...if I had possessed tassels with bells...

There is a requirement for reading this blog post:

It must be read while listening, moving and shaking to the above video. Otherwise...well, you just aren't any fun!

Today I was up with the alarm at 4:30am. No, people, I do not jest. And better yet...I was HAPPY about it. Happy, you ask? Yes, HAPPY. BOY was still asleep. For the 2nd night in a row he slept all night long. 2 nights in a row!! Yes, I was up at 4:30am. And BOY slept until 6:30am!!

Once AGAIN, I was up at 4:30am and if I had possessed tassels with bells, I would have rung them doing the morning titty jiggle. SIDE to SIDE. Now UP and DOWN. Shake those babies! CELEBRATE GOOD TIMES! COME ON! CEL E BRATE GOOD TIMES! COME ON!

Note: this blog post was created with only a smidgen of exaggerated tribulation. 2 nights of sleep in a row will do that for you. Even if you wake up at 4:30am in time for a titty jingle.

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Never underestimate the hum of a Mama's gut instinct

It's been interesting. Ever since I put my fantasy "on paper" a few days ago, things have materialized. Funny how life works that way. You put it out to the universe and it comes back to you. I feel more in balance, less cranky or let's just be honest...less PSYCHO. Lack of sleep, being a mother of young children and not enough whiskey or chocolate can do that to a woman. You know, that psycho thing. I've been living in more awareness of my day and so: the bed has been made more times than not, we've been dressed, fed and out the door for school on time, less frenzy more fun. It feels not only good, but true. Life could be this way... more.

After my rant yesterday on the Supernanny and my BOY's nighttime routine, I was rewarded with what I like to call The Hum of a Mama's gut instinct. E tucked BOY in last night around 9pm, a little later than our usual 8pm. E had gone out to a meeting, and BOY had stayed up wanting to see his daddy. E sat with him for about 7 minutes of BOY going: blah, BLAH BLAH BLAH, blah? Blah. Blah bla. Bla bla bla bla. Bla? Blah. Bl------ and he was out. That's our usual routine, with me predominantly doing the tuck in, but sometimes it is daddy who is needed. And then the rest of the evening is ours, which is the benefit of BOY not napping, as he usually falls asleep pretty quickly. So, I went to bed fairly soon after that -more worn out from that ranting post than anything else! And I woke up to...the alarm clock going off at 4:30am! Yes, this is a GOOD thing. Slept for another hour and got up to realize that BOY SLEPT THROUGH THE WHOLE NIGHT. This being the 2nd time since September, when the fear issues started. If you think I fell to my knees and shouted hallelujah AMEN, you would be almost correct. But, remember, I didn't want to awaken THE BOY. Instead I hummed into the kitchen on pure infused bliss, made myself a pot of tea, and had time for myself for an hour. Heavenly. BOY got hugs, rah rahs and the prize - chocolate milk!! for sleeping through the night. E got a good morning and a smile from his wife, who had also slept through the night. All was well.

And I now know 2 things:

1. Never underestimate The Hum of a Mama's gut instinct!
   
   
2. I believe JCK rocked SUPAH NANNY FUSSY PANTS to the 7th POWAH!

Note: Thank you so much for your supportive comments!

**Photo Credit: The Greenwich Workshop Gallery

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If I seem a trifle perturbed, that would be correct, Miss Smugger than Most Super Duper Nanny

Dear The Supernanny,

I write to you today, as you have left me with no choice. I feel betrayed, set-up and inept. This is not a good position for me to be finding myself. Especially when it is quite obvious that I have failed Parenting 101: sleep and your 4 year old BOY.

Last week, as I impatiently waited for my husband to get off the computer so I could blog! and had nothing better to do, I happened to tune into your television show. My timing appeared to be perfect as you were administering to a family of 3 girls who were basically running their poor parents into the ground with disruptive bedtime routines, hence causing a sleep deprivation of major proportions. Although I am not an ardent fan of yours, I had watched you a few times before and was impressed by what appeared to be your common sense and wealth of experience. Hurrah!, I exclaimed to myself, this is very similar to our situation with BOY! Perhaps THE NANNY will come up with a viable plan!

