Author Archive: danabones

So my awesome husband, who I swear is good at many things save driving, rear-ended someone this week. Luckily, he still drives a VW and he’s married to a “retired” Volkswagen mechanic.

Time to unlock the tool box and assess the damage. Fortunately, this is a job I can accomplish in my driveway. January isn’t exactly the best month to do some outdoor car repairs but I live in sunny Colorado where sometimes I score a 60-70 degree day.

So I started by tearing everything down to make sure there wasn’t hidden damage, make sure the adjuster covered everything, and to get a list of parts to order.

The list so far incudes: radiator, radiator support, AC condenser, right headlight, fan clutch and blade, upper radiator hose, bumper grill, and support bracket. All of which I can replace myself. The only thing I need to bring it to a repair shop for is to recharge the AC system when I get everything back together and maybe to double check the auto transmission fluid since I’ll lose a bit during the radiator replacement and VW doesn’t believe in tranny dipsticks.  Still kind of debating recharging the AC just yet since it is mid-January and I think making the hubby sweat it out a bit might improve his driving skills. 🙂

Plus I already broke a nail so he’s definitely in the dog house. Stay tuned for further progress.

“True he ain’t pedigreed, Sandy, there ain’t no better breed.

And he really comes in handy,

‘Specially when you’re all alone in the night

And you’re small and terribly frightened it’s

Sandy, Sandy who’ll always be there!”

“Sandy” Original Annie movie

           I am an extremely proud Colorado native. Born at St. Joe’s, raised in Lakewood, after a brief stint in Boulder, I’ve spent the last twenty years in Denver. I love Denver! We are one of only twelve U.S. cities to have all four major sports leagues- Avalanche, Rockies, Nuggets, and Broncos. I have season tickets to our lacrosse team the Colorado Mammoth. We have a pretty cool zoo, tons of discovery filled museums, not to mention the Rocky Mountains! We are currently one of the fastest growing cities in the nation. Over fifty thousand people moved here last year. I’m not one of those transplant hating natives. In my opinion, if you want to move here and contribute to our booming economy, more power to you. We were one of the first states to legalize marijuana and whether you partake or not, there’s no arguing the benefit of over forty three million dollars going to our Denver public schools in just the first six months of legalized weed. $43,000,000 that’s six zeros!

           We have tons of great concert venues from the Bluebird Theatre, the Ogden theatre, the Gothic theatre, Fillmore Auditorium…the list goes on. All the cool bands play here. Not to forget Red Rocks Amphitheatre, a naturally formed astounding place to hike, do yoga, catch a flick or swoon to Jack White’s latest. I had my high school graduation ceremony at Red Rocks, a special bragging point I tell my transplant friends. We’ve also become a great city to be a foodie in, with a multitude of new restaurants opening all the time and classics like Buckhorn Exchange and Cholon Bistro or any spot in Larimer Square to enjoy. I’m salivating just thinking about them. We are second only to Hawaii in having the most sunny days per year of all fifty states. Most days feel warmer in Denver because we are actually closer to the sun at one mile above sea level. ONE of the reasons for our nickname, the “Mile High City.”

     As a disgruntled angsty teen, I thought I’d flee Colorado without a check in my rear view mirror  but I’m a proud graduate of Denver Automotive and Diesel College now and there’s nowhere I’d rather live. Denver is a fantastic place to raise children. Our school break days are filled with fun and affordable excursions to Confluence Park to tube on the Platte River, to 16th Street Mall especially during the annual Zombie Crawl, cruising the free Mall Ride down to Writer’s Square with a stop at Rocketfizz, the coolest candy store around.

        Did I mention the mountains? I’m not sure how people in other states tell East from West, but here we have a gorgeous view. Heaps of resorts to choose from to enjoy skiing, snowboarding or tubing. Though it can be pricy for some, every fifth grader in the state is eligible for the Colorado 5th Grade Passport, an amazing program that includes three FREE days to over twenty participating resorts, a great way for every Coloradan to enjoy our winter sports. Fifth grade is right around the corner for my daughter. 🙂

      I may be gushing but I LOVE Denver. I’ve even considered a Denver skyline tattoo, or maybe the state flag. Denver’s rules…. except for one glaring exception- Denver’s pit bull ban. Since 1989, Denver has maintained a controversial twenty year prohibittion on any dog that appears to be more than fifty percent pit bull. This law is breed specific, criminalizing all pit bulls regardless of temperament and frankly I think it’s ridiculous and asinine. Denver has impounded 5,286 dogs under it’s pit bull ordinance. It has been estimated that AT LEAST 3,497 pit bulls have been euthanized under Denver’s ban. It remains the toughest in the nation and the city also has a reputation as the country’s toughest enforcers of this breed specific law.

