Stabbity Nana Dolls Wish You a Happy Halloween

After the disturbing immense popularity of the Stabbity Nana Doll posts, I received an email from another reader who has a doll with not only human hair, but human TEETH.  Yes, I have to put that in all caps.  They're TEETH.  And that's just too freaky for lower-case letters.

This reader, Meghan, sent me the photos.  After I recovered from a Xanax-induced coma, I realized that it was possibly that my other readers might have equally disturbing Dollies of Terror in their homes, too.  So I put out a call for your insanity.

And you, dear readers, responded.

Several readers sent me a link to a story about Civil War-era dolls that had recently been x-rayed at a medical center in Virginia.  Scientists were trying to determine if they had once been used to smuggle morphine and quinine to soldiers at the front.  One of the dolls has a gash in the back of her head where the drugs were removed.  I am hopeful that no one had to sit in the Emergency Room with an actual gash to the back of the head, waiting for the x-ray machine.

I have to say, the idea of morphine dolls makes these creepy things way more appealing.  Also, it gives me ideas for more products in my line of medicated household items.  I could definitely use a Xanax doll.  And maybe a Focalin teddy bear for my daughter with ADHD.

I also had more than one reader point me toward the Island of the Dolls in Mexico City.  It's, you know, an island.  Of dolls.  Hanging from the damn trees.



I'm guessing the Island of Dolls is much easier to handle when it's daytime.  I could maybe handle it with the sun shining.  You couldn't pay me, not even in Xanax, to get me there at night.

But let's get to the reader-submitted Dollies of Terror.

This little lady is missing a hand, most of her eyes, and her mouth.  Apparently the last person she killed was a fighter.  The fact that Amelia collects stabbity dolls makes me totally want to stay on her good side.  

This is a Cinderella doll who has lost her eyeballs, but not her power to see into your soul.  Or your bedroom windows.  Or your rear-view mirror.

You know those paintings where the person's eyes seem to follow you around the room?  I think this doll's eyes really do.  But by the time you notice, it's too late.  As a bonus, this doll was a gift from her daughter's great-grandmother, who attempted to cover the bald spot with a jaunty New Year's party hat.  Because a party hat?  Makes every situation okay.

Another gem from our friend Monica, and from the same great-grandmother.  Monica hastened to emphasize that this child-sized doll has grown-up-sized breasts.  Monica sent me several pictures from her daughter's birthday party, where her daughter received this doll as a gift.  The doll is in each photo, in different locations around the room, watching the festivities.  Monica would have liked to send me a clearer photo, but sadly, the doll was "accidentally lost" when they moved last year.  Let's all hope that the doll can't find Monica now, and that Monica's husband's grandmother doesn't have access to the Internet.

This is like Stabbity Nana version 2.0.  She has human hair and human TEETH.  Which makes the genuine dead animal pelt on her head and around her neck seem totally not freaky. Nibbly Nana was brought to us by a reader named Meghan, who has miraculously survived living with this doll for years.  The doll, the hair, and the baby teeth all belonged to Meghan's great-great-grandmother. The best thing about this doll is how normal she looks until you get into the details.

Thanks to all my readers who sent me links and photos and freaked me the heck out.  You're all totally awesome.  Special thanks to Susan, the owner of the now-classic Original Stabbity Nana Doll.  Happy Halloween, y'all!

Oh, one last minute addition: Boo!

Oh. My. God. It's a Zombie Stabbity Nana.  The author of the blog She's Always Write mentioned this one in the comments, so I had to add it in, y'all.  Yes, she had it custom-made.  On purpose.  My guess is that it gives her something to laugh about while she deals with the real scariness of sensory processing disorder, early intervention transition, and the process of trying to figure out if her son is autistic.  Me, I'd be eating Cheetos to deal with the stress, but Zombie Stabbity Nana is calorie-free, so kudos to you!  p.s. I hope she doesn't kill you.  Or steal your Cheetos.

