HampoLand

You Can’t Handle The Truth or My Mornings

Every day I ask my husband, Alex,  how is day was. He says, “you have no idea”. Yeah yeah, I roll my eyes. Alex is the executive chef at a giant throughbred race track so, on a race day he may feed 15,000 people and walk 10 miles. Yes, he works hard, and he works long hours 50-60 a week, but I’m about ready to throw down. Because I don’t think he could handle my mornings for a week. So this blog is for every mom who gets it done.

This morning I tok a shower then woke Sandor up, who was grumpy. We found pants but he thought there was something wet in the pocket so I told him to find another pair.  When I came back he was staring at his hand, which was stuck inside Mr. Potato Head (I didnt’ ask why). He wasn’t happy.

“Please get your hand out of Mr. Potato Head” I said then I found more pants, put them on top of his head and told him to come eat breakfast.

Lex tried to cheer him up while they ate cereal and grapes but he wasn’t speaking. I sang something stupid but that didnt’ work so I turned on the radio. Right off the bat there was a song by Buck Cherry. Yikes “Yeah, you’re a crazy b*&#$ but you _________so good I’m on top of it,” what was that doing on my normally tame morning radio show? I moved like a “mom tsunami” across the kitchen to hit the stop button my baby toe hit the leg of the chair. Oh, my Lord, I started cursing worse than the song.
That cheered Sandor up. He started laughing so hard he spewed cereal milk on the clean laundry.

They went to the bathroom to brush their teeth and I stared making lunches. But the bread was moldy so they both got a sip lock full of sliced steak and a pop tart. That’s a decent lunch, right?

After feeding the dog, finding Sandor’s lost shoe and wiping butterscotch pudding out of his back pack I sent him off to find the lost library book.

Lexie needed ten dollars for something, then she needed my tennis shoes for PE, my camera and the necklace I got for Christmas…then she was ready for school but Sandor was crying. If we didnt’ find his library book he’d miss recess.

So Lexie and I went on red alert to find the lost book, which was next to the bathtub because he’d asked me to read to him while he was soaking. (Hey, he’s been sick, so yes, I’ve been babying the boy)

They both made it out the door and caught the bus and that was the first 30 minutes of my morning.

You want the truth? You can’t handle the truth or the reality of my mornings. Alex may be able to feed the masses and roll out 5,000 pounds of corned beef sandwiches but I don’t think he could get the kids on the bus by 7:14.

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Men Just Want…Hot Part II

Men still just want hot.

I wrote about this yesterday and there’s bad news…it’s still true and furthermore, it’s not really the guys fault. God hardwired men to want the youngest healthiest female he can find in hopes of having strong off spring. Young and healthy doesn’t have to be smart but they do have to have big tits, healthy hips and good teeth.

There is a  real downside for women, in this scenario. And here it comes. When a man is fifty he can still successfully hit on a hot 30 year old. Maybe she has “daddy issues”, maybe she’s looking for security, maybe she’s burned out on stupid 25 year old dudes. What ever the reason middle aged men can and frequently do hook up with girls the same age as their children.

A fifty year old woman, on the other hand, is pretty much doomed.  If she pursues a guy twenty years younger, especially in a bar, she just looks desperate and  pathetic. Unless she has a whole whole lot of money and a super hot boat, the 30 year old dude is not interested in her, why should he be? And if he is, there’s something seriously wrong with the boy. Who wants a guy with “mommy issues”? Gross, that sounds completely different and far less intriguing than “daddy issues”.

At 55 a woman is a granny, no matter how often she tans, works out and has a teeth whitened . A 55 year old man who stays in shape is sophisticated, worldly, successful.

There’s no way to sugar coat the truth. So guys, when we get upset because you are dating girls fifteen yers younger it’s not that we are actually mad at you. Deep down, we understand and wish we could do the same thing. No, we aren’t mad at you, we are just disappointed and frustrated by God’s rules and the middle aged playing field.

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Men Want Hot…It’s Just A Fact and It Kind of Sucks

I know so many 45-55 year old men who would give up both their pinkies fingers to be with a 25 year old woman. They would book a room in a heart beat cause that’s the way guys are. For most men, youth is the hottest attribute and the most fleeting, once it’s gone, it’s soo gone.

When I look at 25 year old men I think, wow, he’s go nice skin but…

The men on the other hand, do not care that the 25 year old hottie doesn’t care what’s going on in the Middle East, doesnt’ know who James Taylor is, they only tip ten percent and they don’t get most jokes. Yeah, she’s got nice skin and pretty teeth but…

Men need and and want something different. I understand why and what they want, intellectually but it’s just not the same. When men watch stripers and pole dancers they actually want them. When most (not all) women watch the Chippendale dudes it’s fun and silly but we don’t actually want to carry those young men home because they are youthful morons.

