Monday, February 28, 2011

She is ready but I am not...

"Mommy, I'm ready to have my ears pierced.  Really, I am," Bella shouts to me from where she sits in the back of our mini-van.

I glance at her reflection in the rear-view mirror.  My heart feels heavy as I note how much taller she suddenly seems in her booster seat.  I no longer have to adjust the mirror to see her anymore when she speaks to me.

"Did you hear me, Mommy?" she asks, coercing me out of the past and thrusting me into the present.

I reply, "Yes, I heard you.  You want your ears pierced."  The tone in my voice is composed, yet at the same time, bordering upon melancholy.

A friend of mine had brought her young daughter to the gym that morning and proudly displayed her daughter's newly pierced ears.  Almost immediately, Bella inquired about getting her own ears pierced.

My initial response had been one of excitement, as I imagined us wearing matching act which would demonstrate our tight mother-daughter bond.  She had talked many times about getting her ears pierced but when it came down to it, she would always decide that she wasn't ready.

However, now, with the staunch realization that this time she is undoubtedly going to follow through, I can't help but feel a little wave of sadness at the very thought of this milestone.

The responsibility and desire I feel to make this experience a positive one for her weighs heavily on my mind.  This important memory will stay with her is something she will never forget.

With a deep sigh, I state, "Okay, we'll run a couple errands and then we'll stop by the mall to get your ears pierced."

She smiles brightly while peering out the window, her eyes sparkling with radiance as the sun's golden rays light up her face.  Even though I've always thought she was gorgeous, for some reason, her beauty takes my breath away, today, as I steal another glimpse of my only daughter.

Her promises for a lifetime of love and friendship run tireless circles around the inside of my head..."Mommy, you'll always be my best friend and I'll always be your baby girl".

Finally, after finishing our errands, we arrive at the mall and enter the store, with her skipping delightfully ahead of me as I stagger behind, willing time to slow down.

She is ready but I am not.

She eyes the tall chair in front of her, a cloud of hesitancy veils the smile that was on her face merely seconds before. For a brief minute, I'm consumed with relief...maybe she's not ready, after all.

I witness her uncertainty vanish as quickly as it had appeared when she pulls herself up into the chair. Just an hour prior to this, she had looked so big in her booster seat and now she seems so small in the large chair that envelops her.

With the innocence of a young child, she criss-crosses her legs and swings them nervously beneath her, hands clasped tightly together.

The manager comes over and explains the process.  She hands Bella a frame which shows the various earrings she can choose from.  It doesn't take her long to point to the sparkly pink flower earrings.

"These, Mommy," she whispers softly.  "These are the ones I want, okay?  Do you like them?"

I nod my head and smile, giving my approval of her choice in earrings.  Of course, she wants the ones which scream BLING in every way possible.  That's my girl...extroverted, gregarious and flashy, all wrapped into one.  Everything I was not, at her age.  I can't help but feel a tinge of envy, only wishing I had had an ounce of her confidence when I was 6.

The manager interrupts my thoughts, "Ma'am, I'm going to have my assistant manager do her right ear while I do her left ear so we can just get it over with all at once.  It's so much easier than doing them one at a time."

I agree, knowing Bella has a low tolerance for pain and would prefer to get it done in one swift move.

With a purple pen, the manager marks dots on each of Bella's ears.

"Okay," the manager says. "We're going to line the earrings up with the marks on your ears and then on the count of 3, we're going to put them in.  Are you ready?"

Bella cautiously nods her head ever so slightly, signaling that she is ready.  Her delicate hand reaches out for mine and squeezes it tightly.  I find solace in her's proof that she still needs me, even though she's growing up right before my very eyes.

"1, 2, 3....," the manager counts out loud.  Bella sits frozen in the chair, her eyes wide open with fear. I grip her hand tighter, hoping that the feel of my skin against hers will ease her anxiety.

I hear a quick popping sound and then both the manager and her assistant step away from my daughter to get a good look at her newly pierced ears.

Instinct warns me to stuff my emotions down deep inside where they can never be revealed and to put a smile on my face.  "That wasn't so bad, was it?  And now it's over...your ears are pierced!  Do you want to see?" I ask, reaching for a mirror.

But to my surprise, instead of grabbing for the mirror being handed to her, Bella's eyes fill with tears.  Her sniffles quickly dissolve into a breakdown of heavy sobs.

I stretch out my arms toward her and she gently falls into them.

