Here's what you can do with your cookies, Governor.

Yesterday, Governor Pat McCroy took a plate of cookies to a group of women protesting outside of the governor's mansion.

They chanted back at him, "Pat, Pat, Pat was rude. Would you give cookies to a dude?"

His spokesperson responded with this comment:

"Sometimes a plate of cookies is just a plate of cookies."

Wait. His spokeswoman released that statement. 

She's wrong. If I take a plate of cookies to a neighbor, it means something. Maybe they've had a bad week, and it's a plate of cookies that says, 

"I'm sorry it's been rough. This is me caring through cookies."

I might take a plate of cookies to our friend's monthly neighborhood happy hour. That would be a plate of cookies that says,

"Thank you for including us. This is me building community through cookies."

Maybe I send a plate of cookies into school when it's my child's birthday. Those cookies say,

"Let's celebrate together. It's a special day, and I'm sharing my joy with you through cookies." 

His spokeswoman knew better. She knows that a plate of cookies always means something. Nothing goes without meaning. Especially in Southern Politics. 

Here are some things that plate of cookies could have said,

"Sorry I broke a significant campaign promise and signed that bill."

"Sorry I signed a bill that we tried to pull off as being about women's health but really will be closing abortion clinics all across the state. Oh, and sorry we called it a motorcycle safety bill. We thought it was funny at the time, but I see now that it was degrading and hurtful."

"Sorry I took time to step out and play catch while you were asking for my time and attention earlier this summer. I should have known you had things to tell me that weighed heavy on your hearts and minds, and that it was my duty to listen."

"Sorry I've done nothing but mock you with my condescending ways and then called you the ones misinterpreting it because I was just being nice and you are too sensitive. I should own my actions and be more honest."

"Sorry I keep doing things that are ruining our state. I just can't seem to help myself. It's so easy to make all this political stuff about me and my buddies. Here, have some cookies to help you feel better."

They didn't say any of that, of course. What they did say was this,

"Aren't you pathetic, still outside my mansion, protesting the motorcycle safety bill. It's signed. It's done. Have a cookie and go home."

"Have a cookie. If you were at home, you could have made them yourself."

"It's not about your opinion on my policies. It's about COOKIES."

"I didn't have time for you when the Legislature was still in session, but look how kind I am now. I bring you COOKIES."

"Here are some cookies. Just because I'm a swell guy. Now go ahead and point out what they really are, and I'll release a statement dismissing you again, calling you overly sensitive. Making it seem like you really just don't understand how things in the big boys' world work."

I'm discouraged. I'm disillusioned. The state I came to 15 years ago is turning into the state I left behind. I can't count the number of times I've been told, "You are just too sensitive. This is just the way things are." 

I'm not too sensitive. I see things for what they really are. And that plate of cookies, Governor McCroy? Well, it would have been far better received if it had come with a main course of stop-screwing-our-state-over.

This is it. This is the time where we decide if we are going to let North Carolina continue on it's downward spiral, or if we are going to stand up and call out the cookies. I'm calling them out.

You will not trivialize this, Governor McCroy. You will not attempt to position protesters in such a way that you can shrug and say, 

"I took them cookies. I'm a nice guy. What more could they possibly want?"

You know what we want. We want our state back. Cookies aren't fixing anything. 

The female commodity

Throughout history, a woman's body has been a commodity. Men have used women to buy, barter, and force their way into power.

It's not a new thing.

The Old Testament is full of women being traded for land or livestock. Fathers bartered with their daughters and sought out valuable deals to obtain wives for their sons.

Monarchies used marriages to create allies and gain strength in their kingdoms. Marriages needed to create sons because the son could take the throne, whereas the daughter was possession for trade. A negotiating tool.

Even in Jamestown, the first English settlement in America, a group of women from England were auctioned off as brides to the men who had settled there. For 150 pounds of tobacco, they bought themselves a new wife.

We didn't belong to ourselves for a very long time, ladies.