          One of my very best friends moved out of Denver ten years ago because of this ludicrous ban. Aly and I go way back, all the way back to kindergarten. She rocks and I miss her all the time but she owned a pit bull and Denver made life unbearable for her and her dog, Rocco. It got so bad when police started cracking down that Aly would drive Rocco to Lakewood, a nearby suburb for exercise or she would walk him near her home in Denver late at night, constantly fearing the repercussions. She was chased down by a dog catcher in Washington Park one day, questioning her on her dog’s breed. She was just walking her dog, who was behaving himself perfectly yet she was the criminal. Somehow, she convinced the guy that Rocco was an American Bulldog, probably because weighing in over a hundred pounds, he was bigger than the average pit. Had the dogcatcher determined her dog was illegal, she would have been issued a ticket with a fine and been given a week to prove her dog had relocated out of the city or they would put him to sleep. If she gave them a new address, out of town, these officers would follow up, stopping by the new dog’s new address to verify it was no longer living in Denver. Almost 4,000 dogs were killed, simply for being born stronger and smarter, based on so many false myths and beliefs that some dogs are just born bad instead of the fact that some owners are failures.

            Can you imagine if one day your city decided that orange tabby cats were outlawed because of their viciousness? If thousands of German Shepherds were rounded up and euthanized for the supposed trademarks of their breed? What if Denver decided left-handed people were dangerous?In most households, dogs are members of our family. It’s absurd that one breed was singled out. True, there were several ferocious pit bull attacks and I feel for those victims, but thousands of dogs died because of a few bad owners.

          According to an article in  the Westword written by Jared Jacang Maher , ” Denver has never done an audit of the pit bull ban, never conducted a study of how effective it has been, never established a commission to determine whether one of Denver’s most controversial policies is actually accomplishing what it was created to do.” According to a six-month investigation by Rocky Mountain PBS I-News and 9News, analyzing biting incidents along the Front Range between 2012 and early 2014, Labradors and Lab mixes were most prone to biting but if Denver banned Labradors and started euthanizing people’s pets the city would be in an uproar.

             Aly and Rocco moved to Milwaukee to get away from the stigma of owning a pit bull in Denver, to stop breaking a narrow-minded, biased law. She moved across the country to another city to start a new job with only her best friend Rocco as a companion. Though I worried about her and missed her all the time, I was reassured that Rocco was with her. What fool would mess with a girl walking a 120lb. dog? Seriously?  When I found out last week that Rocco had passed away, I literally burst into tears. I was bawling my eyes out at my son’s basketball practice. HE WASN’T EVEN MY DOG!  but he was the sweetest, kindest boy.  I was devastated for Aly knowing what a gigantic part of her life he was. Rocco was like a son to Aly for almost fourteen years. He had his own Facebook fan page and it wasn’t even a posthumous tribute. He was loved. He was the only friend Aly had when she moved to Milwaukee and even though he was the reason she had to move, he meant everything to her.

            As much as I will always love Denver, this backwards law needs to be overturned. It is 2015 and not only do I not have my hoverboard! I live in a city that ignorantly supports canine racism. Trying to solve a problem as complex as aggressive dog behavior by targeting an entire breed type and criminalizing responsible loving dog owners is unjust and unfair. Please share if you agree. Sign and share the link.

“But mama raised me good,

mama raised me right,

Mama said, “Do what you want,

Say prayers at night.”

-Love Runs Out

One Republic

          This Monday I took a much needed, break from reality, mental health day with one of my oldest friends. (By oldest, I mean friends for twenty plus years not senior citizen material)  We escaped to Breckenridge for a bluebird powder amazing day and I found myself re-inspired and refreshed. On our drive up the mountains, we talked about our similar childhoods and how we’re taking our mother’s tools to parent our own broods. We were both raised by single moms. It was cool to compare how we were both shaped by them.

