You live in a world with human beings who, fortunately/unfortunately (circle one), reproduce. It is pretty much inevitable that you will, at some point, run into a child in your life. Said child might be crying and/or screaming bloody murder.

When this happens, it sucks for everyone involved. But mostly, it sucks for the parent of said child who not only has to listen to the sound of a banshee echoing up and down the aisles of a grocery store, but also has to put up with looks from people like you.

People who think we parents must have some kind of magic word we whisper at our two- or three-year-olds that will instantly shut them up. (That's right - we just choose not to employ the magic word in public when, you know, IT WOULD DO US MOST GOOD.)

People who think giving that kid a good, healthy spanking right there in the store would probably help. (Yes, then not only would the child scream louder, but you could also enjoy the cries of the mother when she is arrested because some other fellow human being thinks she is abusive.)

People who think we should just leave our kids at home while running errands because a.) we all have very skilled, highy-paid, live-in nannies to keep an eye on them and b.) why should these kids ever learn how to behave in public?

Lillia, while not as bad as some, has had her fair share of public breakdowns, not the least of which occurred a few weekends ago at the grocery store. I usually take her with me every Sunday.

Occasionally, I do leave her home with her dad if she seems particularly tired or grumpy, and if he is not out enjoying his one free day of the week doing something for himself. I do so because I realize that a child throwing a fit is not a pleasant experience. BELIEVE ME. And I will spare the world the insanity of it all whenever I  see it coming.

Case in point: Last weekend, Lillia started to have a breakdown before we even got through the meat department. With only a few items chosen and little time invested, I pushed my cart aside, picked the kid up, and went straight back home where she spent the remainder of our grocery time at home with her father.

But if Lillia starts yelling or screeching because - let's face it - the grocery store is not a very exciting place for a child, it's usually when we've been there for an hour and my cart is nearly full. As much as I'd like to drop everything and leave so I can give her a stern talkin' to, chances are I would not make it back to finish my shopping and people tend to frown upon children being starved. Like many families, you see, my husband and I both work full-time jobs. Late Sunday mornings are the only available time slot for grocery shopping.

Not that I'm complaining. I chose to have a child. I also choose to work outside of the home. We all make choices in our lives and our most worthy endeavors all tend to come with inconveniences and challenges - ones that occasionally effect other people.

Also for clarification: I am not defending those parents who are seemingly oblivious to their children's behavior, chatting loudly on their cell phones or surveying Hostess products while their offspring swing from the rafters. These people deserve your scrutiny. Am I right, or am I right?

So anyway, when Lillia started crying because I did not buy her a ball she found as we passed the toy department, and then went into high-pitched screaming mode when I made her get back into our cart so we could check out, I did not turn around and leave the store. I got in line. And I'm sure there were people at other check stands saying things like "Do you hear that?" and "She wouldn't ever do that again if I got a hold of her," like I heard them doing when some poor woman was trying to keep cool as her child thrashed and screamed uncontrollably at the very same store the weekend before. And I'm sure my face was bright red because it was embarrassing.

But I didn't feel embarrassed because my kid is worse behaved than most kids. (Although she has her moments: On that particular day, at that particular store, she was the winner.) I didn't feel embarrassed because I was doing anything wrong. I was only embarrassed because of the way I was looked at.

This is life people, and it would be a lot more pleasant for all of us if we could try to be a lot less judgemental and a little more understanding. Try it the next time your rescue dog lunges at some poor, frightened old lady who had to audacity to walk by it, or when you send your steak back because it's overcooked - thereby increasing the wait time for the rest of the people in the restaurant, or when you keep driving your big, souped-up truck despite the price of gas and, therefore, the price of gas remains high because, what the hell? We're all still going to buy it.

 

So the homeless problem in a big city like Seattle is obviously going to be much more pronounced than it is in a place like, say, Anchorage. It's something I notice whenever I'm there. They're everywhere, and it's sad but what can you do but toss them some change if you have it and not treat them as though they are something other than human?

On the last day of my birthday/shopping trip this past weekend, my sister and my niece and I saved some of our P.F. Chang's leftovers  to bestow upon whichever down-on-his/her-luck person we passed along the way that we felt most compelled to approach. We were going to let our hearts be our guide. We hoped to find someone who would appreciate the small gesture, but really just wanted someone who would benefit from a meal.

And despite our best efforts to possibly help one hungry person make it through just one more day, these are the guys we eventually handed our leftovers - and a bag of Doritos! - over to:

 

The stoners with the munchies.