Sister Wives Saturday Special

Squee! Sister Wives special tomorrow night! I should probably take this opportunity to reiterate that I don't give a crap what other people do in their bedrooms. What makes Sister Wives such a train wreck isn't exactly the polygamy, it's the couch-hopping insanity that Kody Brown brings to the table. He's just so annoyingly pleased with himself. He's exactly one Ed Hardy shirt away from hanging out at the tanning salon with Jon Gosselin.

Also? I predict that he will be on Dancing with the Stars within the next two years. You heard it here first, folks.

............................

Mom-In-A-Million and stark. raving. mad. mommy. are going to attempt to do a joint blog covering the Sister Wives special on Sunday night. Basically when we watch this kind of ridiculousness, we email each other our running commentary anyway. We actually kind of do that just at random, too, which is how we came up with the idea.

To give you an idea of exactly how technologically disordered we really are, as well as how insane our stream of consciousness is, we thought we should share this actual Instant Message stream where we decide this is some kind of good idea.

SRMM: Yeah, Uggs in hot weather are the female equivalent of Ed Hardy shirts.

MIAM: Ooo, speaking of Ed hardy shirts, there's going to be a 1 hour interveiw show with the Sister Wives on Sunday!

SRMM: Squee! One of my readers lives in Utah. I told her she should dress her kids as Kody and the wives for Halloween.

MIAM: The only problem is I'm supposed to be boycotting TLC because they're showing Sarah Palin's reality show/campaign special thing. But I think I should watch anyway. For science.

SRMM: Obviously we're going to HAVE to watch the Sister Wives thing. I think your boycott allows for TiVo, no?

MIAM: Maybe I'll live blog it.

SRMM: I've always wanted to "live blog". Doesn't it require additional software? OH, DUDE. You and I should do a back-and-forth live blog. Or does that require some kind of additional software?

MIAM: No, when we did the MommyLand After Dark: The T-Box Taste Test, Lydia wrote the outline then just added in the comments on the wine and kept hitting "update".

SRMM: Like, just email each other our comments and then format it as a blog for later. Wait, Blogger has "update"?

MIAM: Doesn't it? Like when you edit a post and republish it?

SRMM: Oh, yeah, it's "publish". Although then it loads fresh in everyone's email over and over. Which probably annoys the hell out of people in the morning.

MIAM: Oh. I wonder if that happens with Wordpress too. Maybe live blogging is a bad idea.

SRMM: Crap, what time is it on, though? We have trick-or-treating Sunday, of course.

MIAM: 10 p.m., I think.

SRMM: Ohhh sweet. That is awesomely 9 p.m. here.

MIAM: Is that after bedtime?

SRMM: Yeah, the kids are down by then. Especially with Cookie now on Clonidine. ::zonk::

MIAM: Maybe it could be a drinking game! Everytime one of the wives cries, drink! Do a tequila shot whenever Kody cries!

SRMM: Bahahahahahaha! Ooooooh, that, or we could live Tweet it. We could "host" a tweet party.

MIAM: Yes! Live Tweeting! Then publish the Twitter stream!

SRMM: GAAHHHHHH you're a genius. What's the hashtag? #SWDG? (Sister Wives Drinking Game?)

MIAM: Wait. I strongly suspect a Twitter party will be beyond my abilities. Especially if I'm drinking. Which seems important if I'm going to watch Kody for an hour.

SRMM: Hmm. Yeah. We might be too stupid to do that. It might look something like this:


MIAM: OMG. I just thought of an amazing reality show: Sister Wife Swap.

SRMM: It's amazing that we're not running the networks. Also? I think we've already written a post here. ::cutting and pasting::

MIAM: It’s amazing we’re not running the world.

