Television Will Fry Your Child's Brain and Other Horrifying Myths

"Don't sit so close to the T.V screen, it'll make you go blind."

"Be careful or your eyes will get stuck like that, you know."

"That show will give you nightmares."

"Spray can cheese isn't meant to be sprayed directly into your mouth."

"Your brain will rot from playing video games all summer."

"Spongebob is a homosexual, you know. Don't let your kids watch that."

The last one really did come out of someone's mouth once. I promise.

Before jumping into the real meat of this blog, let me debunk these myths and wow you all by the fact that I actually survived my childhood and not only that, came out as a functioning, intelligent (and rather witty if I do say so myself) adult.

I sat close to every Disney VHS movie screen I could. I've got the best eyesight out of my entire immediate family.

I criss-crossed my eyes every chance I got at my sister in the back seat of that green mini van, yet my eyes are perfectly normal. Wait, are there two of you? Just kidding.

Now, that show my mother told me not to watch (but I did every day when she was still waitressing) did give me nightmares. I think it built character in me though and made me less of a wussy. Sometimes nightmares aren't all that bad to have.

I spent the majority of my summers spraying canned cheese directly into my esophagus with my much older and mature sister, Kim. I have news for you: spray can cheese only has one purpose and that is to gulp it with head titled back. If you're eating it any other way, you're doing it wrong.

I played video games in that hot pink bean bag while wearing my Pocahontas pajamas my entire fourth grade summer and can do magical things like use the proper form of to, too, your and you're despite my half-rotted brain. Take that.

Spongebob isn't a homosexual; he's a cartoon with no genitals or gender identity. Even if he was, let your kids watch him. HE IS EVERYTHING. If you don't, they will grow up to have no friends and no sense of humor. That, my friends, is no myth.



Now, the real point for this blog isn't to talk about Spongebob's lack of genitalia. It's to tick you and every other parent off who has shared an article about why technology is turning our children into cyborgs and storm troopers.

You roll your eyes now, but really, your child isn't being damaged because you're handing them a tablet to shut them up on a road trip or because they would rather play Minecraft than help you mow the lawn.
Their brains aren't fried and their eyes aren't going to be permanently crossed.

They're children.
They want to play video games, watch Spongebob on Sunday mornings in their batman underwear and they want to spray canned cheese down their throats quicker than you can send a two-sentence text message.
Some of my fondest memories are of me and my dad laying on the couch together, laughing at Spongebob and Squidward while my mom got ready for church.
Some are of me and my sister eating junk food in our blanket fort, watching Are You Afraid of the Dark, keenly listening for the garage door to cue the arrival of my mother and us to switch the channel to some happy-clappy, obnoxious children's program.

The same parents who continue to rant about how tablets and video games are destroying the new generations' mental capacity, have a hard time using correct grammar in the same status update.
Did you play too many video games, too? Did outside teach you how to conjugate verbs or...
Too much? Sorry.

Now before you go huffing and puffing and blowing the whole Earth down, know that I am for physical activity. I mean, heck, I'm a marathon runner. I run 50 miles a week and even drag my kids out on the asphalt with me on the occasion.

My kids love to watch YouTube, but they also love to ride their bikes.
My kids love to play MineCraft, but they also love to make me play kick-ball with them in the street.
My kids have access to technology and sometimes sit close to the television, but they also have equal access to outdoors and the joys of swinging too high at the park.

 My love of beating video games or texting 5,000 words a minute as a pre-teen didn't turn me into a mindless couch potato.

It's not slowly turning my boys into robots either. This isn't Robocop or 1987, so calm yourself.

Technology isn't bad for your child, but an imbalanced life is.

Don't feel guilty for handing your ten year old a tablet, but make sure he knows what it feels like to slide in the dirt to home plate.
It's okay to let your kiddo waste a few hours watching Spongebob (he's like Gandhi, but better), but make sure to take them for a park picnic, letting them know what it feels like to waste hours of the day away on the monkey bars, too.

Your job is to send them into the world as a well-rounded, decent human being.
Getting them to that place is your task and yours alone, but let them have some fun and enjoy a few new things the world has to offer along the way.

When you were a kid your mom locked you outside and told you to play in the woods until night-fall? Good for you. I'm glad you didn't get kidnapped.
But, maybe instead of forcing the way you lived your childhood onto your own kids, you can try to join in on theirs and learn to love some of the things they do.

Balance.

Also, remember:

Sunday morning Spongebob and basic grammar are of the utmost importance. 

