Why I Effing Love the F bomb.

It’s a crowd favorite! Hope you enjoy if this is your first time catching this one. If not, perhaps it will help pass the time, while we wait for all the snow to officially melt!!!

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Spoiler Alert: I’m going to cuss.  I’m going to say things that may be offensive and probably shouldn’t come out of any normal Momma’s mouth.

But in case you haven’t noticed, this Momma isn’t normal.

Shouting the word Fuck just because you can is never recommended.  It needs to be crafted in to conversation so as not to taint its beautiful, descriptive power.  Used in the wrong tone, this word can become scary and I for one stop listening when I feel intimidated. I recognize there is always a time and place.

Fuck is quite possibly a perfect word.  It can be the main ingredient to so many things – a joke, an argument, an attitude, an emotion or a statement.

It would most definitely win a popularity contest against any other explicative within my generation.  It’s not the shock value that makes it such a lovely fucking word.  It’s the ability to encompass intensity regarding other words or events that otherwise are dismissed as “ordinary” or “normal”.

For example, if I hear hubby say, “it’s cold outside”, I may throw on a fleece and head out.  If he says “It is fucking cold out side”, you bet your ass I’m putting on a hat and scarf because now I’m thinking it is fucking nose hair freezing and not just normal upstate NY cold.

The word fuck embodies humor, and a raw-ness that our day to day lives need.   Without the f bomb would this (what I consider classic) moment be embedded in our brains?

Or how about this one…which I still quote pretty much every time I hear someone ask “What was the name?”

There is no pharmaceutical formula available that can give you the feeling of thrusting the word fuck off your tongue.  It can be such a therapeutic tool with the only possible side effect being a disapproving eye.

A miserable mood can best be cured with a tall glass of what-the-fuck-ever.  A situation with too many variables is best known as a cluster-fuck.  When I have finally thrown my hands in the air it is usually due to a serious case of the fuck-its!

It’s a grammatical orgasm if you will. Just try it.  Just shout out the word Fuck.  Now say Fuck!.  Try calling the person who just pulled out in front of you only to make a quick right hand turn without using HIS FUCKING BLINKER a Fucking Fuck!  It just adds a little more justice to the situation.  No one has ever died from whipping out a F bomb during an episode of road rage…just sayin’.

Being a Mom and being in love with the word fuck can be tricky.  I’d say the trickiest part is not the kids but being around other Moms I don’t really know.  I don’t drop the f word around small children (on purpose), like I said, a time and a place.

However, if I am having an adult conversation and the little ones are not under our feet, odds are I’m going to emphasize some fucking part of the conversation with a fuck here or a fuck there.

Do you know how many times in a day I call my ~on the verge of being a tyrant of a toddler~ son a little fucker?  It’s never out loud of course but it is definitely a regular reaction in my head.  Don’t judge me, I say it with nothing but affection and exhaustion.  The little Fucker just doesn’t know how many times in a day he cheats death and how his new, un-nerving high pitch whine can drive his Momma to want to jump out the fucking window.

The power of Fuck to arouse an extra layer of emotion is why I love to use it.  There is no better place for the F bomb than in a great song.  So with that, I’ll leave you with one of my favorite lyrical fucks from the little folk singer herself.

 

 

 

2013 Unplugged.

Music is an attatchment of my personality.  I compartmentalize memories by the songs that fit or joined the moments.  My strongest sense is sound because it evokes the most emotion for me.  I can’t think of a better way to sum up the sounds of this past year than with a soundtrack dedicated to 2013.

Figuratively speaking, I’ve been stripped down, exposed, enlightened and grounded through out this year.  I decided to play on that theme with my picks and plug in the unplugged versions.  Acoustic is always better in my opinion anyway.  I couldn’t find acoustic versions by the original artist everytime so I used a cover version worthy enough.

p.s. I live under a rock that is owned by a one yr old and a four yr old so my selections are by no means “new” hits.  I’m still jamming to Third Eye (the original album) mmm…k.

I’ve linked to a few of my favorite posts since I began blogging in October.  Check them out!  I’ve really just begun.

I don’t think anything describes my evolution of spirit this past year quite like The Cave.  I mean that literally! I have been a SAHM in my home, a 100 yr old fixer upper cave, for the past year.  I’m lucky I haven’t gone bat shit crazy.  Thank God for Mumford and Sons ability to make me dance like a fool, ponder and enjoy the moments.

This song will forever remind me of kitchen utensil microphones and superstar Mom and daughter moments through out this year.  We got our rock star on many, many times to this one.  It became quite an anthem for me.

Had my husband and I not run away to Jamaica to get married, this would have been our wedding song.  I feel like we have strengthened each other this year and it fits us now more than ever.  He’s been a rock both to hold on to and to hold me up.  The love I have for him is ever growing.

I have come to enjoy the pink and purple and rough and tough rock I live under.  It’s a more pleasant place than one would think.  My day to day life keeps me away from the televised news.  I’ve managed to stay somewhat enough afloat to know this song still fits.  I credit Jon Stewart completely.

Going from a two income household and one child to two children and one income is …well…tough.  I seriously deserve a ghetto fabulous award for stretching a dollar as far as I have this past year.  It’s become a laughing matter because if we didn’t laugh, we would had to add divorce to the list of expenses.  And so I give you the funny guys of Barenaked Ladies.

One more that triggers memories of my daughter’s first attempts at learning “Mommy’s” songs.  This was a new one for me too via Pandora.  Wagon Wheel (not the Darius Rucker version…even my four yr old is pissed about that cover) has become our (dysfunctional) family sing along on road trips.

My thirty something years on this planet have finally started to come together.  Only a classic is encompassing enough to cover this topic for me.  Thank-You-Stevie.

