Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Monday, December 29, 2008
And now on to HBSB (which is now the cool, "hip" way to refer to He Blogs, She Blogs--everyone is doing it (if everyone includes me and Jim). Today we have queries from the rockin' daddy, Goodfather, the always fabulous Bee from Bee's Musings, the oh-so-Creative Kerfuffle, and the yo-diggity-Mama Dawg. And now, on with the show...
Goodfather wrote: Dammit, I thought Jim was MY BFF. Sigh. Unrequited BFF-dom.
OK, here's a topic: toilet seat UP or toilet seat DOWN. The spin? How the kids are involved. Go.
I think this problem between men and women has existed since the very first toilet seat was created many years ago by some dude who thought it would be funny to hear a splash and an explitive every time his wife went to the john after him. I must admit that I have had my husband potty trained for years now after many instances of my ass splashing in that cold, disgusting water, usually in the middle of the night when I wasn't paying attention, and I'll tell ya, nothing wakes you up like a startlingly cold, wet poop chute. HOWEVER, we had a new problem when the second dude of the house started using the indoor plumbing, and all of a sudden, I had to start dealing with this issue all over again, not to mention the whole issue of his aim not being what it should be. It seems, no matter what I did, I ended up with a wet bum, because he either forgot to put the seat down and I got an impromptu ass-bath or he would just leave the toilet seat DOWN and kinda lazily aim his little pee-pee in the general direction of the toilet, thus spraying the seat and leaving a nice wet surprise for Mom the next time she sat herself down on the throne. After many heated discussions about how there are girls living in this house that sit down EVERY TIME and that he needs to try to get ALL the pee into the toilet, then put the seat down, I think he finally has it. Almost FIVE. YEARS. LATER.
That's a lot of wet ass...
One of my very favorite bloggers, Bee, from Bee's Musings said: I love your answers!
I have a question for you for sometime.
Why do men (and I mean mine just in case I offend any men) always pretend to listen? I'd be okay if he said "I can't pay attention right now because I'm killing Orcs" then I'd know to tell him later. I tel him and I ask "did you hear me?" and he says yes so I move on. Then we hit deep shit when I find out he didn't actually listen.
Ha ha! Now I'm ticked! :o)
You are so not alone, Bee. I can't tell you how many times I have gotten the nod and the "uh-huh" when I am talking, only to ask him what I just said and he has no idea. My favorite is when he tries to remember a snippet of what I said and makes up something involving one or two words. Nice try, pal. I don't know about other husbands, but I know personally, with mine, I have to make sure that if I want him to retain and/or respond appropriately to anything I have said that I must do one or more of the following:
1. Wait for a commercial break and mute the television
2. Make sure I have complete eye contact and ask "Are you listening?"
3. Preface my statement/question with "This is important, I need you to listen to me right now."
4. After I have spoken, ask for him to repeat what I have said and if he cannot, repeat any or all of the above steps until desired result is achieved.
Otherwise, it's fair game and I know that he may or may not remember what I have said. But, this comes in handy when I want his approval on something that I think he may not be supportive of, so that when he questions that purchase I made, I can say "I asked you if it was OK last week and you nodded and said 'uh-huh'"
Creative Kerfuffle wrote: ok, here's a question for you: do guys want romance the way women want romance? what IS romance to a man?
Ah, romance, one of the ultimate dividers of dudes and chicks. I am really not sure if romance even matters at all to most men, but I know that for me, I can't get enough. I want flowers for no reason, I want to be told I am beautiful on a regular basis and I want candles and rose petals on Valentine's Day. Unfortunately, I think that most men use romance as a way to get women to sleep with them and once we are obligated to sleep with them because of those wedding vows, there is no need. But, personally, I need romance now more than ever because mommyhood has a way of making a woman feel about as sexy as a rock. You want to get me hot and bothered and ready to jump your bones hubster? Whisper some sweet nothings in my ear and tell me you can't get enough of me and I will ride you into the sunset. All the frivolity and sappiness may not do much for men, but the end result is the same--getting laid. So if men were really smart (which we know they are not--sorry guys, you're not when it comes to this), they would humor us and use romance more often and see how much more frequently they get their swerve on. Just sayin'...
And last, but certainly not least, Mama Dawg asked: How do you (the collective you) feel about dating single parents? Granted, IPR, I know you're married and since I'm not sure about Petra (haven't checked her out yet), it's just what you think.
Well, Mama, this happens to be something I know a little bit about. I am married to my husband of four years whom I met seven years ago at a birthday party with his adorable 1-year-old son. Yes, he was a single dad himself and I had absolutely no qualms about dating him (even though I was only 22 years old myself and still in college). For me, I fell in love with his son before I fell in love with him, and it was a no-brainer to continue seeing him. In our case, I just knew, right from the beginning, that there was something special about this man and his little boy. I wasn't even scared away by the psycho ex-girlfriend and baby momma who did everything in her power to erase me from the picture. But, here we are, seven years later, with full custody of my stepson and I wouldn't change a thing. If I hadn't taken a chance all those years ago on that single dad, I wouldn't have the gorgeous family I have today. So I think that answers your question...right?
Well, thanks everyone for joining us for the second installment of He Blogs, She Blogs (or HBSB for the "cool kids"). If you haven't already, head over to Jim's place and read his responses and feel free to drop us a topic suggestion in the comments section of either of our blogs and we will be sure to get to it in the future.
And don't forget to head over to Halftime Lessons or Dirty Socks and Pizza and take advantage of your last chance for the MISSION: Monday grand prize giveaway!
Saturday, December 27, 2008
So here I sit, sick as a dog, trying to catch up on all the work I haven't done this past week. I am tired, throat raw and burning, head spinning and achy. But, surprisingly, I am in a really good mood. I haven't quite figured out why, but I have some inklings. It could be that I look to my right and see the beautiful organizational job I did yesterday with all my daughter's new gifts and the thought of watching her play with them makes me smile. It might be because my stepson is at his mother's for another three days and I get to catch my breath and pretend to be a mom of one for just a little while, only to have him come back and hug me tightly and make me realize how much I missed him. Or, quite possibly, it could be because my husband and I have been screwing like bunnies for two weeks and we seem to have rediscovered a passion and appreciation for one another that has renewed our love for one another.
