The Most Obvious Co-opting of #BringBackOurGirls I’ve Seen Yet

Originally posted on Cultured State:

Ramaa Mosley is attempting to co-opt the #BringBackOurGirls movement, and I am not here for any of this.

Yesterday, ABC News (of the United States) made up a profile on the newsmagazine Nightline of Ramaa Mosley, and essentially credited her with creating the #BringBackOurGirls hashtag—for those wondering, it refers to the 234 girls kidnapped by Boko Haram in Nigera weeks ago, that haven’t been found as of yet. And I have a problem: the claim just isn’t true.

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A simple request @JamesRoday @DuleHill of #Psych

Please guys, read this and please make me the happiest woman in the world?

Hi. I’ve never spoken about this at any great length on here, however, let me start off by saying, I AM A HUMONGOUS PSYCH FAN. Huge. Perhaps borderline obsessed with watching. But absolutely not in a crazy, creepy, stalker kind of way. More of a this makes me forget how sad I am and remember the good times kind of way.

I like to escape into their world and pretend like I’m that cool.

Since I discovered it was on Netflix early last summer, I have watched the first 6 seasons countless times. It’s on a constant loop on my bedroom computer so that I fall asleep and wake up to it.

It started out that I was just catching up on any episodes I may have missed, and then watching whatever tiny scraps of Season 7 I could agonize through (because my computer sucks and can’t handle USA’s video format or something). At the time, my youngest, referred to here as Bean, and I were sharing a room. Noodle was sharing a room with my mom, however generally by morning I had two tiny people in my bed. Many mornings, middle of the night fever wakings, afternoon quiet times and any other times are of my happiest memories: the three of us, snuggled up in my bed, watching Psych. And just so there’s no uproar/backlash/OMG you let your kids watch that???, I’m happy to assure you that they did not watch any of the remotely questionable parts. They mostly liked to sing the theme song, and just spend time in my arms. For a short time, they were even convinced that “Shawn” was actually my friend John. “Why is John on Netflix Mommy? How’d he get on your ‘puter?”

When they…weren’t here anymore, I couldn’t stop crying. It took all that I had to get out of bed. So while I lay there, a shell of a human being, I watched Psych. Grateful for the humor and memories it helped me recall, it also provided enough distraction for me to stop crying in brief interludes. So I kept rewatching. And watching again. And starting from the Pilot to the end, backward to forward and every way in between.

Well, tonight I am going to the Paley Center for some special event where (wait for iiiiiiiiit) …. JAMES RODAY AND DULE HILL AND ALLY SHEEDY WILL BE THERE AND TALKING ABOUT THE SHOW AND THERE’S GONNA BE A SPECIAL SCREENING AND OMG OMG OMG OMG I AM SO EXCITED I MIGHT EXPLODE!

I came up with an idea, a pretty good one if you ask me. How about I try and get a short clip of them and me (holding a pineapple, obviously) outside (or inside, wherever is ok with me) waving to my girls and saying Hi! Sounds like a great idea right? What’s the big deal, you ask. Why is this so important?

Because I haven’t seen my kids in a while. It’s been close to a month since I’ve seen Noodle, a week and a half since I’ve seen Bean and honestly, I have no idea when I will get to lay eyes on them again. I don’t get to hear their voices, I don’t get to brush their soft sweet-smelling hair off their faces, and I don’t get to give them tickle torture. Frankly, it’s the most painful thing I have ever had to go through.

I keep myself busy by drawing pics and putting together little gifts for them and thought, HEY. This is something we used to do together, and a once in a lifetime potential opportunity. I could then post the video on my fb and hope it gets to the right place, or somehow get it before their eyes so they can see that Mommy is healthy, that I love and miss them, and LOOK! Shawn and Gus say hi too! They would be SO blown away.

So this is my official request; PLEASE, will you wonderful, handsome, talented, hilarious, empathetic, kind, generous and all around awesome men, James and Dule, and maybe even the incomparable Ally Sheedy, PRETTY PLEASE WITH SUGAR AND HONEY AND ICE CREAM AND SPRINKLES AND WHIPPED CREAM AND PINEAPPLE ON TOP HELP ME OUT BY TAKING A FEW SHORT MOMENTS AND MAKING A SHORT VIDEO CLIP FOR MY BABIES ? It would definitely be the coolest thing ever in the whole world and I would be eternally grateful and in your debt. I am bringing the pineapple. My name is Alicia. I will be there tonight. I hope this happens!!