You proceeded to demonstrate the Do's and Dont's of parenthood to this couple and in truth, I was on your side. The 3 girls appeared to be running roughshod over their parents and ruling the roost, so to speak. You demonstrated a few techniques, which seemed simple enough.

The first task addressed was to get their daughters to go to sleep on their own with the following steps:

1. to tuck your child in, kiss them goodnight and walk out of the room


2. when your child comes back out, walk them back in and say "it's bedtime, goodnight"


3. when your child comes back out again, walk them back in and just say "goodnight"


4. when your child comes back out, AGAIN walk them back in, tuck them in, and this time say nothing


5. when your child comes back out at 36 or so more times, continue with step #4- the idea being that they will eventually "grow tired" and not come out of their room. [You failed to mention the likelihood of the parents "growing tired," especially those parents well over 40.]

The 2nd Task addressed what steps to take when your child awakens in the middle of the night and comes into the parents' bedroom:

1. walk your child back to their room, tuck them back in and say "goodnight"


2. walk your child back to their room again and this time say nothing


3. walk your child back to their room again, and again, and AGAIN -saying nothing...until they "grow tired." [See aforementioned #5 under First Task.]

And so I say to your 2 tasks, with all verisimilitude, BLAST! BUGGER! BLOODY HELL & SOD OFF! THE NANNY has clearly not encountered THE BOY.

If I seem a trifle perturbed, that would be correct, Miss Smugger than Most Super DUPER Nanny. Because, THIS is what transpired at our home last evening:

I had tucked in my daughter and was on the computer. BOY and his father were playing in the living room and preparing to wind BOY down (Surely you jest?!), before tucking him into bed. BOY came into the office to kiss me goodnight and then went into his room accompanied by his father. His father sat with him for several minutes and then followed your technique, albeit haphazardly, since he hadn't informed me that he would be doing so [but, that is between me and himself], for putting BOY to bed. This is how it went down:

Husband tucked BOY in, talked to him for a bit, said "goodnight, see you in the morning, I love you" and walked out.

BOY came out. Husband tucked BOY in, said "goodnight" once again, walked out of BOY's bedroom and walked into the parents bedroom, shut the door, and had mom deal with it.

So, I took it ,resentfully and like an ass bravely on like any good woman would:

BOY came out of his room. I walked him back in, said "goodnight, I love you, see you in the morning" and walked out.

BOY came out, I walked him back.

BOY came out, I walked him back.

Various screams, words of "don't leave me, fear of monsters.

BOY came out, I walked him back. [Am I repeating myself here?]

BOY came out, I walked him back. [This is SO Mommy's Nightmare Groundhog Day!] SILENCE on my part. I was ever the diligent Nannyfied Parental Unit.

Are you my mommy or are you a monster? BOY said in a fearful voice in the dark as I adjusted his covers.

BOY's mom? Are YOU BOY's mom? This from Spotty the stuffed animal dog.

O.K., Nanny, this is where we part ways. I admit it. I succumbed. It's bad enough when your own child is wondering if you really are his mommy or A MONSTER, but when a stuffed animal starts talking to you that is when I abandon THE NANNY WAY HIGHWAY and take it MY WAY. I sat down and talked to BOY, calmed him down and was with him for 10 minutes until he fell asleep. He was fairly disturbed by your technique. This was 9pm.

At 1:15AM there arose a scream. I ran to BOY's room and he was thrashing about in what could only be called The Night Terrors. As I tried to soothe him, he yelled out, "Why won't you stay with me? Why are you leaving me? No one wants to be with me! Stay mommy, stay!" He didn't recognize me, Nanny. My words didn't calm him. And Nanny, it was pretty unbearable let me tell you. He was holding on to fear that we had abandoned him and carrying it with him into his sleep. For lack of better words, IT SUCKED, Nanny. It only took about...45 minutes OR SO to calm him down and get him back to sleep. Obviously, we have chosen THE WRONG time in his development to pursue this line of sleeping alone.