While all of these things are contributing to my good mood, I am pretty sure the main reason for my feeling of well-being is the new year approaching and a chance for a clean slate and new beginnings. 2008 wasn't the easiest of years. But it brought good, along with the bad, and it taught me about disappointment and loss in a way I had never experienced. It made me appreciate the things I have that are such blessings, and showed me that life is too short to be angry or resentful. I know that 2009 is going to teach me how to be happy, and appreciate having everything I have ever dreamed of, and not to take it for granted. After all, you can't fully be grateful for what you have unless you have been without. So, for that, I am thankful. I am thankful that the universe was wise enough to take away my space, my freedom and my security, so that I may fully appreciate it when it returns. After all, happiness is not the greatest blessing, gratefulness for what you have is.
I urge you all to look around and take stock of what you are grateful for. These things may not make you happy every day, and sometimes they may frustrate you to no end. But, at the end of the day, these things are what make our lives full and rich, and weave the complicated tapestry
that is our life. Your children may drive you crazy and make you pull out your hair, but they give you a reason to get up every morning, and every time they kiss you, hug you or tell you they love you, you realize why God put you on this earth. You may sweat and stress over making your monthly mortgage payment every month, but your home is what keeps you warm and holds your family close to one another every day. And you may hate your job or want to punch your boss in the face, but that job you despise allows you to put food and wine on the table so you may eat, drink and be merry with the ones you love.
Don't forget. Appreciate. Breathe in your life, hold it in and allow it to nourish your heart.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Merry Christmas to my incredibly awesome readers. For me, today and tomorrow will be spent trying to keep the children from orbiting into space from hyperactivity and sugar consumption, while simultaneously explaining how Christmas is "not about the hundreds of gifts, but about being with your family." I consider it a successful Christmas if my 8-year-old stepson refrains from tossing aside gifts he doesn't like and asking where the rest of them are. You gotta love the spirit of Christmas.
All joking aside, enjoy your families, enjoy your children and don't drink too much. Enjoy the looks of wonderment and magic on your kids' faces, and the hugs and kisses from all the relatives you haven't seen all year. Most importantly, try to relax, don't think about the mountains of bills awaiting you in 2009 and eat as much as you want. Cause that is what Christmas is all about.
Ho, ho, ho ;)
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
We have hot superhero--CHECK
We have hot alter ego--CHECK
We have hot superhero wife--CHECK
We have adorable children, complete with funny stories and anecdotes--CHECK
And we have an awesome writer who really knows how to satisfy his readers. He's funny, he's interesting and he is not afraid to admit that he is in touch with his feminine side. In a recent post, CK (aka Ron) admitted to some less than machismo attributes that he possesses. First he writes:
"Yes, [sigh]I have man-crushes namely on George Clooney, Daniel Craig, Matt Damon, Hugh Laurie, Robert Sean Leonard, Tom Welling, Scott Foley, Tom Everett Scott and - why am I doing this to myself - Justin Timberlake."
How awesome is it that he not only cops to the man crushes but unashamedly lists them off like it's no big deal to be a dude and have a list of nine men you admire and adore? Total confidence. That's a real man.
Don't get me started on his penchant for decorating or his obsession with Nicholas Sparks' The Notebook. All I am going to say is that I simultaneously want to have a beer with him and go get pedicures with him while chatting about The Lipstick Jungle.
But my absolute favorite posts of CK's are the ones in which he talks about his uber-adorable stepdaughters, Allie and Avery. These two little girls sound like the cutest, smartest, most pretentious kiddos around and he just has a way of describing the things they do and say that makes me snort and guffaw like an idiot. It is obvious he loves these little girls and his willingness to rock out to High School Musical and Hannah Montana proves it. If you haven't read him at all, go here and here and you will know what I mean.
So between the whole superhero thing, and the whole being an awesome, funny, smart, and cool writer/stepdad with an equally awesome, funny, smart, and cool wife, CK brings it on with every blog post and wins my heart over and over again. Here's to you CK! You make my crazy, dildo-loving heart sing.
In tribute to CK and his superhero antics, I will leave you with the coolest Christmas card I got this year, from the one and only Clark Kent and his boys with a cameo from Darth Vader:
Just try to get that out of your head. I dare ya.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Cat wrote: Open marriages. What do we REALLY think about them. Swinging, swapping, whoring - whatever you wanna call it. Are we just animals that wanna get it on as much as possible with whoever we happen to run across? Or are we like lobsters and penguins, unable to find complete satisfaction until we're in a happy, monogamous partnership? How would swinging change that partnership? I must know.
This is a good one, because I have also always wondered about this phenomenon. I don't personally know anyone that does it, but I have seen my fair share of it on television and whatnot. I don't get it. Why get married if you want to sleep around? Personally, the reason I married my husband is because I decided he was the only dude I wanted to get it on with, and that I would prefer him not sleeping with anyone else. That's just me. I can understand the idea of shaking things up a bit and experimenting, cause we all know how much our husband's would appreciate adding a little more estrogen to the party, if you know what I mean (and you all know about my history of dabbling in the hot, sweaty girl-on-girl action, RAWR), but the idea of saying "bye honey, have fun on your date with some other slutty hoe or whomever you happen to pick up at the bar" to my husband as he heads out for the evening somehow cheapens the vows we took at the alter all those years ago. Call me old fashioned...
I say pick one person and call it a day. And if you reach the point where you need to have sex with other people, it might be time for some marriage counseling--or sex toys (more on that later).
Jen said: Interesting! I was working on a post about John's and my parenting styles and how they differ, good cop bad cop issues, but I may need to hold off until I see what comes about with this! My question? Giving in to your kids. How much and why?
I say never give those grubby-handed little mooches anything! Nah, just kidding, but I do think that there is a fine line between giving your kids everything you didn't have and spoiling the shit out of them. Personally, I did have everything (thanks Mom), so I am tempted to try to give my kids everything, but I know that sometimes giving an inch ends up equaling a mile and I try to live by the "everything in moderation" mantra. Yes, I give my kids candy and cookies. No, they cannot eat candy and cookies for breakfast (most of the time, unless mommy is really sick or hungover and can't cook something nutritious--JUST KIDDING). Yes, they get toys and special treats for no reason *occasionally, but not so much that I don't find myself saying "no, we are not buying toys today" ad nauseum when we are out shopping. And, no matter what, neither child is allowed to sleep in our bed because that is something I CANNOT tolerate. Two people is enough for one bed, and my chances of getting lucky (or at least getting spooned) vastly improve when there are no sprawling, kicking munchkins in the marital bed. Structure+realistic expectations+a teeny bit of flexibility=happy kids and parents.
