Are you there God? It's me, Ky and Digby's Mom.

I always lay down beside my two-year-old son, Kylan, for about twenty minutes until he drifts off to sleep, although there are nights where he falls off to sleep by himself. I enjoy our quiet time together, and especially the conversations we have just before he nods off.


The other night, I slithered toward the door because I thought he had fallen asleep, and was startled by his little voice.


"Mommy, can we say prayers?"


I told him that we could, of course, as I'd forgotten to say them that night! We usually ask God to watch over our family, and I go through the list of family, and then of close friends. I always ask Kylan if he can think of anyone else he wants to say a prayer for. Then, I always end the prayer with, "Always be kind and love one another."


At the end of our prayers that night, Ky asked, "Mom, who's God?"



Holy Heck! What a question from a two year old. I tried to keep my explanation short and to the point, but I wasn't really sure of the answer myself, so my answer was probably more confusing to Kylan than anything else.



"Well, God is this, uh, being who watches over all of us on earth. Earth is the planet we live on. See, there are these things called planets- we'll talk about that later. So God loves us more than you can ever imagine and wants us to be loving, too, just like him... or her."


Ky responded with, "He's a man."


I said, "He could be."


He came back with, "He lives in heaven."


Surprised, I replied, "Yes, he does."


I don't remember telling Ky about heaven, although maybe I've read a story about heaven or mentioned it before. It just goes to show how absorbent our children are, and although I'm open to Kylan choosing his own faith, I think it's important to introduce our little ones to some kind of faith. I know that having my faith and some spirituality has helped me find direction, and it always shines it's search light bright when I start to lose course. I want to teach my children to know to look for that light when they need it, for any reason at all- that God is always there to talk to, and if you listen carefully, he'll answer you.

Misguided Credit Score

I am a misguided mama because I have made mistakes-a-plenty. The mistake of the day is my poorly managed credit of my early twenties. Oh, how I thought credit cards were such blessings! In reality, these evil slabs of plastic can ruin your chances for buying your own house, or even simply renting in a nice complex. They can act like your best friend when you don't have the cash to buy another drink at Roland's, but become your worst enemy when you realize you just bought a round of red-headed sluts for the whole bar. You will be paying off these shots in small eight dollar increments for the next 50 years- keep that in mind. Hidden amongst the fine print when applying for these faux-friends are the hefty late fees, the over-limit fees, and the dreaded yearly maintenance fee... because we all know what a pain in the ass it is for our credit card company to maintain our accounts. In fact, I'd like to see a breakdown of the hundred bucks I spend yearly to maintain my account. Does my account at least get a hot stone massage and lavish spa treatment?



When I married my husband, we both had screwed up credit, and it was this screwed up credit that helped us realize how valuable good credit is. We longed for a good credit score. Hell, at least one of us! So we worked on my husbands credit first.



For my husband's Christmas present that year, I paid off one of his accounts that had been in collections. My Christmas card to him went a little something like this:



Dearest Husband,



Should you ever see you ex-girl friend again, please tell her she needs to thank me for the diamond earrings I purchased her back in 2000. I talked the collection agency down to $500 to mark the account paid-in-full. You are now one paid debt closer to a semi-decent credit score.



Thankfully, we both have been able to rehabilitate our credit ratings. The book that helped me and hubby get through all of this chaos is called Managing Debt for Dummies, by John Ventura and Mary Reed. I am a professed Dummy Book and Guide for Idiots reader. I'm not quite sure what that says about me, but if there's a Handbook for the Helpless out there, I'll add my name to the presale list at the local Barnes and Noble, too.

Not Afraid to Admit It- I Have Children!

There is an unspoken phenomenon where a great deal of moms are hiding their true identities. They pretend like they don't have children. I don't understand these women. I get that these moms have their own lives, their own ambitions, and their own dreams, however, what I don't get is why they don't factor their children into their aspirations, or even act like they exist!

I was speaking to a fellow blogger about her blog. I told her my favorite part of her blog is where she wrote about her children. She responded with, "I don't like to write about my kids much, because then it becomes just one of those pathetic mom blogs.