Please Go to Sleep so I Can Eat the Halloween Candy

I have a love-hate relationship with bedtime.  It's great in that, you know, the kids are going to bed, obviously.  But there are other things I love about bedtime.  I love snuggling in to read a book.  I love the clean smell of baby shampoo.  And oh, how I love pajamas.  Especially the footy ones.  Those make me giddy with happiness.  Footy pajamas seem to have been designed to not just keep little feet warm, but to make moms melt.  Unless they're on this guy:

Then, no so much.  But on toddlers?  Makes you forget all about that day's tantrums, the drawing on the walls, and the throwing of spaghetti.

Before you go thinking we're past the days of footy pajamas here, the truth is that the girls love them.  They have them in big-kid sizes, but it's still kind of hot here for fleece footy pajamas, alas.  

So, yes, there are things about bedtime that are fabulous.

However.

There are things about it that make me cringe as the clock ticks closer to 7:00.  I start to get twitchy and nervous, like I'm on a bomb disposal team.   Little Dude must follow a very specific routine in order to be able to go to sleep.  The routine cannot be deviated from in any way, or there will be a breakdown.

Tonight he fooled around, trying to avoid getting into pajamas, running away into another room, trying to get us to play chase.  The Absent-Minded Professor and I didn't play the game, but Little Dude still burned through all of his reading time with this.  He was warned that he wouldn't get to read if he kept fooling around, and he kept fooling around.

He did not get to read the I-Spy book.

This is a really tough judgment call for me.  I know that looking at a couple pages of I-Spy only takes 10 minutes.  And the tantrum that will result if I take away the book for the evening, will be a minimum of 30 minutes.

Which is more important?  Keeping the peace in the house when we're trying to get four kids to sleep?  Or teaching him that you have to cooperate if you want to have time to read I-Spy?

I went with teaching the lesson.  Routines are a huge part of who Little Dude is, but he also has to learn, however gradually, that cooperation is what makes this family tick.  

The change in routine caused some, er, "behavior issues."  It was like watching Dr. House go through that first night without the Vicodin, except without the clever banter and Dr. Cuddy's cleavage.  There should be a methadone clinic for this.

Lately, Little's been pretty freaked out about Halloween, so he's been having some "behavior issues."  And by "behavior issues," I mean spazzy freak-outs where he becomes completely unintelligible and cries so hard that he gags and I have no idea what the immediate trigger even was.  I mean the kind of thing where I find myself scratching my head and wondering, "is this what a seizure looks like?"  A quarter of kids on the spectrum have seizures, so it's something that's always in the back of my mind.

But no, these are simply temper tantrums.  Like many children with Asperger Syndrome, Little Dude is sometimes very immature emotionally.  When he is frustrated, or frightened, or simply overloaded, he responds the way a two-year-old would instead of the way a four-year-old would.  It's not his fault; it's just the way he is.  Accepting that doesn't make it any less frustrating when it's the end of the day and I'm tired.

On the upside, as soon as he was asleep, I raided the Halloween candy.  So much for the Almond Joys.

Let Kids Be Kids

I have been told, on more than one occasion, that I am over-protective.  I think that I am appropriately protective.  (You say to-may-to, I say to-mah-to.)

When women become moms, they take a sort of oath of office, by default.  United States presidents vow to "preserve, protect, and defend the constitution of the United States."  Substitute "the constitution of the United States" with "my children" and you pretty much have motherhood sewn up.

I vow to preserve, protect, and defend my children.

Everything I do falls under those three categories: preserve, protect, and defend.  I do it to the best of my ability.  It is hard and I certainly don't do it perfectly.  But I'm giving it a hell of an effort.  So I'll be damned if I'm going to let what is essentially parental peer pressure change my mind on certain things.

This keeps coming up on this blog: let kids be kids.  They don't need to dress like (trashy) adults, and they don't need every little technological gizmo that comes along.

