Ever notice how some blogs seem to have this theme going where the blog writer will constantly whine about what a horrible person they are and the readers will lift that person up? I wonder what would happen if the readers were to really tell the truth to the blog writer. Do you think it would make a difference in their lives or make them become a better person? For instance instead of leaving comments like;

Don’t worry, you are a great mom and one slap does not an abuser make

Of course it’s okay to look at other men, all women do that

Oh I am so with you gal, who needs to change their underwear every day when every other day is just as fine.

What if they just told the truth?

Don’t worry, child protective services will show up on your door any day and then YOU’LL be able to feel what it’s like to be hit when you get bitch slapped by your cell-mate Bertha.

Please don’t sit on my toilets if you ever come to visit, I’m afraid I’ll get a disease from you ho-bag.

Damn girl, THAT’S what that stanky smell is.

No, I’m not hitting children, or looking at other men and I do change my underwear every day. And no, none of you leave comments like that, of which I am grateful. But I swear to you, I just read a blog where the writer was whining about how she felt so guilty and like a terrible mother because her 2nd husband had bitch-slapped her 17 year old son. She got the typical comments of how she is so great and so is her husband and that rotten old teenager probably had it coming anyway because if he hadn’t done something to warrant being hit by now he certainly would any day, because he was 17 after all. It just pissed me off and I wanted to leave a comment telling the woman how dysfunctional her family actually is and tell her she should seek family counseling for the sake of her children. But sadly I averted my eyes from the train wreck and went on about my day. Just makes me wonder what the world would be like if we quit hiding our heads in the sand and told people the truth. I’d like to think that would mean one less kid that would get slapped around by a stepfather.

I know, I’m thinking too much. I guess that’s what happens when you spend your evening cleaning up vomit. Last night, shortly before midnight, I was down in the TV room and heard Jas calling for me from her bedroom. I rush upstairs and the poor kid is sitting in vomit. She had vomited all over the place in her sleep. Now having raised three kids of my own, before the granddaughter came along, I’ve seen more than my fair share of vomit. This took the cake though. I have never in my entire life, seen such massive quantities of vomit. Not even at a Grateful dead concert. It had even projectiled across the room and chunks were on the far wall. It was everywhere. I will spare you the indignity of further description, but wow! This morning the hubster didn’t even bother sticking the soiled items in the laundry. He threw away the PJs she had been wearing and took the rest of the bed linens and clothing to a Laundromat. He said it was better to pay to use public washers and get it all done in 45 minutes than to spend all day doing load after load in our washing machine. I have to agree.

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Upon his return I went to the store and bought Jas a new set of PJs to replace the set we threw out and a new bed in a bag set. It was a “teenage” comforter. No Hannah Montana or Spongebob for her. After all she is eight years old now and almost a teenager. Or in her mind at least. Methinks she is growing up too fast. After sleeping half of the day, she awoke feeling 100% better. So it’s been an afternoon of “I’m bored”, and “I want more ice cream.” That kid ran me ragged. So now that she is tucked in her comfy new bed linens I am going to collapse on the couch with a good book. Some days being a “Gwanma” isn’t an easy job. Good thing the rewards are worth it. Goodnight!