"What's wrong?" I ask.  "Did it hurt worse than you had imagined?"

Through muffled cries, I hear her respond, "Uh-huh".

"Oh, I know.  It's one of those things that you can never fully prepare yourself for...the pain, the suddenness of it all.  And now that it's done, it's done," I whisper softly into her ear.

Continuing, I explain, "But if you find that you don't like having your ears pierced, you can always go back to the way it was before.  The holes will close up eventually and there will be no more reminders".

She takes a deep breath yet I can still feel her trembling against me.  I embrace her securely against my chest, as she purges the startling emotions which have caught the both of us off guard.

When her body finally begins to relax, I pull away slightly and lift her chin up with my hand.

"It's going to be okay, you know.  This was a big step for you.  You're still beautiful, whether your ears are pierced or not," I remind her.

She raises her head higher and very quietly asks, "Can I see what they look like?"

I hand her the mirror and my heart melts as a smile washes over her tear-stained face.  She looks at her left ear, then her right...and then back at me.

With glee in her voice, she says, "Mommy, they're so pretty!  I love them!"  I nod my head in agreement while biting my lip in a weak attempt to stop my chin from quivering.

Suddenly, I can envision us 20 years in the future.  We are in the dressing room of the church where she's about to marry the man of her dreams.  I've just given her the gift of "something old", the earrings I wore at my own wedding....the day I married her father.

We are both swept up in the bitterness of the moment...the joy and happiness, along with the poignancy and disbelief that her childhood has gone by so quickly.  It is time to let go, as she begins a new life separate from mine.

She is ready but I am not.

As she captures another look at herself in the mirror, all grown up in her lovely wedding gown, I imagine my daughter's eyes glistening with tears when she asks, "Mom, do you remember when you took me to get my ears pierced when I was 6...?"

My heart melts.  Yet again.

One last time, I glance at her reflection in the mirror and answer, "How could I ever forget?" Registered & Protected

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Won't you be my neighbor? Well, maybe not after you read this...

On any given day, if you just happen to be strolling by our house, you may hear me making the following statements to the spawn...

1) "Uh, last time I checked I wasn't on the unless you just deposited a paycheck into my account, you better do what I say...."

2)  "It's not your fault?!  Well, then whose fault is it?  Oh wait, let me guess...Jesus told you to do it, right?"

3)  "What?!  I'm too lazy right now to rinse the pesticide off the strawberries. Last time I checked you hadn't grown a third nipple in the middle of your chest!"

4)  "Here's the phone...why don't you call the Wicked Witch of the West and tell her how horrible I am for making you clean up the milk you just spilled?!  Maybe she'll take you back to her castle, bake you a batch of cookies and force her flying monkeys to dance for you."

5)  "Can someone PLEASE drop a hammer on my big toe so I can check into the ER for a few hours and get a freakin' break?"

6)  "Santa Claus called.  He told me to remind you guys that he watches you all year long and he is NOT happy when you demand that your tired mother cut the crusts off your sandwiches...(or whatever else I'm trying to manipulate them with)"

7)  "Are you seriously trying to drive me insane on purpose?"

8)  "You don't like what I'm serving for dinner?  Then get a job and buy your own food".

9)  "Dude, I'm telling you, one more time...THOSE. PANTS. DO. NOT. FIT. YOU.  But if you want to wear pants that are way too tight, then don't come crying to me when you're bent over suffering from a crippling case of painful gas after you eat breakfast."

10)  "If you guys need me, I'll be locked in the laundry room in the fetal position, sucking my thumb."

11)  "It is bedtime.  For the love of God, stay in your bed!  I don't care if you're thirsty or that you suddenly remembered that you forgot to put a period on the last sentence of your homework...GO. TO. SLEEP. NOW."

12)  "I don't care if you think it's fair or not.  Do you ever hear me complaining that the Lucky Charms leprechaun refuses to tell me where his pot of gold is?  NO, you don't, do you?  So quit your griping!"

13)  "Daddy's not here, he's at work.  I'm in charge.  Actually, I'm in charge even when Daddy is here.  You're ALL my little puppets...(insert evil laughter)".

14)  "Isn't there a plant in someone's yard that you guys can dig up so I can read my book in peace and quiet?"

15)  "Someone left the fridge open...again!  Did I miss the memo that electricity is free today?"

16)  "Well, no one cares what I want is sometimes cruel.  Deal with it."