        For me, growing up in a two bedroom apartment without a bustling family life or tons of spare change, instilled a lot of values I treasure. I knew if I wanted money, a car, or a home, I’d have to work my ass off for it like my Mom did. She was an amazing role model. I had my first job at fifteen after years of babysitting gigs. I graduated high school a semester early with the help of an employment class,actually getting school credit for working. There was no sweet sixteen pink Barbie Jeep waiting for me on my birthday (after several accidents in my Mom’s cars 🙁 ) I saved up my $4.25 an hour paychecks and bought my own first car. I paid for my insurance. I financed my second car with the help of my Grandmother co-signing but none of her money. I put myself through an automotive vocational school and paid off my own student loans.My future husband and I bought our first condo at twenty three, upgrading to our first house at twenty five without the financial  burdens most of our friends had of thousands of dollars in credit cards debt from bar tabs and wardrobes.

         My hookie ski day girlfriend has owned her own business since she was nineteen. She is a leader in professional piercing and in ourcommunity. I think both of us can attribute our successes to the incredible women who raised us. Sure, I was resentful at times to miss out on team sports or summer camp due to funds but growing up without everything handed to me made me an accountable, responsible adult.

         As a mother now, it’s hard for me to not completely spoil my kids. They really want for nothing and I worry someday I’ll have a forty year old son living in my basement. (Maybe even a 40 year old virgin….) When Jameson is whining on the floor about chores,complaining, “My friends don’t have to put their clothes away!” I want to shake him and shout, ” Your friends don’t have a Xbox and a ski pass!” I want my children to understand that not every child has their own room, or more than one pair of shoes to choose from, or “too many” clothes to put away. Not every kid has a Mom AND a Dad, or if they do, the don’t have a “stay at home” parent. I didn’t have cable TV until I was in my twenties paying for it in my own apartment. My bambinos would be aghast at only five channels!

          It’s a fine line I walk between wanting to give my offspring everything I didn’t have and being terrified that they’ll grow into helpless non-adults. I’m sure I already screwed them up by not breastfeeding long enough, allowing too much sugar, television, video games etcetera but my kids do chores, albeit begrudgingly. They will also have jobs, especially if they want their own car to drive. I have friends in their thirties that still haven’t paid for their own health insurance, car insurance, car payments or cell phone bill! I want my kids to be independent whether they learn it from me or in school. It’s crazy to think that of all the things I learned in high school, they never taught us how to balance a checkbook. I could solve for x but they didn’t teach what actual adulthood entails! I know it will probably take a village but I want to insure that my children know how to:

1) Budget and keep track of their money, including how to save up for large item purchases like a car or vacation.

2) Apply for a loan

3) Earn and maintain a good credit score

4) Plan for retirement

5) Have a savings account, in case of emergencies

6) Write a resume, perform well in a job interview, become a valuable employee

7) Obtain and pay for their own insurance and cell phone, including price shopping for the best rates

 8) Clean house- dishes, laundry, yard work, and good personal hygiene ( I’m still working on getting my daughter to change her stinky socks more than once a week!)

9) Cooking-how to make delicious balanced home-cooked meals (though they will have to learn that from my husband since I am terrible in the kitchen)

10) Buy their own car, new or used and learn the best way to maintain their vehicles to get the most out of their investment

11) Perform basic maintenance on theirs vehicles-check fluids, filters, tire pressure, bulbs, etc.

12) Install their spare in case of a flat tire

            I’m sure there are many more I could list but I can certainly help them with the mechanical items. After fifteen years in the automotive industry, I am constantly astounded by people’s lack of car comprehension. I had one customer try to top of her oil by pouring it into her dipstick tube! Another customer yelled at me for turning off his radio to diagnose a suspension noise, ” Now my freaking stereo doesn’t work!”  He’d never pushed the POWER button on his car’s sound system!  I’ve decided to offer a Mamachanic class. Ladies, wouldn’t it be nice to have some general knowledge about the car you’re driving? I know, even as a woman with six ASE certifications, I get tired of being talked down to and made to feel stupid anytime I bring my car in for service. Most things I can do myself in my driveway but when I needed new tires, I dreaded the run around and condescension I was sure to receive from the service writer. I’d like to give a class on how to:

-Check your fluids, oil, brake, power steering, everything

-Change your wiper blades

-Change your bulbs

-Set your tire pressures

-Follow the maintenance schedule for your vehicle

– Install your spare tire in the event of a flat ( AAA is great but the wait time can be upwards of three hours, on bad weather days in particular. Wouldn’t it be nice to drive off on your spare without the wait?)