 

 

(So if you’re not them and reading this please share it and RT it and do whatever needs to be done to make it go viral or until they say yes. PLEEEEEEASE!)

Oh, also, I apologize for any grammatical, spelling or any other errors in here, but I wrote this on the fly cuz I gotta get my behind to the CIT-AY!!!

Annual Parade for Drunken Debauchery

Yesterday was the town’s annual St. Patrick’s Day Parade. This year I actually attended. I had my motives, and it was the first time I got out of bed in a while lol.
I did not go to see the marching bands or eat funnel cake. I had no friends to meet up with.
I did however have an ill conceived plan to try and find my kids.
Usually KD takes them. I went along once I think. The baby was a wee tiny bean back then, and Noodle was your average no cares in the world happier than me at an all you can eat cupcake buffet. It was a decently enjoyable short period of time- I went late and left early. The weather was crappy and rainy. Call me a stick in the mud. 
Back to the point. My black ops mission.
I walked from one end of town to the other hoping to see their tiny angelic faces, so that I could scoop them up and cover them in kisses.
It didn’t work out. If they were there, I somehow missed them.
On the bright side, I ended up being more active than I have in months. I walked 3 miles, met my 10,000 steps a day goal for the first time ever by the way, and took lots of pictures and videos and was generally amused by the lot of it.
So I’ll share with you some of the enjoyable highlights.

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This is the Food Bank cow. If you have food donations to make, call the number above her head . There are many needy individuals and families in the area who will benefit.

image

This sweet ride.

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This guy       ↑   that guy ↓

image

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Gumby, fire trucks, and lots of people in green.

image

And by the time I walked home I realized that it all adds up to…

image

And there you have it.

That post I mentioned…

alitlmonkee:

I’m not entirely sure what this button does. So I’m pressing it. I hope it doesn’t make things explode.

Originally posted on alitlmonkeemaker:

The other day I started writing. I was really proud of myself, because I had been thinking about writing for about two months and never sat down to do it. And then, I DID IT. It felt wonderful. So I figured I’d keep a good thing going and make some use of this nifty WordPress app on my phone, and keep writing. Also, I figured out how to post pictures within my text, and was feeling a bit savvy. I worked on that post for a good portion of the day.

At one point I realized that switching from computer to phone and back was ineffective and I had to redo a lot of editing. I decided I was way less savvy on this app than I thought, and decided to stick to my computer.

A little later I realized I was writing about the same thing I had just…

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Feelings aren’t facts but are they food?

*NOTE* I started writing this post almost two months ago- January 2nd. I would really like to tell you how well I am doing, having accepted the problem, I began working on making the change I need to stop bingeing. However, upon stumbling across this draft, whist procrastinating real work away, I recognized that I still am stuck here. So I share with you my struggles. Maybe this will help me get over the food thing and initiate use of real, and healthy coping skills. Or maybe you will cosign my nonsense and together we can cupcake it up until we can no longer move. *END NOTE*

Having re-read my last couple posts, I see that though not much has changed, everything is different. And not all for the better. As far as my cloth diapers, cloth trainers and anything else fluff related that’s all (unfortunately, sadly, and much to my dismay) had to be abandoned for reasons – at this point – beyond my control. It’s ok though, because when my girls come to visit (oh yea. BIG EFFIN DRAMA) my teeny tiny little sweet baby, Bean, wears big girl underpants. Even typing it I tear up. I don’t know how this growing up shit happened so fast, but I will reiterate that I DO NOT LIKE IT AT ALL.

I must move on. Find some form of acceptance and love and cherish each developmental stage as they come. Or else I will spend my whole life (and theirs) wishing they were babies and missing out on what wonderful young ladies they are growing up to be. Still, I miss the early snuggy baby days, and just keep hope alive that one day I will be in a position to procreate some more. I’m definitely not ready to not make more tiny humans right now, despite what that stupid ticking clock tells me.

