So, I picked up my Daughter at Kindergarten yesterday, and she is so excited to see me, and gives me a big hug, and hands me this envelope. “I made mail for you, Mama! Open it!” She exclaims. I laugh as I look at the envelope, it is addressed to “Kristin” instead of “Mom”….pretty cute.

The outside of the card said “So Grateful”……awwwwww- so nice to be appreciated as a Mom! Here’s what the inside said:

WHAT????? “I don’t hit you!” I say to my Daughter, as my eyes dart quickly around the school play yard to see if any of the other Moms caught a glimpse of my “mail” . “You did too! You spanked me.” She is telling the truth. I know that everyone has very specific and strong opinions on corporal punishment, so save me the lecture, and the phone call to CPS. In our home,  spanking is the Granddaddy of all punishment, and is reserved for only the very worst of offenses. That particular morning, she had just been spanked for spitting at me and calling her Brother a jackass. But there is a big difference between spanking and hitting…. spanking is teaching a lesson and not done in anger, hitting is in anger, and something a parent only thinks of doing when their five-year-old spits at them when you tell them that it’s time to leave the McDonald’s Playplace. I digress…

“I do NOT hit you.” I explain to my five-year-old, whispering so that the other Moms and teachers can’t hear me. “If you are really misbehaving, you get a spanking, with an open hand, and not very hard…” I realize that I am trying to defend my actions to my five-year-old, then a horrible thought occurs to me: “ Oh, my God”, I think to myself, “who helped her write her “mail”, and saw this? They’re gonna think I’m beating my daughter- which I am TOTALLY not! How could anyone think I would hurt my kids? They’re gonna take my kids away ’cause I spanked them for saying jackass!!!!” My mind is reeling with all of the horrible possibilities….. I take a deep breath and quietly, and calmly ask, “Sooooo…..Did your teacher help you with this?” “No, I did it by myself!” She answers proudly, with a grin. A small amount of relief washes over me. “Wow- you spell really good!” I say, trying to find something encouraging to say to my kid. And ever since, I have been wondering what kind of character damage and psychological derrangment I have done to my kid by spanking. Images of Ralphie from “A Christmas Story” flicker in my mind- the part where he’s in a dream-sequence and he’s dramatically telling his mother he’s blind from the soap that she put in his mouth for saying the “F” word. I feel like the shittiest Mom ever…..

Interestingly, my Daughter made Daddy some “mail” too. His was addressed to “Daddy”, and said, “I love to play with you!” Seriously? Why do Daddies always get to be the nice ones?

Irony: an objectively sardonic style of speech or writing

You may not know me, but I want to take a sec to introduce myself.  My name is Amber, and I’ve been friends with Kris for eons.  I’ve known her for over 15 years, and I’ve championed her through some of the biggest accomplishments in her professional career–at a very young age.  I’ve danced on tables with her after one too many shots (and on stages with bands playing behind us, we were quite the show!), and I’ve howled at the moon with her on Saturday nights in our twenties.  She’s held me when I’ve cried and listened to me any time I’ve ever needed her.  We are women in our 30’s now, and we’re a little bit different, and we’re little bit the same!  I’ve probably seen her in a different light than most people have.  Long before she had two amazing, intelligent, and beautiful children to dote on–and before she married the man that would turn out to be her forever-partner in love and life, and the amazing father of those children.  I may be a little partial to those precious rug rats since I’m “Auntie Amber”, and it goes to show you–we’re all very partial and protective to what we know in our own lives.  The second someone or something threatens what we perceive to be our “domain”, we come out–arms swinging, teeth bared, and fists flying.  Because we’re just going with our gut and our God-given, natural instincts.  It’s only human nature and there’s no fault in that.