             Parents, do you have a teenager about to get behind the wheel of your expensive vehicle? Boys used to spend their spare time tinkering in the garage with their fathers, rebuilding classic cars and bonding. These days you’re lucky if your father can help you level up on Halo or Call of Duty. I would have more peace of mind knowing my son or daughter had some insight into the vehicle they’re driving around, specifically in Colorado winters. Men, there’s no shame in confessing you don’t know the difference between four wheel drive and all wheel drive. I may not teach you bumper-to-bumper repair but I can impart some tidbits to assure you on the road, during the next storm, maybe even help you avoid a visit to the service department. Message me for rates if you’re interested in a class in the Denver metro and surrounding areas.

Please feel free to share my post and drive safe out there!

“Everybody knows that the world is full of stupid people…”  Banditos- The Refreshments

“Baby, when I’m yellin’ at you, it’s not your fault, it’s not your fault, yeah”  Not Your Fault -Awolnation

           I didn’t go to the gym at all last week. AT ALL! For someone who tries to go five times a week, that was a major faux pas but the kids were on holiday break and there was plenty of sledding and snowboarding to do for a bit of exercise. I preferred to spend my time hanging out with them instead of dragging them to the Kid’s Club while I work out.

            I’m not going to be one of those people that make a New Year’s fitness resolution. Those people who make the gym completely overcrowded and unbearable through the month of January until they give up and give me back my elliptical and my peace. To read this, you might think I’m one of the health nuts or workout fanatics. After two children and twenty years with my husband, I’ve come to terms with my shape. I joined the gym to lose the baby weight. Now that my “baby” is seven, I’ve given up on a pre-Mommy body. The gym is one of my getaways. I read the entire Twilight series on a recumbent bike. I can thank Stephenie Meyer for helping me shed some extra pounds. Don’t get me wrong, my gym is completely obnoxious. There are always several hot-bodied 20 somethings in full make up. Some tiny testicled steroided fool is always clogging the drinking fountain with snot rockets. There are always two friends who choose the cardio area to catch up, screaming at each other over their treadmills because heaven forbid they take their cackle-fest somewhere appropriate like a coffee shop. Most of my time at the gym is spent with my blood boiling in annoyance but that rage helps to fuel my workouts.

             I go to the gym so I can eat what I want. In my opinion, almost everything tastes better than skinny feels. I had a friend in high school tell me that for every Oreo I ate, I would have to run one mile to burn the calories. Yeah right! Food tastes too good to live by these silly one Oreo=one mile rules, so I’m fine being curvy. To be clear, these days I mostly go to the gym so I can use their showers with never ending high pressure hot water which is pretty gross if you think about it but whatever reason works to get this ever-expanding ass to the gym, I’ll use it.

                I decided my resolution this year would be to work on my temper. I’m not sure if it’s the copious amounts of road rage inducing driving I do for my new job or just a low bullshit tolerance level, but my fuse has shrunk to almost non-existence. My family is bearing the brunt of this. Whether it’s the idiot refusing to pull forward half an inch so I can get my left turn green arrow, the Redbox refusing to accept my return DVD, the Target shopper completely oblivious to the ten item express lane’s functionality, my husband’s nonchalant attitude repeatedly walking past the recyclables on the counter refusing to help them on their journey to the recycle bin, or my cat’s weekly vomits presents usually on my pillow or in my first step out of bed-I’ve found myself in a constant state of agitation. I’m sure I could write an entire blog post on my endless pet peeves.

                I’m hoping continuously seeing red  was just a December holiday insanity symptom. After countless bedtime arguments with the kids ending in shouting matches and snuggle privileges revoked, after record-skipping deja vu feuds with my husband over his phone’s supposed inability to accept my calls or texts , I’ve decided enough. I’m really going  to work on my anger management. In the wise words of some Frozen princess (I’ve only seen the movie once thanks to my daughter’s tomboy tendencies-hallelujah!) I’m going to LET IT GO! Whether I need some deep breaths, a count to ten or my own time out, I’m going to stop snapping at my loved ones or at least try. My waist and thighs may not thank me for this resolution but my family will. What are some of your resolutions? Or pet peeves? 😉

“Children are often spoiled because no one will spank Grandma.” -Unknown

I took my kids to see Annie today, the new Annie, after months of trailers and anticipation. To be honest, the first time I saw the preview, I was pissed!  I’m a bi-centennial child who grew up in the 80’s with Punky Brewster, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Goonies, Thundercats, and Transformers, half of which have been remade and remixed until I feel like screaming, “Get your own goddamn childhood!” I love Johnny Depp as  much as the next girl but Gene Wilder will always be Willy Wonka. Even Jem and Skeletor are doing truly outrageous Honda commercials these days. It feels like there is no imagination left so all the Hollywood producers and writers are cracking open my childhood vault and stealing everything sacred about my youth.

