Wednesday, September 19, 2012

We all hear the crap stories all the time.  Does anyone have a set of parents they are happy and honored to call Mom and Dad?  Let me tell you a little about mine.  Out of respect for their privacy, I will not be naming them, nor will I be giving any big details about them, in this post, at least.

My parents were fair, and they weren't strict.  They didn't have to be strict, because they taught me values and manners from the time I could comprehend these things.  Please and thank you when I could talk.  Hold out my hand and say, "Pleased to meet you," when I could walk.  Share my toys with others.  Go outside and play.

Hell, they even taught me the difference between look-days and buy-days while shopping.  All Mom had to say was, "Little Irreverent, today is just a look day," and I'd be happy as a clam, looking at everything.  On buy-days, I knew I could choose one toy.  If Mom vetoed it, there was no fuss.  I was a toddler when they taught me this.

I could read at two.  Why?  Because my mother would sit beside me with a magnetic letter board and tell me what each letter looked and sounded like.  She made real words and nonsense words, just so I could see how these funny things worked, looked, and sounded, both alone and together.

As I grew up, it was, "Let me know where you'll be."  I always asked, "Can I go to Friend's house?"  As I got even older, I called when I'd be late.  I called occasionally to check in and let them know I was okay.  I asked permission.  I asked permission.  I asked permission.  Yes, I typed that three times.  I want to emphasize that I never thought I was entitled to go anywhere or do anything.  My parents were in charge, and that was that.  I did not question it.

I was to call all adults by Mr., Mrs., Ms., or Miss, followed by their last names.  I still do that to this day, and I am well into my adult years, although I only do this with elders and parents of friends.  As I grew older, I was allowed to call people Mr. John or Miss Jane, if they requested it.  If there was no request for reduced formality, I addressed them formally.  Sir and ma'am are in the same category.

Of course, I had those teenage moments, when all I wanted to do was spread my wings.  However, I loved and respected my parents enough to not spread my wings so far as to wreck our home and relationship.  My parents also respected me.  They allowed me to go to concerts, travel with my high school choir, go to the occasional party.  They knew they had done their job well, and they trusted me to make the right decisions.  If I made the wrong decisions, they trusted me enough to not make the really wrong decisions.

Mom was also my silent partner-in-crime.  If someone would ask me to go to a party, and I knew there would be alcohol or drugs, or if I was just uncomfortable with the others who were invited, I'd call her and ask to go to said party.  "Am I supposed to say yes or no?" Mom would ask.  I would reply with whichever answer I wanted, because she trusted me to not go to the insane parties.  Likewise, if I found myself at such an insane party, she would pick me up, no questions asked.  All I had to do was call.  During those high school days, Mom never had to pick up a drunk, high, or sexually mistreated child.  I knew how to get out before it got bad, thanks to Mom and Dad.

Mom and Dad both taught me to drive.  Mom was more patient, and Dad was more technical.  It was a good mix.  I learned equally from both of them.  I got my lead foot from Mom and my love of technique from Dad.  Inserting a smiley face irks my writing soul, but I am grinning from ear to ear about that last sentence.

Guess what kind of car I received?  A sensible (but rather quick) used car.  It was nicer than many at my school, but more modest than many as well.  My parents had two things in mind with that car - safety and reliability.  This pre-owned car fit the bill.  That is why I didn't have a piece of crap, but I also didn't have the newest Audi, as one girl did.

I am speaking quite a bit about my mother.  I was blessed to have parents who could afford to have Mom not work outside the home.  We were by no means wealthy.  My parents made sacrifices so they could raise me the way they felt was best.  I am grateful for this, because I have such a close relationship with my beautiful, loving, lovely Mommy.

What did Dad do for me?  He did the best things any Daddy could do for his daughter.  He loved me.  If I had questions, he answered them, even the embarrassing ones.  He never foisted me off on my mother.  They were a team.

Dad and I built and flew kites.  Dad helped me with my math and science homework.  He taught me ways to do math that made sense.  We built snowmen together and went sledding together.  Dad left work to take me to the hospital when I couldn't breathe at school.  This was before cell-phones, and Mom couldn't be reached.  He wasn't upset at all.  My health and safety was his job too.