The lovely Mary Ann said: Asking for directions...pro or con?
And I respond with a rousing PRO! I am sorry, but there is nothing that bugs me more than driving in circles when we can stop at a gas station and ask some grease monkey how to get there. However, I must admit that now we have a GPS, this is kind of a moot point.
And last, but certainly not least (especially because she chose my favorite topic of all), Krystal said: Well, of course since you are the goddess of all that is dildos and vibrators - how about talking about that? I would so totally want to know what a guy is thinking about that. LOL!! Especially my honorary big bro!
So we all know how I feel about this. I love dildos. I also love anything that vibrates and enhances, lubricates or tastes yummy. I think that sex toys are a great way to add a little adventure to the bedroom while at the same time making it pretty idiot-proof to make your little sex kitten "purr," if you know what I mean. Let's face it, even the best of the best can't always "hit the spot" or it can take so long that one or both of you say "eh, it's ok, it's just not gonna happen tonight." Add one of my little vibratory (that one's for the Bloggess cause it's her favorite word made up by me) friend and it's straight to the finish line for mommy! And we all know what that means, don't we? Once mommy is happy, daddy can get happy. And then everybody is shiny and happy. How can you go wrong? And since one of my discussions about dildos is never complete without a picture to embarrass my dear friend Joe (Da Old Man), here you go, my vibratory recommendation of the week, the Silver Bullet:
It's versatile, it's portable, it makes me one happy mommy. If you need explanations or suggestions, e-mail me ;)
That's it. The first installment of He Blogs, She Blogs. And I don't know about you but I think it went off without a hitch. Let's keep it going people. Let us know how you feel about it and start thinking of more suggestions.
I can't wait to read what Jim had to say...go check it out!
Friday, December 19, 2008
OK, so I guess I will tell you who this person is, now that I have properly built him up, in case you don't know. It's Jim from Irregularly Periodic Ruminations, and if you haven't visited his blog, you MUST, because he is witty and smart and everything he writes makes me laugh till I pee. He also has a rather large female following, of whom were not too happy when he called me his "BFF" in a recent post, so here I will set the record straight. Sorry ladies, he's MY BFF, and you can't have him! No, just kidding...there's plenty of Jim to go around and I am fully willing to share. Kinda.
So in our discussions of the wonders of parenthood, marriage and blogging life, we have come across quite a few areas in which we agree will never be understood by the opposite sex. It never ceases to amaze us how differently men and women view certain things, and how it is nearly impossible for men to understand that we, as women, are ALWAYS RIGHT. Well, Jim has a different viewpoint on that one, but we won't get into that here. So I thought of this great idea (well, OK, fine, JIM thought of the idea, but I wholeheartedly agreed, which set the plan into motion quite nicely) that we should do a feature on our blogs where we each discuss a topic, one from the male point of view and one from the female point of view. After we decided that he would take the male and I would take the female (I put up a fight on this one, because really, women can do anything men can do, even talk about what men think and feel), we also decided that we would leave it up to YOU, our audience, to choose what topics we will discuss. You guys are so freakin' funny and creative that we figured we would get the best suggestions from the people who best know and love us (and probably seek to humiliate us and make us discuss the most uncomfortable topics, because, well, what's funnier than that?) and if we chose our own topics we would probably cop out and choose to write about, oh I don't know, leaving the toilet seat up as opposed to down. (Sorry if that was any of your lame-ass ideas. You're probably a lurker who is too embarrassed to comment anyway, being too afraid that your idea is lame. It is.) Moving on...
So here is your chance. Leave a comment here and/or over at Jim's blog telling us what you would like us to write about from the male/female perspective. Jim and I will choose a day next week to "unveil" our posts, choosing either a variety of questions of yours to answer, or if we sense a theme, we will write about one main topic. We will not show each other our posts, and you will be able to see firsthand the similarities and differences between us. I am sure that both posts are going to rock your world, however different or the same. Maybe we will even shed some light on the Mars/Venus debate; but in the very least, I am sure we will make you laugh (at or with us).
Be creative and don't hold back. If this works, you can join us periodically for He Blogs, She Blogs (order of "He" and "She" still a matter of debate) and start a long tradition of figuring out this whole thing we call the battle of the sexes--BLOGGITY STYLE!
Thursday, December 18, 2008
I was under a deadline this week, which drastically put a damper on my "work at my own pace and do various things other than working throughout the day" style that I have been rocking with abandon lately. Usually, I have my work done ahead of time, but I have been very busy stressing out and have definitely not been as productive as usual. It has not helped that my 2 1/2-year-old daughter has decided that mommy does not, in fact, need to work but should be chasing after her, stifling her attempts to flood the bathroom in her many, many instances of washing her hands or brushing her teeth or ingesting large quantities of multivitamins that she somehow got her grubby little hands on AND managed to open despite the ever reliable CHILD SAFETY CAP.
No, I did not shower today. This is one of the many perks of working at home. I can go DAYS without changing my clothes or showering, and the only person that notices (sometimes) is my husband, but I have found that layering on the deoderant and spraying pheromone-infused powder all over my bod actually tricks him enough so that he doesn't turn up his nose at spooning with me nor is he ever the wiser that he is doing the horizontal mambo with one of the unwashed masses. Don't get me wrong, I never go more than a couple of days without showering, and on those days that I don't, I always wash my face and other "bits" that I would not want to be untended to on the off days. I'm not an animal...
One of the games that my daughter and I play during the day (and by games, I mean things that she does to slowly drive me insane) is when I really need a little quiet time so I offer to put in a movie for her. This is how it goes EVERY GODDAMN TIME:
Me: Do you want to watch a movie baby?
Baby Girl: YES Mommy! A movie!
Me: OK, good. What movie do you want to watch?
BG: A movie!
Me: But WHICH ONE do you want to watch?
BG: Ummmm....a movie Mommy!
Me: (now losing my patience) WHAT MOVIE do you want to watch sweetie? What's the NAME of the movie you want to watch?
BG: A DVD!!!