When I was little, I spent the weekends at my Grandma’s place with my cousin. We were both only children and the closest thing either of us had as a sister. We’d arrive Friday night and stay until Sunday so our parents could get a break. Those weekends held some of my favorite memories. My grandma was a terrible cook. Her house always smelled liked cabbage or something burnt to a crisp but she’d always take us shopping The grocery store was a free for all. She’d buy anything we threw into the cart-every flavor of Hubba Bubba bubble gum including Dr. Pepper, anything goes. If I wanted fifteen pieces of bacon and a can of frozen orange juice concentrate with a spoon for dinner? No problem.

On Saturday mornings, we’d hop the bus to the nearest mall to spend our allowances on a new charm for our necklaces or the latest Debbie Gibson song at Super Star Recordings. There were no etiquette lessons at her house. She knew her job as a Grandma was just to love us and spoil us rotten. Once we tied our bed sheets together and climbed out the second floor window. She was mad but we survived without a scratch or a spanking. Her house was a sanctuary, the perfect escape from the pressure of being an only child with a single Mom in a school full of 2.5 children perfect families.

The best thing about my Grandma’s place was her movie collection. All the best VHS tapes from Mary Poppins, Annie, Sound of Music, to this amazing four hour musical miniseries of Alice In Wonderland and Through The Looking Glass. We watched those tapes so many times, we knew every lyric by heart, so I consider myself an expert.

I wouldn’t say the new version of Annie was bad. They cut out Sandy’s song “Dumb Dog” and kind of butchered Miss Hannigan’s “Little Girls.” Daddy Warbucks was Mr. Stacks and there was no Punjab but I still found myself tearing up hearing the familiar bars of “Maybe” and “It’s a Hard Knock Life.” Watching the movie was like ripping the Band-aid off and peeling back a scab. My grandma died when my daughter was just a baby. It felt like losing her all over again, watching this distorted version of Annie, knowing she hasn’t watched my girl grow into this awesome frustrating pre-teen, knowing she’ll never meet my son and how completely she would have loved him and all of his Jameson-style mischief.

I decided the best way to honor her and my childhood, regardless of all the remakes, is to introduce my children to everything that made them both special. By watching Goonies and all the Gremlin movies with them, holding my son during the scary parts. By taking them to Infinity Park each summer to watch Princess Bride shouting “As you wish” with the crowd. By taking them to Film on the Rocks to watch Labyrinth and cheer with the audience every time David Bowie appears in his fabulous purple tights. “You remind me of the babe…” I guess my childhood will always be mine, this only child finally needs to learn how to share.

“The idea is to write it so that people hear it and it slides through the brain and goes straight to the heart.’ -Maya Angelou

Tonight, I am leaving on a jet plane after an extended family vacation in southwest Florida. I’m taking a minute to reflect on our trip and prepare for my return to the “real world.” I had a lot of puzzling, laughable, thought provoking moments on this trek so I decided to make a list of some insights I picked up on this journey, in addition to just a few things I’m thankful for.

1) Someone told me I shouldn’t go to Florida this early in the winter because I’d still have so many cold months to contend with after my vacation. I’m thankful to come south when there’s snow on the ground at home. We normally travel in the summer when the kids are school-free and Florida is sweltering.

2) I love my home state of Colorado! It was awesome to watch the Broncos beat the Dolphins with a crowd of Floridians. Regardless of the fact that most of America thinks everyone is Colorado is a pothead, I’m proud to be a native!

3) Somehow, my seven year old son learned the word “just” as “thest.” That is how he says it and how he spells it when he’s writing though he’s never had a lisp. Re-teaching him such a common word is proving rather difficult.