The funny thing is, although some parents would call me over-protective, they actually have quite a bit of old-fashioned freedom.  My older two (nine-year-old twins) are allowed to walk around in our neighborhood on their own, so that's kind of free-rangey.  But there are limits: this walking around is during the day, to a friend's house.  Not just randomly cruising the neighborhood at 8:30 p.m. on a school night like a certain someone in my neighborhood.  All four of the kids help in the kitchen and the older two know how to safely use the stove and the microwave oven.  

So, you know what?  I'm good.  I'm feeling pretty comfortable with my parenting choices.  And anyone who thinks I'm over-protective can suck it.

Specifically:

If you think I'm over-protective for not letting my daughters dress like tramps or "exercise" on a stripper pole, you know what? I'm okay with that.  I'll look forward to seeing you and your daughter on an upcoming episode of Teen Mom.

If you think I'm causing my four-year-old autistic son's separation anxiety by walking him into school every morning, you can bite me.

If you think I'm babying my children by enforcing an 8:00 p.m. bedtime, all I can say is, enjoy your whine-tastic morning.  

If you think I'm ridiculously crunchy granola because I don't let my kids drink soda except as a (very) rare treat, I don't care.  You make your food choices and I'll make mine.  My kids on sugar are like crackheads.  They're my little crackheads, and I love them, but still: crack. heads.  When they crash off that sugar they are heinous to deal with.

By the way, on the flip side of that food issue: if you think I'm an under-protective horrible slacker mom because I let my kids make their own Easy Mac in the microwave, you can shut the hell up about that, too.  Yes, it's full of processed evil.  It's also full of the awesomeness that is me not having to cook.  They also make their own hot dogs.  On the stove.  And they're not nitrate-free!  Mwahahahahahaha.  The horror ... the horror.


Speaking of horror, if you think I'm over-protective because I haven't let my nine-year-olds see Halloween yet, that's fine. Personally, I find real life terrifying enough without adding horror movies to my mental mix, but I understand that lots of people like scary movies.  However, I really don't feel like increasing my daughter's anti-anxiety medication just so you can think I'm a cool mom.  I will admit that all four of my kids have seen the Star Wars movies, and have seen at least twelve different characters' hands sliced off. (Dude.  What is up with that? Because that is a buttload of repetitive imagery, Mr. Lucas.)  The kids and I were all weirdly fine with this.  So how about if you just call me hypocritical, and we'll both live with that.

Most importantly, if you think I'm over-reacting to the fetish outfits currently being marketed as trick-or-treat wear to girls, you're out of your damn mind.  That shizz is heinous.  And wrong.  And ohmyGod I just found another damn costume that I hate.

Favorite Things (and give-away: SRMM coffee mug!)

[Note: Comments and contest are now closed.]

You know how Oprah does her "Favorite Things" episodes where everyone in the audience gets 1,000-thread-count sheets and Philosophy skin care products?  This is exactly like that.

I know, right?  You're totally doing this:


Except I have nothing to give away except random Internet awesomeness.  And a coffee mug.  That's right people: (Oprah voice) A COFFEE MUG!

Yeah, sorry.  It's not a Burberry purse or a new car.  It's the best I can do.  Here's what you need to do to enter to win a stunning 15-ounce stark. raving. mad. coffee mug:  comment at the end of this post to tell me which of my posts so far has been your favorite.  You also need to either be a Facebook fan or leave some other way for me to get in touch with you, because I'm not psychic, people.

I need to get my stuff organized and make a "best of" page so that people don't have to wade through my entire archives.  This way, you tell me your fave posts, and I'll list them.  Do you like how I say "entire archives" as though I've been blogging for years and not for five months?  Whatever.

Also? For God's sake, I already know you liked the Dora post.  It's the little post that could, and I fear I will never write anything that dead-on ever again.  But it's not going to make a very good list if you all just say "the Dora post."  Rest assured, it will be included.

To get you in the spirit, here are a few of my favorite Random Things on the Internet.