This is the part where I list EVERY SINGLE dvd that we own in hopes that she will hear one that sparks her interest and say yes, that is indeed the one she wants. After about 3 dozen or so have been listed, she will eventually say "yes, that one!" and I will proceed to put that dvd in the dvd player, thankful for a few minutes to get some actual work done.
about five minutes into the movie she usually sits up and says "NO, I don't want 'insert name of currently playing dvd here'" and in return I say (gritting my teeth) "Then which movie do you want?"
If anyone ever finds a children's film called "MOVIE," please send it to me ASAP because apparently my collection is lacking one very important dvd.
One thing I do find, though, is that I am so much more productive when I am rushing to get things done for a deadline. Which makes me think perhaps I need to give myself some deadlines for doing laundry or cleaning the house. Maybe then I won't let it go until it is so overwhelming that all I want to do is ignore it, climb into bed and pull the covers over my head. I keep telling myself that all I have to do is get through the next few years until I can afford a housekeeper and/or the children are old enough to be used as my personal slaves. Either one works for me.
I did get my work done on time, thank goddess. And I did not sell my daughter or tie her up or anything else that the authorities and the department of social services frowns upon. As a matter of fact, when I finished this afternoon, I pushed away my laptop table and looked at my daughter who said expectantly "You all done Mommy?" to which I said "yes, I am." She climbed into my lap and nuzzled her face into my neck. She didn't care that I hadn't showered. All the frustrations of the past few days disintegrated from my memory.
And I remembered, once again, why I do it.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Eight Reasons Why I Suck This Christmas
8. I have not, and will not be sending out Christmas cards with cute pictures of my children in them, as I have done in past years. For this one, I will say "you're welcome," for this will save you the trouble of putting it on display just in case I come over, only to have to take it down after Christmas and debate about whether to throw it away or not.
7. I have bought four, yes count 'em, four presents as of today, nine days from the big day. This is partially because I have not had any motivation or desire to battle the crowds, and also because I have no money.
6. I have found myself occasionally mumbling "Bah Humbug" and other such non-Christmasy sentiments under my breath (such as "fuck you" and "kiss my ass"). Sorry Jesus.
5. This is the Christmas tree I could afford (and have the room for) IF I was getting a Christmas tree (which I am not):
4. I am giving my husband something for Christmas that I got for free. But it's something really good that I could have kept for myself, so I am telling myself that this is the ultimate gift of sacrifice. Work with me here, people.
3. I have actually pondered whether I could convince my children that Christmas was cancelled this year due to an epidemic outbreak of influenza among the elves at the North Pole.
2. What I am looking forward to most on Christmas is eating the cookies the children leave out for Santa, and...
The number one reason I suck this Christmas:
1. I shrunk my Santa Girl costume and was forced to give it to my daughter for her Build-a-Bear
So there you have it. I hope you don't suck as bad as I do this year. And I hope you have a Merry fucking Christmas fuckers.
Monday, December 15, 2008
The program is called Fat Loss To Go: 10 Minute Workouts for The Busiest Wonder Moms and Super Dads. Ed just turned 30 (which is right around the corner for me--EEK!), so he revamped the program and added a BUNCH of bonuses, so you get a total of 30 weeks' worth of workouts at the original price. Here is what you get when you download the ebook:
-10 Minute a Day, 5 Day a Week Fat Loss To Go book
-Fat Loss To Go Nutrition Guide
-15 extra weeks of workouts
-Add-on Workouts for Trouble Spots
-Add-on Workouts Just for Abs
-Eating Right Made Simple Book
-Gourmet Nutrition Dessert Book
-Dumbbell/Body Weight 8-Week Program
-Mom Only 4-Week Program
-30-Day Posture Improvement Book
Ed is determined to help all us flabby moms and dads reach the fitness levels we should be at, by teaching us how to become Wonder Moms and Super Dads through his programs, and I for one, am ready for it! He has also turned his fat loss crusade into a funny ongoing story of Captain Fat Blaster, the weight loss superhero who is battling his nemesis, the evil Dr. Fatty and his henchmen Laze and the Time Sucker. If you haven't read the story of these comic book characters, head over to The Fit Dad's blog and read all about them. And while you are at it, check out the ebooks, which are going to be available with all the bonuses for a mere $39.95 only until 11:59 on December 17th.
Thank you Fit Dad for helping me get off my rear end and start the journey to becoming the Wonder-Mom that I know I am!
And everyone else, go check out his blog and his programs so Dr. Fatty doesn't win the battle of the bulge!
My husband and I renewed our excitement for one another. We had sex in the backseat of the car, we were caught in the act and we had discussions of new, thrilling possibilities. We spent time with one another that felt like we were back at the beginning of our relationship, first dating, the spark of a new partner re-ignited, the primal attraction and need for the other so strong it overcomes all inhibitions and modesty. It made me feel young. It made me feel sexy. It made me realize how much I love my husband and treasure how he looks at me like the first day he met me, but with even more depth and realization of who I am. For this, I am eternally grateful.
But just as a rollercoaster reaches its peak and sends adrenaline rushing through your veins, it must also continue downward. Real life exists, even when you feel you are living in a fantasy. It's a hard fall from the ecstasy of love to the reality of not enough. Not enough time. Not enough patience. Not enough money. How do we get through it? How will we buy Christmas gifts for the children? How will we pay the mortgage? The realization of being part of a national crisis that I would have preferred to be left out of and not knowing how to dig to the surface bubbles my stomach's acid and makes me feel dizzy with worry.
But new and old friends send me words of encouragement. People I never thought I would hear from again, whom I have held so dear, frozen in time in my memory, have been unfrozen and remind me that I am not alone. My heart swells with happiness and appreciation for the technology that has allowed me to find these pieces of my life that I thought would never return. Memories, good and bad, wash over my mind, uncovering feelings long forgotten, bittersweet and sometimes faded, but always a part of the life that has made me who I am today.
This life has lead to right now--the good and bad decisions, the circumstances that have affected where I find myself at this moment. I have no idea where it will lead, and it's terrifying. I am held together by a thread, so fine and taut. For now I do what I can. I will do my work today, just hoping the thread holds tight. I will hold the love for my husband, my children and my friends close to my heart to help keep it beating. And I will wait for the next high to come.
Because what else can I do?