Dad and I went to the Father-Daughter Dinner when I was in Brownies.  He sewed costumes for me, and he even made my choir dress when I was in eighth grade.  He painted my toenails for senior prom.  For junior prom, he went out and found shoes - forest green velvet - to match my forest green velvet dress.  I need to repeat this - Dad went shoe shopping for me, because I wanted shoes that matched my dress perfectly.  I didn't throw a fit about it or anything.  I would have been happy with dye-to-match.  Dad wanted the shoes for me as badly as I did.

Dad taught me the way I should be respected by any significant others by respecting and loving my mother.  He taught me to value myself by valuing me.  He is simply the best Daddy on the planet.


I could go on and on about my parents.  I still have the childish desire to smack anyone who speaks ill of them.  Then again, no one speaks ill of them, so I don't have to worry about that.  My parents were, and still are, along with my husband, the most precious people on Earth to me.

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

For the love of all that's holy, can we please stop lumping women and children together? Women and children, women and children, women and children. What? Aren't women enough on their own? Aren't we just as valid without being bungee-corded to a child?

Men get to be men.

Women get to be "women and children." I can hear the whining now, "But Ms. Irreverent, if it has to do with children, it has to do with women. Children come from women. Children's rights and issues are directly related to women's rights and issues."

Children's rights and issues affect children and their parents. Women's issues and rights affect women. Men's issues and rights affect men. Yes, there is a whole Venn diagram of intersection within this, but there are also places where there is NO intersection.

Please stop intersecting the entirety of women's issues and children's issues.

Monday, August 20, 2012

Success!!!

So, I am that dork who had electronic life implode.

1. I forgot the e-mail address with which I created this blogger account.
2. I forgot my password to said account.
3. I forgot which of my several e-mail addresses I had used for my recovery e-mail account.

I am also that dork who had real life implode.

I have moved (ETA -I just realized that I moved before my previous post, so there is no new move.  We're still here), lost my job (and in the process of trying to find a new one), dealt with some family brou-ha-ha, wallowed around a bit in some anxiety and depression,

BUT NOW I'M BACK!!!

I toyed with the idea of blogging about other things, but really, being childfree is actually the most pertinent to my everyday life.  Being childfree allows me to do the other things in my life I enjoy, so it is the hub I'll be using.  I may talk a bit about my hobbies, likes, dislikes, and day-to-day life, but it is my childfreedom that is the central theme.

For instance, I moved.  Guess what?  I did not have to worry about schools or finding the perfect neighborhood (our neighborhood is fantastic, but I wouldn't want to have a kid here).  I didn't have to worry about how the move would affect the psyche of a mini-Irreverent.  I didn't have to worry about the logistics of schlepping a kid AND an apartment full of stuff to the new location.  I was able to stay with my parents and finish off my job while Hubbs stayed in the new place and got it livable.  These things were not impeded by having a curtain-climber in the way.

I lost my job.  There was no worrying about how to support a kid on one modest salary.  I am able to conduct my job search without a brat underfoot.  I am able to wear business clothes to interviews without checking my ass for smashed peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich goo.

The family brou-ha-ha didn't directly impact Hubbs and me.  However, if we had a kid, it would have had more of an affect on us, because there would be questions.  "Why aren't we visiting Pappy?"  "Why don't Aunt M, Uncle R, and Cousin live with Pappy anymore?" and so on.  We'd actually be dragged into it by the questions of a mini-Irreverent.

As for the anxiety and depression?  I didn't have to be concerned that a kid would ask Hubbs, "Daddy, why is Mommy in the bathroom crying again?"  Or, "Why won't Mommy get out of bed?"

And I don't have to cut in and respond, "Because I feel like shit right now, and you're not helping, so go to your room."

Looking back and reading what I've written, it seems to me that being childfree eliminates a metric ton of worry from my life.  Childfree = one step closer to worryfree!!!  Now, if I can only figure out how to win the lottery...

Friday, June 1, 2012

Hello, my lovelies, I'm just popping in after almost a WHOLE YEAR to say, "I will be blogging for real now!!!"  Just, well, let me get my topics in order and what have you.  I'll be asking for suggestions on the IC facebook page, https://www.facebook.com/IrreverentlyChildfree/.

Off to do something completely uninterrupted by children.

Ta!!!!

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

"I'm not dead yet."

Thanks for all your patience with my sporadic posting.  I've started a new job; the new job schedule is a bit wonky; the neighbor fucks are keeping me up late with their noise and waking me up at the ass-crack of dawn; and I just don't have much energy right now.