I figured I oughta check in with ya’ll, it being a new year and all. I made no serious resolutions other than stop with the cookies only diet. Get back on the balanced diet wagon. Attempt to get myself feeling more normal. Well, like myself. I don’t know what normal even is anymore. Further, I vaguely remember having decided many moons ago that normal was not an appropriate state of being for me, ever. Blah. I figure that’s enough of a job in and of itself that any other improvements I make on myself or to improve the world around me will be a bonus. Also, that’s kinda like the foundation for productivity. Did you ever notice that when you eat well (meaning healthy, balanced and nutritive meals) you’re able to function better as a whole? This is my truth.

When I eat 40 oatmeal cookies in only a couple of days, after eating a pound brick of gingerbread dough and ice cream, candy, and any other sugary carb loaded crap I could squeeze down my gullet, my brain doesn’t work, my body feels horrible, all I want to do is sleep and when I am up all I want to do is yell at people. Its not the best way to operate.

I’ve been doing that horrendous-for-my-everything-thing where I eat my feelings. Any of you do that? A show of hands please… Ahh yes. Thank you. Knowing I am not alone makes me feel much better. There has been an unreal and unreasonable amount of turmoil, upset, shame, stress, horror–name the first five negative descriptive terms you can think of, they apply to my life. So here I am, crawling and clawing my way out of the REALLY deep hole I dug and then dove into, but it’s really hard to climb with all this junk food in my pockets, hands and while chewing. I need a different way to operate.

The whole problem started because I didn’t like feelings and decided I was entitled to not have them. Apparently my brain still feels that is valid, except it’s using sugary foods to numb me. The sugar numb sucks. There’s a way worse hangover to it and I gotta tell you, it’s everywhere. Calling me. Nerds ropes begging to be eating, fire balls with my name on it and a zillion donuts that yearn to get in my belly. And the cupcakes. I musn’t forget the ever-enticing cupcakes. We have become VERY close in the past year. OH, CUPCAKES. *sigh*

How do you stop eating your feelings without stopping eating? And what about when you’re having feelings after you’re already hungry, how do you know when you’ve finished with the nutritional eating and cross into emotional eating territory? Furthermore, can I (and if so, how do I) retrain my brain to stop eating my feelings and like, deal with them? They are HUUUUUUGGE feelings. The kind of feelings that lead to Lifetime Movies. What does one do?

I know some people do the opposite. They don’t eat, and or they exercise a lot. Which leads me to wonder- Can I do that? Exorcise with exercise? That seems to be the ideal idea-Crappy feelings begone. I banish thee to the nether-regions of the Stream of Consciousness (which, in case you’re wondering, flows into the River Denial) with every move I make!  PLEASE SOMEONE TELL ME HOW TO START DOING THIS.

All joking aside, pretty soon, I may be unrecognizable. I NEED to get a grip. This is my public cry for help. Pretend I’m wearing a ridiculous wig and calling people names on Twitter. I beg of you. Deliver me from this sugary hell.

 

OOOOH! Psych is on. Gotta go.

What to write, what to write

I seem to always feel compelled to write as I’m getting ready to run out the door. I do have somewhere to be. I have to pick up a friend, we have a place to be in 35 minutes, yet here I sit wanting to pour my heart about about something. I don’t know if I want to share my joy that I just spoke to my sweet babies or my extreme disgust and ire at the whole situation. I don’t know if I should laugh or cry that my life is actually like a Lifetime movie.

I really want to talk about American Horror Story. Do you guys want to talk about American Horror Story and how bummerific it is that it’s not on tonight?

I think that’s a good topic. By show of hands- likes? RT’s? Shares? Comments? Idk. Let me know. Let’s communally obsess over Coven. I love hyperanalyzing good tv and film.

I’ll be back in a few hours. Be ready. :)

Colored Ribbons and #RyantoDuke

Today I am going a bit off of my regular chatty, life with and without kids, life in general type format. I want to talk about something serious, a topic that hits very close to home for me.

I’ll start off by introducing you to Colored Ribbons Against Cancer. It’s a small not for profit organization dedicated to raising and distributing funds to people stricken with cancer. They have a blog, a Facebook page, and Twitter account. I have the honor of helping this foundation grow.