Hi, my name is Misguided Mama, and I am a pathetic mom.

My kids have taught me more about myself that I have been able to learn about myself in the past 30 years. They are a reflection of who I am, and you can believe me, they most definitely are included in my life long goals. After all, having them here on this planet is an accomplishment in itself.

This blog doesn't exist to help boost my ego to see how many responses I can get, or to go on endlessly about what and who annoys me. I honestly just want to encourage myself (since no one actually reads this much) and others to be the best moms we can be, regardless of the many mistakes we've made in the past.

I'm not going to pretend to be perfect... but I must say that my kids make me feel like I am sometimes. So yes, I will write about my children in this blog. Whether or not you think that's pathetic might sum up your own definition of motherhood. And lastly, let's hope my fellow blogger's children never find out how she truly feels about suppressing her motherly pride. Apparently writing about her top ten favorite make-up products and whether or not to pay a personal trainer for private sessions are more self-defining.

Vacation Tips for the Misguided Trip Planner

I will be on vacation for the next week, so my blogging may be limited. It's not like I have a mass audience, anyways, or that anyone comments for that matter, however, it makes me feel better to inform the few who DO read this.

I wanted to list some websites that may help you keep your sanity and help you truly relax while on a family vacation.

1. How to pack? Check out whether to roll the clothes or lay them flat.

2. What to pack for a beach vacation? This site will give you the must-haves.

3. Need a checklist to ensure a successful beach visit? See this link.

4. Can't stand your father-in-law's wife? Yes, you know, the lady he married after your mother-in-law who has sworn off all carbs and other foods with actual flavor and never had children but insists on correcting yours ? Check out how to deal with difficult people to shrug off an argument before you blow up.

The Love You Live For

Before I had children, I wasn't complete. I didn't realize how very selfish I was the majority of the time. I think it's hard not to be selfish when all that exists in your world are issues that pertain to you- like what you need to get accomplished, or what lies in your future, or what your favorite flavor of ice cream is (Girl Scout Samoa Ice Cream by Edy's or Dreyer's is mine!).

I never expected having children to be as enriching and self-transforming as it has been. The amount of love that you have for your child is inexplicable. It's a love so great, that you would without hesitation, give your life to spare theirs.

My son Kylan, has an obsession with my hair. Some children may cry for their blankies, or maybe a teddy bear. My son, yes, he cries, "Hair!" I love it. I love that he needs me, and that somehow, he associates safety in my tangled tresses. You can't make up the stuff your children cling to. They develop their own habits, their own fears, and their own personalities. You're obligation is to help guide them and keep them safe.

Getting back to the love you have for your kids- I can't imagine, now that I know what this love feel like, not wanting to find out what that feels like. I don't quite understand the people who select a life void of having children. I'll tell you right now, if you're bothered by someone else's kids, you always will be. I still want to kick some fiesty bullies in the shins when they taunt my baby. I'm sure my kids bother the bejeezus out of other people, but you smile at their rambunctiousness rather than roll your eyes at it when the kids are your own. You also start to understand the tantrums of other people's children a hell of a lot better when your dealing with the tantrums of your own children.

All in all, having children has made me whole. I get it now. It was a learning process, and still is every day as far as being a parent is concerned, but I would never have completely matured, or lost a majority of my selfishness had I not had Kylan and Digby. They are gifts from God, and he has helped show me what true love really is. And my husband is not all that bad either.

I am human. Nice to meet you.

Today I started a new job teaching indoor cycling at L.A. Fitness. It's a brand new facility, great amenities, and so far, there's nothing that compares to it in the Pittsburgh area. It's simply the best gym day care I've seen around, and I'm comparing that to Heathtrax, Alexander's Athletic Club, Bally's, and Xtreme Fitness Centers. Left is a sample picture of the Kids Klub at another L.A. Fitness, but the one in Pleasant Hills is similar.