Somehow I think they might have made it through the day without lettuce wraps and crab wonton.

A Facebook exchange between a like-minded friend and I:

Monica Bradbury

I know, right? This is almost as bad as when Mr. Belvedere died.

Jesse Ferman

Wait. Mr. Belvedere is dead?! Man, this is the worst day ever!

Monica Bradbury

Yeah! AND - are you ready for this? - Alan Thicke's son is an R&B singer! It's like my childhood is on fire and all I can do is stand there, tearfully watching it burn, singing "you take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have...the facts of life..."

Jesse Ferman

Well, at least Gary Coleman stayed on the straight and narrow to enjoy a successful career and never dabbled into the dark side of domestic abuse. I can take some solace in that.

Dear family,

Recently, Matt and I purchased a new home. It's bigger than the last one, with a long, open living room for sitting around the TV on Superbowl Sunday, or around the tree at Christmas. There's also a family room downstairs where all the kids can play, and a door at the top of the stairs to shut when they play too loudly. I've been scouring Craigslist for a game table to put down there, and a futon or hide-a-bed for when out-of-state family visits.

We chose the house mainly for its huge backyard, which will be perfect for summer birthday parties and BBQs on the Fourth of July. The front yard is big as well, and we can follow the midnight sun there when our celebrations go into the evening. We're going to fence the whole lot this spring, so we can all relax and let the little kids run free without worry.

Best of all, the house is in Eagle River - equidistant between Anchorage (where some family lives) and Wasilla (where other family lives). It should take each of you about 30 minutes to get there, as long as you're not driving at rush hour. Now, there is no excuse for us not to see one another on the holidays and during birthday season.

I don't care if you're pissed off at her, or if he drives you crazy. I don't even care if I'm not talking to you. We are a family - we have always fought, we have always had personalities that clash. We have always been dramatic and passionate and sensitive. We should be used to it by now.

But we also love eachother and eachother's children. Even if there is one person - or two, or three - that you can't see yourself getting along with right now, you know that if something happened to that person, and you hadn't seen them in three months or six months or more than a year, nothing could ever make that regret go away. You should be adult enough to control yourself while you're in the same room with them, if only to be in the same room with their kids.

From now on, my house is Switzerland. It is neutral ground. Everyone in my family is welcome there. You don't have to talk to anyone that you don't want to talk to, but you will not fight. You will not talk down to or negatively about anyone. Do whatever you want when you leave my property, but if you break the rules while you are there, you will be removed. By me. Because I am the Switzerland and the planner in the family, but I am also the biggest badass in the family. And I will kick you.

What: Christmas Celebration and Dinner

When: 1 p.m. Friday, Dec. 25 (you know, Christmas...)

Where: My house

Why: Because I said so, bitches

I'm not a particularly devoted fan of Michael Jackson's music. I don't own a single one of his albums, and I don't believe I ever have, although I do enjoy some of his songs, particularly Billie Jean, which is the bomb.

But I do recognize the man as an icon of the industry. While watching his memorial today, I realized that someday, Lillia will ask me if I remember when Michael Jackson died, just like I once asked my mom if she remembers when Elvis Presley died. And I will tell her yes, I do, and I will remember every detail of that day.

As I watched video of people dancing in the streets of countries all over the world, it came to me that there are only so many people you don't really know who have impacted the world enough that the day they leave it will be stamped in your memory forever.

As pop stars and legends paid their tributes to the King of Pop, Lillia watched the television with some interest, and it struck me how much history she has lived through already in her 18 months. And then it struck me that she wouldn't remember any of it. So I recorded her standing in front of the screen, while photos of Jackson rolled across it. And then I turned it off so she could watch her Baby Einstein DVD.

You may have noticed that my site looks like shit lately. I am in the process of getting this fixed, however, it is more complicated than you would think and certainly more complicated than it should be. Kind of reminds me of when I was first getting this project off the ground and immediately found out I was in over my head. Apparently, you have to have a computer science degree to work the internet from this side. I thought that was sooo 1995.

Anyway, the problem began when one day, the toolbar that helps me make my text NOT tiny and grey, disappeared. This is the same toolbar that allowed me to upload images, insert hyperlinks, and lots of other fun stuff. I contacted the folks that run the program I update my blog with, Serendipity, and they responded right away. I emailed back and forth with them for a few days (I believe they are based out of Germany or somewhere so pretty much every message I sent required about 12 hours for a response) until they suddenly told me they can't help because apparently the program I'm using isn't REALLY Serendipity. Even though it says Serendipity on my homepage, and this admin page I am looking at right now clearly says "Serendipity Administration Suite," what I'm ACTUALLY using is some sort of mutant offspring of Serendipity and Seagull. The guy at Serendipity I've been talking to asked "How did you set this up?" Please. He also implied that I couldn't possibly have ever had that toolbar I am referring to using this program. Dude. I am not doing this for shiks and gittles.