And now I am in SUCH A STATE of depression and parental flagellation that I have resorted to drinking COFFEE, (of all things!), in the afternoon. You see, I am a tea drinker, like the lovely English lass that I thought you were. But, NOT TODAY! Oh, no, no, noooo.... Now I have joined the ranks of every strung out American Momiteer out there and am drinking iced coffee with 1/2 & 1/2 and chocolate syrup...just. to. get. through. my.day. without. throwing. myself. in. front. of. a. speeding. train. This may appear to be an S.O.S. It is not. I will be fine. So, will my BOY. I expect we may be in therapy now until his graduation from college, most especially if my mother reads this letter and finds out that her dear grandson, BOY, does not go to sleep on his own anymore nor does he sleep through the night. Sorry, Mom. Mom? Mom? Oh, GOD, now she's gone racing for the train tracks!! I HOPE YOU ARE HAPPY, MISS. NANNY SMARTYASSPANTS, YOU HAVE NOW FUCKED UP 3 GENERATIONS! The therapy of untold horrors.

Perhaps I digressed. Let us not forget the main reason I am writing to you and that is to let you know that I will not be watching your "show" again anytime soon. No, I've picked up enough of your "tips" and have decided to just bite the bullet and go without your advice. I will be tuning out. Go forth, you, you Nanny. Go forth and take on some other suckers. Because we all know that you are on television and that television is not reality. At least not mine.

Sincerely,

The Very Messed Up Mom whose WILD imagination has by this time seen into the future and sees her son in this photograph. And... someone who is the mother of a BOY who continues with sleep issues, although not yet experimenting with make-up, and a GIRL who is watching the whole thing and taking friggin' notes, because she can and she sleeps in the same room...

P.S. My Minivan could TAKE YOU ON in your fancy schmancy London Executive Sedan ANY DAY OF THE WEEK!!! By, FRIGGIN' GOD!

***Photos courtesy of Google Images

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Space to be together and space to be apart

I'm not someone who loves to go from one activity to the next in one day, or even have a lot of activities over the weekend. I love to socialize, but in-between I like to pause, regroup, breathe and feel that I am in my own space. Interesting when you have children... So, I have always been sensitive to the issue of not over scheduling my children both because it is too much for them and too much for me. And knowing this about myself has really been a gift in helping me regulate the day. Regulating in the sense that we must have at least a small window on those busy days where you can have a moment to call your own.

Last night we had friends over for dinner and we spent a relaxing evening enjoying a nice bottle of red, a good meal and actual adult conversation. I was dragging this morning, having been up fairly late the night before, so I decided to stay home with GIRL while E and BOY went ahead to church. I absolutely love our church and our Sunday routine is a good one, but there was something so restful about not going anywhere for a couple of hours. GIRL and I sat and had a leisurely breakfast together. We had time. No rushing. Space to be together and space to be apart. Choices. Moments that seemed to stand still. It was so lovely.

I remember watching her on the couch, as she was "reading" books to herself and suddenly realizing...my GOD, she is like me. She needs to have space in-between activities, to not be rushed, to just find her own rhythm. And it was a huge AHA moment for me. I'm not sure how I've missed it, but it seems so clear to me now. If I can keep this insight close in my consciousness, how many tantrums can I avoid? Or, maybe not...but the contemplation is pleasurable.

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GIRL giving BOY a history lesson

A long, long time ago before they had dinosaurs and pirates, they had knights and cannons with cannonballs.

GIRL giving BOY a history lesson.

We may have to talk to her about her creationism leanings. Or maybe just basic history.

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The FLY Whisperer...

This is a two part story:

Yesterday...

We have a few flies in the house, which is really grossing me out. However, you have to understand that flies are the least of your worries when your husband covers the back yard and the front with organic steer manure. For the greater good of the yard. Well, I could use some greater good inside our house. HONEY DO come in and see the list of my greater good. It seems our idea of the greater good is not the same. Meanwhile, getting around outside without a mask is quite troubling. The stench is remarkable.