I’m gonna say it and you can howl if you want to. Most men don’t actually care if a woman is smart. Yeah, they want smart friends to talk to and they want their wives and girl friends to be smart if they plan on keeping them around for more than a couple of years…but hot is better than smart for most.

I guess the old adage is true, “man just need a place and women need a reason”.

I can’t beat guys up too much for being focused on youth and hot, becasue they are genetically programed to be that way. It’s actually not their fault. I get it, but not really…

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No Fear Just Faith? That’s Stupid. I’m Scared As Hell All The Time

At first I loved those bumper stickers, “No Fear Just Faith”. They made me feel good, then I started thinking about fear and its purpose.

First, I think God gave us fear to keep us safe. When a 3,000 pound bull starts charging towards me, I feel fear, so I get the hell out of the way. Fear is probably what makes you run faster during the Running of the Bulls and that’s a good thing.

When I see a rattlesnake in my bathtub, I’m filled with fear. So I get a gun or call my husband.

When a pock-marked stranger with greasy hair tries to give my daughter a ride to school, hopefully she will feel fearful, and in turn decline the scary strangers offer.

Fear is not a sign a weakness, it’s an instinct, it’s a warning system. And God is the one that put it in you.

Yes, you should have faith. Faith that God will keep you safe if you respond appropriately when the Great White Shark starts crirling your inflatable raft. That’s a really good time to be afraid and stay on the raft.

The bible is full of stories and fear. When the shepherds looked up and saw the angels they were so afraid. No doubt David was a frightened mess when he looked at Goliath. You think Daniel wasn’t a little nervous when he first saw e lions. But they all found their faith and moved forward despite their fear.

Fear isn’t necessarly a bad thing and overcoming fear is a powerful, even magnificent achievement. It’s only when we are afraid that we can truly be courageous.

So, instead of a bumper sticker that says, “No Fear Just Faith,” how about one that says, “Sometimes Fearful, Always Faithful and Trying Really Hard to Move Forward.”

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Breaking News About “The Muffin Top”

Breaking News About “THE MUFFIN TOP”. First, for those of you who have been living as a monk wearing only massive itchy brown robes for the past ten years, let me tell you what the muffin top is. It’s the roll of fat you see squirting over the top of girls pants. They are not hot or sexy or cute, just kind of gross. And I’m not a man but I think most guys would agree with me.

Well, I’ve figured out the cure for the muffin top. This is important stuff because we are all tired of looking at the squishy little or not so little roll and you aren’t doing yourselves any favors by showing it off.

Idea #1. Buy bigger pants, Yes, I’m suggesting you by pants that actually fit your hips so they don’t squeeze the fat like a roll of toothpaste. Granted, pants that fit you won’t be as tight on your butt but you will, in the end, look much better. Another advantage…you’ll be able  to breath, even while sitting down.

Idea #2 Get pants that are just high enough to cover the Muffin Top. I’m not saying you need to wear Mom Jeans with a four inch zipper, but if the pants came up just a little higher your muffin will stay inside your pants, where it belongs.

And finally #3 Lose a little weight, yes, I’m telling you to quit going to Sonic and McDonald’s everyday and chances are your Muffin Top will vanish.

That’s it, my ground breaking, earth shattering Muffin Top news. I was at the Mall today when this revelation came to me. Good luck.

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Stupid Hot Juliet and Idiot Artsey Romeo…You’re Doomed

If you have a kid I need to warn you about the Romeo and Juliet syndrome.  Again.

Yeah, you think you already know but let me remind you of the rules because the first time your college aged daughter who is beautiful and elegant and brilliant walks in the house with a dweeby little wanna-be artist with a handshake that says “I’m a goober” you’ll forget all the rules. You will drag your magnificent daughter into the bedroom and say, “What the pooh? He’s a soft little fellow what are you doing and why do I have to feed him?”

Now that you’ve expressed your dislike for the tiny guy he’s going to seem that much hotter. Artsey Romeo meets Juliet syndrome.

You’re eighteen year old son brings home a Asian Gangster Girl with “CRIPS” tattooed on her neck. She has a beautiful smile but frightens the entire family. You drag son outside, “Where did you meet here?”
“At the rehab clinic where I volunteer on the weekends, Mom. And you’ll love her kids. They are great.”
You shake your head, “Son, this is a bad idea,” and he just hugs you cause you don’t understand.
“I’ve got it all under control Mom and she has a really beautiful soul”. Gangster Juliet and Innocent Romeo.

You handsome football playing son brings home a smoking hot cheerleader who thinks the Pulitzer Prize is given right after the Grammys and says Will I Am is her favorite poet. You smack his helmet, “Are you kidding ? She’s an idiot.” Well because of your reaction you’ll probably have grandchildren in the next year. Horney Romeo and Stupid Hot Juliet Syndrome.