On the preggo/baybee/chyldrun/breeder ads, I still need to check on the adsense ads to see what's going on.  I've sent a few pointed notes to the adsense crew about what we are and why their ads suck for us.

So, that's what's what.

Are there any topics you would like to see covered?  Let me know, and I'll see what I can whip up in an irreverent manner.   :-)  I have several in mind, and I have to fire up the word processor and start in on them.

Thanks again for your patience as I get everything under control.

Cheers!

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Dear Google Adsense:

Dear Google Adsense,

I placed your gizmo on my blog, because I thought it was a cool concept, and who doesn't need a spare ten cents every now and again?  Obviously, this is not going to make anyone loads of money, but I was curious to see what kind of ads you would have for the childfree.  Curiosity satisfied, I must continue into my rant.

Your data-mining programs or whatever they are called have decided that childfree people want pregnancy, babies, ultrasounds, diaper deals, bottles, strollers, etc.  We don't.  We never will.  That's why we are childfree!  Unfortunately, your little program that searches the blogs for relevant words to decide which ads to post - well, it's not as smart as you think it is.

You know what else I dislike about your adsense doohickey?  We can block all sorts of categories of ads, so I was able to block ads for baby care and hygiene.  Unfortunately, when I tried to block pregnancy ads, I couldn't.  I can block ads about reproductive health, but I am unable to block ads about healthy pregnancy.  I can block a category called "Sexual and Reproductive Health."  This category's description, "Includes sexual function and fertility ads; does not include normal pregnancy resources."

One point in its favor is that it includes fertility ads.  However, it does not include normal pregnancy resources?  I am completely against pregnancy and childbearing.  I am so much against it that I am on the other side of it!  Why can't I block that?

Let me try to tell you how I feel about the pregnancy, baby, and child-related ads you put on my blog.  Would you post ads for free trips to hell to visit Satan and his minions on a Christian blogger's blog?  Well?  Would you post an "Abort your baby now!  Call 1-800-WIRE-HANGER to speak with a representative now" on a blog about pregnancy?  That's exactly what you're doing to us.

I understand that adsense is something my blog can do without.  I'd like to see some ads up there for adults-only resorts and cruises and any other adults-only thing you can find.  I wanted these ads on my blog so we might be able to find some new venue for our dates and vacations.  I wanted these ads on my blog so sterilization, birth control, and yes, even abortion ads would be available to those who don't know all the options that are out there.

Sadly, Google, you seem to be a little TOO family friendly for me.  Unfortunately, I am entangled in your tentacles, and I am too lazy to cut myself out of gmail, googledocs, google reader, blogger, etc.  I can do one thing, however.  I can remove the ads if you do not address my concerns.

I will be copying and pasting this blog post in an e-mail to the google adsense team.

Friday, July 8, 2011

Oh yes, I'm a bitch.

The following will be sent off to the property manager after two weeks of logging the most significantly LOUD noises. 

Yes, the people upstairs have kids.  No, that is not an excuse for making a ridiculous amount of noise to the point where I think my ceiling is going to come crashing down.  Footsteps and creaks are fine.  Pounding, stomping, and crashing are not.

Begin log here:
What follows is a log of the types of noises; places from which they seem to originate; and what the noises sound like. Since I am not upstairs witnessing the actual noise production, this is my best estimation of what is happening.

07/07/2011
9:34 p.m. - stomping/pounding noises above the kitchen.
10:08 p.m. - moving furniture in the kitchen (sounded like heavy furniture being dragged across a hard floor).
10:33 p.m. - more stomping/pounding noises from above the living room area and stomping/pounding noises from the hallway area.
10:47 p.m. - rapid thumping above the living-room area and pounding above the kitchen area.

07/08/2011
6:34 p.m. - stomping/pounding noises above the living-room and entry-way.
6:38 p.m. - large booms from above the living room."

End log, begin confrontation.

Sorry, new neighbors, the welcoming committee does not live here.  I went upstairs and asked, "Why does my kitchen ceiling sound like it's going to fall down?"

I would not have launched this campaign had they just said, "We're sorry.  We'll try to keep it down." instead of "We weren't even home, it couldn't have been us." (oh really?  Why is your car out front?  Oh, and if you weren't home, someone must have broken in, because it came from YOUR APARTMENT.)  The cunt also came out with, "Are you attacking my parenting skills?"

Um, yeah.  Bitch.  You should have given head or taken it up the ass if you weren't going to be a proper parent to your fucking crotch droppings.