If one was to go old school and make an actual family tree (do kids even know what those are anymore? what if ancestry.com went down?) you would see that on my mother’s side, several women have bravely battled cancer: leukemia and breast being the offenders. The two women (aunts) that immediately come to mind who were diagnosed with breast cancer, fortunately, kicked it’s ass. Less than two years ago another aunt died after having been diagnosed and treated for lung cancer. My father’s side I know little of, however I have vague recollections of holiday remembrances of family members lost to this vicious disease. Further, I had a cervical cancer scare immediately proceeding my pregnancy with DDa; (having been diagnosed with high-grade dysplasia and gone through a LEEP procedure only to be told they may need to “take everything out” since they were unable to get all of the offending cells) and still need to undergo genetic testing for the BRCA gene. This is just immediate blood relatives. If I was to extend the scope to spouses and non-blood ‘family’, the number of people I have lost to cancer is really quite sad.

My point, is that helping individuals, warriors, as Colored Ribbons refers to them, who are fighting for their lives, is something that means A LOT to me. Not only because those around me have been affected, but because the chances I will one day be fighting it are higher than average as well.  I am passionate about it. This is why I am dedicating this and probably future posts to the work Colored Ribbons is doing. Statistically speaking, each of you probably has been similarly affected by cancer and it’s evil doings in one way or another.  My hope is to bring about some passion in you, so that you will want to aid this cause.

Back to the point. #RyantoDuke

Currently, Colored Ribbons is involved in helping raise money for a young man named Ryan Connell. He is a soldier who, at less than 30, has already completed a tour in Iraq and served 4 years in the Army National Guard. After this he went on to earn his Associates Degree at a local NJ college and made the decision to even further his education at Rowan University. Ryan’s goal is to become a History teacher. I don’t know about you, but I consider teaching one of the noblest professions these days, considering the effort to compensation/appreciation ratio. However and unfortunately, the Powers That Be had a different plan for this young soldier.

One Saturday night in 2012, Ryan suffered a Grand Mal (aka Tonic-Clonic-ref. Wikipedia) Seizure. After testing and a craniotomy,  (surgical removal/incision into the skull- reference here. Don’t scroll down the page. Seriously upsetting.)  Dr’s believed it to be a benign mass.  Then the results came in. Not at ALL what they had anticipated.

Ryan was diagnosed with Stage 4 Gioblastoma encompassed by Stage 2 Astrocytoma.  As Ryan and his family tried to absorb what was happening, they learned that Gioblastoma is one of the most rapidly growing form of Brain Cancer.  Hope abounded though, Ryan is young and a fighter. Radiation and chemotherapy for almost a year brought normal MRI reports, thus a collective sigh of relief.

Sadly, this relief was short lived and a suspicious area popped up in October 2013; despite chemo treating that, a new and rapidly growing mass developed. As of December it was about an inch in diameter. It is affecting his vision and his speech. Due to it’s location his current team of neurosurgeons felt surgery was not an option.

Then the bottom dropped out. Since Ryan is now 27, he is being dropped from his father’s medical insurance. Because of his “pending medical discharge from the military” he is not receiving military benefits-despite having served a tour in Iraq and four years in the Army National Guard.

Through extensive research, Ryan’s family found that Duke University in North Carolina has clinical trials and treatments that have been proven successful.  Ryan and his family feel that this is his only hope for survival. THEY BELIEVE THAT THIS WILL SAVE HIS LIFE.  His sister has set up a fund via youcaring.com to raise money to fund the travel and associated expenses of his treatment. Every single dollar will go to to meet their established goal.

In just two days, almost 20% of the goal amount has been met. My opinion? The goal could be 10 times higher. But let’s get #RyantoDuke before I start getting grandiose over here. Click on my drawing on the left “Pathway to My Dreams” (You may recognize it from *LESIGH*) to be linked directly to Ryan’s YouCaring page. Click the Colored Ribbons logo to the Right and be linked to the post there, #RyantoDuke if you wish to make a donation there. Colored Ribbons will also be holding a fundraiser on Ryan’s behalf; a kitty of startup funds is always good.