So parents, understand, if you express any disapproval you will be pushing your child into the arms of the one you dread, the one you fear, the one you know is absolutely wrong for your kid. If you “forbid” them to be together, they will find a way to be together at all costs, even if they don’t like each other that much.  

The best thing you can do is shut up, smile and and pray. And maybe serve something for dinner that your child loves and they have know idea how to eat.  Sometimes that works.

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It’s All Instinct, So Put Down The Phone

Sandor, who is 8, has the flu, the real live, 103 fever, wet cough, body ache and runny nose flu. Last night he crawled in bed with us and fell back to sleep. I woke up an hour later because something smelled kind of rank and funny (not funny in a good way). Sandor’s face was less than three inches from mine. I was cloaked in his nasal congestion, snotty, coughing, feverish breath. And I didn’t care at all.

It’s weird, when I child is sick most mothers become very primitive, almost animalistic. Technology falls away because cell phones, texts and I-Phone apps are useless when your child is sick. When I’m holding my miserable child and I hear the phone knocking, informing me I have a text, I don’t even budge. It means nothing.

Mothers become base creatures operating on instinct when we have a sick child. We worry about their temperature, covering them with our own bodies if necessary, much like a bear or wolf covers their cub. We encourage them to drink, even if it’s just a sip, we constantly touch them testing for any change. And we are able to read their eyes and smell for signs of greater illness or a return to health.

When our children are sick, we surround them, we let our vulnerable and mortal bodies  be showered in their germs and viruses.  And generally we really don’t want anyone else interfering because we know what they need. Our soul tells us. So we create bear caves or wolf dens, we stay half awake all night, ready to react or defend them, hoping they will rest.

Sickness and grief seem to be the only two places personally technology has not invaded. There’s nothing a 4G phone or wirelss internet can do when my child needs me to hold them for as long as it takes.

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Middle Aged Tattoos…eewww

For some reason I keep thinking about tattoos. Do I want one, where in the hell would I put it and the most difficult question to answer…what would I want? Should I fight the urge or not?

I have to wonder why I’m considering a tattoo… now. Obviously I’m going through some  pathetic age related crisis (duh). I want to be young again and all young cool people, I know have tats,including my own crazy cool kids

Next, where would I put it? Location, location location. Obviously it can’t be any place people would see (so what’s the point right?)  the tramp stamp location is out, if I can’t see  the thing it really is pointless. The idea of a boob tattoo sounds pretty dreadful. I wear a lot of sleeveless dresses and shorts so my arms and legs are off limits. I’m running out of parts now. Humm, I guess that leave my hip bone.

I know I don’t want anything generic that I would pick out of a tattoo catalogue. No swirls or crosses or butterflies.  It’s bad enough showing up at a party with the same dress as another woman, imagine having the same tattoo. Yikes.

  This morning I was watching the Rug Rats with Sandor and I thought that might be a fun tattoo.  The kids and I have always loved Tommy and Chucky.  At one point I considered getting Mary, Jack’s, Lexies’ and Sandors’ favorite most precious stuffed animals together (they are all ragged and adorable now) for a group shot, that seemed kind of cute. The word “HampoLand” and “Team Us” has always meant a lot to our entire family, those are “our words” our family philosopy, our safeplace and our joy but I don’t really like word tattoos.  I don’t want to be a bill board or bus bench, I want to be a canvas. Kung Fu Panda would be fun but then I would feel as though Jack Black was sitting on my hip and that’s kind of creepy.

My son Jack has some beautiful tattoos, including our dog Theo’s head.  Yeah, he has a picture of the dog but not his own mother on his arm. But he also has some that  are silly or just plain ugly, there’s one of a naked cat with a speedo doing a little jig. I don’t know what that’s all about.  Mary and Jack have matching “Bro Tatts” from Where the Wild Things Are cause that was one of their favorite books growing up and that’s pretty sweet.

I guess the fact that I have so many unanswered questions means it’s not time and honestly, is a tattoo gonna make me feel younger? Am I going to go to a club and show it to my friends on the dance floor.

I think for now, I’ll go to Wal-Greens, pick out some yen and yang or barbed wire temporary tattoos and let Sandor decorate my leg.

If you have any ideas let me know, or better yet send me a picturer. And remember, love your blogger.

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The Gay Bully Again

                                                                                   My daughter recently wrote a blog about bullies in her highschool. You can read it at http://sillystupidhighschoolblog.blogspot.com/2011/09/go-nerds.html  And it made me think about this blog I wrote about a year ago.  My daughter, Mary, was bullied when she was a little girl. But the story isn’t what you’d expect. Thanks for reading.