Saturday, December 13, 2008
This makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside...I hope it does the same for you.
What are you into?
Thursday, December 11, 2008
The only reason I originally started this here blog was because my dad wanted to start a law blog and I was going to help him start it. Since I had NO idea how to start one, nor did I know really what a blog was, I decided that I would start one so I could hold his hand through the process.
I will interject here to say that right now, FOUR MONTHS LATER, my father still does not have a blog; however, my mother, myself AND my sister all have them. Sorry Dad.
I am a writer. I have written all my life, from the age of 7 or 8 when I wrote my first short stories and even mini novels. I wrote poetry in high school. And then I got a job in a publishing company right out of college with aspirations of becoming a magazine or newspaper editor. However, as we all know, life got in the way and I ended up getting married, having a baby and not continuing on to grad school like I had planned. Instead, I took my writing and editing experience and became a freelance writer and editor. Awesome. There was only one problem...
Everything I got paid to write was completely boring and left me feeling as unsatisfied as a Viagra-less Hugh Heffner. I wanted to write for me again, about the things that tickled my pickle (and funny bone) and about the things that actually mattered to me (such as my children, and of course, dildos and nipple piercings). So when I started up The Wise (Young) Mommy, it was actually first called The Wise Spot, and I was going to just write about things in the news and things I wanted to learn about. However, I started looking around the bloggy world and realized that the niche I really loved was Mommy Blogging. But, being the always against the grain personality that I am (and realizing that just posting pics of my kids and talking about their bowel movements and sleeping habits would be totally grotesque and boring), I also decided I wanted to talk about EVERYTHING that comes with being a mom, a wife and a work-from-home writer. This includes my not so illustrious past, my ongoing struggle to battle the bulge, and my penchant for sex toys and body piercings. I never thought anyone would read it, to be honest.
I think the first time I got a comment from someone other than a friend or member of my family, I almost peed my pants, I was so excited. I just couldn't fathom that someone had stumbled upon my little corner of the blogosphere and STAYED to read. This was my first taste of the powerful addiction of this thing we call blogging (I have never done crack, but I assume it's something like that), and I was HOOKED. I decided to devote all my free time to finding out how to get more people to read (and comment).
But something else happened. Not only did I get faithful readers anda commenters (and awards--holy sheesh, I couldn't BELIEVE it when I got one of those. ME? Little ole me? An award? Sweet.), but I found this incredible community that existed only within the confines of the world wide web, and I made some amazing friends. These were people that came and read about my life, shared theirs with me and didn't judge me or get offended when I dropped the F-bomb or posted pictures of crucifix shaped dildos. These were people I felt comfortable enough with to post pictures of my muffin top, and not only did they not taunt me and call me a fattie, but they told me that I looked great, but offered advice and support in my efforts to lose weight. Blogging was not what I thought it was. It was so much better.
So the original reason I started blogging was not why I continue to. I love having my writing read by others that can relate, and I especially enjoy knowing that, just sometimes, I have touched or inspired someone in their life. But that's not the most appealing part of this "hobby." The best perk is that I have the biggest, most diverse group of friends, spread out all across the country (and the world!) to always pick me up when I am feeling low or to share my trials and tribulations with. I never feel alone, because I know I can always hop on the internet and be welcomed with open arms.
Alright, enough of this mushy crap. You wanted to know why I started my blog, so there you have it. Please keep coming back, cause it would suck if you didn't. And I promise to keep attempting to amuse you and will regularly post pictures of dildos to live up my title of Goddess of Dildos.
My mother must be so proud...
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
You will post a picture of what you would have gotten this person had you the money, time, love, hate etc. on Thursday December 11th.
It can be any picture, as long as it's not of nahked people because some people don't want to see 3 boobied men. If you're into that sort of thing, more power to you and I'm sure you'll get enough of those stuffed in your stocking but the recipient might run out of the room screaming and then get hit by a bus whose passengers are elderly appliance salesmen. You don't want to be responsible for somebody's broken bones, do you? Don't answer that.
Link the person to your post so they know you are their Secret Santa. That is a very important one right there.
If you would like to write a story telling us WHY you thought this would be a perfect gift, cool. If you think the picture speaks for itself, also cool.
Then I, the beautiful and talented toe juggler, will link all of y'all so that everybody can go look for their *gift*… kind of like an Easter egg hunt. Hey, look at it as the merging of two Holidays.
I will post all the links on Thursday. It would also be nice if you thank the person who gifted to you for their generosity in these here troubled times.
So I don't know the person that I got, but like the good, obedient little girl that I am, I went straight to her blog and read up on her so I could make an educated decision on what her gift should be. I found out some key things about her that helped me make the right choice for her Secret Santa gift. #1. She is a dog lover and has a beautiful dog, and # 2. That she used to rollerskate!
This person is Siren at Idiot Girl In Action
As a fellow dog owner, I know how we love to pamper our pets, so this year Sable has a posh and comfy dog couch, just for her. You're welcome Sable. All I ask in return is a big, sloppy doggy kiss!
And for the Siren herself, I thought she could use some new gear so she could pick up where she left off years ago as a competitive rollerskater:
So I hope you like your gifts Siren and Sable! Enjoy and Merry Christmas (or Kwanzaa or Hannukah or whatever you choose to celebrate)!
As we waited to see Santa, Baby Girl was so excited, she could barely contain herself, and she shouted to get the big guy's attention...
Finally, the time came, the special opportunity to sit with the Man Himself and tell him all the wonderful things she hoped to get for Christmas this year. The list consisted of a bicycle, dolls and cars, she had told me. She was going to delight him with how good she has been and that she and her brother deserved lots of toys. And she also said she wanted to tell Santa that she had very clean teeth.
But alas, when the time came for the big meeting, she sat in his lap and looked at him, eyes wide as saucers, and she wouldn't say a thing. She sat there, mute, looking like a deer in headlights.
Maybe next year...
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
He called a girl on the telephone.
(Insert dramatic soap opera music here.)
