Reader Questions and Wicked Answers

Reader Questions and Wicked Answers

Introduction by “Powered By Mom:” It seems that on every street corner there’s someone hocking their goods on how they can make your life better from self help books to life coaches and more. The industry tries to take advantage of the opportunity to “help you”. Many are a cookie cutter solution, assuming that one size (or one advice) fits all. So much of it is just so well “beige”, colorless, useless and just plain boring and whitewashed. We don’t need white washed advice, it’s rarely helpful,  we need a proverbial slap (maybe a really one too) in the face with a dash of humor to get us thinking and out of the beige. Well, some of our readers are getting just that from our guest author Magnolia Ripkin!   Question number 1:  June  I would like some advice on what to do about this situation; my stepson is serving in the Army right now in Alaska. Back in February he contacted us to let us know that we were going to be grandparents again now for the second time. The baby was to be due at the end of this month in August. As far as I know he did ask this girl to marry him. But she turned him down, now we just got word from him that she has told him to get lost a few weeks ago. Told him that she is going to take him for everything she can. She has two older children now ages six and three I believe, and could be from two different father’s also. I think this gal has been putting her hooks in a lot of the service men up there if you know what I mean. What can we do to make sure that if that baby is really our son’s child about his rights and ours as far as getting to see that child? Any advice would be greatly appreciated. Thank-you Magnolia I am going to need to dust off my law degree (the one I don’t actually have) and think on this one. The good news is that the law will be a friend to your boy in this situation. If she wants money for the care and maintenance of zygote, she will probably have to prove paternity. If baby Alaska is not from your gene pool, then he is off the hook. If he has impregnated that twit of a woman, then he has obligations, and rights. There are lawyers who deal with dumb young people who are forever breeding and not thinking about the consequences. They can help your son, he needs it. Question number 2: Susie I want to know how to handle...
Blog Tour Pit Stop

Blog Tour Pit Stop

Do you remember chain letters? You would get a hand addressed envelope in the mail from your fellow grade 6 classmate and you just knew…. As you open the missive your forehead cracks a sweat because you now have 24 hours to hand copy this chain letter until your pencil is a nub, and mail to 6 friends or you will DIE! You could not break the chain without facing apocalyptic consequences. That is sort of how I felt when the normally kind and wonderful Brooke of missteenussr blog tagged me to be the next stop on a blog tour. To be honest I had no clue and had to ask what I was supposed to do. Then I read her own tour post and thought…. meh… at least I don’t have to hand write 6 letters. Catch up on the first wave of the blog tour here and then unhook your bra, sit back and read my answers below: What am I working on? When I am not at my real job working or Momming and wifing, I am finding new ways to express my opinions, to which everybody is entitled. In my no spare time, I edit the cadre of writers at BluntMoms and try to keep that shipload of pirates in some semblance of order. I also currently have 7 invitations for guest posts on other blogs, which is stressful, because some of them are polite websites with nice people reading and writing them. I frantically check when writing for others that I don’t accidentally tell a “Yo Mama” joke or mistype “Ducking”. I also have a number of posts hanging out in my blog’s draft folder like neglected ferrets, their fur divots strewn about the place, and starving, waiting for me to finish them. I am getting some stuff ready for Huffington Post that is serious troll bait. I may have to be drunk to hit the publish button on those. How Does Your Work Differ From Other Work in Its Genre? Well, the simple answer is that if Dear Abby or Anne Landers had anger management issues and free access to vodka, I would be just like them. How is that genre for you? Why Do I Write What I Do? Because people sometimes need that one person who will tell them what they need to hear, not what they want to. If your kid is an asshole, or your marriage is a sham… I will give you the straight goods and some helpful suggestions on how to get your shizzle together. If you want candy coated go lick Laura Secord. How Does Your Writing Process Work? I am an observer of human nature, behaviour...
Food is Evil