 When I dropped Sandor, my 8 year old son, off this morning he ran  to the playground, overwhelmed by his backpack. He never hesitated or even looked back at me. Instead he happily threw himself into the ocean of kids.

With stunning clarity, I remember the year Mary hated that ocean of kids.She would get out of the car soooo slowly, look at me, pleading with her eyes that I wouldn’t make her go to school. And then  Mary would gather all her nine year old courage and walk toward the play ground.

That was the year Mary had a bully problem and it was bad. A little red neck white trash boy named James Rufus made my Mary’s life absolute hell. He was a short, skinny kid, with shaggy, semi-greasy hair and hand-me-down jeans and tee-shirts. James had the kind of “screw you” expression that made you want to slap him before he even opened his mouth. And if you did try to talk to the boy he would just shrug and say “what ever”. Every day this nightmare of a boy singled Mary out on the playground. He followed her around and called her horrendous names, “fat bitch cow” being the least offensive. He said she did things to boys that she didn’t even understand. 

I was  furious. I wanted to burn the school down. Of course I talked to teachers, principals, counselors. I cried and yelled, threatend the school with law suits, I even threatened to have nine year old James Rufus arrested on harrassment charges. If somebody followed me  and called me vile names I could have them arrested. But I couldn’t stop James.

The school counseled him, gave him ISS, took away recess and sent notes home but nothing worked. Mary came home day after day, crying, confused and miserable. I was furious and heartbroken.

Finally, after more than a month of horrendous verbal abuse Mary snapped. She screamed at James Rufus in front of kids and teachers, “My dad’s got a nine millimeter gun and he’s gonna kill you if you don’t stop, James.”

Mary was immediatly suspended from third grade. This was 15 years ago and the country was terrified of school shootings.

While Mary was home I called the school to get the Rufus’ phone number. They wouldn’t give it to me but I poked around and found somebody who know somebody and they gave me the number.

I remember so clearly, my hand was shaking with absolute rage as I dialed the number. I was going to eat that entire family for lunch.

James answered the phone. “This is Mary’s mom, James, let me talk to your mom or dad.”

He sounded tiny, “Please don’t do that, Ms. Hampo I swear to God I’ll stop. Please don’t tell my dad.”

“James, I have to. I can’t let you keep on hurting my daughter. I love her too much.”

He begged and begged then finally handed the phone to his father. I explained the situation and I remember the man’s exact words, ‘I’m gonna beat the shit out of that kid. I swear to God he’ll never say a word to your daughter.”

I felt sick and tried to reason with him.I tried to tell him I didn’t think beating James was the answer but he didn’t hear a word  and hung up suddenly.

James Rufus never said another word to Mary and six month latter he was out of our school. He had to go to the “alternative” school, the hell hole they send the “bad kids”.

Now, here’s the strange part of this story.  Mary and James are now friends on facebook, though he says he doesn’t really remember her from school. Of course he doesn’t. Bullies don’t remember anybody they pick on. But the victims, those that are bullied remember ever single brutal word.

And Jame Rufus is now openly gay, he told Mary he has a boyfriend and he sells real estate.  Even now I can’t  imagine what it would be like for a gay boy in our little rural Arkansas school district or in the single wide trailer the Rufus family lived in.

Suddenly, it all makes sense. That’s what Mary said when she found out  about James Rufus.

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Sex and Teenaged Girls

My daughter, Mary, who is 23, came to hang out last night and we ended up talking about teenaged girls and sex.

Her understanding and vision of the situation were brutal and honest. I almost fell off the couch. Mary said in her off- the- cuff, brutally honest way, “The average Arkansas teenager girl has sex at 14 or 15. When that happens she thinks she’s in love and they will be together forever.”

But, as we all know, the loving couple, Sparky and Joe, will break up in 5 or 6 months. Unfortunately, Sparky gave into him around month 4 and they’ve had sex…lots of times.

Then there’s the next boyfriend and she really loves him. Why wouldn’t she have sex with him too, she loves him, a lot. And this goes on and on.

By the end of High School Sparky has had six serious boy friends and she’s had sex with four or five of them. Sex with four boys before getting out of high school? That’s a huge and horrible number. And when our girl, Sparky, started out with her first boyfriend, she thought he would be the only one…every.

The thing is, as Mary pointed out, once you make out, it never stops.

So girls, If you’re thinking about it…wait…just a little while. I know you’ve heard this thousands of times but…if he loves you, he’ll wait too. Crazy thought, huh? But it’s true.

“If love hurts, if it make you feel kind of squirly and gross, you’re doing it wrong.” Have faith that he loves you that much. And as long as you say “no” you have most of the power.

And as we all know, power is super sexy.

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