Status – Not a Sheep


There’s a refreshing element of honesty in authentic truthful social exchanges.

I am suddenly finding myself exhausted by people who like absolutely everything in their Facebook newsfeed.

I mean, do they really LIKE the particular image or passage or are they merely a robo-cheerleader for that particular friend? Perhaps, it’s a quest for Facebook popularity or maybe they have a spastic pointer-finger.

Whatever the reason, it becomes annoying to have the same peoples affirmations buzzing all over your screen like a pesky fly at a barbeque.

I whole-heartedly support – supporting those you love. I really do! However, mass dispensing likes like confetti casts a cloudy veil of doubt over ones sincerity. Motive – aims to please others – which is not entirely a bad thing.

On the other end of the spectrum are the Facebook creepers who never ever like or comment on anything. Do these people even have a pulse? Are they full-blown narcissists or simply innocent creepers?

Obviously there is no right or wrong – people are as different as the grains of sand on the seashore.

Also, I’m a tad bit PMS-y.


I rarely suck up to anyone – it’s not personal. My core is rock solid and shifts for no one.

For better and many times… for worse.

I am acutely aware of the quote that states, “Stand firm in your beliefs, even if it means standing alone.”

There is unwavering peace and liberation that comes with being absolutely honest with yourself and others.

Reciprocally, I was moved by the overwhelming support I received on my recent son-joining-the-Marines post.

Thank you for that, it truly means a lot. Like for reals… and I’m not just saying that.

Breast cancer cells are not pretty pink

October is breast cancer awareness month and this year I feel compelled to get something heavy off my chest.

Pun absolutely intended.

I’ve always been bothered, even horrified by the following widely recognized slogans used in certain breast cancer campaigns –

“Save the boobies/tatas!”  

“Big or small – save them all!”

It’s not just about saving the tatas or boobies, it is about saving LIVES; ask any woman who’s sacraficingly bartered her breasts for her LIFE.

Boob references do nothing more than sexualize a deadly disease that’s not even necessarily exclusive to women.

Chemotherapy, surgical bandages and radiation do not come in pretty shades of pink.

Breast cancer is not about cutsie slogans or pink polka dotted cleavage – it’s a deadly cell mutation that happens to occur in the mammary tissue.

It’s true that the novelty pink boob movement has brought awareness to this cause and that’s not entirely negative. Any awareness is good awareness.

However, let’s not lose sight of the real person whose life has been forever changed by cancer – cancer that just happens to be located in the breast tissue.

MORE Annoying Facebook Statuses – That Drive Me CRAZY!


Swing Dieters

On Monday it’s a photo of a healthy salad with a brag note about their latest diet/workout regimine, on Tuesday it’s a delicious green smoothy with a side of almonds and by Thursday there’s a glossy image of cheesy french fries dipped in fudge.

This type of post resembles a scene from Eric Carle’s The Hungry Caterpillar except the caterpillar is full of shit.

No, I will not be your cheerleader.

The Have-a-Happy-Day Selfie

Here’s a shot of little middle-aged me and my boobs taken exclusively to wish you a HAPPY day. You know… in case you forgot what I look like.

Let’s cut straight through the bullshit – this person is soliciting for compliments and likes. They don’t give a rats ass what kind of day you have. They’re nothing more than attention seeking fb ho’s who need a ginormous bear hug.

I’m embarrassed for these poor girls.

People evasively checking into Facebook from the Emergency Room

Nobody likes a tease. If you’re not going to provide the curious reader with 1.) presenting symptoms 2.) final diagnosis 3.) nature of surgical procedure and/or treatment and most importantly 4.) bonus photos, then please don’t bother.

It’s easier for your friends to pray for you when we know exactly what we’re dealing with.

This post will likely… be continued.

For more wonderfully snarky Facebook themed content click here and here.

Dummies Guide to Determining if a Parent Meeting Should be Held

Because I’ve had it up to here!