17)  "How many times have I told you guys not to leave your toys all over the floor?!  The Toy Fairy is gonna come by later tonight when you're in bed and snatch up your toys....but not before he flings a juicy, green booger on each of your pillows while you sleep".

18)  "Why, thank you for allowing me to have the privilege of wiping your butt for you.  What would I do with myself if you ever learned how to do it on your own!  I'd probably cry hysterically all day long."

19)  "Hey, guys, I can see the moon.  It must be time for bed.  I don't care if it's only 6:00.  If the moon is out, it's time to go to sleep.  I'm pretty sure that's a law...somewhere".

20)  "Cry me a river...please.  Lord knows, we can't afford a swimming pool right now". Registered & Protected

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Pouring My Heart Out....Betrayal and Its Ugly Aftermath

The jagged knife felt cool against the heat of my skin, as I lightly dragged it up and down the length of my left arm.  The faded scent of his cologne still lingered in the air, much to my disheartenment.

"I had a great time last night.  Can't wait to be with you again," she had said on my husband's voice mail.  "I'd love to be a fly on the wall while you're listening to this if the wife is in the room with you."

Her words, filled with amusement and pleasure, echoed repeatedly in my head.  Her scornful laughter still rang in my ears, long after my anguished cries of betrayal had ceased.

Even as my heart shattered into a million tiny fragments, the events of that morning were still a blur.

There had been a heavy feeling in my gut as I awoke when I felt propelled to listen to my first husband's voice mail.  Everything in my nature screamed out at me to pay attention to the signs, especially when just a few days prior, I had seen her number appear on the screen of his pager.

More disturbing was the flash of glee displayed all over his face when he received that page.  He thought I hadn't noticed his reaction, but I had.  The smile on his face was now forever etched into my brain while my heart pounded ferociously inside my chest...the same way it had, two years earlier, when I first laid eyes on him across a crowded dance floor.

And now here I sat, crumbled in a heap of battered nerves, on the cold floor of our kitchen with a broken heart and crushed spirit, contemplating ending my journey on this earth.  Our small apartment was dark, except for the faint light down the hall, coming from the Disney-themed nightlight which we had purchased on our honeymoon.

My eyes became overwhelmed with bitter tears, yet again, thinking back to a happier time in our marriage.  A marriage that was supposed to last forever.  Hadn't we both promised to be faithful?  Why couldn't he have upheld his end of the deal?

No enlightening answers came to mind.  My head throbbed violently, as another crashing wave of misery exploded from the depths of my soul.

My emotional scars ran deep; however, he had taken me by surprise and made me feel important, needed....loved.

"I would never hurt you.  I love you," he would say, when my fears would get the best of me.

And I had chosen to believe him.  MY that I would come to regret.

As I dug the sharp blade of the knife deeper into my wrist, I felt very little pain.  Just an immense rush of relief that soon I would no longer be ravaged by the despair and agony, which promised to defeat me.

Love seizes our innocent hearts in a choke-hold so tightly, and sometimes unknowingly, slowly suffocating us until we are dizzy and weak.  To some, whom are constantly seeking to keep that intense fire burning within them, it's the exact high they crave.  

But, for me, it was a price I wasn't willing to pay any longer.  The suffering was much too traumatizing and my blemished heart begged for consolation. 

He would be the last to make a fool out of me.  Never again would I allow someone to break down these walls and violate my heart, my trust, my being.

As I drew in another mournful breath, my grip on the razor-sharp knife tightened.  The malicious weapon taunted, and finally pleaded, with me to commit the final act.   End this miserable, worthless life already.

I wanted nothing more than to plunge the virulent blade deep into my veins and then, in the stillness of that moment, witness the life literally pour out of me...drop by drop, little by little...until there was not one measly ounce of grief or distress coursing through my body.

Yet, I couldn't do it.

As much as I wanted to end the sadness right there and then, I was consumed with an overpowering urge to find my way through the darkness and pick up the phone.  Call someone....anyone who would listen without judging.

I didn't want to be subjected to a sanctimonious lecture from a well-meaning friend or family member. Yes, I was being selfish....yes, I was taking the cowardly way out....and, yes, I should be considering  how my death would affect others.

They'd always be left wondering if they could've done something differently, said something more meaningful...they would be haunted, attempting to recall the last time they had hurled an effortless "I love you" in my direction.

Clutching the phone in desperation, I found myself calling the Suicide Prevention Hotline.  Never in a million years did I think I'd be one of those desperate people, looking for comfort...a friendly voice...a lifeline.