So, yesterday I grabbed a newspaper and bludgeoned a fly in front of BOY in the playroom.

I don't LIKE THAT! You are a MEAN MOMMY! We don't kill flies! Now ALL of his FRIENDS will be SAD! --And for emphasis he whacked me on the ass.

Well, BOY...if flies are outside, we leave them alone. But, if they are in mommy's house I KILL them. -- said with a fair amount of satanic killer gleefulness.

And then...

Tonight as we were finishing up dinner, BOY was in the living room tracking down flies. Apparently. He races over:

There's a f*%@# in the house!!

There's a fire in the house?

No, NO, there's a FLY in the house!!!

Oh, a fly.

I have to KILL it! --My son learns quickly from the Satanic Killer of flies.

Why don't you go over there, tell it to lie on its back and wiggle its legs so you can pick it up and take it outside? -- this from E.

BOY ponders this idea very seriously and goes back over to the living room window and whispers:

O.K., FLY, lie down and wiggle your legs.

GIRL giggles and we all are amusingly watching BOY.

BOY continues to whisper things and we see him reach his hand behind the couch, move it around the window in pursuit, and pick up the FLY. The FLY rides on his thumb, as if a pet! while BOY walks towards us. He continues to walk to us, by now he's traveled about 8 feet with a FLY riding on his thumb. Our mouths are hanging open. Just as we are about to keel over, the FLY takes off. Probably saw that BOY was approaching the FLY KILLERS.

The FLY rode on my son's finger. If we hadn't been in the FLY's line of vision, I believe the FLY would have stayed on BOY's finger until BOY freed him outside.

The FLY Whisperer....

Unfortunately for Mr. FLY, his Whisperer is now asleep. Mr. FLY is all ....SWAT....eeewwww....mine.

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I put on my fishnets (size womanly) and do a little prancing

This writing at night thing is just not working for me. This is the time that I want to be in bed with a good book or spending time with E. Sitting here at the computer after 10pm is basically a losing proposition. I'm either too tired to write or too tired to write.

I have this, this... fantasy. Oh, nooo... not AGAIN, you say? Well, it's a different kind of fantasy -one not involving the sniffing of armpits or odes to luscious bottoms. It has to do with scheduling and having TIME. Ooh...I'm getting all warm and tingly. I'll just let my mind wander. Let's see...how would I plan my weekday if I could? The implications are just too, too delicious. So, this is how my fantasy goes...

Get up early, perhaps 4ish. I have had a restful, uninterruped night's sleep. Fix a pot of strong tea, plenty of sugar and cream. I sit in the quiet of a still house and write my blog post for the day. Blog post done. Check.

Children wake up. They remark on my morning loveliness and lack of pillow smoodge dents on face. We do the get dressed/breakfast/free time thing. If it is a school day, we're out the door by 8am. I'm so on top of things, having packed their lunches the night before.

After dropping off the kids at school, I go do a yoga class at the Y where we've been paying membership dues for years... After I get all Asana and stuff, I admire my muscle tone in the mirror. A fellow yogi compliments me on my trim ankles. I glow with vitality and verve.

Get home and work for 2 hours in which I earn $30, but I feel good because I'm actually making the cash.

Pick up kids, come home and play.

Later...mandatory quiet time for 2 hours! Kids whisper and admire each other's skills in sharing. Since they have time, they clean up all the toys scattered throughout the house. I blow kisses to them from the office as I catch up on my blog reading.

Later...more playtime with kids, who are rested and refreshed from quiet time.

Fix an incredibly delicious dinner. E is stunned. Menu planned in advance.

Kids get bathed & in PJ's. We read stories. They go to bed. By themselves. And sleep all through the night.

I make their lunch. Again! It is so easy. So healthy. I am SO proud.

It is now 8:15pm. I check my emails a final time and then turn my back on the computer by 8:30pm. And I do not return to the computer that evening.

I put on my fishnets (size womanly) and do a little prancing. E awakens from CNN, C-SPAN, etc., quite TAKEN with this brazen, very organized which is oh, so sexy, wife. We proceed with carnal knowledge.