But let’s look at the word “domain” in a little different light here, and instead of thinking of the word “domain” as our homes or our families, let’s think of it as a website.  Like this one–Kicked Out of Mom’s Club.  It’s Kris’ domain.  It’s her house.  She makes the rules, she breaks the rules (and man, she does it well!), and she calls the shots.  She pays for the hosting and it’s maintenance fees, and she chooses what parts of her life she gets to bare her soul over.  Kristin doesn’t need defending, and trust me–I’m not even going there, because that girl can stand on her own two feet with the best of them!  But as someone who not only considers her a life-long friend and sister-from-another-mother, I’m also someone who works in social media on a daily basis and who owns several domains–(both personal blogs and professional websites) where I would never let a soul dictate what I do or say because they are my little snapshots of my own world!  I would never tell someone in their scrap-booking class that they couldn’t preserve the memories they want to keep how to paste them in their books, and with what captions they could write!

I know what it’s like to unintentionally offend people and I pay the price for it dearly–if you could only see the hate-mail I receive on a weekly basis.  And let me tell you, I’m not even openly writing about my personal life experiences with friends or family most of the time.  I’m writing about consumer-related experiences of products you use in your very own households on a daily basis, among other things that just don’t even warrant the kind of hateful “passion” I am bombarded with!  I GET IT, people are that passionate.  About EVERYTHING.  It’s our right!  But it’s also our right to turn the page, turn the channel, and just tune out.  It’s America, and as long as we aren’t defaming anyone’s character or slandering their name we are entitled and empowered to say whatever, whenever we want.  You say tomato, I say tom-ah-to, and the world will still turn.  The sun will STILL rise tomorrow, I promise you.

If anyone chooses to feel so offended about something that was meant to be a shared snapshot or perception, maybe they might be better served to pursue a way to express themselves that doesn’t try to control, threaten, or domineer someone else into doing or saying what they wanted to read.  Express yourself in any manner you see fit and tell the world about how YOU want to be seen, it’s your right.  Kristin does it, and she’s honest and true to herself, anyone who isn’t doing that in their own lives is really missing out on living.  Ironically, she is often the person she’s talking about!  She’s got the blonde bob, the Juicy Couture tracksuit, and Lancome Juicy Tubes to prove it.  She’s a card-carrying member of the same planet everyone else is on.  Kristin is not a conventional mother, and has never aspired to be one.  She’s not a bad person for speaking her mind or not “going with the flow”.  If anyone thinks any less of her as a mother or a human being for that matter–SO BE IT.  She will still live.  Her children will still be raised to the best of her abilities, she’ll continue to enjoy her life, she’ll still smile and laugh, and dance and sing her ass off any time she pleases–only to write about it without censor!  She’ll always be the tongue-in-cheek, painfully honest, often outrageous, unconditionally caring, and fun-loving person I’ve known for a very long time.  Sometimes even I don’t see eye-to-eye with her, and I love her and respect her all the same.

In closing, I want it to be known that I have actually encouraged Kristin to continue doing what she wants to do on Kicked Out of Mom’s Club–regardless of who becomes offended and who chooses to shrug it off like a good sport and take it for what it’s worth–FUN.  I’ve also encouraged her to replace any photos she’s taken down and blur out the faces of people who have made a choice to be offended.  You have a right not to want to be identifiable, I agree!  But you don’t have a right to dictate how Kristin chooses to preserve her memories, or what captions she decides to put in her public “scrapbook”, if you will.  She’s never been intentionally mean-spirited, or cruel, and she’s not out to get you–I promise!  If you feel that strongly about it, the chances are you might be reading a little too much into things.  I say that with the utmost respect for you.  Please don’t read into things that really don’t even exist, consider it coincidental if anything.

And honestly–(this comes from my mouth, not Kristin’s),  if any one person has that much of a problem with someone’s personal blog, you’re going to be extremely unhappy with how new media is taking precedence over traditional print media.  It’s not really a question of “if”, it’s really a question of “when”.  You’re not going to be happy at all then with just about anything you see online!  Long gone are the days when we were catered to and things were said so safely as not to offend a soul.  So don’t expect it from a blog– that’s for sure!  I merely ask you to take Kristin’s site for what it is: irony.  Nothing more, nothing less.  Please know, my feelings won’t be hurt if you don’t agree with me, because if you don’t–I probably don’t agree with you yet I still understand your plight.  But I wouldn’t tell you how to write your own biography, either!