Anyway, now he can't help me. So I sent an email to my web host who said it seemed to be a coding issue and I would need to contact my programmer. Who the H is my programmer? Also, they want me to upload a recent backup to my home folder. A recent who the what? I asked that, but in a more intelligent way, and they referred me to the program I used to build my site, which came with all the crap I installed in my computer when I signed on with my web host.

I have now emailed that company and have yet to hear back. Meanwhile, all I want to do is make my font bigger and upload a freaking Friday photo. Please standby.

Twenty years ago today, I was in the third grade. It was the one and only year I would share my birthday party (with my cousin who is five days younger than me-I was cool with it), the year my younger sister and I decided we would start cussing, and the year I was drawing pictures of the Exxon Valdez oil spill in my elementary school classroom. 

My mom had moved all of us kids to Washington State (we would return to Alaska a year later) and, after the spill, I felt I had completely abandoned my real home. I doubt I knew where exactly in Alaska Prince William Sound was located, but I knew it was part of my home and I wasn't there, and eff! The whole place was probably going to hell now simply because I, with all my nine-year-old powers, wasn't there to hold shit together. (I bet I thought about it just like that too, because after all, I was cussing now.)

By the time we did move back, I had probably forgotten all about the spill and the mess and the cleanup and the devastation that followed. While there have been plenty of reminders over the years - the five-year anniversary, the 10-year anniversary, the court proceedings, the ass-ramming that came from said court proceedings - my life wasn't directly effected by the spill like so many others'. At least here in Alaska, it has mattered enough to enough people that we are sure to never forget. I only hope that there are people in other parts of the country making sure that no one else is forgetting either.

I also hope that sharing one's birthday isn't directly related to taking up cussing, because Lillia has SEVERAL cousins with birthdays within weeks of hers.

OK, I promised myself that I wasn't going to get into politics here - mostly because I'm from Wasilla, Alaska. Wasilla = Sarah Palin. Sarah Palin = Wasilla. Honestly, I didn't want to be the recipient of Sarah Hate Mail because I say something about her that isn't completely sadistic. Do I love Sarah Palin? No. Do I love Barack Obama? No. Do I love any politician that hasn't done something to prove him or herself completely worthy of my adoration? No. Do I love any politician? No. Am I open to the fact that someday I could love a politician? Yes. 

But promises to myself are made to be broken, and the news of Bristol Palin's breakup with boyfriend/baby daddy Levi Johnston and the subsequent reveling by those who said it would never work is making it difficult for me to sit on my hands (even though they are cold, and sitting on cold hands is the best way to warm them). Besides, although there are many people out there who will use it as a sign that Sarah Palin and/or all Republicans are the devil, this isn't really politics anyway, now is it?

First of all, what happened to Governor Palin FORCING her daughter to marry Levi? Did she suddenly change her mind? Oh honey, now that I'm not running for national office again for four more years, you can go ahead and do whatever you want with your life. No one is paying attention now. Right. Several front page headlines later...

Although she is young, I think Bristol is probably smart enough to know that single parenthood is not ideal. The day my daughter comes to me with "When I grow up, I want to be a single mom," I will know something has gone awry.

I am pretty good at remembering what it was like to be 18, and I often imagine that I still am. If I had been pregnant at that wise age, I probably would have hoped that I could make it work with the guy who helped get me in that situation 1) because it would be scary to have to raise a child all by myself, even with all the family support I know I would have received, and 2) because, even though I was young and not completely sure of what I wanted in life, if there was going to be a family in my future, I would want one that came complete with daddy. I am pretty sure I would have come to the decision to marry the father of my child MYSELF. Just like I am willing to bet Bristol did.

Short of cheating or abuse, I would have done anything to turn us into a happy little family. And if neither cheating or abuse occurred, but the father of my child decided he didn't want to have a relationship with me, I would have been just another heartbroken teenager. Only I would have a baby to take care of in between bawling my face off and listening to sad songs on the radio. Luckily, in my hypothetical situation, the whole world wouldn't be pointing, laughing, and saying "I told you so."