Now, the Republican party wants to use women's bodies to barter again. They are selling us out to try and gain votes. They are trading away ownership of something they don't own unless we give it to them.

Do you hear that part? We have to give it to them. Republican women, especially. I won't tell you how I think you should vote. That is up to you. What I will tell you is that if you are a woman, and you still want to be a Republican, then you have to start demanding more from them. You have to maintain ownership of yourself and insist that they quit using you as a commodity.

The economy is a driving force in this election. The economy should be about dollars and cents though, not about rights to the female body.

Y'all, it's not an abortion debate. It's not a contraception debate. It's about the fact that Republican men are using women's bodies to buy votes. It's insulting, it's wrong, and we have to make sure that it does not work. We cannot let them continue to pimp us out for their right wing smoke screen.

Terms like "forcible" and "legitimate" in front of the word rape have got to stop. Blaming women for being victims has got to stop. Impeding access to contraception has got to stop. And while we are at it, abstinence only sex education has got to stop. AND let's go ahead and start reforming the birth industry in this country, because I'm pretty tired of that woman as last priority business model too.

The choices a woman has to make regarding her body are so much more than abortion. We have to be free to choose what kind of birth control we will use. We have to be free to choose if, when, and how we will have children. We have to be free to choose the kind of prenatal, labor, and delivery care we will use, birthing those children. We have to be free to feed our children whenever, wherever, and however we see fit.

Perhaps above all else, we need to be free to be women. Free to be women who are not sexually abused and then attacked over and over again for it for the rest of our lives. It's time we were safe, strong, and respected in our own country.

We can do better than this, y'all. We can do much better.

Pampers Dry Max and other evils on the shelf

Bird is at school and Squeak is sleeping in his bouncy seat. He slept on my chest for 90 minutes, but then want to move, so he's vibrating and snoozing, and I have two free hands. Two free hands which should be cleaning something, writing thank you notes, doing laundry, or organizing the boys' clothes for storage - but I'm actually trying to put writing back into my list of priorities, so here I sit.

I have a copy of Healthy Child, Healthy World that I have been putting off reading because I'm scared of all the things I could be doing better for my children. That's so lame. After this week of recalls and dangerous products, I'm thinking it's time to dive into it.

Squeak had almost finished his trial size bottle of Infant's Tylenol that has been recalled. It could have tiny particles - of what, they didn't say - in it or it could contain too much of the active ingredient. Either way, it's not good for him.

Bird had on a Pamper with their new "Dry Max technology" the other day. When I went to change it, he started grabbing the inside of his thigh and telling me that it hurt. I lay him on the changing table, and he began to scream before I could even get his shorts off of him. The blisters on his legs and bottom were unbelievable. I immediately began trying to calculate when the last time I changed him was and starting cursing myself for letting him have a wet and dirty diaper - even though I hadn't done anything different that day than from any other day. I changed him right when I noticed, and it wasn't that long from the last change.

I was mortified and cried right along with him. I stopped trying to clean him up at the changing table and put him straight into the tub. I wanted to make sure he was 100% clean, and rubbing the blisters wasn't an option.

After I put him to bed that night, I noticed a buzz online about Pampers and their new Dry Max diapers. A friend from my LLL group had posted a news story, and after watching it, I started searching for more information. What I found was unbelievable.

Thousands of reports of chemical burns and unusually bad blistering and rashes have been reported with these diapers. I couldn't believe it. The pictures I saw of those poor babies look just like Bird. The bigger than a quarter raised blisters - they were on all of these babies.

No more Pampers for us. I don't care how much that box cost me. I'm not using another Pamper ever again.

So begins my foray into cloth diapering. I tried it with the gCloth inserts for our gDiapers and hated them. They were terrible. But I've got some friends who are willing to give me lessons in all of the other ways to cloth diaper, so we are getting ready to make the switch. And for the times we need a disposable one, I'll be using a Huggies natural or a Seventh Generation diaper.