(For even more offensive Mommy-blogging that will probably make your blood boil, I implore you to read Dooce.com!  It’s possible you might even get a new perspective on–oh…things like irony.)

Respectfully,
Amber
girlrunswithscissors@gmail.com

PS– I’m the person who encouraged Kristin to find her voice on KOMC last year, I even built the website. I’m also a card-carrying member of the same planet everyone else is on. Let’s move on and have fun!

Though much has happened since last I wrote, there has been nothing I have been wanting to write more about, than the pole-dancing class I went to for my girlfriend’s birthday! There were twelve of us ladies, mostly all moms, mostly very suburban, typical “Soccer Moms”, pretty bobbed blonde hair, velour Juicy tracksuit, conservative- you know the type. So, we drive to what looks like an office complex in a very non-descript area of Redwood City, and walk into an office, where we could see beyond the front desk was a Pilates studio. Non-threatening, no big deal! Then we walk into the next room, which was literally a room full of floor-to-ceiling poles! Right as we walk in, the instuctor (Shelly) greets us, as she is hanging upside down, legs spread-eagle, half naked from the first pole as you walk through the door.

If you’ve never seen “Soccer Mom Shock”, it is funy as hell to witness in person! It’s when a pretty, sweetly conservative, suburbanite mom sees something that is “shocking” to her, and her recenlty Botoxed forehead can’t even stop the knee-jerk reaction of her eyebrows slightly arching, while her neatly pink-and-white manicured nails cover her Lancome Juicy Tubes-laquered mouth as a barely audible gasp emerges… it’s classic!

While some of the women recovered from their “Soccer Mom Shock” ordeal, and were still struggling to wrap their minds around what was happening in front of their eyes, a few of us reveled in what was sure to be a raunchy, in-your-face, play-by-play instruction manual into the sordid world of stripping and pole dancing. Being a belly-dancer, I have brushed shoulders with many dancers from, shall we say, “other genres” of dance. So being in a room full of poles with a barely clothed woman was no big deal to me, but for some others- it was quite out of their box!

At this point, the instructor uninverts herself on the pole, glides down effortlessly, lands in the splits, wipes down the pole with a cloth and some sort of  stripper pole cleaning solution, stands up and introduces herself as Shelly. My first thought is “Shelly”? Is that her stage name or her real name? Shelly is stunning- abs that you could bounce a quarter off of, about 12% bodyfat, every muscle defined, very impressive, and yes, a tad intimidating.

She begins to instruct us through a very benign, simple warm-up, and then BAM! Whips out the good stuff….”Ladies- this is how you do a lap dance!” Nervous trilling laughter ensues amongst the Soccer Moms, as myself and the two other more “wordly” women think, “Now we’re talkin’!” Shelly asks us to partner up- one woman is the “Dancer” and one is the “Person” (being a customer in Shelly’s case, being a shell-shocked, sex-starved husband in some of the Soccer Moms cases). I partnered up with my girlfriend, who is thankfully as open-minded, expressive and adventurous as I am. The other Moms partnered up with eachother nervously milling around the room, laughing quietly. Shelly bellows to the room, “Dancers, slowly slither up to your Person, walking very confidently and slowly!” I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to “slither” very confidently and slowly in 6″ platform heels before, but it’s no easy feat, I’ll tell ya! “When you get to your Person”, Shelly continues, “Drop down between their legs onto your knees, and show them your there for THEM. Insist your presence!” This is where a couple of the moms literally jump back, do the Soccer Mom Shock and gasp combo, and shake their heads. ‘Their poor husbands”, is all I can think. But I ignore them- I’m here to learn! I wobbily “slither” up to my friend, my “Person” and damn it, I insisted my presence! I even got into it a little leaned over my “Person” and gave her a great cleavage shot, thanks to the couple of swigs from a flask of what I’m pretty sure I determined was whiskey from one of the other gals in the class.