Afterwards ...I contentedly prop myself up on pillows and READ [why has that become a 4 letter word!?] until I fall asleep... knowing that I am INCREDIBLE. And most importantly, that TIME IS MY FRIEND.

The End

Author's note: You will notice that there was no housework involved in this fantasy. I have a maid. You may know him as Sawyer. I call him...........James. You know, Artistic License and all.

Photo credit: LOST on ABC.

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It was a lovely day of discovery

This afternoon I took BOY & GIRL to a beautiful place called Descanso Gardens. It was actually BOY's idea. I asked them what they'd like to do this afternoon and he came up with Descanso Gardens. It is only 10 minutes from our house; a beautiful place of 160 acres. We hadn't been there in a long time. A very long time. In fact, the memories I have of these gardens involve being pregnant with GIRL and having BOY in a Baby Björn; him with wiggly legs and arms perched just above my swelling belly. Or later, memories of diaper bags, strollers, bottles and plenty of snacks. Sitting with a friend, spooning baby food in little mouths.

Life is so different now. They wear clothes with underwear. They can walk a fair distance. We all hold hands, (well...sometimes), when walking across the parking lot. Yes, things have changed a bit since they were babes. But, they are still my babes...

It was a lovely day of discovery. BOY found a fuzzy caterpillar and kept him for a while, finally letting him go in a patch of wild strawberries - just in case the caterpillar was hungry. GIRL loved throwing sticks in the water and watching her "boat" go over the waterfall and meander down the little stream. BOY, of course, had to thrust his hand and feet in the water at several points during the afternoon, but managed not to immerse his whole body. That could be a first.

We saw turtles and koi fish. Hummingbirds and bees. And a little bunny hopped across our path much to BOY & GIRL's delight. We set out in one direction intending to go to the bird house, where they have ducks and swans on a pond, but didn't make it. Instead BOY found the caterpillar and wanted to wander along the mini train tracks wending their way through trees and mossy ground. And that was fine, we had no important agenda. The bird house could wait for another day.

Of course, a day is not complete without a little drama from a 3 and a 4 year old. GIRL kept veering back and forth between being a battalion general barking orders: NO, BOY!!! DON'T GET IN THE WATER!! YOU'RE TOO CLOSE TO THE WATER!! to a Scarlett O'Hara impersonation: Mama...I caaan't ...I caaan't walk anymooore...I have to rest.... And BOY upon learning that we didn't have enough cash on hand to buy 3 tickets to ride the Enchanted Railroad mini train threw himself down upon the grass, wailing so pitifully that a complete stranger walked up to me and said if I wanted to write her a check, she'd give us the cash so that he could ride the train. I might have done it, but didn't have my checkbook with me. And, although I was sorry that I hadn't known the Enchanted Railroad was on the friggin' Spring schedule, dammit, BOY survived intact. I guess I should feel lucky that he didn't throw himself across the tracks, or we would have had cash raining down on us.

We had our own little Earth Day celebration with the camellia forest, the old oaks, the Japanese garden, the sunning turtles and the burbling streams. It seemed to soothe all of us. I need to remember to take advantage of this magical place. And next time...I'll bring some cash.

Happy Earth Day, everyone!

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Due to being wedgiefied all day...

Tonight I'm in deep contemplation...

ASSumption...

You know there is nothing more special than a flat ass woman getting a wedgie from her jeans. All day loooong.

And...

Due to being wedgiefied all day and because of the wedgiefication that should not exist at present, I partook of my usual bourbon whiskey - but without the Coke. I had it instead with lime flavored sparkling water. Accompanied by a low carb protein bar for dessert.

So...

Apparently the combination of sparkling water with lime, whiskey and a low carb bar creates gaseous matter. A smell and blast guaranteed to clear the room and rock the foundation of one's abode.

Subsequently...

My stomach is now a cross between a hot air balloon and a whoopee cushion.

Therefore...

I am in some gastrointestinal pain.

Conclusion...

Life is short, albeit sometimes stinky and... I think I shall go back to full carbs and buy bigger pants tomorrow.