Yes people, he has a new "friend" and her name is Janie, which I think is just the cutest little name ever. They both love Pokemon and Nintendo DS and she has been helping him "level up" in the game, which I think is fantastic, because he is already not afraid to let a woman tell him what to do. The first time he was talking about "his friend Jane," I thought I must have heard him wrong and said "Your friend, James?" which was met with one of those stares your children give you when the subtext is "Oh my God, parents are so stupid." "No, Mimmy, JANE, as in a GIRL'S name." I tried to hide my shock, not wanting to make a big deal out of it and make him feel uncomfortable while in my head I wanted to jump up and down and sing "Big Boy and Janie sittin' in a tree..." because yes, I am all immature like that sometimes. Whatever, I am a lot of fun at parties.
So he has been going on and on about his new pal for the past few weeks, and a couple of weeks ago he said he told her that he would meet her at the store up the street, because she said she would be there buying something for her brother and he needed her to "show him something" on his Nintendo DS. I thought this was cute, but wasn't about to get the toddler all bundled up and both kids in the car to go to the store where this 7-year-old little girl "said" she and her mother would be at "around 4." So today he came home with her phone number.
He placed it on my laptop table and said "I got Jane's number."
I looked at the tiny scrap of paper with the little girl handwriting, the 3 written backwards, the pencil scratches uneven and crude, and it made me nostalgic and teary eyed. Memories came flooding back of the first boys I had crushes on that I dared to call, giggly and nervous, my stomach full of butterflies. I couldn't quite believe that he was actually going to call this girl on the phone, and even more so that he was so nonchalant about it. Which reminded me, again, that the difference between boys and girls is so much more far-reaching than their genitalia. In his mind, he was calling this girl to have her help him with something; he has a need for her in his life that satisfies his interest. But I couldn't help wondering if Janie was sitting impatiently by the phone at her house waiting for him to call her, with higher hopes of her first glimmer of romance.
"I told her I would call her RIGHT when I got home from school," he said quickly. He went in the other room and got the phone to dial. I sat there, just staring, disbelieving. He has never even called up one of his male friends on the phone before, so this was a barrage of firsts for me to be witnessing. And it was just so adorable watching his face transform from calm to nervous when someone picked up and he stammered out "Is Jane there?" Then, when she got on the phone, he said "Hi, it's B., you know, from school?"
My mind fast forwarded to years to come when I would be picking up the phone to various pimpled, awkward boys and girls calling my house to talk to my kids, who wouldn't be kids anymore, but teenagers, young adults, and then full fledged grown people. One day those boys and girls would drive cars and come pick up my children to take them places where parent's eyes cannot see and where secrets would be created and innocence would be lost. I think my heart broke just a little bit as I looked at the squarer features of his 8-year-old face, which would continue to age until barely a semblance of the child he once was would remain. I'm not ready for this, I thought. This is just the first step, and the ones to come would be even harder. How can I let him go?
He began arranging a play date with Jane to go to her house. And when he asked if it was OK with me, I hesitated for just a moment before saying yes. This time, he is just going to a friend's house to play. I am not losing him yet, I tell myself. This is just the first step of many, but it is one we have to take. I can't stop him from becoming a man; it is out of my hands.
I talked to Jane's mom and handed the phone back to B. so he could talk to his friend again. They chatted for a few minutes and then I heard him say "OK, I'll call you later."
And I smiled. Because somewhere up the street, there is a little girl, sitting next to the phone, waiting for him to call. Just like I sat next to the phone so many years ago for the call from the boy who would be the one to hold my hand for the first time. And that's where it all begins...none of us can stop it. Today it is Nintendo DS and Pokemon, superheroes and cartoons...
someday, it will be love...
Monday, December 8, 2008
Happy Monday to my divine readers!
Friday, December 5, 2008
Etta Rose over at Sanity On Edge tagged me for this meme, so if you are sick of hearing about random facts about me, go over to her blog and lodge a complaint. Or feel free to complain in my comments because to me, any comment is a good comment, even if you are calling me a boring slut with an imperative need to see a therapist. Either way, you know, I'm good.
Here are the rulios:
Seven random and/or weird facts about me...hmmmm...this is so hard because I am so completely normal and well adjusted. Well, now that I have completed the "yeah right" portion of this post, I will move on to the "meat" of it. Speaking of meat...
1. I was a vegetarian from the time I was about 13 until I was 22 years old. I ate NO MEAT. No chicken, no fish, no beef, no pork. I basically lived off of pasta and vegetables. This lasted until I realized that MEAT WAS FUCKING AWESOME and it made meals a hell of a lot more interesting. This realization came from my husband's family force feeding me meat at family functions, however, no matter how many times they serve beef tongue or bear meat, I WILL NEVER EAT IT.
2. I was, like, totally a cheerleader. Not just a cheerleader. I was CAPTAIN OF THE CHEERLEADING SQUAD mofos. Yup, you would never have guessed that my freaky little self was once a pandering, pyramid climbing, spank-wearing cheerleader. This ended my sophomore year in high school when I realized my time was much better spent smoking cigarettes, riding skateboards and making out with hot skater guys. Ah, the good old days...
3. When I was a sophomore in high school, I became a teeny tiny little waif of an anorexic. Yes, I went weeks on end without eating anything except saltine crackers. I got so thin that my breasts pretty much disappeared and my period stopped. I still thought I was fat, and it took me passing out while baby-sitting to realize that I had a problem. I battled with it all through high school and college, yo-yo-ing up and down until I finally got stabilized and healthy a few years ago. But then I went and had a baby and now I am just plain fat. But the good news is I don't starve myself anymore...
4. My first kiss was in the 6th grade with an 8th grader. I was dared in a game of truth or dare and all I remember is that it tasted like hot tamales...
5. I have three sisters, but none of them are related to me by blood. My two older sisters are in their early 40's and they are my dad's kids from before he met my mom. My younger sister just turned 17 and was adopted by my parents when she was 9 years old. That is a story for another day entirely...
6. Since dildos are so popular on my blog, I will share with you that I got my first vibrator for my 21st birthday from my beautiful, gay friend Danny. Thanks Danny! You would never guess what you have started my friend...
7. I have always wanted to be a blond. And I have tried MANY times to pull it off, but it always looked HORRIBLE. I can't even count how many times I have dyed my hair only to have it come out so bad I couldn't even leave the house, and then I would have to do several more dye jobs to get it back to somewhat normal. Thankfully I haven't done that in a long time. I guess I finally learned from my mistakes.