1. Can the information be emailed, snail-mailed, sent home as memo, left as phone message, posted on Facebook or shouted across the parking lot? If the answer is YES -> no mutherfuckin meeting.

2. Will there be food and beverages? If the answer is NO -> no mutherfuckin meeting.

4. Will shirtless Channing Tatum be the MC? If the answer is NO -> no mutherfuckin meeting.

5. Will there be compensation for gas and time wasted that will never be returned? I didn’t think so -> no mutherfuckin meeting.

6. Will there be cute little monkey’s offering free pedicures? If the answer is NO -> no mutherfuckin meeting.

This exhausted mom of four doesn’t give a rats ass what brand of candy we peddle. Just take my left kidney already – and be done with it.

Anyone calling a meeting to robotically recite a memo of reminders will be ejected immediately through my imaginary  trapdoor into the fiery pits of Hell.

Time is precious – do not waste it.

I’m Offended by the Wussification of Society

This meme ignited a spark that lead me to ponder the absurdity of the recent over-the-top sensitivity movement that’s taken society by storm.


The world is made up of something like 7 billionish people of varying races, cultures and religions.

That said, can we really expect the majority of the population to share the same views and opinions?

Hell no.

So why this ongoing media movement preaching universal sensitivity and unconditional acceptance for anything and everything? Don’t get me wrong, I’m an open-minded and easy going intelligent woman who gets along well with most of the population. I work closely with the public and respect each individual exactly as they are. In fact, I have many friends who hold completely opposite views as myself.

My point is – we don’t have to support every cause perpetuated by the media. Whether it’s adhering to the newly orchestrated rule enforcing the use of preferred pronouns when referring to a certain subgroup of individuals with non-matching sex organs or supporting the notion that all traces of the confederate flag be abolished from history.

It’s okay to agree to disagree. I’m not inferring that hateful views are acceptable, I am stating that remaining neutral or godforbid oppositional on certain topics is OKAY. Having an opinion does not necessarily make one an insensitive bigot.

It seems that’s there’s an overwhelming amount of media pressure bullying the public into supporting every new cause or face being publicly ostracized for insensitivity.

I’m not biting.

And, I don’t care if that makes me unpopular.

Case in point, I personally love and support my many friends and family who lead a homosexual lifestyle, but no, I did not feel obliged to change my Facebook profile picture to the latest Skittles ad. I prefer the patriotic red, white and blue this time of year. Thankyouverymuch.

The over-sensitive will undoubetedly get their whitey tighties in a knot over my fabulously funny Skittles remark that was simply intended as a light giggle and in no way a dig to the gay community.

Furthermore, drawing attention to every single incident involving a victim and assailant of different races does nothing more than add fuel to an inferno societies been attempting to extinguish for the better part of two centuries. It’s irresponsible for the media to continue to bait the next generation into launching an entirely new revolution. For progress to be made, we must move forward.

This newfound wussy movement has gotten way out of hand. Stand your ground people, and for God’s sake… grow some.

Today, I had to remind myself… again

Today, I had to remind myself… again

That every person is as different as an individual flake of snow.

That no two social situations or family dynamics are the same.

That mankind is as unique as the tiny seeds spilled from a glossy envelope in spring. We all sprout in our own time – some of us thriving with little or no effort, while others hold on merely by a thread – under the most carefully controlled settings of an incubator.

That everyone’s brain chemistry and neurological wiring are as divergent as the blades of grass sweeping across the rolling plains.

That there’s no pass or fail in parenting and we’re all dealt a distinctly unique hand.

That an intelligent successful or talented child is not necessarily the reflection of a super parent.

That ALL accomplishments are relative to the individual.

That doing your best and giving your ALL can yield significantly different results in different people.

That doing your best is always good enough.

That the world is a ginormous fruit basket, and you can’t compare apples and oranges

That the outcome of any given situation is not always the most accurate reflection of dedication, diligence, effort and perseverance.

That shit happens.

That sometimes you win and sometimes you lose.

That people will always make blanket assumptions and judgements about situations they know nothing about.