Picture Credit:
Dav Pilkey's Captain Underpants and the Wrath of the Wedgie Woman

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Oh, my children...it has not been all work.

It occurred to me today that if I died tomorrow, and this blog was read by my children at some future date, that they might not know how much fun I've had being their mother and how much I love them. It is so easy to use the blog as a place for venting, yet the craziness and challenge of raising my two children is but a small part of the big picture. It is not the biggest truth.

Perhaps it is unfair to think that GIRL & BOY would even be able to draw conclusions from my words. It may be that they will never realize how much I love them until they, themselves, have children. How can you ever describe or quantify the love that you bear for your children? It really is almost indescribable. Yet, I want them to know how much richness and depth they have brought into my life. That the best thing that I've ever done was to become their mother. That if I died tomorrow I would not regret that I had not yet published a book or a poem, that my body is a bit squooshier than I want it to be, that I've never been to Paris or Venice, that E and I haven't had a vacation together, other than a handful of weekends before BOY & GIRL were born, since our honeymoon more than 12 years ago...

Sure, those are regrets. But, those are regrets over things. No, the only regret would be if they thought my life with them and with their father had been all work. Oh, my children...it has not been all work. I am so honored and proud to be your mom. So lucky! So blessed! Some of it has been work, it's true, but having you as my children has brought me the most divine rapture. I used that word in yesterday's post and there is no better word to describe my feelings for you.

Noun
1. rapture - a state of being carried away by overwhelming emotion; ecstasy, exaltation, raptus, transport
2. rapture - a state of elated bliss, ecstasy, bliss, blissfulness, cloud nine, seventh heaven, walking on air - a state of extreme happiness

Rapture.... doesn't begin to cover it. Doesn't begin to. Not at all. Can't. Impossible. Indescribable...

Photo Credit: "At Play" sculpture from Sculpture Gallery.

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Appetizer

Appetizer

Last night when you left
your blaze on my lips
I did but taste of
the nectar you offered.

Your mouth...
I wanted to sip upon,
to drown in,
it's sweet softness.

Instead, I savor
the deep, steady rhythm
of your body's drum
calling, calling...

And tonight, as I slide my body
under the sheets of my bed alone
I think of your body, of you,
and know...

That to slowly sip,
to let my belly grow warm
with a stoked, burning fire
is but an appetizer
of the feast to come...

Written in 1993

For my beloved E - a few weeks after we started dating.

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Awards to share and updating Motherscribe's blog roll

Last Friday I was minding my own business, just humming along, when Tootsie Farklepants gave me this lovely tiara. That Tootsie will not only make you laugh, but she really knows how to make a girl feel like a Queen. And since she writes her Tootsie Talks ~ Some People Listen column on Fridays, commenting on fashion, I know that this award is in good taste. Or else...she's laughing her ass off. Thank you, Tootsie!

I'd like to give this award to g, whom I met at our Bossy blogfest last week. As I was sipping my Jack & Coke, adjusting my sunglasses due to the radiance emanating from Tootsie's sparkling teeth, nervously eyeing underage waiters, and oh YES...waiting for BOSSY's arrival, g introduced herself to us as a lurker - not yet a blogger. To my delight, g commented on my blog a few days ago and let me know that she now has a blog! Go visit her at Doves Today. She likes to write about "things to celebrate" - something we could all use. Congrats on starting a blog, g!

On Monday, the amazing Holly over at June Cleaver Nirvana gave me the "I love you this much award."

Holly is amazing not only because she loves to dish out potluck on Mondays, but she is especially skilled in drawing - most recently detailing the attack upon her by her minivan. We all think she should be writing children's books. She is also incredibly generous in her promotion of other blogs. Please check out the pink box on her right hand sidebar. Thank you, Holly, for this darling award. I love the graphic as it reminds me of my little GIRL.

I'd like to pass on the "I love you this much award" to Angie from Keep Believing, who inspires me every day with her honest and heartfelt story of her husband Brian's cancer. Angie not only is the anchor in her family, but also leaves uplifting comments on many, many blogs. She is a true warrior woman.