In between my sorrow-filled cries, I recounted the last 24 hours to a counselor, who listened quietly without interrupting, except to acknowledge my pain-filled words with a gentle "I understand" every few minutes.

Then, when I could finally catch my breath, she said, warmly, "You matter."

"I matter?" I asked, waiting for yet another confirmation from a total stranger that my life counted for something.

She repeated, a little louder this time, "Yes, YOU matter."

Those words, as simple as they may seem, saved my life that night.

I mattered.  Maybe not to my soon-to-be ex-husband but somehow, in some way, my life mattered.

After that somber and harrowing night, I picked up the scattered pieces of my life and began to put them back together, never telling another soul, other than that complete stranger on the other end of the line, how close I came to taking my own life.

And my heart?  Well, that was another story.  It took quite awhile to mend the damage that had been done.

Even when I thought I could trust again, the sad realization was that my heart would always bear the irreparable scar of a love gone wrong...of many loves gone wrong.

We may move on, we may smile again...we might even be fortunate enough to find our one true love amidst the wreckage, after enduring many trial runs which undoubtedly affect us, both for the good and the bad.

But one thing is certain...after all the hardship and broken hearts....nothing is so traumatizing that we can't move past it, with the gentleness of time and patience.  Even the bitterness of betrayal, as crippling as it is.

In the end, we all matter.  If you believe nothing else, believe that. Registered & Protected

Thursday, February 10, 2011

I didn't want a personalized license plate anyway....

Out of the blue, one day a long time ago, Tim said, "Sweetie, I'm thinking about ordering you a personalized licensed plate".

"Really?" I asked. "Because I'm special and unique?"

"Uh, no..." he responded. "Something to do with twins..."

I paused and then said, "Why?  So there'll be an explanation as to why I'm driving so irradically?"

Needless to say, he never ordered me that personalized license plate.  But then again, how could I be upset when it was #4,587 on his list of things to do.  It wasn't exactly a priority, seeing that it's now the year 2011 and he's only on #3,246.

So, screw the personalized license plate.  I figure I'll just create a bunch of bumper stickers and place them all over my mini-van.

My own personal Helene'isms.

1)  Help someone in need....offer to babysit her kids.

2)  My kids made your honor student cry.  Shocked?  Don't be...they make ME cry all the time.

3)  Parenthood, it's not just a job, it's an where you'll never sleep 8 hours straight again, EVER.

4)  Honk if you remembered to take your Wellbutrin today.

5)  Loud Noise?  What loud noise?  I can't hear kids are screaming.

6)  I have kids...but will happily trade them for a good bottle of wine.

7)  Come on, you and I BOTH yell at our kids.  I just have no shame in admitting it.

8)   MY kids are the reason your teenager remembers to take her birth control pills.

9)   Know-it-all husband on board.  Yes, he's lost.  No, he won't ask for directions.

10)  I'm running away from home.  Don't bother calling 911. Registered & Protected

Monday, February 7, 2011

It's comforting to know I'm not the only one pulling my hair out...

Here's a straight-up fact, people.  On an average day, a 4-year old child will ask approximately 437 questions.  And, just so you know, anything counts as a question.  Even the simplest of phrases, such as "huh?", count as a question.  

So, if you consider that I have two 3-year olds who are just 1 month shy of their 4th birthday...and two 6-year olds who think they know everything (please, I've been having the same argument with Bella for months now about which president said "I cannot tell a lie"...I say it's Washington, she says it's Lincoln.  I'm right, she's wrong.  Why can't she just accept it?), we're talking serious noise around here.  

Question after question, statement after statement...every minute of the freakin' day.  It's enough to make me want to pull my hair out.  

I used to think I was the only mother who felt that way.  I mean, really, I spent years....YEARS....with all my kids in an early intervention program, with the hopes that they would talk, sooner than later.  Who would have ever thought I'd be the one complaining about all their talking?!  It's ironic, if nothing else.

My beautiful friend and fellow mother of twins, Natalie of Mommy of  a Monster & Twins, offered to write a guest post for me and when she e-mailed it to me, I felt an odd sense of relief as I read it.  Oh, thank God, I'm not the only mother who feels bombarded by questions and statements ALL. THE. TIME.

I just love Natalie...she's a "tell it like it is" kind of person.  She's a breathe of fresh air, especially in a blogosphere which can be overwhelmed at times by bright-eyed, bushy-tailed mothers who claim to love every little detail of motherhood.  These are the mothers who smile sweetly as their child asks (for the 20th time in less than an hour), "Mommy, what's that?" and "Why, Mommy?"

