

And at home...so many rules in the home! I think it's the only place they belong, actually, but my goal is to have my kids off rules long before they are adults. If they can't make good decisions at home, how are they possibly going to make them in college?

I hate rules. All of them. If I want to be good, I'll be good because I want to. Never will I ever, one time, be good because someone told me to.

It's not like I think that people should run around serially murdering each other or anything. But if a guy has come to the point that serial murder is his one passion in life, then he's not the kind of guy who is real big on rule-following, anyway. But the upside to the no rules thing? Let somebody catch him. I call it "Insta-justice" and it's free.

"But MannyRee, people will be speeding!" Guess what? They already are!
"But people will be cutting in line!" Okay, get rid of lines. (Another thing I hate and do not believe in.)
"But people might be able to sell their own stuff in their own front yard without paying someone who has nothing to do with it!" One can only hope.

God gave us free will. He could have forced us to be good, and pay for parking, or whatever, but He didn't. Because it only counts if you want to be good - not if you are forced to.

GEEZ, 'Merica. Let's all agree to Wild West it from now on.

*Okay, I wasn't great at being a rebel. I never bought pot, and the only spray paint I have ever purchased was driven by something Pinterest-y.

Jun 12, 2013

Do You Have an Introvert? Let's Do Another of these Articles...



I’m sure this has been written. You’ve all seen the articles. Have you shied away from them, worried your introverted friends would know about your curiosity and serially murder you in your sleep, or have you read them anyway? Did you see yourself in them, or did you secretly believe that this is just another example of trying to normalize crazy?

Please allow me to explain to you, the extrovert, how to handle me, the introvert.

The first day you bring your introvert home, please do not expect a ton of affection. Introverts do not take to new people right away, and often not at all. Rest assured that when you do see signs that your introvert likes you, this means he likes you very, very much. 

Before introducing your introvert to the public, consider the following scenario: You have just arrived at the most happening party of the year. You have been looking forward to it for months, carefully chosen what you will wear, and have your chosen social target in your sites. Then, without warning, somebody makes you go home. And sit in mud. 

This, you see, is what the same feeling your introvert has when he is dragged around to various events. He looks forward to his time alone. He cherishes it. He plans it. He knows exactly what he will do with each precious moment of it. Then he is rudely ripped away from it into a swirl of chatter and chaos. It is a sad day for your introvert.

”But you’re wrong,” you protest. “My introvert loves people.” Let me tell you something, we all love people. We just don’t like them all at once. Or all the time. Or as a surprise. Or on a boat or on a train. Well, maybe on a train. But only if we knew ahead of time we would be on the train, and also that people would be on it, and also that we would have to talk to them. 

Seriously, folks. We like you. That’s not a lie. We care about you to the point that it is exhausting. And here’s where I explain the science, so put on your learning hat, yo. Extroverts feed off of the energy of others. They are energized by a room full of people, by conversation and stories, and by closeness. Introverts are everything that is the complete opposite of that.

Introverts are drained by that kind of energy. We absorb everything around us. So if someone is sitting in a corner feeling sad, and someone is happily chatting to us about something, and someone else is immensely enjoying the punch, we are feeling all of that. All at the same time. Added to that is the processing of every sight and sound and smell. And added to all of that is that we care about it. Deeply. Perhaps too deeply.

So your introvert is going to be very worn out after dealing with “public.” 

Your introvert does not want to be alone because he is depressed. He needs to be alone to recharge. In this way, he will be ready to come back later and care some more. He likes you, and he likes your friends. He is happy for the happy person and sad for the sad person. But he has had a busy evening of feeding his energy to the extroverts and he needs a chance to replenish it.

I used to have a person in my life who was quite extroverted. This person believed that the only cure for anything that ailed me (or my children) was for us to all leave our house and Go Somewhere. Also, Do Something. And it usually involved crowds and chatter and all sorts of over-stimulation. This person also hated my house, and did not understand that I would actually marry my house if it meant I could spend more time there.

On the other hand, I do enjoy spending time with my family – and we are a large group of people. I still need time to recharge later, but I like that. It’s worth it. I enjoy it immensely. So rather than use up my carefully stored calm on a restaurant full of all kinds of feels, I chose to use most of it on my family.

I host a Christmas party every year, and cram about 20 of my favorite people around my kitchen table until all hours of the night. I love it. Every second of it. And then I stay awake for two hours after they have gone, putting all the information I have cared about and absorbed into its proper place in my brain. So basically, too much public could result in serious – even fatal - sleep-deprivation. If you care about your introvert, you will respect his need for space. But in moderation, public is awesome.

Please pardon this puppy's awful spelling. Him's too cute to have to spellz.
A word on depression – depression is characterized by a lack of interest in activities one previously enjoyed. So yes, if you know someone who previously was all “ZOMG! All the PEOPLE! Bring them all to me and let me NOM THEM UP!" And then that person gets all “I kinda want to stay home. Forever.” Then you maybe should worry. 

If, however, your person has been known to like quiet corners and people-watching and smoking angrily on cigarettes while plotting who-knows-what, and then still likes those things, your person is not depressed. That person is very very happy – unless you make them go to the people. (The people who, again, they like very much. I mean it.)

When I have strangers working on my house, I do not eat lest I accidentally see them.
If your introvert happens to escape, do not worry. He will come home. If your introvert is lost in a crowd, such as at a fair or a concert or something, it is not the time to freak out. Your introvert is already freaking out enough for both of you. But he would still enjoy a cotton candy or something, and would even like to talk about the event at some future (and quieter) point. 

I have a son who tends to be this way. He likes staying home or, if forced out, he will find one person to engage at a time. What most tells me he is likely an introvert, though, is how touched he is by anything that goes on with other people. He stays up nights worrying if someone is sick, and he is the first of my children to cry if something sad happens, and he cannot bear to watch the news, and his entire face lights up with joy for good news. So you see, I am not lying. We like you an awful bunch of lots.