We interupt this blog with a special "I Hate Mother's Day" announcement...

I still don't like Mother's Day very much.

However...

There are others who hate it with a white hot fiery passion for reasons only they can explain and those people deserve to be recognized.

*getting on my (wee, tiny) soapbox*

*really, it's more like a palette than a box*

*okay fine, it's a bath mat*

Last year I wrote this post about my feelings about this upcoming Sunday.

(If you haven't figured out what this Sunday is, that would be Mother's Day. Please catch up and don't forget to hold onto your travel buddy's hand. Wouldn't want you to get lost again. Poor dear.)

Since then, many, many people have Googled the words "I Hate Mother's Day" and have ended up here. To you random web searchers, may I offer you a hearty welcome and a scone? Because gurrl, we've all got some issues to work out, now don't we?

As I said last year, I am more than happy to open up this safe place as a virtual support group for fellow pseudo-holiday-for-those-of-the-maternal-persuasion haters. Please, if you're here because you found your fingers flying over your keyboard in a fit of rage, feel free to vent 'til your heart's content.

(Ooh, that rhymed. Sweet.)

You obviously need a space to express your feelings about your mom, your wife, your husband/boyfriend/baby daddy, or yourself and motherhood as a whole. I applaud you for having the guts to write it out, even if you did so anonymously. I hope it helped a little. Here, that scone wasn't very big. Have a cookie.

If, however, you feel more comfortable lurking in the shadows might I suggest you have a gander at some other, very passionate comments on that post and know you are not alone.

Or if you're one of those well-adjusted types - I hear rumors of that strange breed walking amongst us, those with not a hint of chip on their shoulder or darkness in their heart - maybe you could impart some wisdom upon those of us who would like a glimpse into the mind of someone who doesn't go through the day with a grudge, a whimper or a sigh.

As for me, when I used the word "hate" I may have overstated my feelings. Mother's Day makes me sad and I hate to be sad, but I can't hate a day set aside to honor those women who nurture and love those in their care either through biology or other avenues. I can hate the hype but I don't hate the day. Besides, today is beautiful and it's hard to muster such strong feelings of loathing when the sun is shining and the air is warm.* And my husband sent me cupcakes. Diamonds may be a girl's best friend but cupcakes make me smile too. They don't make me sparkly but they make my stomach happy.

So please, go, vent, bitch, cry... Whatever you need to do. Or leave kind, reassuring words. It's all very cathartic, ain't it?



*If you're wondering where the glass-is-half-empty Tania is, come see me tomorrow when it's dark and stormy and I have a cupcake tummy ache. I don't think this life is beautiful crap is going to stick.

Ramble on

So... yeah.

I've been moping. My dog, Lana, has been moping. We've been mopey. Moper McMopersons. My cat, Nina, aka Jabba the Cat - who is trying her best to lose that nickname, now that I've just found out she has a hyperthyroid problem and is losing weight super fast and Hello! More vet bills! *sigh* - however, has been thrilled there is one less slobbery beast to steal her food and fight for position near me on the couch. And the kids have been fine - Chicky likes the shock value of talking about death and CC only once stepped into the sun room and asked "Where Fisher go?", which broke my heart into ten million tiny pieces... But that was a week ago. And your comments and emails and words of love were so very welcome and filled my cold, dead heart with warmth until it turned black and inky again. So there's that.

(That's me saying Thank You, by the way.)

To get me out of this funk, and possibly kick start my writing again - did I mention Chicky had a birthday? Three weeks ago? No? She's five now. I should probably write something about that... before she's 15. And CC. Where do I even begin to write about CC? - might I suggest a little audience participation?

Wait! Don't go. It's painless, I promise.

I poseth to you, dearest reader, this question -

At what age do (did) you feel comfortable allowing your child(ren) outside to play alone and unsupervised (except for the surreptitious viewing out the window by overprotective parent, oh, every five seconds)? Does your location factor in to your decision? And how far will you let them go out of view? Next door to the neighbor's house? Two feet from the front door? In the backyard, but only if tethered by a ten foot leash and only if Child Services isn't looking?

What sayeth you?