That some days this will sneak up on you and leave you feeling defeated.

That whether we choose to acknowledge it or not, validation and positive reinforcement from others are as crucial as the air we breathe.

That the world is a giant kaleidoscope composed of distinctly unique fragments all complimenting one another as a beautiful abstract whole.

How Can He be Graduating…. He was Born Yesterday??

Stop the clock… I’m not ready!

Make no mistake, I’ve been there and done that twice, but I’m still not remotely prepared for my youngest son to graduate high school in a few weeks. In fact, I’ve been in emotional denial his entire senior year.

Letting go is something I apparently suck at.

Rewind to yesterday.

This newborn baby boy was nuzzled into moms bosom for the better part of his first month, simply because he would not be put down. Seriously, he was like a new adorable appendage. The only sleep Mama Bear got was in the recliner holding him.

He stuck like velcro the entire first year and was affectionately nicknamed velcro baby.

Then I awakened one morning and POOF… my clingy baby had morphed into a toddler on a full-blown quest for autonomy – walking, talking and getting into mischief.

Shortly thereafter, at the tender age of four, my adventure seeking tike began nursery school, and never looked back. He was so proud to be in school. The cherry of this sweet milestone was the procession of miniature graduates parading across stage wearing white cardboard hats adorned with floppy powder blue yarn tassels. Mommy bliss.

Then I woke the following morning, and POOF… my preschooler was now in elementary school and had learned to ride a two-wheeler, bat a ball, tie his shoes and open his own milk carton. There was great anticipation for special school events like picture day, the spring concert, Cub Scouts and field trips.

These were happy and exciting times.

When the sun rose on what seemed like the very next day, POOF… This now pubescent boy was spreading his wings. He went to junior high dances, parties and hung out at the skating rink. He began ditching his bike helmet in the shrubs, because being cool trumped being safe. My man apprentice also started wearing name brand clothing and smelling of Axe body spray.

Good bye to hugs, kisses and holding hands in public.

Time passed and what seemed something like a week later, POOF… somehow this rapidly growing boy was now in high school – earning his varsity letter in sports, getting a drivers license, taking the SAT’s, applying to college, going to the prom and landing his first part-time job.

The little boy now towered over me and I could fit my shoes inside his. I was constantly mistaking his voice for my husbands.

He became a bottomless pit who could consume an entire box of cereal or pizza in a single sitting.

Then one morning before he drove himself to school he said,

“Mom, my senior picture is due for the yearbook on Monday.”

Me – nooooooooo!!!! You were just in kindergarten LAST Monday – how can this be happening?

When I awakened a few months later, he was officially a senior. The final hurrah. Senior recognition night, the final homecoming, class trip and the last dance… the senior ball. Graduation announcements and party invitations started rolling in.

“Mom, tomorrow is the last day to get measured for cap and gown. I need to pay my deposit.”

Me – noooooooo!!! You were just in first grade last Tuesday – how can this be happening?

A couple weeks later the senior yearbook materialized on the kitchen table… The Class of 2015.

It’s time.

When his name is called, he will stroll across the stage – hand extended to proudly accept his diploma, and a sweet era will drift into a cloud of the coveted past tense.

Childhood will be no more.

I know my son is ready to embark on this exciting new journey. He is ambitious, bright and virtuous.

He will do great and I am proud.

I bubble with happiness and sadness simultaneously.

It’s time.

Time to let go.

He was just born last Thursday – a healthy 7 pounds 9 ounces, which feels nothing like 18 years gone by – how can this be happening?

Time really does fly.


Gina Fenton is an obstetrical RN, blogger, wife, mom of four and self-appointed advocate for special needs and mental health. She writes the over-the-top humor blog Extreme Mom for sanity preservation and her own entertainment. Gina lives in Upstate N.Y. with her family, two dogs and ThatGoddamnedCat. Her adventurous everyday tales can be found on Her writing has been featured on popular sites like Mamapedia, Bonbon Break, BlogHer, Project Underblog and Mamalode.