OK, so that's it. Now I am supposed to tag six more people to do this meme, but really, I can't be bothered. So instead I am going to ask each of my readers to leave a comment with one random fact about yourself. Come on, you know you want to tell me about your first kiss or your first dildo, so do it. Leave it!
By the way, I found out yesterday I got a raise for my editing job, and I lost 3 pounds this week, so I just want to publicly say:
Thursday, December 4, 2008
The first one is from Goodfather, and it surely proves that men are definitely obsessed with the "size" of their, well, um...blog. Yeah, that's it...
It's called the "This Blog Measures Up Award"
I am extremely proud to say that Goodfather believes that my blog "measures up" and the feeling is certainly mutual. So thanks Goodfather!
Then there's the award from Captain Dumbass over at Us and Them. This one states the obvious:
Since I have booty to share, I think it goes without saying that my blog has it as well. I am pretty stoked to be celebrating my abundance of booty instead of the usual disdain, so for that, I thank you Captain Dumbass!
So now there are some rules for the first one. They are:
1. Say one nice thing to a man in your life.
2. List at least six ways that you measure success in your life (or for your blog).
3. Assign this award to six other blogs and leave them a comment telling the blogger that you’ve assigned them this award.
4. Link back to the blog that you received this award from.
So for the first one I have already given Goodfather a seriously nice compliment on his blog, so I have that covered. Here are the six ways I measure success in my life:
1. How happy my children are
2. Whether I feel I bring joy to others
3. Whether I feel I am doing my best at everything I do
4. How much love I have in my life
5. How much wine I have to drink before I have forgotten all the bad shit
6. The quality of my blow jobs
So I am pretty sure I am doing well according to at least five out of six of the criteria. But I am pretty sure the last one is only questionable because I REALLY like to drink wine, not because I am drinking away my sorrows.
Since the second award has no rules, I am going to pass both these awards along to the following people and call it a day:
Elizabeth at Parenting Pink
Athena at Hot Child in the Suburbs
Becky at Mommy Wants Vodka
So if you would excuse me, I really need to go scratch my honorary balls now.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
The whole demented experience started much like so many of my other college high jinks: with the consumption of massive amounts of alcohol, British people and the total boredom that comes with being a college student in a small New England town without a fake ID. You see, I had a group of friends that consisted of theater majors, punk kids and almost all of the British exchange students, including my ex-girlfriend (now best friend) who at the time was not my girlfriend, but simply a twinkle in my little bi-curious eye. Just in case you are wondering, the one to perform the actual nipple piercing "procedure" was one of the punk kids named Joel who was about 5 feet tall with a bleach blond mohawk and a penchant for hallucinogenic recreational drug use. He was a really nice guy though.
So that night we were all sitting around in Joel's dorm room, a selection of motley 19-year-olds that would put the Real World to shame. The black light shone in all it's trippy glory and we sat around, inebriated and looking for something to shake up the night a bit. I had been talking about getting my nipples pierced for a couple of weeks, and I had been bugging Joel (who was an accomplished piercer who had real equipment and everything) to do it for me. Apparently, Joel only pierced when he was really intoxicated because otherwise he couldn't stand the sight of blood. It was as if he switched into his alter ego upon alcohol and drug consumption and was able to withstand certain things that otherwise he couldn't. Being the stupid, risk taking kid that I was, this oddly didn't disturb me at all, and I was only concerned with getting him intoxicated enough to agree to do the deed. Luckily someone produced some tabs of ecstasy.
It seemed that it was my lucky day!
Now, here is where I will pause to say that I DID NOT partake in the ecstasy experience, because as much as I was into experimenting with certain carnal pleasures and such in college, I also wasn't stupid enough to not realize how many brain cells were destroyed in such practices. I was perfectly happy to get drunk off three shots of Raspberry Stoli and take a toke off a joint and coast through the rest of the night feeling pretty damn good, as opposed to my idiotic counterparts who ended up praying to the porcelain god or trying to scratch their skin off (or worse, sleeping with a Coyote Ugly *shudder. I am proud to say I never did that, in all my four years of college ballyhoo).
So everyone around me started tripping, including Joel. And I waited patiently for him to transform into fearless piercing guy, as opposed to the pussy punk he normally was. Finally, after passing around a joint and a long conversation about how much everyone loved Ramen Noodles, he looked at me and nodded. It was time.
His little sidekick, Jake, got out the equipment and he had someone else fetch the water in the hotpot so he could boil water to sanitize the needle. This is where it gets fun. This is the part where my less-than-modest self got to whip out my boob and let Joel examine my nipple like a bug under a microscope to decide where to make the little dots with the magic marker so he knew where to put the needle in. You can also create the mental image of five or six other random people sitting in the room staring slackjawed and completely fascinated while he did this. You might think that having a bunch of people stare at your breast in wonderment might make you feel uncomfortable, but surprisingly, I wasn't fazed. It was just basic human anatomy, what was the big deal? I mean, half the people in the room had breasts themselves, so it was nothing new to them. And the other half had certainly perused a nudey magazine or at least gotten to second base themselves so I was figuring they had seen it all before as well. A boob's a boob, right?
The equipment arrived and the adrenaline started to pulse through my veins as Joel prepared with needle and swabbed down my nipple with rubbing alcohol.
WARNING: This is the part where it gets a little graphic so those with weak stomachs or nipple sensitivities, be forewarned.
He took the clamp and strategically secured it on my nipple. That hurt like a bitch. Imagine someone taking some metal cooking tongs and gripping your nipple with it as hard as they could. It doesn't tickle. It's way worse than a purple nurple.
Then he got a piece of cork and placed it on one side of the clamp while he deliberately placed the needle on the marking he had made previously. He told me to look away and take a deep breath, which I did. But at the last minute I turned my head, just as he counted to three and I saw the needle plunge into the soft tissue of my nipple and come out the other side into the cork.
Fire ripped through my breast and up my arm, making me feel lightheaded and a little bit nauseous and the room spun around me. Joel looked me in the eye and asked if I was OK. When he saw me wobble a bit, he led me to the bed and had me lie down. I closed my eyes and felt the warmth of my nipple, and looked down to see the needle still in there, attached to the cork on the other side. It was strange and foreign, almost as if my breast was not a part of me anymore, and it was...the coolest thing I had ever seen!