This past year, I’ve come up against (again) and finally feel like I have made it to the other side of struggles I’ve had with depression, surviving child hood abuse and losing my Mom at a young age.  The difference now is the peace I have made with all of it.  As crazy as it sounds, I owe A LOT of that to this song (and anti-depressants, good friends and family, blogging, and sheer grace).  It has meant so many different things to me at so many different points in my life.

And to end it off…I have to say I have come to know this point in my life as precious.  My kids are very young, full of spirit and unconditional, pure love and innocence.  It’s tough being in the trenches day after day but I know how very worth it is.  I just hope I hang on to these memories as tight as I’m trying to moment to moment.  For this time stamp I have to use two songs.  One to capture the madness of being a SAHM and one to capture the essence of it.

Cheers to 2014!

 

 

 

Why I Effing Love the F Bomb.

Spoiler Alert: I’m going to cuss.  I’m going to say things that may be offensive and probably shouldn’t come out of any normal Momma’s mouth.

But in case you haven’t noticed, this Momma isn’t normal.

Shouting the word Fuck just because you can is never recommended.  It needs to be crafted in to conversation so as not to taint its beautiful, descriptive power.  Used in the wrong tone, this word can become scary and I for one stop listening when I feel intimidated. I recognize there is always a time and place.

Fuck is quite possibly a perfect word.  It can be the main ingredient to so many things – a joke, an argument, an attitude, an emotion or a statement.

It would most definitely win a popularity contest against any other explicative within my generation.  It’s not the shock value that makes it such a lovely fucking word.  It’s the ability to encompass intensity regarding other words or events that otherwise are dismissed as “ordinary” or “normal”.

For example, if I hear hubby say, “it’s cold outside”, I may throw on a fleece and head out.  If he says “It is fucking cold out side”, you bet your ass I’m putting on a hat and scarf because now I’m thinking it is fucking nose hair freezing and not just normal upstate NY cold.

The word fuck embodies humor, and a raw-ness that our day to day lives need.   Without the f bomb would this (what I consider classic) moment be embedded in our brains?

Or how about this one…which I still quote pretty much every time I hear someone ask “What was the name?”

There is no pharmaceutical formula available that can give you the feeling of thrusting the word fuck off your tongue.  It can be such a therapeutic tool with the only possible side effect being a disapproving eye.

A miserable mood can best be cured with a tall glass of what-the-fuck-ever.  A situation with too many variables is best known as a cluster-fuck.  When I have finally thrown my hands in the air it is usually due to a serious case of the fuck-its!

It’s a grammatical orgasm if you will. Just try it.  Just shout out the word Fuck.  Now say Fuck!.  Try calling the person who just pulled out in front of you only to make a quick right hand turn without using HIS FUCKING BLINKER a Fucking Fuck!  It just adds a little more justice to the situation.  No one has ever died from whipping out a F bomb during an episode of road rage…just sayin’.

Being a Mom and being in love with the word fuck can be tricky.  I’d say the trickiest part is not the kids but being around other Moms I don’t really know.  I don’t drop the f word around small children (on purpose), like I said, a time and a place.

However, if I am having an adult conversation and the little ones are not under our feet, odds are I’m going to emphasize some fucking part of the conversation with a fuck here or a fuck there.

Do you know how many times in a day I call my ~on the verge of being a tyrant of a toddler~ son a little fucker?  It’s never out loud of course but it is definitely a regular reaction in my head.  Don’t judge me, I say it with nothing but affection and exhaustion.  The little Fucker just doesn’t know how many times in a day he cheats death and how his new, un-nerving high pitch whine can drive his Momma to want to jump out the fucking window.

The power of Fuck to arouse an extra layer of emotion is why I love to use it.  There is no better place for the F bomb than in a great song.  So with that, I’ll leave you with one of my favorite lyrical fucks from the little folk singer herself.

Just Trying To Evolve

I keep having to change the word “people” to the word “I”,
while editing my posts. It’s a habit I have that I was
completely unaware of until now. My first thoughts are
to write something like “people often
wonder”, instead of what I really
want to be writing — “I often wonder”.

It’s a scary thing to put yourself front in line. To display your
thoughts with your own voice, not just shake your head in agreement
when others say what you are thinking. If I hide
behind the plurals ie. “people”, “they”, “we”, I can divert the attention off of me. That way I
don’t have to apologize for anything later or backtrack
my primitive and most honest thoughts if I upset
someone.

It’s very strange to me that even while using a
platform based on expressing my own thoughts,
people I find a way to stay hidden. If I
write “we” or “people” instead of “I”, it creates this room
full of other people who join me in my writing process.
I don’t have to or get to take responsibility. At the same time, I don’t get to own it.

That kind of reward always come with risk.

How awful that even in my free writing, self
doubt creeps in and is able to darken my light, one letter at a
time. Dimming one’s own light is a terrible disease.

Can you think of a time when you wanted to answer a
question or make a valid point, but you kept quiet for fear of being
judged? I need to own my own thoughts with a little more pride. I need to not
feel embarrassed when someone compliments me or scared of a simple disagreement.
Women I need to use the
compliments as fuel instead.

That confidence is there
when I’m with my daughter belting out Alicia Key’s “Girl On Fire”
in the kitchen. Where does it go when I sit down at the
computer or walk in to a discussion?

I don’t find it coincidental
that Ani Difranco’s song “Evolve” has found it’s way to the top of
several of my recent play lists recently. Evolving, by definition, is an ongoing work in progress — As I am.

Click image to hear full song.

“I walk in
stride with people Much taller than me And partly it’s the boots
but Mostly it’s my chi And I’m becoming transfixed With nature and
my part in it Which I believe just signifies I’m finally waking
up” ~Ani D.