Pretty Isn't Priority

I remember when I was younger, I had a bow to match every dress I owned and I refused to wear anything but a dress until I was in first grade.

As a little girl, you are taught to cross your legs, look straight into the camera and "smile pretty."
Our hair is pulled, prodded and twisted into absolute perfection.

We are trained to be pretty.
To look pretty.
To act pretty.


I think we grow into thinking it is our duty and our responsibility to "blossom" and to transform into delicate, fair posies.
So we grow.
We blossom.

We figure out how to tame our wild, curly locks.
We discover how to dress in the most flattering way for our own body type.
What color blush suits our fair cheeks the best.
What goopy foundation blends the best into our pores.

We pluck.
We wax.
We cut.
We highlight.
We blend.
We contour.

We do all we can to pay our dues and be the flower we were told to be.
We look into the camera.
We smile pretty.

I decided to not wear any make up this week as an experiment for the purpose of this blog. I showered, let my curls fall naturally and left the blush brushes and foundation sponges sit in their drawer. I wanted to see how I would feel, what people would say, the reactions I might get. I wanted to know why I was really doing what I was doing. Why did I feel the need to cover my natural face up? Was I doing it for me? For the people I passed in the grocery store? If I wasn't doing it for myself, I wanted to discover why I was doing it at all.

You want to know what happened the last few days when I left the house without make up or hair mousse?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. People didn't look at me cross-eyed. My husband didn't ask if I was feeling okay. Nobody even seemed to notice, but me. Granted, I think makeup can be fun and nice to put on for work or just to make yourself feel a little bit more put together. I'm not giving up make up completely, for I don't feel the need to personally do that. Will I wear it way less often?
YOU BET! It's freeing. I feel freaking great, honestly.
I feel like Britney. Just Britney.

I don't want to wear makeup again until I forget about it all together.
I want my natural face to be more normal to me than the one with dark eyelashes and painted cheeks.
I don't want to feel I owe anyone, my own prettiness, anymore.

I want to be beautiful, not pretty.
I want to be known for my heart, not my face.
I want to know that prettiness isn't a priority in my own life.

There are far more beautiful things than looks to strive for.
There is wisdom.
There is laughter.
There is knowledge.
There is kindness.
There is humility.
There is meekness.
There is selflessness.

These are the things I want to leave with the world.

 I feel like so many of us feel like we owe the world to be pretty.
You don't owe anyone that.
Pretty isn't a priority, nor should it be.

If you want to use hair products and eye-shadow to enhance yourself some days, go for it!
But, don't use it to hide.
Don't use it because you feel you owe anyone anything.


Your job as a woman isn't to smile pretty.
Your job as a woman isn't to be anything but yourself.

You don't owe prettiness to anyone.

Be kind.
Be gentle.
Be humble.
Be merciful.

For those are the things that will outshine the wrinkles of old age.

Procreating Minus the Pro.

"So, when are you going to have a baby?"

The face of an acquaintance waits with anticipation and curiosity as I try to get my latte as quickly as possible and get the hell out of there.

"Well, actually, I'm working on my writing degree and photography career, so never really."

Then the face happens.
The, "If you're not going to procreate and bake pies and wax the floors...who will?" face.

It's my favorite, really.
I have actually grown to enjoy the reactions I receive when I practically tell people bold-faced that I ovulate bricks.

Some people are totally awesome, telling me that they are cheering me on in my endeavors to be a free bird, others, not so much.

I'm here to tell you about the truth in chosen childlessness.
Every woman who chooses not to have children also has her own reason, so I'm not here to put the umbrella affect into place.
I'm here to mainly explain why asking women when they're going to start procreating isn't okay.

Maybe you have, but I have never, not even once, heard someone ask a male when they were going to start attempting to produce children.

Why?
You don't ask men those questions.
When a man hits his twenties, society doesn't ask him about picking out baby names.
We ask him about his education plans and his career plans.

When a woman hits her twenties, she instantly becomes bombarded with questions of wedding chapels and burp cloths.
Why is that, reader?
How broken is our societal structure that we are still (though not as extreme as before) in the mindset that a young man should be furthering his education, while a woman is trying to bare children and stay confined to the walls of the home?

Just a short warning here: I am not knocking on mothers or women who stay home for some time with their young children. I was a raised by a woman just like that and she was the best mother I could have ever had and raised me to be the independent-minded woman that I am.

What I am knocking, is the idea that all women who have a womb should want to procreate and that if they're not or even worse, they don't want to, that something is seriously wrong.

I wish I could tally up the times I get asked in one week alone why I don't want to have a baby, just to show you to what degree this problem has actually gotten to.

