Bimbo. Really?

BIM-BO: (slang)
-an attractive but stupid young woman, esp. one with loose morals.
-a physically attractive woman who lacks intelligence, and has sex appeal.

The other day as I walked through the parking lot on a beautiful sunny day, I looked over and beheld a rather larger girl, with mascara smears and pink lipstick, wearing a shirt that proudly proclaimed: BIMBO. Hmmmmm.....Interesting.

It's not that I haven't seen far worse. I mean Bimbo is a relatively subdued version of what the word actually means. But I couldn't help but wonder, "What type of woman wears that type of shirt?" Instantly the stories of so many of our women sisters and the price they paid in search for equality came to mind. I almost instantly chastised myself for being such a prude. I mean the whole concept of Women's Rights means a woman has the right to choose what she wants to be when she wants to be it, right? "Let it go," my inner voice said. But let it go, I did not.

What is it with these women who take pride and delight in calling themselves hooker, whore, slut, and the very unattractive word used to describe a female dog? It's not cute, or funny. Its demeaning. And quite frankly the only people I know who use those terms regularly, or as dear terms of endearment for their fellow female friends, are trash (of all ethnicities) or the wanna be bad girl that feels a rush of rebellion when doing so ("hee-hee! I'm so naughty!"...NOT!).

Harsh? Ya, probably. But come on! I'm not a prude, or anything close to it. But I expect to be treated with respect and so, for the most part, I am. I say things I regret, stick my foot in my mouth; but referring to myself, or any other woman friend as something that has no value, someone who our society views as less than, just seems utterly ridiculous to me. Aren't their hundreds of thousands of other words that could be better used when referring to a friend? Or better yet, why not even combine a word or two; use some wit.

I know, I know. It was only a stupid T-shirt. A bit too much thought and emotion devoted to it, huh? Maybe. But the fact is that if women want respect then they must require it. How can you really get it wearing a shirt with that self-proclaimed title?

I love to read this blog!

If you haven't checked it out already then do it soon! ilovetoeatgoodfood.blogspot.com
Don't remember how I came across it but it has great recipes with photos to go along! Yummy!

Max put himself to bed today. Isaac came and quietly told me to follow him. As I peeked through the crack in the doorway I saw this: Max had climbed into Davis's bed, pulled up the covers, and had fallen asleep. Upon closer examination I realized he had been "talking on the phone" as he drifted off. So sweet.

And yet another...

Max found and used an entire tube of tooth paste. He had been upstairs just a giggling. I heard him. Even thought to myself, "Oh, how sweet!" I told myself he was playing with his brothers. Then Spencer dropped to the ground rolling with laughter. "Mom! You gotta come see this!" he said, still laughing hysterically. I knew I was in for it then. He told me as I was walking up the stairs that max was covered in toothpaste from his head to to his toes. I naively I thought, that it couldn't be THAT bad, could it? Well, It WAS that bad. His pants were encrusted, his belly a slippery sticky mess. It was jammed under his fingernails and in his dark lashes. The mirror had been thoughtfully covered in tiny hand prints, and as I stood there he beckoned me to come to him and showed me his masterpiece. Oh, how I love my Max. The pictures do not even come close to portraying how messy it really was!

Davis, "D", "D"-Dawg

This little guys was born ALL boy; scruffy hair, messy face, dirty fingernails and all!

Easter

Easter

Easter is a special celebration. It has always been important to me to do everything possible to take the focus away from the Easter Bunny and all of the associated mumbo jumbo and help my children understand what the day is really all about. Well.....not this year. I failed miserably. My sweet sister-in-law, Melissa, even reminded me about the Resurrection eggs I did for the kids last year. I even went as far as to tell her I would do them again at our family party. And do you think I did it? Nope. Totally spaced it. Easter was nothing but a "hopping" party. Eggs were dyed, baskets were brought, parties ensued, swimming & wall climbing were experienced, eggs were found. That was it. The kids had a blast though, and there's always next year right? :(

Why the Fascination?

Why are little boys so fascinated with tampons and pads? As a little girl I did not play with tampons, pads, or any other feminine hygiene products. Maybe it was just programmed in my DNA to despise such types of products. The fact that one day I would be forced to deal with such things as moodiness, bloating, nauseating cramps, and a serious loss of iron may have silently warned to me leave them alone for as long as I possibly could. My boys will never experience such pleasantries, which may be why they actually seem to gravitate towards them. I find that these products even bring out their creative abilities. Tampons become pop guns, and pads turn into very large band aids. Even my husband has found a use for tampons: Got a bloody nose? Hey, just put a tampon up your nose! Each and everyone of my boys has had their "special moment" with feminine hygiene products, and Max is no exception. Last year he went through an entire box of tampons; 72 count to be precise and popped each and everyone out giggling each time. A few days ago he moved onto pads. The great thing is that this is one stage that does NOT last long!