1. The Guilty Squid, a fellow Texas blogger, is running for Honorary Coroner of the Internet.  I don't even know exactly what that means, but I whole-heartedly endorse her for this obviously important elected position.  She has promised to replace toe-tags with restive red ribbons in morgues, and also I think she can protect me from scary antique dolls.  My favorite recent post of hers is a must-read for the working moms, as it details all the insane stuff she does in her office while her boss is on vacation.  Darth Vader dummy sitting at her boss' desk?  Awesome.  If you like that post, and you happen to be a Twitterer, take a sec to vote for her.  If you're not on Twitter, just enjoy the fact that Guilty Squid celebrates random insanity, because we all need more of that in our lives.

2. Free Star Wars pumpkin stencils.  I actually bought a kit at Target so that we can make Jedi jack-o-lanterns this weekend.  But if you're willing to work with the Dark Side, you can download free Sith stencils here.

3. Kathy Griffin.  Speaking of Oprah's favorite things, one of my favorite things is Kathy Griffin.  And her take on Oprah's favorite things is one of my especially favorite favorite things.  Even better is this video that someone made on YouTube to go along with Kathy Griffin's take on Oprah's favorite things.  (Note: Dude, it's Kathy.  Obviously NSFW.)

4. This thing.  I totally need this.

So those are a few of my favorite Random Things on the Internet.  Now tell me which of my posts are your favorites, and you might win a stark. raving. mad. coffee cup!

Top 10: How to Write a Nastygram to Your School

Yesterday morning, when I wouldn't leave my son in the cafeteria with no members of his special needs team present, a paraprofessional at the school told me, "Little Dude is fine. You're the one with the problem."

She said this in front of two of my children, one of whom was Little Dude.

Background: The morning transition has been an ongoing issue for us.  Mornings can be challenging for most four-year-olds, but the transition from home to school is often especially difficult for children with Asperger Syndrome.  Therefore, the school and I have a deal that I can walk him in, and hand him off only to a member of his team.  This other para is not part of the preschool team.

Obviously, I put my writing skills to use in composing a nastygram to the school.  I wanted to share my experience in this field, so I put together:

Top 10 Do's and Don'ts
for Writing a Productive Yet Scathing Letter to Your School

1.
DO emphasize the need for continuity of care for kids on the spectrum.
DON'T emphasize the need to send the staff to Bonkersville Institute for evaluation.

2.
DO refer to regulations such as HIPAA, FERPA, and IEP confidentiality guidelines.
DON'T carbon copy in the local TV news if you're making privacy an issue.

3.
DO ask how the school plans to ensure that the situation will improve.
DON'T threaten to burn down the school if your requests are not met.

4.
DO list specific details of problems that have occurred.
DON'T list specific details of what you didn't like about the paraprofessional's outfit that day.

5.
DO quote from your child's IEP, if appropriate.
DON'T quote from Chuck Norris movies.

6.
DO use phrases like "actions were inappropriate and unprofessional" or "not in accordance with 504 Plan."
DON'T use words like "stabbity" or "wood chipper."

7.
DO suggest positive solutions and share your good ideas.
DON'T suggest that they will find Stabbity Nana Doll quietly lurking in unexpected locations, like the teacher's supply closet.

8.
DO type your letter for a more professional appearance.
DON'T type your letter using a totally whacked-out font.

9.

DO remember that the goal is to create a positive education environment for your child. 

DON'T forget to sarcastically quote the school district's mission of "extraordinary leadership."

10.

DO write your letter when you are calm and collected.

DON'T write your letter when you are freaking out and/or have had two full pots of coffee.

Special thanks to Amy at Pregnant Chicken for the stabbity font!

I Have Friends and Also Was Not Killed by an Antique Doll

I have friends!  Or at least I have people who are willing to drink coffee with me!  No, not the crazy doll.  Real people!  I'm *totally* not making this up.