On Wednesday, Meghan of A Mom Two Boys gave me a "You Make My Day Award." Now Meghan is known to write about many things, all of which are funny. One of my favorite posts is this: Some People are SO Stupid. Thank you Meghan! You make my day, too!

I would like to pass this along to the following daily must reads. I am addicted to these ladies:
Slouching Mom
Mrs. G from Derfwad Manor
Jenn at Juggling Life
Jennifer from Thursday Drive
Tootsie from Vintage Thirty
Holly from June Cleaver Nirvana

I wanted to take a moment to thank all of my readers. I appreciate you greatly. I adore getting comments, but I also know that the lurkers are important, too. And they are, perhaps, the ones who read my blog regularly. So, lurkers everywhere, thank you.

I am currently updating my blog roll. Please leave me a comment if you would like to be added.

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I will continue to delete your emails with gleeful abandon

Dear Canadian Pharmacy & Zercon Biggerisbetter,

There seems to be some confusion between what you think I need and what is true here at Casa de Motherscribe. You see, I keep getting these emails about anatomical SIZE and VIAGRA. You appear to have me confused with someone else who cares about their PENIS. Now, I have nothing against the PENIS, but it is not part of my anatomy. Of this I am sure.

I WILL say that if you were sending me emails about getting CHILDREN TO SLEEP THROUGH THE NIGHT or VALIUM, that would get my attention. I'd be all over those like a cat in heat. However phrases like: Free your inner inhibitions and let it all out or keep HER satisfied all night long just don't help me at all. At least not this week.

Unfortunately, I suspect there is some poor sod out there sitting at his desk wishing he were receiving these informative missives. I, myself, freed my inner inhibitions some years ago when I also made the titillating discovery that there is nothing so satisfying as a good night's sleep all night long.

I will continue to delete your emails with gleeful abandon.

My best,

Extremely Satisfied and Uninhibited

MEOW

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Note to Self: perhaps not a bad thing, children seeing you having a meltdown

I had one of those days last week where BOY & GIRL were pushing limits left and right. You'd think if it was SO bad I'd remember the specific shenanigans, but I don't. And perhaps that is good. "Good" as in... perpetuating the story that is broadcast throughout the planet about a mother not remembering the pain of labor. Oh....that's true. Big fat lie. My not remembering the horrific high jinx of two masterminds aged 3 and 4 reflects a much deeper problem. My brain has dissolved.

On that no good, terrible, very bad day last week I was in the kitchen when I overheard BOY streaking down the hall, getting to the bathroom and saying, "I'm SO SHOCKED!" Now, he says this phrase fairly often and it doesn't always mean doom, but because of how the day had progressed so far I decided I better make a move on. By the time I dried my hands and was exiting the kitchen, BOY had made his way back to their room and I heard GIRL say something about "...scissors." I sprinted into the room in time to see what looked like several handfuls of neatly cut hair on the floor. And on the bed. I screamed, fell to my knees and burst into tears sobbing, "Oh, NO!!! Not your beautiful hair..." I picked up the gorgeous strands of blond, tawny and brown and clutched them to my heart wailing. GIRL seemed to be amused by my outburst, but BOY was deeply troubled. He followed me back into the bathroom where I madly searched for Valium. I SO wish... toilet paper to stem my streaming tears.

Why are you crying, Mommy?

Because BOY, you and GIRL have been very naughty today and I am tired and sad that you've cut each other's hair.

It will be okay, Mommy. I'm sorry.

This provoked another round of sobs and waterworks. I turned on the tap and started to wash my face.

What are you doing, Mommy?

I'm washing my face with cold water, BOY, so that I'll stop crying.

Oh...........

Note to self: perhaps not a bad thing, children seeing you having a meltdown.

Once I had fixed myself some strong Irish tea with 1/2 C of sugar and doused it with cream, I was ready to confront the damage. BOY's haircut was negligible. I couldn't find the spot where the blond locks had been cut out. And GIRL, despite all those locks of myriad brown on the floor, appeared to have gotten a strategic haircut by BOY. He had cut from underneath her hair in the back. Not too bad. Could have been worse. *SIGH*

Later, we're pulling out of the driveway and GIRL says out of the blue:

You WANTED to have children.