But not Natalie and me.  Nope.  We keep it real.  

So I hope enjoy her guest post....Natalie is awesome!!  I wouldn't be surprised if you already know who she is...and if you don't, shame on you.  Make sure you stop by her blog and show her some love....oh, and follow her if you're not already!  You don't want to miss any of her writing, which is witty, humorous and, at times, so touching she will bring tears to your eyes.

Talk, Talk, Talk, Talk, Talk.

That about sums up my three year old son, Tater. The kid can talk. He talks about talking. He talks about nothing. He talks to hear himself talk. I thought I talked a lot; I ain't got nothing on that kid.

Maybe this is normal three year old behavior, I don't know. Maybe he is an overly-chatty three year old, again, I don't know. But what I do know is that the incessant, non-stop chatter is pushing me towards the edge of sanity and I swear if he doesn't stop, I will probably jump.


"Mom, what is that?"

"Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom."

"I want to watch Max & Ruby."

"I want a treat."

"I want to go outside."

"I will do it myself."

"I have to pee."

All of that? Was said in less than five seconds.

And what's so funny to me is that we, as parents, always push our first child (or children) to speak from the time they start making little peeps and sounds. We want to hear "mama" and "dada" and "bye bye" because it's so cute! We want the grandparents to hear it...friends to hear it...strangers to hear it.

Then we continue to push the talking. Yes, it's good for their development, I know that. But by the time they finally start talking, all we want is for them to shut up! I never, ever realized how much little kids talk until I had one of my own.

Another thing that is amazing to me that goes hand in hand with the talking? The habit all moms pick up -  the "Ignore" habit. I could never understand how my sister's kids could stand next to her and say "Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom"...and she wouldn't even hear it. Now, I understand. I do it myself. And when my mom or husband or sister-in-law says "Tater's trying to talk to you", I honestly don't even hear it most of the time. It's like my brain has an internal mute button - much like my husband's must have.

I know you're wondering...why am I telling you all of this? Why am I whining and complaining? Because guess what? In 6 months or so, my twins, Ms. L and Ms. M, will be talking.

Dear God, people!

I will have three children talking - that's three times as much talking as Tater is currently doing! How will I ever survive? How do I stop the insanity???

You may be laughing for me if you've been through it already. You may be laughing with me if you are currently going through it. You may be laughing at me if you don't know what I'm talking about. But believe me, this is no laughing matter.

I may just be tied up in a straight jacket the next time you hear from me. I'm just sayin'.

Blog -
Twitter - @mommyofamonster
Facebook Fan Page - Mommy of a Monster
Email - Registered & Protected

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Dear People at Disney Pictures,

I guess I should start this by saying that we are HUGE Disney fans...seriously.  HUGE HUGE fans in this house.  Just so you know.

Now that I got that out of the way, here's where I blast you for your latest movie, Tangled, which had some serious flaws, in my opinion.  Even though the film was given excellent reviews and most everyone who saw it said they enjoyed it, still....there's always a downside.

I'm sure those serious flaws haven't been pointed out to you by this point because....well, my daughter hadn't seen the film until a couple months ago.

Sorry I'm just now getting this message to you...the kids have been sick, we had a flood in our downstairs bathroom...excuses, excuses.

I'll blame it on the rain.  If Milli Vanilli could do it, then so can I.

So, the message in the film is to take a chance on life...step outside your comfort zone for once and you may get to life your life happily ever after, with the man of your dreams....and all that shit.

My daughter and I finally got a chance to see Tangled and we quite enjoyed it, as did everyone else in the theater.  I even found myself a little teary-eyed at the end...wondering why I couldn't have had the same luck as your fair-haired princess. 

You know, finding out that my real parents were actually a king and queen who reigned over a joyous kingdom, chock full of nothing but happy, positive people. 

Sorry, I still have some unresolved issues from my childhood.  Bitter, party of one?

I should probably give you a little history of what had happened in our home prior to us seeing this movie so you can truly appreciate where I'm coming from.

My daughter had received one of those Butterfly Habitats for her birthday.  The caterpillars arrived in the mail and we got them set up in their new home...and we waited.  And we watched.  And we waited.  The whole "lather, rinse, repeat" crap.

Finally, the caterpillars turned into chrysalides and we found ourselves watching and waiting yet again.  I began to fear that the butterflies were never going to emerge from their disgusting, black shells and felt it was probably due time to have the "death talk" with my daughter.