I had a little get-together with some stark. raving. mad. readers this weekend.  It was awesome.  It was like one giant blind date of stressed-out moms.  Yay!  Plus, I'm pretty sure that I'm about to be told by a Medical Professional that I have to cut out cut back on caffeine, so it seemed appropriate to go out one last time and get totally jacked up on mocha lattes.  Otherwise, how will I keep up this cup size?  If I stop drinking coffee and Diet Coke and these cysts go away, I'm going to have to buy all new bras.

As much fun as it is hiding behind this computer screen, ranting and venting from afar, it was great to actually sit and talk with other women.  Women who fess up to having dog hair on the sofa, a laundry pile a mile high, and nothing planned for dinner.

Bonus: Remember the reader who emailed me pictures of her Stabbity Nana Doll?  Oh, yeahhhhh.  She came, and brought the doll.  Because clearly, I have the most awesome readers in the whole history of ever.  So the event turned into an on-the-spot therapy session wherein I had to suck it up and deal with my lifelong antique-dollaphobia.

So, I held the doll gingerly on my lap for a photo.  Happily, it did not kill me right then and there.  Probably just because there were other people watching.  I did keep my fingers clear of its little nibbly teeth.  Hopefully this will all help with my ongoing Doll Anxiety Syndrome.  

I'm pretty sure I still hate Bratz dolls, though.

Who Buys Those Bratz Costumes? These Moms.

After I ran the post about the Bratz Halloween costumes, everyone kept asking, who buys this crap for their daughters?  I figured it out.  It's these moms that were on The Talk last week, talking about how they let their seven and ten-year-old daughters participate in Pole Dancing classes.



I like how the entire audience just stares in abject horror after the pole dancer does her demonstration.  And then they're like, oh, right, we're supposed to clap.

I thought the ladies on The Talk did a nice job of not actually getting up and smacking the moms.  Leah Remini in particular is hilarious.  "There's a real thing that's called gymnastics."  Bahahahahahahaha.

But how could I not think of this?  (And, yeah, it's Chris Rock, so it's totally NSFW.)



"My only job in life is to keep her off the pole."

Girls, ADHD, and (Squirrel!) Under-Diagnosis

One of my nine-year-old daughters, the Pork Lo Maniac, has now been officially diagnosed with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Inattentive Type.  As with all the other diagnoses my kids have gotten, by the time the diagnosis was official, it was not a surprise.  Still, going to these kinds of appointments forces you to take a step back and see your child through someone else's eyes.

The psychiatrist asked questions like "Do you sometimes need instructions repeated to you several times before you can do them?"

Pork Lo Maniac: ::swivels in chair:: "Um, yes."
Psychiatrist: "Do you sometimes feel like it's hard to pay attention in school?"
PLM:  ::blank stare::
Psychiatrist: "Do you sometimes feel like it's hard to pay attention?"
PLM: "Are the flowers in that candle real?"
Me: ::bursts out laughing::
PLM: "Wait, what?"

Earlier in the day, she had been telling me about something that happened in school.  She stopped, mid-sentence, entranced by something outside the window.

"Look at that bird!" she exclaimed happily.



I feel like crap that we didn't have this diagnosed earlier.  She's been struggling in some areas of school, like math, since first grade.  Our child psychiatrist said that while boys are usually diagnosed between the ages of 7 and 8, girls are usually not diagnosed until age 12.

So I'm like, what the hell?

And also: oooh, shiny.

Because I'm 37 and just figuring out that I probably have ADHD, too.  (That there was a link to another post in my blog.  I might be hyper-focusing on links today.  It turns out that people with ADHD are sometimes actually able to hyper-focus on things to a degree that people with ADHD can't.  Which is totally my excuse for not getting the laundry done today.  I'm focused here, people.  And I find it supremely annoying when people spew medical "facts" without backing it up with, you know, facts.  So I'm going to keep linking.)

Wait, what the hell was I talking about?  Oh, right, the studies.