4) Driving over Seven Mile Bridge, listening to the Flaming Lips, feeling young and old at the same time made me realize what a huge part music has in my life. Almost all of our date nights involve a concert. Most of my trips are to see bands I love play somewhere else. I love how certain albums embody very specific time stretches in my life. The Cure Disintegration will always be my fourteen year old soundtrack. Transmissions From the Satellite Heart plays out song by song my first year dating my husband. Swelling with pride when my son asks me to replay a song so he can master the lyrics always reminds me of Paul’s Boutique and my best friend’s determination to learn all of Mike D’s, Adrock’s, and MCA’s lyrics long before Google could reveal every word in seconds. At Thanksgiving dinner, my son suggested we go around the table having every person tell something they’re grateful for. His response, “God and my family.” This boy who learned about God from word of mouth? We’ve  never taken our children to any services. Aside from a family wedding, the only time I took my son to church was to see the Flobots perform at a charity event. My first actual experience with him in a church was to see a favorite band perform-my own kind of spirituality I suppose.

5) Our road trip rental car smelled like Bengay sore muscle rub because my son is addicted to Altoids and not as I originally thought because of my husband’s addiction to minty Nicorette gum. I’m thankful both my boys always have such fresh breath.

6) After listening to my ten year old endlessly chanting, “My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard” I put a stop to it by firmly explaining that “milkshake” is a slang term for breast using a breastfeeding jiggling gesture that will probably scar her for life.

7) Speaking of lessons learned too soon, we realized belatedly it’s definitely far too early to show Jameson the South Park Mr. Hanky the Christmas Poo You Tube video. We’re hoping for a holiday break school suspension reprieve this year and hilarious body function humor was probably the wrong choice.

8) Florida has its own schedule. As I feel myself flying towards forty, I find it amusing to watch my husband working a puzzle on a Friday night nursing a fuzzy navel fearing his mid-life crisis repercussions. Thirty-eight actually feels pretty young in Florida.

9) Some other Only-in-Florida things…… bizarre wall art, non-stop white wicker, and Silver alerts-like Amber alerts for missing children, Silver alerts are for missing elderly suffering dementia or other ailments.

10) Back to the thanks, I’m grateful to not be flying home on a red eye. After a six hour red eye flight last June to Costa Rica, stuck in a row with seats that don’t recline, in the very back next to a constantly flushing toilet, apparently amidst the flight attendants “break room” where they gossiped and cackled ALL NIGHT LONG, I somehow forgot the pain and exhaustion of hellish overnight flights and booked the four of us on a red eye into Fort Lauderdale. After a mostly sleepless four hour flight we drove two hours down to Key Largo arriving pretty much hallucinating with sleep deprivation.

11)  I’m thankful to return home minus our last remaining guinea pig who passed away while we were out of town. Thankful, after nearly four years, I’ll NEVER have to clean that cage again. Thrilled to come home to my house where the water heater could certainly be bigger, but the water pressure is actually existent and hot showers last longer than three minutes.

All in all, it was a wonderful vacation, although after two gym-free weeks of eating almost only fried fish, my jeans are too tight to even fit a chapstick in my pocket. It just serves to remind me that LIFE IS GOOD-mosquito bites, bicker twin road trips, unpacked suitcases included. Now for the super rude awakening that it is almost Christmas, my tree is still in the garage somewhere, my shopping is a dot on the horizon, and my children are already days behind on the advent calendars.

“Buy a notebook. Write down what you want. Write down what hurts you. Show it to someone you love.

Save it for your children. Burn it in your backyard. Either way, go to bed knowing that in some way, those

things are out of you.”  -Unknown

I got a much needed stress relieving massage today. It felt amazing but my mind is always racing on the massage table. I have to remind myself repeatedly to relax, RELAX! Mostly, I’m thinking about the masseuse and what secrets my body is quietly betraying to her. (yes, always HER) Does she know I’m left-handed? Can she tell I have horrible posture? Does she mind the four day stubble on my legs? Is she slyly judging my cellulite riddled thighs? Can she tell my story by reading my tattoos? My copyright tramp stamp, the wrenches tattooed around my wrists, my children’s names on my biceps… I’ve always been curious what someone can learn about me by kneading my knots. I had the chance to pick the brain of a masseuse recently and she responded yes, yes, no, no and yes among her answers to other questions. So massages aren’t exactly relaxing for me and my ever running inner monologue but I thought maybe writing a blog could help lift some of the weight off these shoulders that the massage couldn’t, an outlet.

When I was a teenager, I wanted to be a journalist when I grew up. Or the next great American author. My nose was always in a book, from A Prayer for Owen Meany (Love!) to some trashy V.C. Andrews saga. After three and a half mostly brutal years of high school, I finished my credits and got the hell out. Four or five more years of school at a university just seemed like an extension of my teen angst sentence so I ended up at a vocational school studying automotive technology. I eventually became a Volkswagen mechanic.

