Groundbreaking Post

I hate the "I have nothing to say" blog posts.* 

Don't you? 

After all, if you have nothing to say, why are you saying something? 

I mean, besides the fact that it's the American way. 

If nothing else, when nothing else is working, can't they make up some fantastical story? Maybe something with snakes and a plane? Or a small man with big feet who has a magic ring? Perhaps a tale about a unicorn -- no, wait -- the LAST unicorn! I would rather read all of those.

Oh, and what about when they try to make up for the lack of substance with cute pictures?

Oooh! That reminds me! Look at this new pic of Meg!

OMG, she really needs to shave...

KIDDING! The moustache is fake. GOTCHA!

Don't even get me started about how they try to make it seem like they are showing you something new, but then pull out a video that has been EVERYWHERE that week.

Ladies and Gentlemen, THE MUPPETS!

Of course, there are those who try to "meta blog" about it. Those are the WORST! Trying to be all Smarty McSmartpants when really they are Nothing VanNadatosay.

Yeah, I hate those posts.

*This is one of those posts.

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I'm a Bad Mom -- Like Everyone Else

I can be a pretty judgmental person.

No, really, I can.

For instance, I never used to believe parents when they said they "just stepped away for a minute" when their kid got hurt. I figured it was just something they were saying to make themselves feel better, and not look like a horrible parents to other people. I not only thought they were horrible parents, but liars too.

I probably owe them all an apology now.

Friday night Meg fell out of the bathroom sink and onto the floor, giving her head a pretty good smack. At the time of her fall I was standing three feet away, and had turned my back on her for a total of six seconds. How do I know it was exactly six seconds? Because I walked it seven times after we were finally able to put her to sleep to see just how negligent a parent I was. The answer was six seconds worth.

I will never hear a worse sound in my life than the sound of Meg's head hitting that floor. Or at least I hope I never hear anything worse, because I don't think I could take it. That's how bad this sound was. The look on her face was also pretty bad. She didn't cry right away, and the look was just one of total shock and pain.

Ryan and I were both on her instantly like a rash, both trying to do the best we could to stay calm, and make sure she was okay. Ryan did a much better job of it than I did. He was holding her and rubbing her head, making her look back and forth to assess her pupils while I ran to the kitchen to get ice, frantically looked up the symptoms of a concussion on the Internet, and tried to call our friend Andrew to get medical advice (don't worry, he's a doctor). Oh, and the whole time I was crying.

Andrew finally (after like 45 seconds) called back and told us that if Meg hadn't lost consciousness, didn't seem to be nauseous, was acting normal, and had pupils of the same size, she was likely okay. He said to ice her head, keep her awake for an hour to make sure she wouldn't start throwing up or passing out, and let her sleep with us so we could monitor her breathing.

That's what we did. We watched two "Yo Gabba Gabba" episodes while holding frozen peas to Meg's head. Then she and Ryan fell asleep while I listened to her breathing and pictured all the horrible things that could have happened because of my bad parenting.

I finally started to forgive myself about 6 Saturday evening, after watching Meg eat three meals without throwing up, quizzing her relentlessly on everything she has ever learned to make sure there was no brain damage, and sitting next to her bed through two naps.

Well, at least most of me is forgiving myself. The judgmental part is still pretty pissed.

I really hate that part sometimes.

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An Open Letter to the Gosselin 8*

Hey Buddies!

How are ya? Okay? I know things aren't great right now. Do y'all want some otter pops?

Is that better? Try not to spill them on your shirts. Now that you aren't on TV you're gonna have to make those clothes last longer. After all, who do you think is going to wash them for you now that the PAs are gone -- your Mom?

See, I knew I could get you to laugh.

I know this whole "cancellation" thing has got to be hard on you. I'm sure camera crews and Teamsters are really the only parents you've ever known. Well, sure, there's your real parents, but let's not even go there. I mean, you're still children, and I really shouldn't swear around you.

I think the hardest part of this all though is the fact that now you all need to find jobs. Yeah, you do. Don't argue. No excuses. None of that "but we're children" crap. Your Mother and Father are accustomed to a certain lifestyle, and they are accustomed to you providing it. If you let them down now what kind of children are you? I'll tell you: not very good ones.

Ultimate fighting, maybe? Nah, Joel looks like a bleeder...