I explained that something may have gone wrong...maybe our house was too cool, maybe I didn't attach them correctly to the netting as explained in the directions, maybe the butterflies just didn't like me anymore and no longer wanted to play with me at recess (sorry, childhood issues again)...whatever. 

We had the whole "it's sad when a pet dies" conversation. She wanted to know if there was some way to bring a dead pet back to life.  And I had to tell her that as sad as death is and as much as we want the pet to still be here with us, it's just a part of life...nature takes its course and the whole circle of life shit. 

Now, this entire conversation was merely a "just in case".  I told her that I wasn't sure if they were dead or not but a significant amount of time had passed and I wanted to prepare her, just in case the entire butterfly experiment failed.

Okay, so now you're up to she loves the movie, I love the movie. 

Then we get towards the end of the know, the scene where the handsome dude dies after being stabbed and Rapunzel is holding him, crying a river of tears...completely broken-hearted that she's lost her one true love?? 

The scene where one of her magical tears lands on his face and BRINGS HIM BACK TO LIFE?!

Yeah, THAT scene....

Through the darkness in the theater, I could feel my daughter's piercing stare.  I turned to her and she began to say, "I thought you said...." 

I leaned over and whispered to her, "Now is not the time....shhhh, let's finish  watching the movie".

She sat back in her chair, arms crossed angrily over her she continued to glare at the screen and then back at me again.

Thank you, folks at Disney, for this putting me in this craptastic situation.  For God's sake, don't any of you have extremely opinionated children?!

As soon as the movie ended, my daughter grabbed my hand and insisted on knowing why I had lied to her.

"See, Mommy, people can come back to life.  That guy in the movie was dead and the princess made him alive again with her tears!  Why did you lie to me," she whined.

I imagined her 10 years from now, laying on her therapist's sofa and crying about how cruel and conniving her mother was...

"You don't even understand," she'd say.  "She was such a hateful woman...I mean, she even lied to me about death.  I saw with my own two eyes Rapunzel bringing her boyfriend back to clearly, my mother's whole point of being was to fill my head with nothing but deception and lies.  Oh, woe is me..."

And then she would dramatically place her hand over her forehead while dabbing away the tears in her eyes with her other hand.

Looking around, I responded, "Do you see any other kids asking their parents that same question?  NO, everyone is completely satisfied with the way the movie turned out!!  Why do you have to analyze it...can't you just appreciate the message that if you step outside your comfort zone and if you're lucky enough to find someone who brings out the best in you that you'll live happily ever after?!"

But no...she wasn't about to let it rest.  And, since she was already pissed off at me, she threw another zinger at me....

"Why did that lady steal the princess from her parents?" she demanded.

Oh, I got this one.  Here was my chance to make up for my #34,876 shameful parent fail...or was that 34,877...I've lost count.

I answered, "You know how I'm always talking to you about stranger danger....that's a classic example of why you shouldn't talk to strangers!"

Before I could explain further, she said, "But the lady was nice to the girl.  She loved her and fed her.  She didn't hurt her at all."

Seriously, Disney people?!  What the hell is wrong with you?!  Didn't think that any of the sweet children seeing your movie would pick up on those two inherently fucked up messages...thought they'd just focus on the fact that the Princess got what she wanted in the long run?!

Oh, who cares if some evil bitch kidnapped the princess and kept her locked away in a tower for 18 years...who cares that there is no way possible to bring even someone as awesome as Mother Theresa back to life, not even with magical teardrops? 

My point is that for every 100 children out there who enjoyed this movie based solely on entertainment purposes, there are roughly 5 children who harrassed and hen-pecked their poor parents to the point of no return, while demanding detailed explanations to some of life's most complicated questions.

Never mind that this movie was PG-13...I knew that going into it.  All the reviews said it was a fantastic "family movie for children of all ages" so why wouldn't I think it was appropriate for my 6-year old daughter, right?

Apparently, all you folks at Disney who aren't "blessed" with those strong-willed, nosy 5 children out of a 100, I'm sure.

I'd really hate to ban my children from seeing any more future Disney movies but, honestly, my nerves can't take this shit anymore.


Tired, exhausted and plain pissed off Mother of 4 extremely opinionated, strong-willed, nosy children Registered & Protected

I figure that if the children are alive when my husband gets home at the end of the day, I've done my job.

----Roseanne Barr

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