In my twenty plus years of employment, I’ve held a kaleidoscope of positions. Starting with endless babysitting gigs, to a church daycare worker, a gas station cashier, a $1 movie theatre concession stand grunt, a postal worker, a Chili’s waitress, a car dealer receptionist, a pregnant shuttle driver, a pizza delivery girl, a tattoo shop counter person, a VW/Audi/Saab technician, a two week stint in telemarketing, to Mom and wife. I’ve had a LOT of jobs in my time and I could share a secret or two I’ve learned along the way. Maybe not the type of work someone does by massaging the overworked forearm muscles of a wrench-turner (touching other people’s hairy backs freaks me out) but I have some insights.

I decided to name my blog Mamachanic for a few reasons. One, Mom and mechanic are two of the longest positions I’ve held. Two, I like the way it rolls off my tongue. Look for it someday as one of my newest tattoos though I’ve retired my wrenches for the time being to focus on my most important role-raising people. Thanks for taking a minute to read my musings! What’s the best job you ever had?

“There’s this boy

He stole my heart

He calls me Mom.” -Unknown

When I was twenty weeks pregnant with my second child, I went in for my gender revealing ultrasound, hoping for another hamburger. My doctor described her interpretation of ultrasounds as a hamburger for a girl and a hot dog for a boy. I was crestfallen when she confirmed I was having a boy. I may have even cried a bit, though pretty much anything made me cry when I was pregnant. (ie. hamburger ultrasound)

I know we’ve all heard that “we don’t care as long as the baby is healthy” crap but I wanted a girl. My daughter was already two and a half and I wanted a sister for her. I grew up an only child with a single mother. Not too many men in my life until I met my husband. What the heck was I going to do with a boy?! I had horrifying visions of blankets so crusty you could  snap them in half (according to Tina Fey.) I was terrified of my reckless son making me a grandmother at the tender age of forty five. But the years flew by, as they tend to do, and this boy has completely stolen my heart. He taught me so many lessons, bringing more tears along the way, but mostly from laughter.  He showed me that men truly are from Jupiter. They are wired completely different from us. The way their minds work (or don’t sometimes) have me shaking my head in wonder.

In the first grade, my son was suspended for bringing a knife to school. His big sister had a Swiss Army knife we brought on our camping trips for whittling. He was playing with it in our backyard one afternoon and left it in his jacket pocket. The next week during recess, when he felt it in there, his first instinct was to show it off to his friends. In this day and age, with constant school shootings, educators don’t take weapons in school lightly so my son was suspended for five days! If my daughter found a forgotten knife in her coat on the playground, she would have wisely returned it back home without anyone ever knowing about her mistake. Common sense has never come easily to my son. Though we did name him after an Irish whiskey so I guess we were asking for trouble there.

When he was three, Jameson was convinced that his testicles were dragon eggs! I remember him feeling around down there once then suddenly stopping startled. I asked him, “What’s the matter?” He responded, “One of my dragon eggs is gone! I used to have three!” And boys with the penis, fart and butt cheek obsessions! I told him to get his hands out of his pants during snuggle a few nights ago and he told me that sliding down the shag carpet stairs on his belly had disturbed his penis “shifting it into third gear.” Where he’s getting this “third gear” thing from, I have no idea since my husband and I both drive automatic transmissions.

Several weeks into second grade, I was called to the principal’s office because my son had threatened to stab a little girl with a pencil. With the pocket knife suspension still fresh on my Mother of the Year checklist, I was beginning to wonder what king of monster I was raising?  Getting the whole story from my son changed my perspective. Once again, he was on recess. Apparently, the playground at his elementary school will continue to be the setting for my parenting downfalls. He had gotten his pants wet sitting on some damp grass and this little twit was running around telling all the other kids, “Jameson peed his pants! Jameson peed his pants!” Instead of asking a teacher for help, after repeatedly asking the girl/nemesis to stop, he threatened to stab her with his pencil if she wouldn’t stop embarrassing him. The most logical step in his young illogical mind obviously. Then when the classmate ratted him out for the threat, he didn’t tell anyone about her teasing because he was mortified and he didn’t want anyone to think he was making excuses. My daughter, on the other hand, would have sought a teacher for the help she needed. She would never threaten violence, easily keeping herself out of trouble. Jameson has to learn every lesson the hard way.