I have something to say to all of you who continue to push, prod and question continuously why, whyyyyyyyyy I wouldn't want to have a baby?

In reality, it's none of your damn business, but to be politically correct here, I uh, just don't want to.

Considering this answer hasn't seemed to suffice your societal norms, here we are.

I am focused on creating other things besides children and that's okay.
For me.
And many other women out there.

Many women make great mothers, seriously. So many of my dearest friends are mothers and they freaking rock that role. I am a step-mother to three amazing kiddos, but , I'm not their mother. I don't want to be their mother. The role I play in their lives suits me perfectly.

I feel there are categories of women and it's important you know which category you fit into, for yourself.

1. The mother.
2. The Auntie/Bonus Momma.
3. The woman who shouldn't be allowed within 500 miles of a child.

Now, number three should be in prison, but aside from her, both number two's and three's are equally important in making our culture and society go round. Know which category you fit into, not the category your mom who so desperately wants to be a grandmother wants you to fit into or your friends, family, whoever else tells you that you should fit into.

Fit into where you feel you belong.

Do I feel that I might regret not having a baby?
No.
Even if I did, the possibility of maybe having a feeling of regret, isn't enough reason to have a child.


Do I ever look at a baby and have a twinge of a maybe?
No.
I often tilt my head and wonder what my dog is currently doing.

We live in a world that is slowly progressing to full equality among the sexes, yet the expectation of every womb being filled is still towering over many of us.

We shouldn't feel guilt, shame or confusion for making the choice not to have children.
On the contrary, we should feel empowerment and freedom in our own choice.

Not every woman was designed to raise children just because she has a uterus and I'm one of those women.

Stop asking women what they are going to do with their own bodies.
Ask them about their minds.
Ask them about their dreams.

I am a woman and I don't need to have a child to be a complete human being.
Also, every woman must find her own path to living a fulfilled life and for many women that is to raise a family.
For me, I do live an overflowing life and feel no need to add to it or to take away.

Writing fulfills me daily, a career which I feel takes a lot of your heart, your time and your focus.
Many, many women writers never even marry, much less have children, due to the nature of the career and what it demands of us mentally and emotionally.


I know that even though I am not procreating, I know that I still create things every day as a writer.
I know that even though I will never birth a child, I will birth new ideas and changes.

I am complete.
I am whole.
I am free.
I am proud.
My body.
My choice.

So, if you truly want to respect women, stop asking us when we plan to make use of our wombs and start asking us about our passions.




“Everybody with a womb doesn’t have to have a child any more than everybody with vocal cords has to be an opera singer.”-Gloria Steinem

Taking Bathing Suit Season Back

It's here.

You know, negative body image season. 

Shorts. 

Tanks. 

Skirts. 

And yes...bathing suits. 

Summer is usually associated with the ice cream man, sun-kissed skin and baby curls on swing sets. 

Yet, this season filled with so many positive images can often haunt women with a negative one; their body. 

You sit out of the pool while your children beg you to come play in the water with them. 

What is making you decline, momma? 

Your friends beg you to join them at the lake, but you pile on layers and hide in your beach towel.

What is making you miss out, friend? 

This is for every woman who has been ashamed, disgusted, embarrassed and even tormented by the demon lurking in your bathroom mirror. 

I'm not going to feed you lies and tell you that I never go a day without speaking death about my body. I'm human. I have my days just like you. But, I decided with the new year that it was time to hit that dance floor and cut loose! 

I gave up torturing my wild curls and embracing the body I've got. 

It's the only body we are going to have ladies, so you better rock it any way you can! 

If it's hot, I'm going to run in my shorts and sports bra. 

If my kids are at the pool, I'll be right by their side, not hiding in a beach towel. 

Do I have love handles from my love of pizza, stretch marks and fatty deposits?

Of course. 

Who the hell cares?

Not anyone but me, and now sometimes that is even questionable. 

Honey, it's time to have a sit down meeting with yourself. 

Get in that bathing suit, pose in your mirror and give the negative body vomit your middle finger. 

You don't have the time to be worrying about those extra pounds or birthing marks.

Stop giving space to negative thoughts and talk, you could really fill that space with so much better. 

You could fill that space with pool days with your kids, a sexy dress for a date night, but most importantly you could fill that space with more of you. 

That's who matters here. 

The moms laying out next to you don't matter. 

The woman giving you a cross-eyed look because you're in a bikini and rocking that size 14-she really, really doesn't matter. 

It's time to tell negative body talk to go to hell, but it starts with us. 