After lots of giggling, some nervous laughter from the other Moms, and being taught some seriously sassy dance moves, we moved onto the POLES! Shelly taught us about different ways to stand in front of the pole, then moved into how to spin. It was a blast! I had bruises on the inside of my knees and thighs for about two weeks, but it was well worth it- I would do it again in a heartbeat!

About two weeks after our class, my girlfriend who’s birthday we were celebrating at the pole class, and I, were at a Girl Scout field trip to the fire station. We were the two naughty girls in the back of the class, snickering and giggling everytime the fireman talked about the pole in the firehouse, and showed the kids how they slide down when the bell rings, etc. Finally, as we were leaving, and all of the kids were outside of earshot, she quips up to the cutest of the four hot firemen there that day, and says with a wink, “We know how to do that!” Yes,  we do…….thank you, Shelly!

Sunless tanner: Oh, my bronze friend- thank you for making my ass look less flabby and for disguising my cellulite. Thank you for faking that I have toned abs and golden gams!

 Victoria’s Secret Very Sexy Push-up Bra: Thank you for helping me to pretend that I have the perfectly perky and forward pointing boobs that I had before I had kids. Thank you for coming with 1/2″ thick pads for me to place my doughy breasts on to make it look like either I’m 23 and a DD, or that I’ve spent $6,000 on a new set.

Kegels: Thank you, Dr. Sara, my OB/Gyn for both pregnancies, for instilling in me the importance of doing kegels. Thank you to myself for doing them, and for allowing me to sneeze and laugh without peeing on myself. Thank you God for designing women’s bodies so that you can do Kegels without anyone knowing- I think it’s always an adventure to see how many I can do, say, in line at the grocery store, or at a stoplight. Someday, I intend to learn how to do them without holding my breath, so that I can be doing them while talking to someone- could be you!

Wine: Thank you for giving me solstice at the end of a crazy day with my kids. Thank you for being so soothing, calming, nurturing. Thank you for having lots of fans, so that I’m always busy at work! Thank you for making me laugh, and for allowing me to think that I really do sound like Robert Plant when I sing Led Zeppelin when I’m drunk at karaoke.

Adhesive Breast Petals: Thank you for allowing me to go braless in revealing dresses that are made for 20-something girls who’s nipples still point forward. Thank you for masking unsightly “headlights”, and letting me go one more year wearing skimpy shit that a woman my age probably shouldn’t be wearing in the first place.

Jeans with lycra: Thank you for being so stretchy, and for allowing me to pretend that I still wear a size 4. Thank you for being made with a button with a metal rivet, so that I can keep pretending I’m a size that I’m actually two sizes larger than, and use a rubberband around the rivet and through the buttonhole to give me an extra inch around the middle. Thank you zipper for putting up with my constant pulling up with a set of pliars.

My Hairstylist: Thank you for letting me fake being blonde for so many years. Thank you for cutting my hair so that it looks thicker than it is, and coloring it so that it looks “natural”.

Candles: Thank you for making my house smell so good, and making it look so festive and elegant. Thank you also for your “airbrushing” properties- everyone looks hotter, younger, thinner in candlelight (and after a couple of glasses of wine)!

Spanx: Thank you for sculpting my thighs and ass and making it look like I just spent two hours at the gym. Thank you for having cut-off legs so that I can wear you under a short dress, and no one knows I’m wearing sausage casing that keeps all my lumps and bumps smooth under a slutty little black dress. I’ll thank you more next year if you come out with a version that allows me to breathe while wearing, or even better, come out with a crotchless version (it’s like a wrestling match with myself trying to get the damn things off and on in a bathroom stall…again thankful to Kegels)!

God: For allowing me to be a mom/woman/warrior who’s boobs may sag a little and butt may jiggle a little, but for giving me a body that can give birth to a human being and still be able to sneeze without peeing down my legs. And thank God for creating other women who come up with brilliant inventions like Spanx, or nipple covers. And mostly, thank God for the gift of laughter and humor!

Have a most fabulous Thanksgiving!