Forgive me, WordPress, for I have sinned.

It’s been OVER A MONTH SINCE MY LAST CONFESSION POST?!!!!

Okay, WordPress. Let me be upfront with you:

It’s too much of an effort to post here.

With every inkling of an idea, I find I must set out to write a masterpiece of a blog because this is an important site, and serious bloggers post here.

And you know what? I have written some really good posts here.

But whether you intend to or not, you intimidate me, WordPress.

Also, no one reads me here.

(I don’t wish to insult my readers; you are NOT a nobody! It’s just that your numbers are few. It’s demoralizing to put your heart – and your tired brain – into an essay and have it seen by only twenty people, on average.)

I began blogging on Tumblr, and for some reason I left.

I can’t even remember why. It was probably something as stupid as not being able to find a theme I liked.

But I had regular readers there. Not in the several hundreds, like my other Tumblr account. But nearly triple digits.

As much as Tumblr users complain about the antiquated platform, and gripe about its inability to provide a traditional comment thread, there’s one thing Tumblr has that neither WordPress nor Blogger have: the Dashboard.

The Dashboard helps to bring bloggers and readers together in real time, so that when I post something, I can get immediate feedback. I like that about Tumblr. There are many things I don’t like about it, but I’m fond of the interaction that blogging site allows.

So….it’s come to this:

I’m going to pick up where I left off here (and perhaps pack up some of my published posts) and move back home.

I hope you’ll follow me there.

Or at least check in from time to time.

Find me here: Hurty Words

Thanks again for reading and caring enough to make a comment every once in a while.

Sincerely,

Nancy

This May or May Not be about Breastfeeding

In light of the recent TIME magazine brouhaha,

this sentiment also applies to moms who bully other moms.

Your way is not necessarily the only way.

Step off of your imaginary soapbox and stop judging other people.

Or if you must judge, keep your nasty mouth shut.

Hopefully, your kids won’t grow up to be like you.

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Stick A Pin In It

Funny how I just blogged about voodoo dolls and now I’m writing another post about pins.

These pins are figurative, however, and in most cases less sharp than your ordinary tack.

Of course, I’m talking about Pinterest, the trendy new social networking site in which a user-base of mostly women “pin” recipes and wedding ideas to their virtual “boards,” and followers can, in turn, “like” (in Facebook fashion) the pins and/or “re-pin” the images onto their own boards.

I’m using it because I like to look at photos of homes I will never be able to afford and to pretend I’m a fashionista. But all of that is really a ruse to get people to click on my HurtyWords products.

Some have called it glorified scrapbooking, and others have grumbled (half-heartedly) about the addictive nature of the site.

I, for one, do not think most are using it to its full potential.

Sure, I love to peruse the photos of exotic vacation locales and awe-inspiring kitchens. And I swear that one of these days I will make that recipe for salted caramel brownies. But I think the site takes itself too seriously. It could use a bit more humor, is all I’m saying.

Thankfully, some of my friends (and very funny ones, at that) are helping me to laugh by sticking it to Pinterest with prickling sarcasm and a few jabs of mockery.

For example, here’s Rex Huppke’s ode to ham and Pauly Miller’s commentary on family and relationships. And if there are others treating Pinterest this way, I surely want to know about it because I’m getting a little bored with the pretty pictures.

I’m actually trying to inject my own brand of sarcasm with my “I Don’t Love My Kids Enough” board, wherein I mock the type of crafters who think that making your own sidewalk chalk is a worthwhile endeavor.

Although I do enjoy poking fun at some of the pins, I’ll never go so far as to troll someone’s boards and make nasty comments. A few weeks ago, I saw an awesome photo of cauliflower representing a famous explosion in history, and someone had the nerve to wag her pinning finger and tell the pinner it was tasteless. I’m all for letting creativity flow, and unless I see some real hatred being promoted on the site, I’ll keep my mouth shut.

But as with other social media venues, I’m already seeing thievery and the “borrowing” of intellectual property without assigning proper credit to the original pinner.