I feel so strongly right now, that as a mama and a consumer, I have got to start making better choices for my family. Choices based on their well being instead of cost and convenience. I did that for Squeak's birth, and now I need to continue that throughout their lives. I owe it to them to keep them safe and healthy.

It's frustrating to not be able to trust as a consumer.

Another battle in the war

I hate cancer.

That's a really stupid thing to say. It implies that maybe someone out there doesn't hate it.

Momma's numbers are down and her scans show improvement. Not enough to get a break from chemo, but improvement nonetheless.

My friend Susan, however, did not have clean scans and is facing another battle.

The thing that makes me so angry is not the cancer itself. It's the freaking inconvenience. Susan has things to do. Great things because she is a freaking genius. Great things because she is an awesome mom. Great things that the world will have to wait on because of cancer.

We're brushing off our Team Whymommy badges. We're remembering when the wall of support started. We're lifting prayers and positive energy.

Keep fighting, SuSu. It's worth it. You make the world a better place.

Dear Asshole Who Just Stole My Purse

Dear Asshole Who Just Stole My Purse,

Really? You take purses from the parking lot of a nice city park where families take their children to play? Did you happen to notice that I'm 39 weeks pregnant and toting around a 2 year old? Did it occur to you that carrying a purse too was just too much for me today?

I guess you did, since you stole it right out of my car.

All the cards and checks are canceled. The phone too. I don't carry cash. There is nothing for you there except my address. Which, if you had any decency about you, you would just drop off my favorite bag intact some time tonight. At which point I will forgive you and we'll call things even.

You took the pictures of my son that were on my phone. You took my day planner and all the information on my son's upcoming surgery. You took our evening. You've certainly tested my ability to hold it together.

I hope that you found my blogging business cards and come by for a peek. There was nothing for you to gain by taking my purse. If you happen to be the little shits who were throwing mulch all over the place where toddlers were trying to play, then yay for you. Maybe you feel some vindication because we asked you to stop.

More than likely, you're just some asshole who ruined our afternoon and took my most favorite Holly Aiken bag. Congratulations. I wish I had the pleasure of being around when karma comes back to you and gives it to you good.

Sincerely,
The sucker who forgot to lock her car today

I'm THAT mom too

Tonight we toured another hospital and met a group of midwives. They were lovely, and the hospital was alright. I don't think it's what I want to do, but it's still a very viable option.

During the tour, we proceeded to be the family that made all of the first time parents in attendance think, "OH DEAR LORD. What have we done?"

Little Bird was a holy terror. All he wanted to do was get down and run like a mad man. When we put him down, he ran in circles and squealed at the top of his lungs, making it very difficult for the midwife to be heard. If we picked him up, he thrashed about and screamed, "nononononononono" until we put him back down again to run in circles and squeal.

I thought Kevin was going to implode. I thought I was going to collapse.

People stared, and I know they were thinking, at least the ones who were still carrying their first child safely around in their bellies - they were thinking, "I will never let my child act like that."

What they fail to understand is that we weren't letting Bird act like that. Bird was choosing to act like that because he is his own little person. We were trying everything we knew to do to distract, redirect, occupy, or remove him. Only, when we were in the hospital part of the tour, we couldn't remove him because you can't hang out in the hallways. We didn't have a lot of options, and I could only whip out a boob when I had somewhere to sit.

It was his choice to act like a little hellion, and tonight, we failed to find the magic button to make him stop.

We were THAT family. He was THAT child. I was THAT mom.

There is a lot of talk about being THAT mom going on. I hope that you'll click over to Triangle Mamas and read about Susie's recent experiences as THAT mom. It's an awesome lesson in looking at someone through eyes of compassion instead of judgment.

It's also an awesome reason never to step foot in a Whole Foods again. Buy local. Buy fresh. Buy organic. But do it straight from the farmer and the dairies. It's better for everybody, and you won't risk getting treated like dirt from the emo artist lead singer check out people at Whole Foods.