My daughter has never been a princess. She recently cut all her hair short because she couldn’t be bothered to brush it. Thankfully, I’ve only seen Frozen once because damsels and Prince Charming  just aren’t her bag. She’s a total tomboy just like her Mom so I don’t know why having a little boy ever filled me with such trepidation. In hindsight, which is always 20/20, I had been “raising” my husband for at least ten years before our son came along. I had nothing to fear. After seven plus years with this little guy tugging my apron strings, I’ve fallen pretty hard. I won’t ever say he’s my favorite :), but he’s definitely my favorite son.

“There are a myriad of things that you can do, like pick up a pen and paper.” – Drama! Erasure

Many moons ago, before I chose an automotive and diesel college over an actual college, I wanted to be a journalist when I grew up. As a creative outlet and maybe a bit of therapy, I decided to start a blog.

My first post about putting my ‘career” on hold to focus on my kids drew some nice responses but the first thing my own mother said was she wished she had spent more time with me when I was growing up.

I grew up an only child with a single mother long before Teen Mom and 16 & Pregnant were on anyone’s radar. Maybe in the midst of it, I wished for a sibling, or a father, or a two car garage with a house attached but my Mom did the best she could. I think I turned out pretty great! (Though not exactly humble so don’t look for me in any of Charlotte’s Webs)

My choice to quit my job was not meant to be a dig at any other parents out there. Whether you have two Moms, two Dads, a single, father, a single mother, a grandmother, two working parents, stay-at-home parents, nannies, mannies, whatever! Parenting is exhausting and terrifying enough without feeling like you’re constantly being judged.

Not to mention, my wise friends who decided against kids. We shouldn’t judge people who choose to forgo the 2.5 children manifesto. Though trust me, some nights I certainly envy their DINK (dual income no children) lifestyle.

As a tattooed potty mouth girl, I worry the other parents might judge me or my children. I didn’t use cloth diapers or make my own baby food. I barely breastfed. To be completely honest, I didn’t stay home with my children when they were tiny because I knew they would end up at the bottom of a lake before kindergarten. My fool hardy husband volunteered for Daddy daycare duties because he secretly thought he’d stay home playing X-Box all day occasionally tossing a Cheerio or two towards the playpen. Was he ever rudely awakened from that fantasy? Repeatedly, for at least seven years!

Parenting is like a tightrope for me. I’m pretty sure I’m scarring them for life almost weekly but also fiercely proud of the human beings they’re becoming almost by accident it seems.

I remember arguing with my husband last year because our son  was eating Cool Ranch Doritos  for breakfast, my husband insisting this proved we were white trash.” Oh no! Our secret’s out! ” my sarcastic reply.

I dropped my seven year old son off at a  sleepover last weekend and witnessed, to my horror, him “teabagging” his classmates! To be fair, he was mimicking something he saw on a Minecraft  Youtube video  fully clothed thankfully. I’m pretty sure he thought teabagging meant farting on your friends which is definitely hilarious to 4th graders. He was shaking his butt over his wrestling friends shouting, “I’m teabagging you! I’m teabagging you!” When I explained to him what it actually means (Google it), he turned a bit pale. Some of the other parents were NOT amused. ( Though I for one was relieved he wasn’t actually declaring his affiliation with the Tea Party ;P) Definitely not one of my shining motherhood moments.

I was talking with some people at an Avalanche game at the Pepsi Center last Friday about the last time we were at the arena.  We took our kids to the Aerosmith concert. It was amazing. Groupon had a deal for $25 tickets and these days $50 for two extra tickets is actually cheaper than paying a babysitter so why not bring the kids to their first rock concert? Slash opened for them so he played a bunch of Gun’N’Roses songs which was awesome! Sure, I had to shake the kids awake for Dream On so they could witness Steven Tyler in a creeper mustache perform their hit while standing on a white grand piano, not to be missed.  Surely, they’ll thank me later. “Wow, you must be the best parents ever!” my Avalanches buddies exclaimed. “Sure,” I laughed it off trying to forget my earlier teabagging shame.

My friend, very sarcastically, likes to joke that I must have a closet full of Mother of the Year trophies.

My point is, I’m just doing my best, which I think is what we’re all doing here, so let’s cut each other some slack. It’s true what they say, it takes a village. The only trophies in parenting are stretch marks, gray hairs, sleepless nights, and some fantastic little people.