(I almost laughed out loud when I wrote “intellectual property” because I was referring to someone’s theft of my pin about Loreal’s Magic Perfecting Base.)

All in all, it’s a fun site, and I encourage you to check it out, follow me, and point me in the direction of the Pinning Pioneers. Let’s make scrapbooking a little more edgy, shall we?

I’m Making a Voodoo Doll for my Son

Now before you get all shocked and judgmental, wait to see where I’m going with this.

I’m not teaching him how to be passive-aggressive  or to wish harm on others.

In fact, the doll will represent him (or at least one part of him).

You’re really confused now, aren’t you?

Well, let me enlighten you.

My son has Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.

A lot of people joke about OCD and remark that they constantly need to even things up or that  they’re “crazy” when it comes to worrying about germs.

They talk about it like it’s some endearing little quirk.

But OCD isn’t a quirky character trait.

Tamar E. Chansky, author of Freeing Your Child From Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, describes it likes this:

” OCD comes from a biochemical mishap in the brain. Part of the brain sends out a false message of danger and rather than going through the proper ‘screening process’ to evaluate the thought, the brain gets stuck in danger gear and cannot move out of it. The emergency message circuit keeps repeating and is ‘immune’ to logical thought.”

Ms. Chansky states that the key to battling  OCD is to learn – via cognitive behavioral therapy –  to label it as a bad source of information, and to figuratively “boss it back.”

Are you wondering about some of the things OCD makes my son do? Here are the latest rituals:

• He hates the number 2 and will get very angry if you do anything two times (like say a word twice, or shut the dresser drawer in two moves)
• The refrigerator door must not close on its own; we have to control it.
• He will flick the light switch on and off upon entering or exiting a room.
• He has to step into and out of a room several times until he “gets it right.”
• He’ll produce a four-noise sound pattern in his throat whenever something bothers him, which is A LOT!

In the past, I’ve asked him, “Why are you doing these things?”  but I don’t do that anymore because he really doesn’t know why. He just feels like he has to do them or things will not be right in his world.

Sometimes, I’m pushed to the point of frustration – especially when we need to be somewhere on time – and I lash out with a command like, “MOVE IT! WE’RE GOING TO BE LATE!”

And I always regret doing that, because it’s not his fault. My boy shouldn’t bear the brunt of my impatience. It only makes him more anxious.

So, I’m reading whatever I can find. In particular, I’ve found excellent resources for explaining OCD to children. Here are a couple of good titles: Up and Down the Worry Hill by Aureen Pinto Wagner Ph.D and  What to Do When Your Brain Gets Stuck  by Dawn Huebner Ph.D

Some experts recommend naming the OCD, giving it a separate identity and directing the angry feelings at this named source. This particular method helps when using the boss-it-back approach. So, I was considering this approach when I had a brainstorm (no pun intended).

I found instructions for how to make a voodoo doll here, and decided I’d try to construct the  voodoo poppet. I bought an armload of supplies at Hobby Lobby, including Spanish Moss (which has currently left a trail throughout the family room and my office), and I’ve stuffed that little bugger good! But that’s all that I’ve done, so far.  I haven’t completely thought this through.

I do know that the doll won’t feature his face.  I don’t want him to think we’re angry with him because I don’t want him to be angry with himself.

The plan (as I envision it thus far) is to yell at the doll for sending out the wrong messages and stick it with pins and say, “GO AWAY, OCD! YOU’RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME!”

There’s only one problem.

I suck at sewing, and right now the doll looks like Patrick from Spongebob.

And I know my kid is going to be tempted to paste the face of Jack Sparrow on the head (wherever the head is on this thing) because his dad is currently showing him the Pirates of the Caribbean movie which features the voodoo doll.

I won’t let him be sidetracked. I want to see if this doll actually does some good.

And if it does, I have a feeling I know what my next business venture will be.

After I hire a good seamstress, of course.

In THIS country, we say Sub-LYME!