Not permitted

We have permits now for the work about to be done on our house. It took two trips to the office; one to get the paperwork and another to return it. The first trip that Little Bird and I took to the office took a long time because the permits lady was being incredibly helpful. And I don't say that sarcastically. She really was helpful.

The whole time she was meticulously gathering every scrap of paperwork I needed to obtain a permit from the city to even pee in my own yard, I was chasing Bird around the empty waiting room. He was intently interested in the goldfish and the telephone. He refused to be held, and I didn't have the stroller. He also enjoyed the water bottle they had on the floor by the front window - I guess to water their plants.

I kept retrieving him and trying to give him something else to be interested in, but he just kept going back to that damn phone. After every apology I issued to the lady helping me, she would say, "That's alright. He's not hurting anything." Still, I kept him under a tight thumb, because it was a place of business.

Today, I returned with moola and all the paperwork filled in. I also had my Babyhawk in tow. Before we went in the office, I strapped Bird onto my back and handed him his most favorite toy as of Sunday, the wand for the bubbles. He was so much easier to contain while strapped onto my back in his baby straightjacket.

It took forever because of the new lady at the office and because they stop to do whatever else in the middle of what they were already doing. Which is inefficient and annoying. It bugs me when I'm standing right there and yet three phone calls that came in after me get their attention away from what they were doing for me. That's what the hold button is for, people.

After everything was finally completed and we were about to leave, the woman who helped us on the first visit begins to tell me how much cuter my child was today. I honestly thought maybe his hair was brushed or she liked his shirt better or something. I wasn't sure, but then she said,

"Yes Sir, you are much cuter today than you were when you were tearing up my waiting room. I'm glad I don't have to spend all that time cleaning up after you today."

Um, WHAT? Did you seriously just say that to me and my baby? First of all, he didn't tear anything up in the waiting room. I wouldn't allow that. Second of all, I moved the telephone and the water bottle so that he couldn't reach them anymore, and I put them back just like I found them before we left. I even took a once around the room before leaving to make sure that everything was in it's place.

I replied to her, "I'm sure that I put everything back before we left, but I'm sorry that he bothered you."

Then she just said how much cuter he was again.

I guess I really am too sensitive, but she pissed me off. He's a baby for crying out loud. Babies get into things. He's curious and loves to explore. He was just being a baby. And I was just being a mama - balancing letting him be a baby with making sure that we were respectful to their workplace.

There is only one thing I know for sure, and it is that THAT woman? Doesn't have children. And I just deleted the nasty reason why I could have written. I'll keep that to myself.

Reason enough for a new camera

Yesterday was not the day Christopher turned five months old. Today is. I just don't ever know what day it is anymore.

Today's post was going to be some sweet pictures of me and Christopher on the tree swing in our backyard. Kevin* had taken them this afternoon. We take pictures on every month birthday.

Here's what you get instead. Because the damn camera didn't have a memory card in it. You would think a camera as nice as the one Kevin has would tell you when it didn't have a memory card in it. But it doesn't.

Of course I am extremely upset by this, and Kevin thinks this is funny. My main function in life, after all, is to provide amusement for him.

He said we could just take some more tomorrow.

Tomorrow. Is not Christopher's five month birthday.

Mr. Smarty Pants then proceeded to point out that neither was yesterday, but I said it was on my blog. So why couldn't I just be confused again tomorrow, take some more pictures, and everything would be fine.

He's lucky he's cute.

*Meet Kevin. He's my husband. Since I've dropped the pseudonyms at Deep South Moms, I figured I might as well drop them here too. Oh, and me? I'm Marty. Nice to meet you.

Stupid rotten weekend end

Mastitis is mean.

Now that Bird and I are finally nursing like a team, we've switched our nighttime feedings to the side lying position. I was getting more sleep at night, he was enjoying sleeping right up next to me, and all seemed to be good.

Unfortunately, the side lying position leaves me with clogged ducts by the morning. Twice now, these clogged ducts have developed into mastitis before I can get them unclogged.

