Does Size Really Matter?


Get your mind out of the bedroom.  This isn’t about what you’re thinking.

It’s the second day of school and my youngest is already shooting off his mouth…


Two emails in one day.  Really?  Can’t we go a whole week without your mouth getting you in trouble?  Shocking.  I know.  A child of mine who has a mouth that could get him in trouble.  He is the fourth, after all.  His preschool teacher told me that she was worried about his delayed development.  He rarely uttered a word back then.  She advised that perhaps I should hold him back to give him another year to catch up.

Oh, how his verbal skills have dramatically improved!

You remember lining up by size.  Tallest to shortest.  I remember it well.  I was ALWAYS in the front.  But I’m a girl and it didn’t really bother me.  I was and am still short (for my age, anyhow…wink, wink).  Clearly, I’m not surprised that my son is tiny.  He barely weighs 60 pounds and that’s when he is dripping wet.  And 5 of those pounds is his hair.  He does have great hair.  He’s got that going for him.  So, as they line up tallest to shortest, guess who’s in the front.  Yep.  My little Robert.  He felt sure there was a girl shorter than him and made sure his feelings were known.  As the teacher puts him in the front, his indignant response (aka his mouth) got him in trouble.  Apparently, “that’s bullcrap” is not acceptable language to say to your teacher in 5th grade.  At least that’s what his teacher emailed me.  And on day two.    According to him, he said it to himself.   That would mean his teacher read his mind.

It’s going to be a long year.

I just don’t get it.  Why is it we even have to point this out?  Next time, let’s line them up by color?  Can you imagine the backlash that would get?

As the school days would progress, so would the comments about how short he is.  Middle school can be so challenging.  Kids are brutally honest.  I get that.  And, I’m okay with that.  Most of the time.   After being called a midget for the umpteenth time, I asked him how that made him feel.  His response, “Mom, that’s her problem.  Not mine.  I’m okay with who I am.”  Epic win, buddy!  Proud of you.

I always thought being short was different for a girl. I was worried about my youngest being the smallest.  Turns out, I didn’t need to be.

He is confident with who he is.  Sometimes, the best gift we can give our children is confidence.  Material gifts come and go.  But not self confidence.  I think about the 9 year old boy who killed himself last week in West Virginia because he couldn’t take the bullying anymore.  Yes, I said 9 years old.  Robert is 10 years old.  Let me repeat. Robert is barely a year older than the little boy in West Virginia.  He is constantly teased (or bullied or whatever you want to call it) about his height.  His strength and self confidence impress me.  I can’t imagine what that mother is feeling, especially with September being Suicide Awareness Month.

Middle school teasing and bullying and simply being mean probably won’t cease.  I can only hope his confidence will sustain him through these middle school years.  Wish it had for the little boy in West Virginia.

I suppose size does matter to some.  But not my little guy.



I love you, Lil Rich…however…

lil rich and me football

If you ever put your pecker where it’s not welcome, you can bet your sweet entitled ass, I will NOT be writing any letter to any judge telling him or her all the wonderful things I love about you.  Let me be very clear about this.  Do NOT put your penis, your hand, your finger, your tongue or anything permanently or temporarily attached to your body into any orifice of another woman WITHOUT her consent.

Just to be clear.  Here is the definition of rape.  Rape is a type of sexual assault usually involving sexual intercourse or other forms of sexual penetration perpetrated against a person without that person’s consent.

Why won’t I write that letter to that judge?

Because I’m angry.  I’m angry that another parent refuses to own up to their child’s (errr…adult child) behavior.  I’m angry that an unconscious woman was raped and he is seemingly “getting away” with it.

Your father and I are raising you to be a kind, gentle man who respects others.   Not take advantage of another human.  Never mind taking advantage of another person completely unconscious.

I will NOT be lamenting about the fact that you would be devastated about choices you made over an “event” YOU caused to happen.  Let’s be real.  Rape is NOT an event.  An event is something like the 5K Turkey Trot we have run many times.  Rape is…well…rape.  See definition above.  Let’s not sugarcoat it.  It’s rape.  Plain and simple.