The other night, like I always do, I was watching reruns of “Friends” on late-night TV (Shut up! That show never gets stale!) and as I was drifting off to sleep, I saw this commercial:

In my half-dozing state, something didn’t sound quite right to me. It was that damn word, “sublime.”

Sub-LEEM?!

Are you kidding me?

Listen, L’Oréal Paris! You’re not gonna impress me with yer fancy French accent. You’re not some upscale designer brand…you’re the fucking hair line that I buy in my local drugstore. That you pronounce it sub-leem makes me roll my eyes and and laugh at you.

But what I really wonder is why you changed your campaign to include this different pronunciation. I was doing a bit of research on YouTube today and found this earlier ad:

What gives, Frenchy? Do you think Americans are so easily duped that they’ll buy a product simply because it sounds European?

Perhaps some are, but not me!

Well! Glad I could get that off my chest.

If you need me, I’ll be at good ol’ Seattle-based Starbucks enjoying an Espresso Macchiato.

Wait…

Can I Share This Club Sandwich?

One reason why I’m asking has something to do with that SOPA bill that everyone seems to have forgotten about by now.  This is not my club sandwich. I lifted it from a site I discovered while Googling “club sandwiches” because – obviously – I didn’t have the patience (nor the lack of appetite) to photograph my own club sandwich before devouring it myself.

I rely on Google images quite often to illustrate these pages full o’ words because, honestly, the eyes get tired and need a visual break from time to time. Also, I have a broken, sucky camera.

So, thankfully, SOPA has not yet passed, and WordPress will not shut down because I stole – ahem, “borrowed” – a sandwich from someone else’s site.

Would it help if I mentioned the site right now? Perhaps link to it?  Because this post is not really about the Stop Online Piracy Act, but about the club sandwich itself.

While I wasn’t really interested in all the details about the history of the Club, I did want to know whose stupid idea it was to include a third piece of toast in the sandwich. Unfortunately, the article is rather vague about this fact and seems to suggest that the third piece of toast is optional.

Why am I so angry about an extra piece of toast?

Well, let’s get something straight. I’m not angry, per se. That would be really insane!

It’s just that this particular type of sandwich is too damn big to fit in one’s mouth without the bacon falling out. And fallen bacon is indeed a tragedy.

And what if I was in the mood to share but didn’t want to give up an entire quarter of the sandwich? There’s no way to split it without making the recipient of said sandwich hang onto a  leaf of lettuce or a tomato because of the odd number of toast slices.

I know Americans like everything bigger, and would probably cry in protest if that one piece of toast was removed from their beloved, iconic sandwich. So my suggestion is to add another piece of bread to even up the score. Don’t ask me how that would affect the ratio of meat, lettuce, and tomato. That’s a challenge for another day.

Or perhaps the real challenge would be to figure out how to stuff a quadruple-decker club into your mouth without making a mockery of your dignity.

But we’re up for the challenge, aren’t we? For those who aren’t ready to take on this task, it provides a wonderful opportunity to share. And who doesn’t like sharing?

Well, some of our U.S. Congresspeople, that’s who!

And that, folks, is how you circle round to a point you made thirteen paragraphs ago.

STOP SOPA/PIPA!

(AND WHILE WE’RE AT IT, MAKE FRIENDLIER SANDWICHES!)

You’re Not Getting Older…

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Tell her what she really wants to hear.

U Don’t Get Me

It was Spring, 2010. I was in the basement, doing my typical run/walk workout on my in-home treadmill, and keeping myself company with the nonsensical fluff they air on the E! channel (think anything Kardashian, Top 100 Most Shocking Reality TV Moments, etc.). I can’t watch anything too heavy while I’m working out because  it’s physically painful to exert both my body and my brain simultaneously, so I was kind of half-watching the screen and half-monitoring my “laps” when this commercial grabbed my attention:

“How spot on!” I thought (no pun intended). Kotex understands that the feminine protection industry has for years bombarded the viewing public with ridiculous images of women reveling in the wonder of their monthly “gift.” But here, the brand captured every cliche used throughout the decades and successfully mocked it in a 30-second spot.