Studies have shown that ADHD in girls is consistently under-researched and under-diagnosed, despite the fact that girls with ADHD are at least as likely as boys to manifest with conduct disorder and are more likely than boys to engage in substance abuse.  (Here's one study, here's another, here's another, here's yet another, I'll stop linking studies now.  Also? Maybe they should stop researching the under-researching and do some damn research now.)  Girls with ADHD are also just as likely as boys to have comorbid conditions such as anxiety, depression, and social impairments.

So why are these girls being missed?  The prevailing wisdom is that girls with ADHD are simply less annoying than boys with ADHD.  I'm paraphrasing here; "annoying" is not an actual medical diagnosis unless you're Caillou.  In which case?  Diagnosis:  Annoying.  Also, I'm *totally* not saying that your son with ADHD is annoying.  Unless he's the boy who shoved Little Dude in school the other day.  That kid is wicked annoying.

The deal is that boys with ADHD are more likely to have more annoying overt symptoms like spazzing out poor impulse control, which will irritate the hell out of his teacher prompt the school to recommend an evaluation.

Girls are more likely to present with spacing out inattentive type ADHD, which means they have a poor attention span and are easily distracted.  They are less likely to present with the spazzy hyperactive type of ADHD.  What do we call a girl who spaces out in math class? A space shot.  A dreamer.  We say that she's got her head in the clouds or that math just isn't her thing.  But we don't send her to the principal's office because she's not disrupting the class.

The squeaky wheel gets the grease.  At least that's the prevailing wisdom.  It's important to note that this study shows that there is no significant difference in the rate of conduct disorder in boys and girls with ADHD.  But this study shows that girls with ADHD are less impaired and show less impulsivity.  What does that mean? Just as many girls have these issues.  They're just less annoying about it.

Here's my thought: it's not just that they're less annoying about it.  It's that our society is not only okay with girls being "spacey," it actively encourages it.  As proof, I give you:

Umm, so I just made that graphic because I thought Paris Hilton personifies the most celebrated American space shot of all time.  But then I was like, hey, wait a minute.  So I Googled, "Does Paris Hilton have ADHD?" and holy crap, she does.  So that right there is proof that girls with ADHD need more support.  Ms. Hilton has been on ADHD medication since she was a child, and that was clearly not enough.

It's a good thing we don't have Hilton Money because it seems that scads of dough plus ADHD can equal train wreck. I'd hate for my daughter to become a coke-snorting celebutante who sucks at lying to the police.  Plus, if you're distracted by shiny things and you have bajillions of dollars, it must be really difficult to get out of Tiffany's in under ten hours.

Despite the fact that there's a crapload of studies explaining why the Pork Lo Maniac hasn't been diagnosed until now, I still feel guilty.  Regardless, we're moving forward with the information we have now, and ADHD will not be a pass for bad behavior.  It will be a reason for me to try harder: to give the Pork Lo Maniac structure, support, consistency, and above all, love.

Thanks for Your Interest in My Breasts

I'm still waiting for the full results of my mammogram, but it looks like I'm pretty much in the clear.  Or, in the words of the radiologist's report, my breasts are "unremarkable."

Obviously, I beg to differ.

If I'd had my wits about me, I would have responded á la Teri Hatcher in Seinfeld:



Anyway, it turns out that "unremarkable," in this case, is a good thing.  If you have cancer, you see, one remarks upon it.  Hopefully this week a Medical Professional will explain what the hell exactly is going on, and possibly extract some Diet Coke from a cyst or something.

I just want to take a moment to thank everyone for providing virtual hand-holding, hilarious tweets, and supportive responses to my breast lump hoopla last week.  I'm especially grateful that no one seemed horrified enough by my potty-mouthed guest post on Pajamas and Coffee to stop following me.

As I said, sometimes a lot of swearing is entirely called for.  If you can't swear when your breast is being flattened like a pancake onto a radioactive plate while someone looks for cancer, when can you swear?  Being able to let loose on Mary's blog helped keep me from swearing at the radiology technician.  Tweeting about the "party favor" bag of breast cancer awareness swag kept me from throwing it at someone's head.