And, if you so choose to spend 20 minutes of your life putting your pecker where it isn’t welcome, then those 20 minutes of YOUR doing is something that will alter the course of your life.  Not to mention our lives, as well.  Forever.  So, for the love of God or whomever you turn to in your moment of crisis, DO NOT DO IT.  I’m not even hinting at the thought that you would EVER even think about this, I’m simply letting you know where I stand should this ever happen.

Whereas, I was never raped in college, I was raped over and over by my stepfather as a child.  The long term effects this has on a woman are ever lasting.

You will go off to college in just over a year.  You will drink.  You will do stupid things.  You will make questionable decisions.  You will be on your own for the first time in your life.  You will most likely succumb to peer pressure.  It’s okay.  We all do.  We all make poor choices.  We all make mistakes.  BUT NOT AT THE EXPENSE OF ANOTHER PERSON’S HUMAN DIGNITY.

Brock Turner royally fucked up.  Don’t make that same choice.  I don’t care how drunk you get.  Get a blow up doll.  I know most mothers wouldn’t give that advice to their sons, but, then again, I am not most mothers.  I was the one who taught you how to throw a football.  Taught you how to play hockey.  Sat in the water for hours on end holding the ski tips up so you could get up and ski.  And, when you finally got up, I was a sitting duck in that water.  But that’s what parents do.  We are there to teach you.  To educate you.  To raise you.  To love you.  To have your back.  I will always have your back, but if you take away something from a woman that she will never get back, I won’t have your back.  You will be on your own with your own hell to pay.

I know this is extreme but I simply can’t take one more parent excusing their child’s behavior.  Minimizing it.  And not owning up to it.

You know I love you.  You are my first born child.  I am extremely proud of you.  I am proud of the man you are becoming.  So, I am begging you to make good choices.  We’ve been saying that since you were in Ms. Joanne’s class in pre-k when you were 3 years old.  I will continue to say this whether you are 3 or 18 or 40.

I realize this is a very UNCOMFORTABLE subject.  I also realize I am crass and crude.  But I’d MUCH RATHER have this conversation with you than one that starts with, “WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?”

You are an amazing young man and I couldn’t be prouder of you.  But don’t EVER let 20 minutes of a royal fuck up ruin your life.  And what a life you have ahead of you.

lil rich and parents

Why does cunt rhyme with blunt?

new logo


Makes me wonder why I’m so blunt?  Am I a just another Cee U Next Tuesday?  Ummm.  Yes.  I said cunt.  For the record, in ancient times, it was a title of respect for women.  It used to be an honor.  Now, it’s merely an expletive.  Read Inga Muscio’s book, “Cunt: A Declaration of Independence.”

Clearly, I’m both.  Or is it one in the same?  Or is it because I’m a woman.  At what point did cunt go from a noble honor to the worst word in the English language for which women are referred to in a derogatory manner?

I wonder.  What would be the rhyming word for a guy who is a dick?  Prick?  Slick?  Lick?  Forget asshole.  I can’t think of any words that rhyme with it.

It’s one of the few words in the English language that is referred to by its first initial.  As in the C-word.  Like the F-word.  Or the N-word.  We all know what that one letter means.  Used in the proper context, of course.

I’ve been told I’m blunt since pretty much day one.  Now, I have a podcast, One Blunt Woman, just to exacerbate it.  Or simply put it out there.  For others to judge, criticize, and sometimes (rarely) give me a thumbs up.  I’ve been told to “Just Stop.”  I’ve been told, “keep it up.”

Can’t please everyone.  Obviously.

So, I’m crude.  I’m vulgar.  I’m an asshole.  I’m blunt.  I’m raw.  I’m a fighter.   And, I’m vulnerable.

As survivor and an advocate for abused children, I support their cause financially.  After hearing Brene Brown last week, I was in awe.  I immediately went out and purchased her latest book, “Daring Greatly”.

Two words.  Read it.

We have a choice each day.  We can choose to be comfortable.  Or we can choose to be courageous.  In order to be courageous, we have to be VULNERABLE.  Yes.  Vulnerable.  But only the weak are vulnerable, right?


The author, Brene, told us otherwise.  She explains to us that vulnerability is at the very core of our fears, our griefs, AND our disappointments.  BUT, it’s also where we have the opportunity or, as she calls it, the birthplace of love, joy, empathy, and creativity.