The commercial also had people talking (and sharing) via the social networking sites. It was certainly a breakthrough ad. I don’t know how it impacted the company’s business, but it certainly must have increased awareness for what I perceive is a second-tier brand – behind Procter & Gamble’s Always and Tampax.

However, what I’ve learned in the past two days has made me think Kimberly-Clark (the company behind the Kotex brand) really doesn’t understand me too well, after all.

They’re absolutely correct in that women have to find ways to sneak their feminine products into the bathroom when they’re in a public place. We don’t want to boldly announce that we have our periods – usually, the people in our lives can tell just by our uptick in crazy, tearful behavior – because there’s no way to walk around with a tampon or pad in hand and not feel like you’re revealing too much information about yourself.

So, tell me Kotex, how does wrapping a tampon in brightly colored plastic make it easier to hide the fact that we have our periods?

Oh! You’re saying we don’t need to be ashamed anymore because now our tampons are pretty. Also, women are a lot freer and less uptight these days. I get it!

We are a lot freer and less uptight these days. But does that mean we’re any less embarrassed by the fact that we’re on the rag. Some things don’t change, and no matter how bold and free I feel to talk about matters that used to be taboo years ago, I still don’t want the world to know my “friend”  (or my “aunt.” Whatever…) is in town.

So, dressing up your products in bright, dayglo packaging makes it even harder for me to unobtrusively transport my tampon from Point A to Point B, and no matter how funny your commercial and no matter how cool you think you are, I’m not going to buy your product because it’s positioned as the cool, hipster brand.

Of course, it’s possible I’m no longer considered part of the target market. I hate to say it, but it won’t be long now before I won’t need these kinds of products anymore. And perhaps the new generation of women feel comfortable letting the world know when it’s their time of the month. I’d be interested to know if that’s true.

In the meantime, I’ll continue to slip my tampon in my sleeve at dinner parties and let no one be the wiser. Although I do tend to speak my mind, I like to reserve some room for a little mystery in my life.

Goo Goo Gah Gah!

It’s been a few years since I’ve been surrounded by babies, so I’m a bit out of the loop when it comes to new, gimmicky ways to make the little ones eat.

For example, a couple of months ago I saw a mom pulling a multi-pak of squeezable applesauce out of her bag and then pass around the tubes to other toddler moms at the playground.

“So, there’s an interesting idea,” I thought. “A nice healthy snack for kids-on-the-go!” (Because what kid isn’t going somewhere at all times these days, right?)

I’ll give these moms the benefit of the doubt, and assume that when they’re at home, they make some kind of effort to teach their offspring how to use actual utensils. Because, judging by how the playground kids were consuming these, it looked like they were sucking on a bottle. I wonder what the developmental specialists and occupational therapists would say about this trend. I was roundly criticized by an OT when my son was still drinking from a sippy-cup at age three.

While I can kind of understand the appeal of food from a tube if you’re a small child or a harried mom, can someone please explain why older kids and (gasp!) adults are drawn to what seems to be a growing trend in the confection aisle? 

What would compel a sentient individual to purchase a container of goo? What could possibly be enjoyable about it? I love the Icee (and its better known competitor, the Slurpee), but the appeal of those items is that they’re cool and refreshing. They quench your thirst in a fun way.  Why would anyone think squirting a shot of the Icee’s raw flavor material into her mouth (warm, mind you) is a good idea?

I found a review of the product on a blog, which seemed to make no mention of the fact that this is just weird! (He likes the Cherry and the Blue Raspberry flavors but not green because “green sucks.” Okay. I’ll give  him that.)

But if squirting sickeningly-sweet fruit-flavored gel from a tube that resembles toothpaste is not your thing, why not try squeezable marshmallows? Thank goodness!  They’ve finally come up with a solution to the annoying problem called “chewing”!

Maybe I’m just a purist, but I prefer my candy in solid form. Perhaps they’ll come up with compelling evidence which proves that goo is less harmful for your teeth. If that’s the only benefit, well….it’s a completely lame one!