It hurts. I get a fever. It feels like the flu, and it feels like someone kicked me in the boob really hard. I don't like it.

That was the first half of the weekend. The second half of the weekend consisted of Guy getting a ticket in my Jeep because I totally forgot to renew the registration. It was due in January. I was a little preoccupied and never got around to it. It couldn't be me that got the ticket though, it had to be him. Fair.

Topping it all off? I got one of my high school students to come take care of the dogs while we were away a few nights. I was paying him to come over four times a day. He was to let them out, feed them, play with them, and clean up any messes that poor old Pupstar might have made. She's older and has a bladder issue. It's mostly controlled with medication, but she still has the occasional accident.

I don't know what he did, but it wasn't what we agreed on. We came home to a total disaster. The dining room floors are ruined because dog pee soaked into them. There were days of dog mess all over the floors. We could tell by how much food was left that he hadn't been feeding them. How we knew he had been there at all was because the door to the music studio was open when we had left it closed, thereby allowing the dogs to pee and poop in that room as well.

When I called him, he said that he had been here that morning and there was no mess.

I don't know what to do about that. He isn't being honest. I've taught him for almost 10 years, and I love him dearly, and now he isn't being honest with me. There were days of mess in the house. Days.

It's so very disappointing.

And Guy's floor? Ruined.

I will have to talk to the boy more about this. I haven't paid him yet, and I'm waiting for him to tell me how many times he came over until I do. I think I'm going to pay him based on his word even though I'm pretty sure he is going to lie to me again.

I expected so much more from him. I've always gotten so much more from him. It could just be a stupid teenager mistake.

But Guy's floors. And my poor dogs who missed I don't know how many meals, missed their medication, and were relegated to pee and poop where they knew they shouldn't. They tried. It was all up next to the back wall of the house - as close to the backyard as they could get without being able to be there.

So disappointing.

In a way, I'm really glad this weekend is over. Another post is due about the wonderful parts of the weekend. There were many wonderful parts. But tonight is just for the whining.

Who exhumed Kathie Lee and put her back on TV?

Heather doesn't need another person defending her. I'm sure she can stand her own ground just fine. Plus, there are plenty of us out there who love her, and I'm sure she is used to the occasional rude person.

So I won't defend her. She does it quite well with this beautiful post.

However.

Kathie Lee Gifford is a complete git.

Her "interview" of Heather on the Today show this morning was the worst excuse of journalism I've ever seen. Even for a morning news show.

Starting out by bragging about how little she know about computers and how she doesn't even know what a blog is? That is just plain rude when you are interviewing a blogger. She should have done her homework and found out what a blog is. She should have pretended to have some knowledge on the subject.

Instead? She stumbled around a few questions, barely let Heather answer them, and then interjected her unfounded reservations about how Heather blogs about her daughter and posts her pictures.

It might have had some semblance of relevance if Kathie Lee had done that homework and read Heather's response to that accusation. She wouldn't have tried that line of attack, for sure.

It also might have had some semblance of relevance if Kathie Lee hadn't spent years on television sitting next to Regis boring the world with stories about her children.

Instead? She hadn't read it, and when Heather tried to respond on air by pointing out that Kathie Lee takes her children out into public where strangers see them everyday, Kathie Lee interrupted her to gloat about how she did not, in fact, live in New York City.

Then she tried to segue that into outdoor furniture.

She was a trainwreck.

And she looks like something that CSI had to put back together before placing her in front of the TV cameras again.

So even though this isn't something that she will ever see, I'm posting my support for her right here. Thanks, Heather, for sharing your family and your thoughts on motherhood with us.

And the pictures of Chuck. Because I love those.

Thinking twice about Johnson & Johnson

Late to the game again. I stay about a day or two behind in blogland these days. But if you haven't heard, Johnson & Johnson is holding a little getaway called "Camp Baby" for the influential mommybloggers. People you read probably got invited and will have a lovely time at some sessions on how to braid hair and parallel park their minivans. Whatever.