Sold!  I’ll take two, please.

We have to be willing to step in that arena and fight the fight.  With millions of eyes watching you.  Just waiting to take you down.  Are you willing to take that risk?  I am.  Nothing is more pitiful as standing on the outside looking in.  You do want to live your life?  The way you want to live it.  I do.  I won’t live the same year 70 times.

What does that arena mean, anyway?  What are we putting it out there for anyway?  A new relationship?  A new city to live in?  A new adventure?  A new skill?  Taking on ice hockey at the age of 34?  Or simply having a difficult conversation with your children about sex?   Not sex.  TABOO.  Child molesters.  TABOO.   Ummm.  They exist and, thus, NEED to be talked about.  Yes, you will be criticized.  Shunned.  Avoided.  HOWEVER, these difficult conversations HAVE to be had with your children.  You want them getting all their information from their peers?  How much does a 15 year old know about emotional fulfillment of a positive sexual encounter?  Ummm.  None.  Do they know the anatomy of the human body?  Most likely, yes.  Do they know how intercourse works?  Most likely, yes.

But does she really know her own body?  How it really works?

Here we go again with sex.  Seems to be a hot topic.  A dangerous topic.  A forbidden topic.

Talk about being uncomfortable and being vulnerable?  It’s one thing for me to talk to my children about child molesters.  How I would adamantly castrate him should he EVER touch one of my children.  But talking sex with my daughter is a STRETCH.  Even for me.

I need help with this.  I know I’m blunt and I’ve been called the C-word on many occasions but, all that aside, I need serious liquid courage for this talk.

Girls & Sex written by Peggy Orenstein is an excellent read.  Again.  Read it.  She interviewed dozens of girls between the age of 15-20 about sex.  Real sex.   Yes.  They are having sex.  With or without you knowing, approving, guiding and most importantly, supporting.  Yes.  I said supporting.  She is going to have sex.  We can preach abstinence all day long.  They will just do it behind your back.  Imagine the choices she is making.  And, you’re in the dark.  Because you are too UNCOMFORTABLE talking to her about sex.  And, I’m not talking about geography of her sex organs.  And his.  Nope.  I’m talking about orgasms.  Masturbation.  Enjoyment of the act.  Emotional implications of having sex before she is ready.

But Peggy pegs it perfectly.  Americans shove the abstinence plea down their daughter’s throats.  (Don’t get me started on things shoved down your throat.)  Dutch girls, on the other hand, reported more comfort with their own bodies and their desires and more in touch with their own pleasure.  Oh.  And, their pregnancy and abortion rate are FAR LOWER than over here in the U.S.

Their parents, teachers and doctors talked openly and candidly with them about sex, pleasure and the importance of a loving relationship.  About the joys and responsibilities of intimacy.  What?  Come again?  Over here, we focus on the risks and dangers of sex.  Not pleasure.  That’s just TABOO and uncomfortable.

It’s my job as her mother to be open, frank, and uncomfortable.  I don’t want her giving her first blow job in 9th grade.  Especially, for the wrong reasons.  To please him for absolutely no reason.  I want her to understand the implications of all this.  I want her to know I’m here to support her.  To help her understand sex, her body, her ability to understand how her body works.

I’m going to step in that arena.   Risk being both vulnerable and uncomfortable.  Risk being criticized.  Oh well.  Just another day at the office for me.

Will you?

Blunt or not.  This is a must conversation.


Don’t shhhh me … you hypocrite …

Don't shhh me you hypocriteHave you ever been “shhh’d” before?  I have.  Perhaps, it’s my big mouth.  Even at its lowest octave level, it can be loud.  I suppose all of us have been “shhh’d” many times.  In the library.  At church.  In class.  And most recently, at my daughter’s 8th grade basketball game.

Yes.  I said basketball and not tennis.   I’ve never been told to shut it during a basketball game.  Let’s face it.  The excitement of the game can get to us.  Especially when our kids are out there playing.   We can easily lose ourselves in the moment.  And basketball is one of those fan interactive sports.  In the pros, they are expected to make the majority of their shots.  Not in girls 8th grade basketball.  When they score, it’s exciting.  Because it actually went in the basket.  We aren’t making a 100 points a game.  We are lucky to get 20 points. Read More