In fact, I have to stop writing about this now because it’s making me gag.

GAH!

Why I’m Friendship-Challenged At The Moment

I am self-exiled to a figurative isolation booth right now. There are many reasons why, and I will not delve into all of them.

But there’s one I wish to identify because it’s exasperated me for so long. Here goes:

I can think of few things more irritating than listening to parents who cannot shut up about their gifted kids. You know who I’m talking about…the folks who are convinced you’re interested to know that their little angel was only three years old when she started reading or those who complain that the school district doesn’t provide their son with challenging enough homework. “What’s a child prodigy to do?” they moan.

I suppose if you can somehow empathize with them (i.e. your child is also a genius), these kinds of announcements serve as your opportunity to bond with your pals, and to kiss their asses as you tell them what amazing parents they are!

But if you’re the mom or dad of a special needs child, you’re likely not to be so empathetic. In fact these innocent interactions can bring on a full panic episode! While listening, you’re thinking about the likelihood that your little one is not going to be able to keep up with the rest of his or her Kindergarten classmates. And that of course leads you to fear that your child is never going to learn to read, will eventually fail out of high school, and thus have to live with you in your house for the rest of your life while you continue to make his bed, do his laundry and prepare customized meals that he will undoubtedly refuse to eat.

So, you learn it’s best to drift away from the braggarts and instead fall in with the parents whom you believe will get where you’re coming from.

But then something strange happens.

These relatable people start to depress the fuck out of you. And the stress continues.

While it’s somewhat comforting to know that others share your concerns and can relate to your experiences, I’ve noticed there’s a similar one-upmanship happening within this crowd. Maybe it’s just that they need to vent, or that they want to make a connection. Or it’s possible that they’re simply seeking sympathy. Whatever the reasons for their “boasting”, it  upsets me to hear how Mrs. X’s daughter refuses to get dressed unless she can wear the same (unwashed) shirt every day or how Mrs. Y’s son can’t control his aggressive nature and so hits innocent kids on the playground.

Perhaps I’m just not ready to face what could be even worse episodes down the road for my OCD/ADHD boy. I’m afraid that what I’m doing now to help him is not enough, and that I won’t be able to handle what awaits us in the future. I turn to these friends for support and comfort, but I end up feeling even more hopeless and depressed. The conversations bring my insecurities to the forefront, and then just leave me hanging.

I think every parent is insecure to a certain extent. Correction: I know every parent feels at least a little bit unsure. For many people, talking about these uncertainties is cathartic. I get that. But right now what I’m looking for are tools.

Currently, I’m reading books and consulting websites for practical advice. Some of the online support groups are also rather helpful when the participants outline the strategies they used to overcome their daily struggles with their children.

For me, I’ve found the best resource in the “ocdandparenting” Yahoo group.  While it’s somewhat excruciating to hear others’ stories (but only because of my own fears), the members make a point to tell the readers what has worked for them. What’s also nice is that they go out of their way to say that it does – and will – get better.

So, right now I’m setting up camp in a tiny corner of the Internet, and until I can start to feel more equipped to help my own child, I’ll likely be of little use to my real life friends, especially those whose children have problems of their own.

Forgive me: I’m not ignoring you, and it’s not that I don’t care.  I just want to be able to give as much as I take where my friendships are concerned. I don’t want to be the one who’s doing all the unloading, and I can’t bear to be the catch-all for your complaints right now.

I suppose what they say about love also rings true with friendship; you can’t really love another until you are able to love and appreciate yourself. I don’t want to hurt my friends by being emotionally and mentally unavailable, so until I can strengthen my skill-set and start to feel like a more proactive parent, I can’t be the friend you deserve.

I hope this doesn’t discourage anyone from turning to their friends for comfort and support. Ultimately, a listserv of anonymous users cannot be as fulfilling as real relationships with flesh-and-blood friends. Just be more aware of what those real friends may be going through before you begin to engage.

And please know that nobody but you and your spouse care that your kid is brilliant.

If you’ve learned nothing else from my post, remember that.