Aside from the carcinogens that Johnson & Johnson likes to use in their products, I now have another reason to hate them.

Julie, over at Mothergoosemouse, was dis-invited from this little soire once they found out she was planning to bring her baby. To Camp Baby. Go figure.

Oliver was born just a few days before Christopher and is breastfed.

So no Camp Baby for Julie.

I do not understand though, all of the remaining willing participants. Sitting around and writing about how uncool it is that they dis-invited a nursing mom from Camp Baby is one thing. Everyone still showing up and having a lovely time at hair braiding and minivan parking? That shows them nothing. That shows them that they can totally get away with this.

We are so quick to boycott Myspace and Facebook when they censor pictures of breastfeeding mothers. What about now?

Julie is very polite and states that she understands that J&J is hosting and setting the rules, so she will play by them. Well, the same thing can be said of Facebook. It's their website, so play by their rules and don't post breastfeeding pictures.

I really hope that at least a few of Julie's friends and moms who care about breastfeeding reconsider Camp Baby. And while you're at it, be sure to read some of the ingredients of the J&J stuff you might be slathering all over your baby. J&J and their products are all full of crap.

Because I can't believe it myself

At the pediatrician's office today:

Doctor: I don't see any signs of thrush.

Me: Are you sure? Because my breasts hurt so badly. Like I would rather be in labor again than have my breasts hurt this badly.

Doctor: And you're sure you want to continue breastfeeding?

Me: (after initial stun of question wore off) Absolutely I do, and I will.

Doctor: Well, they're your boobs, not mine.


OH MY DEAR GOD. He actually said those exact words to me. Perhaps I am still hormonally sensitive???

Or PERHAPS NOT?

Please. Weigh in. Would you be taken aback if your older than dirt pediatrician actually taunted you about your persistence in breastfeeding? And used the word BOOB? I mean, I use it all the time, but the letters M.D. don't follow my name either.

Let's discuss, shall we?

And you don't have to tell me to get a new pediatrician. It's already in the works.

Certainly not an ad for SanDisk memory cards being that they are complete pieces of crap apparently

Guy and I had some pictures done in mid December. Couple shots and maternity shots. We didn't have a wedding, so there are no wedding pictures. We wanted some good pictures, so we hired this guy to take some.

It was a gamble. His work is really quite good, but he had never done maternity shots before. We didn't want the heart around the belly button shot anyway, so we opted to go with him for his portraiture.

When he asked if we needed the pictures before the holidays, we said "no." What I didn't figure into that was him waiting until now to actually take said pictures off the memory card and try to load them.

Email tonight said this:

"I'm afraid I've got some bad news about the photos..."

They are ruined. Something about the memory card and noise and whatnot. There are no pictures. He wants to come and reshoot them this weekend.

Here's where the not hiring a maternity photographer is coming back to bite me in my ever expanding ass. There is a HUGE difference between a 34 week pregnant woman and a 38 week pregnant woman. I am enormous. Shirts don't cover my belly. My face is starting to swell. I don't glow anymore, I just flat out sweat. I'm no longer in the mood to cuddle up to Guy and smile for a camera.

And by the time I am in that mood again? I won't be pregnant anymore, and I will have missed my chance at having maternity shots of this pregnancy with Little Bird.

My friends have told me tonight to let him come back. Get the pictures. That I will regret it if I don't. I know they are right. But something just doesn't feel authentic about it.

It was such a good day. We had just brought Gibson home. The house was all decorated for Christmas. Guy and I had snuggled in that morning and skipped church to get ready for the photographer. The light was right. The mood was light.

I just don't know that it can be recreated. I certainly don't trust him anymore.

He should have checked those pictures that day. Even if he didn't clean them up and get them to me until now, that would have been fine. But he should have checked them that very day. Stuff happens. Things break. Equipment malfunctions. Fine. But to have waited this long to find out? For all he knows, I've already had this baby. I should email him and tell him I have and see what he says.