You feel more comfortable in a one piece? Perfect! But, not every woman will. 

Maybe the woman with extra pounds you've been mouthing has lost massive amounts of weight and that bikini is a statement to herself and the world that she is free from the world and its standards! 

The last time I checked, bathing suits and summer attire were made in every size, so pick out yours, get out there and be fabulous. 

Stop negative body talk about yourself and about the women around you.

We are all in this fight against the bathroom mirror together. 

How much sense would it make for someone to trip their running team mate as they handed off the baton on a relay race? 

None. 

They not only hurt their team mate, they hurt themselves as well. 

Until we start acting like we're on the same team and stop tripping each other up, we will always fight this battle.

We will always be running on a hamster wheel. 

We will always be swinging in the dark at an enemy that isn't in front of us, but within us. 

If you can't handle seeing a real human being wear a bathing suit, maybe you're the one who needs to pack up and go home.

Oh, that woman really should cover all that up? 

The only ugly thing that needs to be covered up is your hideous and hateful attitude towards your team mate.

Negative body image talk ends with me. 

Negative body image talk ends with you. 

Size 2 or 22, we are taking swimsuit season back. 

Don't like it? 

Frankly my dear, we don't give a damn. 

My Marriage Isn't Pretty

If you don't know me and my husband's story, all you need to know is that we started from one huge mess.
We started from destruction.
From the start,there was a lot of ugliness.

While so many newlyweds jump into marriage thinking the only fights they'll have to face with their spouse is who loves each other more, we came in completely beat up from the start.
We had fought to even get to the start. 

Marriage isn't pretty. 

The wedding isn't anything like real marriage.
Not everyone surrounding you is cheering you on as you cut loose on the dance floor.
Your in-laws aren't required to be on their best behavior and your biggest worry of if the tablecloths match the centerpieces becomes nothing but a tiny fragment compared to what you're now up against.

You cut the cake, you put away your new crock-pots (because we all know you get twenty of those things) and marital bliss begins, right?

Wrong.

Now,the fight begins. 

From the moment you make a promise to one another, that promise will be tried, pulled, punched and prodded.

I remember the day my dad got re-diagnosed with cancer for the fourth time and I collapsed in bitter tears into my husband's arms.
That was ugly.

I remember the both of us having to unpack all of our past, the one we had together but also the one with other people.
That was ugly. 

I remember my husband having to re-build the self-confidence in me that someone else had destroyed.
That was ugly.

I remember having to work through (and still continue to do so) my role as a step-parent.
That's ugly.

I remember having to patch the holes in my husband that were left from a previous marriage.
That was ugly.

I remember raising my voice at my husband as he was out in the rain getting me something to make me feel better while I was sick.
That was ugly.

You go through death together in marriage, some of that being death in yourselves.
Granted, I am no marriage expert. 
I have only been married going on two years, but me and Jarrod have been fighting for this for as long as I can remember and we have had more unpacking of pain to do than most ever will.

Marriage is a process of refining by fire. 
We go in thinking marriage is designed to add to us, to simply enhance what and who we already are. 
But really, marriage is designed to refine us, to break us down and to re-build us in a way that glorifies Christ all the more.

Refining by fire hurts.
It burns.
Just when you think every rough spot has been melted away, you're shoved back into the fire to be refined yet again.

Your selfishness, your bad attitude, your stubbornness, your greed, your low self-esteem:
It's all laid out and exposed within marriage and God's not surprised by that, actually, He designed it to be that way.

Ecclesiastes 4:9-12New International Version (NIV)

9 Two are better than one,
    because they have a good return for their labor:
10 If either of them falls down,
    one can help the other up.
But pity anyone who falls
    and has no one to help them up.
11 Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm.
    But how can one keep warm alone?

How cool is that? Your spouse isn't here just to make you feel good about yourself, they're here to stand with you, to help guard you, to keep you warm, to lift you up and to help refine you. 

For anyone who's majored in Literature, you've heard of the term "Foil" before, a character put into a piece to highlight the characteristics of another character. Now, this isn't to say your spouse is put into your story to highlight how awesome you are. 

Actually, they're put into God's story of your life to highlight how you could highlight Him more. 

Is my husband constantly pointing out all of my flaws for me, beating me over the head with how I could be a better wife, stepmother or Godly woman?

Of course not. He doesn't have to. 

That's not his job. 

God does that through him, though.

It's not our jobs to tell our husbands or wives (though I believe destructive behavior should be addressed) what they're doing wrong all the time.

It is our job to try our very best to highlight Christ in our marriage and through how we treat our spouse.