I showed up 15 minutes early, thinking that would be enough time to get everyone set up on their bikes, but I had a hell of a time with the stereo system. Also, I'm used to having a remote with me to adjust the volume level if someone has a question or to skip a song if I don't feel it's suitable for the class' fitness level.

So, some lady, who I eventually find out is my boss, barges in and fiddles with the stereo equipment in the middle of my class, saying, "Go ahead, keep teaching." Because my class is primarily all beginner cyclers, I get off my bike to help adjust some of my students. I want to make sure everyone's equipment is safe, that they feel comfortable asking me questions, and I get everyone's name.

The class ends up being a great first class, despite all the interruptions and getting the bugs worked out of the new equipment. But then my-boss-lady-person, who told me her name but it escapes me now because she rattled me so badly, finds me after class to tell me she has a few suggestions.

a) That I have my music prepared so that I don't have a need to get off the bike.
b) That I instruct the class as a whole as to how to operate the bikes safely, rather than visit them individually.

This is where I get defensive. I don't mean to, but when you're nervous enough to hold your first class in a new place with new bosses, you really don't want the first reviews of your performance to be 100% negative. I nodded my head yes and said thank you, but I really wanted to address a couple of issues with her.

First of all, I am human. Here's what I mean: This lady could've asked me how long I've been teaching or if I've toured the majority of the new facility. Secondly, now that I have children, I find it so hard to understand how after I mentioned that I needed to pick them up at the Kids Klub, that she declined to comment on their existence. All I'm asking for is a little, "Oh, you have kids? How old are they?" or, "What are their names?" or maybe even just a simple, "Children are nice." Well, maybe not that- because then I would genuinely suspect that she really could be a robot.

Oh, and lastly, the fact that you're mean and dressed completely in black really does make you extremely witch-like, so I would suggest nixing the mean part.

I could never be the type of person to completely neglect anyone's feelings. It's just not in my blood, and if that's the type of blood you need to be a supervisor, then I'm just fine with my measly instructor job. Please, a little kindness would be really refreshing.

Dropping the "F" Bomb

To keep our family afloat financially, I bartend on Saturday nights. Even if we had enough money to pay the bills, which never seems to be the case, I would still bartend one day a week. Not only do I make some green, I get to meet some pretty interesting folks and make new friends. It's my one night a week, although I am working, that I get to have some good ol' fashioned fun for myself and converse with (gasp) ACTUAL ADULTS.

I love to talk about my children to the guests that visit the bar, especially to those that have children because I feel they can relate to- and tolerate- my stories better. To one friendly couple in their late-forties-possibly-early-fifties, I explained that Kylan is really starting to take off in the English language department. I guess my story should have come with a disclaimer: WARNING- What I am about to tell you does contain profanity.

Me: So my son, Ky, was in the backseat of his Gigi's car (his grandma's car) and says, "Gigi, I'm sorry." Gigi says, "It's okay honey, you didn't do anything wrong." Kylan apologizes again, "Gigi, I'm sorry," and concludes with, "Fuck, it's a bad word."

Mrs. Couple Lady: Oh My Word! Now where would he have learned that word?!

She says this with utter disgust. She's now looking at me like she needs to call child protective services. I keep an eye on how her hand seems to be subconsciously moving toward her cell phone. This phenomenon in itself demonstrates how a Ouija board actually works.

Me: Uh, well, I think, um, that he may have picked it up while I was driving. I say some pretty awful things sometimes, uh, but I'm a good mom, and I don't condone that type of language.

Meanwhile, I'm not going to lie to ya, I thought Kylan's use of the word was both very honest and hilarious. Of course, inappropriate on every level, but it just goes to show how attentive our children are. They are like little sponges, absorbing our every reaction and every word. I will say, that although I do not swear like a sailor, the occasional "F" bomb does make an appearance when I am fucking upset. See?

I guess I read my Mr. and Mrs. Bar Couple incorrectly. I expected a hearty chuckle from the story, so I highly doubt they'll be coming in on my Saturday night shift any longer. I'm not G rated enough for their liking. F them.