I've at least decided not to email him back tonight. I tried, but I couldn't keep myself from typing things that I shouldn't say. Especially if I decide to have him come back. Having him come back after calling him all sorts of adjectives that might come before moron probably isn't a great idea.

Aren't I lucky to do what I love?

Girl posted this video a few weeks ago. It riled me up, because it is so true. Today, I'm finally adding my two cents.

I used to think that it was musicians who were just taken advantage of as a profession. I know better now. There are so many people out there who want to get it for free. While I've discovered that it isn't an issue unique to musicians, I do think though, that it is a more prominent issue in arts based professions.

I'm here to tell you though, that just because my profession had to start of with some raw talent, doesn't mean that I didn't work my ass off to become good enough to earn my keep this way.

Music is one of those majors that you can't just walk into your freshman year of college. There has had to be years of training prior to making that decision. Training that you didn't get in school. Private training that cost your parents extra money, and that you had to make a conscious effort to continue every year. Training that requires expensive equipment and countless dollars towards books and upkeep of the instrument.

It's not like majoring in English, math, chemistry, or any other of those core classes that everyone takes. Anyone can choose to major in one of those if they have the credentials to get into the college in the first place. Not everyone can follow through, but they can try.

To major in music, you have to not only be able to academically get into the college, but you must also audition to gain permission to major in music. It's a whole different ballgame. And if it sounds like I'm a little snotty about it, I am. I am tired of people assuming that I'm less intellegent because I'm in an arts profession. Want to compare SAT scores? LSAT scores? IQ's? Bring it on. I'm a musician because I chose to be a musician. Not because I wasn't smart enough to do something else.

My training began when I was five and continues to this day.

Why then, am I expected to do what I do for free? Why am I expected to work under any circumstances, play any old crappy instrument that is provided, work without a contract, and be okay when people cancel a gig at the last minute?

Because I'm just a musician.

I'm calling bullshit on that today. I'm so tired of people thinking that because I get to do what I love, that I should just give it away. Literally and figuratively. That's one of the reasons I shy away from getting too involved at church. The day Guy and I joined the church, I was introduced to the music director and given the list of times that the choir met and all the other ways I could "give my gifts" to the church.

Yeah. Well, I might bake you cookies. I will donate to your Joy Gift fund. I will volunteer to do many things, but I will not be your free musician. You pay your preacher, your administrators, your janitor. Pay your freaking musicians. Pay them well. Because they have been studying their craft a lot longer than anyone else on your staff.

Here's the thing. I was supposed to have a gig at a historic home that has been converted into a place for parties. The holiday season is my busiest time of year, and this year, I have had to choose my gigs wisely. I can only sit at the piano for about an hour or my hips really start to hurt. It's also extremely tiring to be "on" for 3 hours at a time. So, I said yes to some one hour gigs, put them on my calendar, began brushing up on my Christmas music, and bought a non-returnable maternity outfit appropriate for gigging.

Less than 24 hours before the first gig, the girl from the house calls and cancels. Says very casually that they won't be needing me after all.

So let me ask this of you, oh unorganized event planner, what would happen if you did that to your caterer? What would happen if you did that to the florist? What would happen if the guests did that to you? There would be money exchanging hands anyway. People would still get paid instead of just brushed off.

Do you not understand that what you have done is completely unacceptable? That you can't just hire someone for an event and then decide the night before that you have changed your mind?

No. You don't. Because I didn't make you work with a contract. And that is my fault. I know better, and I still didn't send one. You were so nice on the phone, and I trusted you. I trusted that you were going to do what you said you would do, that I would show up to the scheduled gig, play, get paid, and go home.

Stupid, stupid me. But I always trust people. Guy has been gently pointing out to me different times when I have just trusted what someone has said, been let down, and then been angry about it. When I never should have trusted them in the first place.

I'm bitter today. Tired of being taken for granted professionally.

So from now on, don't even ask me to give it away. Unless you are my friend. In which case, I give you music because I love you and want you to have it.

Everyone else can just bite me.