Thank you very much for reading, I know this is a long one. The promising life of a young person is worth it. I ask that you share this post and any other related post you see related to #RyantoDuke. Use the hashtag, donate money, contact Colored Ribbons with ideas or suggestions–whatever you may have to offer is appreciated, I’m sure. United we stand, together we KICK CANCER’S ASS.

link to youcaring

#RyantoDuke

Help send #RyantoDuke

Colored Ribbons Against Cancer official Logo Post for #RyantoDuke

MEMORIES

I was hanging out with my friend earlier, checking out this sweet book she has on Mandalas from different cultures. I love those.

When I was 12, I used to draw them, not knowing what they were, or properly creating them probably. In college I learned a lot more about them, as it was art school. I surmise that I drew a couple then as well. I was more into the boxes and these incredibly beautiful beads I was making though. Fast forward to the very beginning of my relationship with my children’s father, we used to watch a tv show which featured mandalas and meditation as a central theme in several episodes. Here I am now, pining away for my children, coloring them in to keep my anxiety at bay, using them as a meditative aid so that I can focus my energy on positive thoughts.

You’re probably confused. A lot has gone down since May. I won’t get into it in great detail; frankly I could get myself into trouble if I start running my mouth-er-fingers about it. Suffice it to say, I am currently spending 100% less time with my children than I was this time last year, and I miss them horrifically. As if  part of my soul has been removed and is elsewhere, being tortured.

What I’m left with is entirely too much time in my own head. However I had such a happy memory as a result of these mandalas today I couldn’t help but share it. As I scanned the images from her book into my computer so that I may print and color them, or perhaps even play with them in Photoshop or Painter Pro 2 (? some similar program my mom has on her computer. I actually rather like it. If anyone knows anything about it, please let me know. I don’t quite have the hang of it, but I’m ok with basic stuff) or MAYBE one of these days I’ll get into the correct frame of mind and draw some from scratch. Regardless,  I was scanning, and my dear friend puts on a song, asking if I’ve ever heard it.

 

This was the highlight of my day. I used to play this song every morning while I made breakfast for the girls and I. We would sing it and dance around the kitchen even during the darkest of my PPD days. It was how I coped with the fact that I had to get through another day. How I got my blood flowing. And my babies were so sweet dancing around with me, singing along. The best was when DDa would, out of nowhere bust into song: “BLAME IT ON MY ADD, BABY!”

Like the waves during high tide, I was pounded with memories. They flooded my mind and touched all of my senses. Snuggling and watching The Lorax 800 times, playing in the inflatable pool with our old neighbor, tearing up Kale chips like there was no tomorrow and laughing, singing and dancing. Just thinking of these times I am sitting and smiling, probably for the first time all day.

I have some pretty shitty ones, but right now I am immeasurably grateful for my memories because they are all I have to hold on to. I miss my babies. I can’t wait until they come home. So if you’re so inclined, perhaps say a prayer, burn a candle, recite an incantation or chant so the Powers That Be may understand, and know to allow them to come back to me. I appreciate it, and I know that even though I can’t ask them, that my sweet little monkees do too.

<3

 

Quickie

Just a quickie because I realized it has been about 6 months since I’ve even given ya’ll a nod and thought, “How fucking rude am I?”

So here’s my nod, I love you guys and promise to catch you up (prepare yourself, it’s a long one, I may have to sub-divide) as soon as I can. That may even be later tonight. In the meantime, check out this other blog, leave me some feedback. I’d appreciate it.

OTHER BLOG

Grazie.

Gotta run.

Dagnabit!

Here I had this great spot where I was gonna post all kinds of things regarding cloth diapers and all related paraphernalia and OTB pics of fluffy little babies.
Guess what. While life continued happening all over me, my tiny little one has grown (not so much in size, but in maturity) and started potty training herself.

 

W-W-W-WHAT????

 

Yup. At 13 months she knocked on the bathroom door and said “Mommy potty!” I put her on it, lo and behold, she peed right on it.

Now she’s almost 2. Not out of diapers yet, but steadily indicating that she needs to use the toilet and more often than not is correct. It amazes me.

 

So what does this mean for my love of all things fluffy, cute and tushie covering?? Am I going to have to quit cold turkey? What shall I do with my stash? And how will I channel all of the obsession for cloth diapers into something else???

 

Then it came to me. Cloth trainers. There are lots to try, and many are beyond adorable. *huge sigh of relief*  I have a little longer to indulge, thank goodness.  I’m really not ready to give it up yet.

 

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