It is our job to display a lot of grace along the way.

Jarrod never has to say a word, yet by how he lives his life, He is highlighting the parts of me that could be more like Christ.

When I raised my voice at him as he drove in the rain to help me feel better, he responded in absolute patience and grace. 

That highlighted Christ. 

Ouch. I was refined in that moment. 

I am being refined by fire daily and I pray that I highlight Christ to the best of my ability within my marriage.

I love Jarrod and I want him to see aspects of Jesus through me as much as possible and I pray that the refining fire continues, as ugly as it may be.

When you get married, you die to yourself.

Death is never pretty.

The fact is: Marriage isn't pretty, but it is beautiful. 

A Toast to the Hurting on Mother's Day

Sunday morning I will not wake to the pidder patter of tiny feet, tip-toeing their way to my bedroom door to smother me in kisses or snuggles.

I will wake to a quiet, still house. 

Mother's Day. 

One of Hallmark's biggest marketing days. 

But when I scour the racks of cards for my own mother, I notice they're doing a fairly poor job. 

There's a section missing. 

There's a rack not there.

The section for the hurting. 

This day can mean breakfast in bed for some women, but isolation and grief for another. 

There is no section for the grieving mother. 

There is no section for the barren woman, longing to eat poorly made pancakes and to kiss tangled bed-head hair.

There is no section for the step mother, waking up alone in her bed, feeling completely forgotten. 

There may never be a Hallmark card for you hurting momma, but know you are loved. 

Know you are seen. 

Know you are wanted. 

Know most of all, that you are not alone. 

Did you lose your sweet babe, momma? 

Are you praying for a miracle, momma?

Are you feeling second-rate, momma? 

Are you feeling like a failure, momma?

Are you feeling lonely, momma? 

I don't know the flavor of your particular pain this Mother's Day. 

I don't know if you tried to be a great mother, but your child fell off the grid.

I don't know if you screamed and cursed at the Giver of life for stealing tiny breaths far too soon. 

I don't know if you spend your days loving on another's child like your own, never feeling recognized. 

I don't know if you are weary from the tests, the scans, the fertilization treatments; all leading to another pregnancy test in your waste basket. 

No one can taste the pain you've tasted, momma. 

No sympathetic looks or side hugs Sunday will make it better. 

This day designed to be filled with yellows roses and cheeky cards is often, for some of you, filled with curtain-drawn windows and loneliness. 

I want to speak life into you today, momma. 

I'm one of you. 

It is a day I typically dread. 

This year was seemingly going to follow suit, until Jesus saw me, lifted my chin and reminded me that I am never forgotten and He wants to celebrate with me. 

I don't know where you are or if your story looks anything like mine, but it's time to open the blinds on Mother's Day and let the Light come in. 

Celebrate the kick ass woman you are and all of the women around you. 

I will undoubtedly spend time with my own mother this weekend, but most of my time will be spent surrounded with other strong, beautiful, encouraging women; many without children or their own journey of hurt revolved around motherhood. 

I will celebrate my own journey and the journeys of the women around me. 

As women, we are asked to play many roles through various seasons of our lives. 

We play the lead role, then the back up, the stage hand and the set designer. 

Own whatever role you are in right now.

At this very season. 

The show can't go on without you. 

Grieving mother, barren mother, step-mother.

Get out and celebrate yourself. 

You don't need a flimsy paper card to tell you what you're worth or how much you are loved. 

Grab a glass of wine darling. 

Cheers to us! 

LGBT

LGBT

                Britney Davis

I’m told to hate the sin and love the sinner.

Whatever that means.

I’m told to love Daniel or whoever but to

Hate that he dresses like a woman on Friday nights.

I’m told to love him for who he is but to

Hate that he sometimes changes from his Wranglers to tights.

I’m told to love the bi-sexual girl in math class, but to

Hate that her girlfriend cooked her dinner last night.

I’m told to love gay people enough to tell them that God

Hates how they live their life.

That I should love the transgender enough to

Hate that they’re going to eternal damnation and to

tell them to simply change their mind.

That if they concentrate hard enough then they won’t want to

dress like a woman anymore or use a men’s restroom.

It’s all in the mind, just a struggle of desire.

That if they want a seat at the table or water from the well

they need to marry someone they don’t love because it’s

all a choice; love is always a choice.

That if they want to eat at the same buffet as the preachers

feeding their greasy bellies then they need to recant their old ways

and be straight like everybody else.

That we don’t hate them, we just hate what they are.

I’m told to hate the sin and love the sinner.

Whatever that means.