So thanks, Mary, for giving me free rein to swear a blue streak on the day of my mammogram.

If you missed the original post, click here to read "Fuck Pinktober and this Motherfucking Diet Coke Cyst."

We will now return to our regular (nonswearing) programming.

I'm Guesting on Mommy Wants Vodka!

Hi, you've reached the blog of stark. raving. mad. mommy.  I'm not home right now, because I'm off ranting about autism and Asperger and acceptance and monkey balls at Mommy Wants Vodka.

Not sure if you feel like clicking over?  Here's an excerpt:

I find it a little disturbing that there's all this pressure to welcome autism with open arms.  Of course you love your child.  Of course you wouldn't trade him in for anything.  But I think it needs to be okay to admit that you wish your child didn't have to struggle.  I think it needs to be okay for people with autism spectrum disorders to say, "I'm totally cool with who I am, but sometimes it sucks monkey balls to have to work this hard all. the. time. to deal with the neurotypical world."


So yeah.  Click over to Mommy Wants Vodka.  Because I have a feeling that today might be crazy.

The Crap in My House is Talking to Me Again

Bizarrely, the cleaning product Endust is now following me on Twitter.  I thought at first that it was someone being ironic, but no, the actual cleaning product has a Twitter account.  It tweets clever little cleaning tips, I guess.  Whatever.  Clearly, it has the wrong damn housewife if it thinks I need tweets from cleaning products. I already feel like the bottles under the sink are mocking me.

It inspired me to write another Facebook Feed from My House.  (The first one is here.)

Endust is at Under Your Sink (via Loopt)

Endust is soooooo lonely.  Also, my bottom is rusty from disuse.

The Dust Bunnies Sucks to be you, dude.  Bahahahahaha.

Mouthy Minivan It reeks in here like something died.

Da Bills  Don't look at us.  Paper doesn't smell.  But that old Starbucks frappe cup underneath us is heinous.

Mr. Coffee  Stop rubbing it in my face! I know she's seeing  someone else.  You don't have to gloat.

Da Bills  Look, Whiny McWhinerson, we're not gloating.  We're just saying, we've been lying on the floor of Mouthy Minivan for the last four months.  It does reek in here.



Mouthy Minivan  True dat.  I reek.  I don't know if it's the Starbucks Frappe cup or the strawberry milk boxes in the back, but I. am. nastee.

Sh-t My House Says  Damn, that woman cannot get organized.  Da Bills have been on the floor of Mouthy Minivan for months?

The Lights  Dude, you are *such* a name-dropper.

Sh-t My House Says  Bite me.  Also?  When the electric meter guy comes around, don't come crying to me.

Clorox Wipes  Burn!

Endust Hey, Clorox Wipes, why you get so much action?  I have been sooooo depressed.  And the other cleansers are making fun of me because I leave a rusty ring on the bottom of the cabinet.  It looks like I, um, soiled myself.

Clorox Wipes  Don't feel bad.  She's just too lazy to break out the paper towels.  It's not your fault.  ((Hugs!))

The Lights are out.  FML.

The Laundry Chronicles  Gahhhh!  It's dark in here!  And the kitty litter smells really, really bad.

Kitty Litter  Shaddup.

The Laundry Chronicles  I will not shut up!  It's dark and stinky and I'm freaking out!  I need some Valium!

Da Bills  OMG. This is the funniest f-ing thing *evah*.

The Phone  The power's out!  I'm *totally* going to lose all her voicemails!  She'll never know the school called to reschedule the IEP meeting!  Muahahahahahaha!

Mr. Coffee  I don't work either.  Ewww, she's lying on the kitchen floor crying.

The Lights  Hold me?

Sh-t My House Says  I wish I could move.

Mouthy Minivan  I am so out of here.