Food is Evil

I am so bloody sick of talking, thinking, learning, researching, fussing and worrying about food. It wasn’t always like this for me, but then suddenly it was. When I was young, my mother’s friends who were of an age (well into their 40’s apparently) couldn’t wait to share endless tales of eating misery. They sat there in velvet pant-suits, smoking, clutching lime green Martinis, and dispensed their wisdom. They felt the need to tell me how shit my life would become by the time I found myself careening toward menopause. They couldn’t wait to describe in precise detail how my decrepitude would advance. It was even worse than that tough, they couldn’t have know that I would have my last baby at age 37… and then have all of 4 years between his potty training and my own incontinence. The main message I got was about this thing called  “metabolism.” Apparently, it was going to drop at terminal velocity like a giant brick into a bottomless body of water, or in my case… a very large bottomed body. I didn’t entirely understand what it meant until many years later my thyroid ground to halt and it took me ages to figure it out. I spent MONTHS eating so little, and so healthfully. I didn’t exercise much because it sucks and I have better things to do. Good fricken’ thing I didn’t cram my ass into yoga pants, or go to those insipid Zumba classes, because it would have made NO difference. When my thyroid failed like a cheap suit at a bankers’ luncheon it was drastic. I would eat a small ice cream and through the miracle of metabolic disaster my pants wouldn’t fit the next day. Shock and awe of body fat. As a lifelong ambitious achiever pretty much whatever I put my mind to. I can’t begin to tell you how stressful it was to eat PERFECTLY and get no results. It got so shocking that despite my best efforts, I lost only 5 pounds in 9 months, and in one weekend I would put 4 of them back on. I did not genuinely enjoy a single bite of food for weeks at a time, and it wasn’t fair. I wanted to take the scale and shove it out the window, hard. Or drag it to a Lulu Lemon store and Frisbee it into the nearest display case. Medication will help with all this, and whatever else I need to do. Thyroid is what it is, and it will regulate or it will not. But here is the thing, thyroid or not, the deterioration of our metabolisms is a lugubrious march as the years go by.  Of...
Pass the Sauerkraut

Pass the Sauerkraut

Growing up as a first generation Canadian, I had a similar experience to many other children of immigrants. My parents, my grandparents and the culturally connected community of fellow immigrants never fully engaged with their “new” country. As a teen I knew more about the music, food, even news in Germany than Canada. I remember my first day of high school seeing a kid wearing a t-shirt that said “Cheap Trick”. It took me a while to figure out that was a band and not a comment on his first day at school. Dad played accordion… and European music so I was completely out of the cool zone. I had however seen Nana Mouskouri in concert, so I had that going for me. In elementary school, my lunches were alien and included rye bread with salami and cured sausage bites. I begged my mother for white bread sandwiches and wagon wheels. To no avail, the food remained firmly honouring the fatherland. We had family dinners with roast pork, red cabbage and dumplings. We spoke loudly in harsh German tones while cakes and baked goods were paraded out of the kitchen. We were a German family living in a North American country, in a French speaking province. As a kid, it didn’t dawn on me how often our house smelled of sauerkraut because Dad was letting it pickle in big metal milk cans under the bathroom counters. Other times the house smelled of beer…. Lots of beer… and salami. My friends had cakes from the store or a box mix for their birthdays, I had black forest cakes laden with kirsch and covered in real whip cream. I realize now that all of these things were ties to the culture my family elders left behind for a new land. I don’t think they would have said “we must keep our culture strong with our children” but they for sure said “speak German more, you have to know how in case we ever need to go back”. It made me afraid to think we might have to move, but I spoke the language. In addition to keeping the culture alive at home, we travelled to visit the homeland often.  I was just as familiar with the streets and candy stores of my grandparent’s village in north Germany as I was with my own Canadian town. Food, language, music and stories make the glue that holds us to our roots. My people took flight and made a new life in a fresh young country, and along with our fellow immigrants, can be proud for improving the quality of sausages across their new homeland. I have kept with many traditions, including being a...