Okay, so we know we need to eliminate any job that requires you to be cute. After all, if you were still cute TLC wouldn't have booted you. We actually should forget any job TLC related unless any of you are old enough to get pregnant and not know it, or if you have any weird habits. Alexis, if you start eating your hair at a rate that it forms a giant ball in your stomach they might want to talk to you.

Maybe we could find something that requires tiny hands. Any of you interested in rug looming or jewelry making? What about pipe snaking or mine canarying? I know, I know, some of these sound dangerous, but really, can they be any worse than what you have been put through? And don't you owe it to your Mom? After all, she went on "Dancing with the Stars" for you and almost killed a man with her yelling. That's how much she loves herse -- I mean, you.

WAIT! I GOT IT! There are just enough of you to form a mangy, rag tag gang of dodgers, like in "Oliver." You might need your Mom for this one though. She can stand somewhere with a sign that says "formerly famous" and unwitting tourists can stop to take pictures. Then, when they aren't expecting it, you can swarm them like locusts and strip them of their fanny packs and digital cameras. You need to jump on this opportunity quickly though. You are entering the teenage years and soon will be seen as just another gang. Then you'll just have to wait until you're all old enough to be on "Celebrity Rehab" to make a decent living. And you KNOW that won't make your Mom happy.

I guess there is another route, but it's kind of crazy. Your Mom could put all the money she has made off you in a trust fund and start parenting. Then you could go to college and find real careers you love, and become your own people.

I know, crazy.

So, I guess you just need to remember that most tourists have a low center of gravity and will stop fighting if you yell "look, corn dog samples." I know I always do.

Best of luck,

Libby

*For my friend Sam

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I Need to Move to Antarctica

I am pretty sure I am melting. That is the only way to explain it. Utah is not humid enough for me to be sweating this much. Or at least it isn't supposed to be. Maybe I should blame global dampening.

Anyhoo, before I electrocute myself by touching my computer with wet hands I thought I would let you know where you can find me on the Interwebs today. Over at Sprocket Ink I have a piece about how you can rent friends, and they won't even care much you sweat. And at Tired and Stuck I wrote about going back to the pill container in the name of my uterus.

Come back tomorrow though. I'm sure I will have something witty to say. I mean, unless I melt.

Now, if you'll excuse me, Meg and I are going to lie on the lawn and eat popsicles under the sprinkler.

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The Angriest Place on Earth

The DMV truly is hell's waiting room.

Today, I went there to get my driver's license renewed, and spent a total of 27 minutes inside. During that time I witnessed seven fights, two of which almost got physical. And all but one of them were started by a DMV worker.

Let's just start with the fact that getting your driver's license renewed in Utah has become an epic task. They now have so many requirements it is unlikely that you will be able to get your license in just one visit. Every time you miss one of these requirements? There is a DMV worker standing there willing to tell you you have to start the whole process over again. And they are willing to tell it to you in a way that blends smug and nasty into a perfect evil cocktail.

Didn't print out your appointment confirmation sheet? You don't have an appointment.

Don't have your application completely filled out? I can't help you.

Don't have your birth certificate AND social security card AND passport? Don't argue sir, I'm just following the rules.

Don't have not one but two pieces of mail delivered to your home in the past month from an official source bearing your full name? You are just wasting your time.

Didn't find the hen's teeth and a four leaf clover on the scavenger hunt? You really shouldn't be driving any way.

Yes, those are all real responses I heard. Well, almost all of them.

Surprisingly, me, the person who regularly leaves my keys/wallet/sunglasses/baby behind managed to have all the things I needed to complete the process. I felt like I had completed an epic quest as I walked up to the desk for the final paperwork.

The guy helping me was not impressed. In fact, me having all my paperwork in order seemed to make him even angrier. My attempts to smile at him were met with glares, and the two times I asked questions (one being "how are you") he stopped everything he was doing to just stare at me as if I had just asked if I could pound nails through his hand.

When I left I told him to "have a nice day." His response? "It's unlikely, but I appreciate the sentiment."

Yeah.

I think my new driver's license picture sums up my experience.

This is temporary. The real one will be in Technicolor.

Actually, that's not a bad one. The lady next to me actually had fire coming out of her eyes.

Unfortunately that's against the rules, so she has to go back next week...

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