My heart pounded with excitement and I sat up in the bed. There was such a rush involved in doing something that people feared. I felt proud and strong that I had done something so bold, so adventurous. I had endured the pain without tears and now had a symbol of my valor to treasure forever (well, at least until I took it out a year later). I felt powerful and giddy.
The ring was placed carefully in the hole and I sat and stared at it for a while. I am pretty sure that everyone else passed out until I was the last one awake, still buzzing from the excitement of that night's events. I think eventually I fell asleep, my recent wound still throbbing, a reminder throughout the night of my fearlessness.
Luckily, my breast did not fall off from some terrible infection, nor did I set off metal detectors or spontaneously spray breast milk when I got pregnant, like some urban legends would have you believe. I ended up having the other one done at a piercing/tattoo parlor to even myself off and I enjoyed them for about a year until I got sick of them catching on my clothes. The worst part of the whole experience was fending off the frat guys who all wanted a glimpse of the legendary nipple rings on campus.
And although I have to admit that the whole experience is one that I cherish as a valued college memory, I certainly wouldn't recommend it to anyone else.
Oh, who the hell am I kidding, yes I would!
NIPPLE RINGS RULE!
Monday, December 1, 2008
However, Sunday was the day that we got to go celebrate Thanksgiving with my husband's ex (otherwise known as my son's mother) and her family.
I don't blame you, although if you had been keeping up with my blog (which, of course, you should be), you would know that my son did not actually come out of my vagina, but another woman's, whom we will call Andrea to protect her identity. And although the first few years of mine and my husband's relationship was tumultuous and volatile because of Andrea and her need for making our lives living hell and using her son as leverage to get us to do what she wanted, we now all get along like one big happy family. Well, one big unusually dysfunctional family.
We got custody of Big Boy about four and a half years ago, and since then, Andrea has begun to like me. As in, she likes me more than she likes my husband and wants to HANG OUT WITH ME. At first, to me, this was HORRIFYING. The last thing I wanted to do was hang out with my husband's ex, and if that isn't awkward enough, you throw in the fact that Big Boy treats me more like his mother than her. The thought of having her son asking me whether he could have some candy or some other mom question in front of her made me cringe. Can you say awkward? Yes, I thought so too. So I resisted. I dragged my feet. Well, basically I told my husband "HA, yeah right, when hell freezes over, ya-da, ya-da, ya-da, will I ever succumb to this request and merge our families in celebration."
But eventually time faded the memories of the old days when she would do such things as sneak into his apartment and clean the toilet bowl with my toothbrush and replace my shampoo with Nair, or the night that she threw a cordless telephone at me at 3 a.m. and broke my toe. Ok, well, they haven't faded that much. But they don't quite send the shiver through me that they used to. So I agreed to start going to functions with her family.
And it's not so bad really. At first it was a bit strange, but now they treat me like a member of the family (although Andrea's father regularly hits on me and stares at my boobs, which I am pretty sure he doesn't do with the rest of his family). So when my husband told me last week that we would be going to Andrea's father's house for their Thanksgiving celebration on Sunday, I accepted it willingly, and began planning my wardrobe to show the least amount of cleavage as possible to avoid uncomfortable conversations with her dad.
So my Sunday was spent with my husband, my daughter, my son, my son's mother, my son's stepsister, and my son's mother's entire entourage of family and friends. The one really great perk was that one of her family friends was a guy that I can only describe as "eye candy." I now have proof that my little one is truly her mother's daughter because after batting her eyelashes and doing her "I'm so adorable you can't even stand me" act, he proceeded to pull her onto his lap and I swear I saw her wink at me. Little minx.
But really, the highlight of the day was when my stepson got jabbed in the groin in some tragic childhood wrestling accident. He rolled on the floor, clutching his little pee-pee, and yelled out "Oh man, my NUTS!!"
In full mommy mode, I yelled out (at the exact same time as his mother) "Watch your mouth!"
Everyone got real quiet and looked from her to me and then to Big Boy. And he, in classic Big Boy form with perfect comedic timing, said "It's so much more annoying when you have both your moms saying it to you at the same time."
He gets his humor from me, I think.
It's nurture, not nature, mo-fos.
Although, on the muffin top front, I have been using my elliptical machine and tracking my eating and exercising online so that's a plus. Maybe, just maybe I will have some news that I have actually forced the number on the scale down sometime soon. If not, I may be the one drinking the kitchen cleanser, if for no other reason to induce vomiting and give it the old college try at the whole bulimia thing. So, you know, wish me luck.
Here's the meme. It's called the Five Things Meme. Hopefully y'all aren't sick of hearing me talk about myself yet and you'll stick around to read it. I was tagged by Dan over at DCRBlogs, and he really took a chance on me since he thinks I am NSFW (not suitable for work) and he has a lot of co-workers that read his blog. So I will suppose I will try to keep it PG-13 today. This may be difficult, but here goes nothin:
5 Things I Was Doing 10 Years Ago:
- Attending college as a Special Ed/Theater/Communications major at Bridgewater State College
- Working as a one-on-one in-home therapist with children with autism
- Drinking a lot of Stoli Razberri vodka in dorm rooms that smelled like dirty socks, urine and sex
- Attending a lot of rehearsals and pulling many all-nighters in order to get my schoolwork done
- Piercing my nipples in some guys dorm room while everyone was tripping on ecstasy (except me)
5 Things on My To-Do List Today:
- Get this dang blog post up
- Work, work, and work some more
- Do the dishes
- Go through the mail
- Keep myself from eating all the yummy things that I want to eat
5 Snacks I Like:
- ice cream
5 Things I Would Do if I Was a Millionaire:
- Pay off all my parents' debt
- Pay off all our debts
- Build our dream house
- Buy everyone new cars
- Donate to some charities
5 Places I Have Lived:
- Brookline, MA
- Dedham, MA
- Foxboro, MA
- North Attleboro, MA
- Bridgewater, MA
5 Jobs I Have Had:
- Barista (yeah, that means coffee shop worker)
- Special Needs Aide/Autism ABA Therapist
- Phramacy Technician
- Publishing Editor
- Freelance Writer/Editor/Copy Writer
That's it. Hopefully you are still awake and the boring details of my life haven't made you slack jawed and drooling on your computer keyboard. I am not tagging anyone for this meme because:
1. I can't be bothered because I am a lazy bum.
2. I can't be bothered because I am a lazy bum.