I looked at her in the rear view mirror, expecting some kind of smirk from The Exorcist who had taken over my GIRL. But...there were no head swivels or flying pea soup. Just GIRL sincerely beginning a conversation:

Some people don't have children. But, you did. You wanted to have children.

Yes, GIRL. I really, really did.

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I'm sure it does feel like a betrayal, and I am sorry...

Books on my Bedside Table?

We need to talk.

You may have noticed that I've been a bit preoccupied. Well, there's really no easy way to say this ...I've met something else.

How long has this been going on, you ask?

Well...almost a year.

I know. I KNOW! I just couldn't help myself. At first the liaisons were just at night, but soon I was doing it in broad daylight. It makes me feel so alive, so electric! I've never really experienced anything like this before.

That may sound new agey to you, but it's true, dammit!

I'm sure it does feel like a betrayal, and I am sorry... But, I've fallen in love.

Yes, it has a name. Not a very attractive one, but one that excites me. It is called...BLOGGING.

It's all encompassing, addictive, and ...

O.K., yes, I've let a few things slide.

Including you. Yes, you're right.

But, all those years? When I was digging into your stories and avoiding looking at my own? Well, now I'm looking and writing my own stories and it feels delicious.

I do miss you. Really, I do.

I remember.

Remember when you and I would nestle in for a good cozy read? The feel of your pages beneath my fingers, the scent of crisp paper, and the anticipation of all those lovely words. You transported and inspired me. We lay abed for hours... Sometimes you were my courtesan, sometimes my swain...

Perhaps it's just a phase, perhaps not.

I know it is a lot to ask, but I hope you'll wait for me.

You've been a loyal paramour all these years. For as long as I can remember. Forever and a day. And I still desire you, want you in my life, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to relegate you to concubine status.

Don't despair, my love. You'll get the most exciting part of me. I'll get to complain to you about how much Blogging expects of me, how drained and spent I feel. You'll be my light-o'-love. My paramour.

It may not be fair, but you DO know that I am the Chatelaine of this Castle, and you...after all, are my doxy. Well, maybe that does sound a little butchy, but I'm the one holding the whip!

You're obviously upset. You are!

Of course, you are entitled to these feelings. But, I'm just being honest with you.

O.K., if that's how you feel.

Fine, we'll give each other some space. A little breathing room. I just hope that you'll see in time that I'll always come back.

I have to go now. Blogging calls. But, just remember...I crawl into bed next to you every night. And it is you that I look at just before I turn out the light. It is you...

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An invitation to naughtiness

What is it about Tequila? An invitation to naughtiness. You're innocently standing there sipping your margarita, and suddenly...it's like you want to throw someone down in the grass and sniff their armpits. What is it? Spring? Pheromones? Is anyone noticing that your lower half is not rated G? It's on fire, but OH WHOOPS... Remember, you are at a birthday party for preschoolers. Oh, YES. Is this fair? Oh, NO. The only quickie you're gonna get is watching your son polish off a cupcake. No other delights for you, LADY. Not at this party. Well, there is the bounce house, but somehow...that is probably not what they had in mind. Too bad. And then... you also remember that you are not that sexy, younger version of yourself that you used to be, THAT younger self that spent all that time beating herself up for not being this, not being THAT. You'd take THAT right now, DAMMIT! You'd take THAT self and raise it 3, perhaps an acrobatic maneuver on the kitchen counter or even on the playroom rug. Train table...no, not exactly stable, and your child's life would never be the same if you took out the Island of Sodor. That younger self had some good rounded curves back then. Shit. What a waste of time. Margarita? No, I think I'll stick to juicy juice, thanks.

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Nothing like planning ahead for your 5 year old birthday party

The other night as BOY was about to fall asleep he started planning his birthday party. He talks about it everyday. It is next November...

Mommy, I want you to come to my 5 year old birthday party. There will be light sabers, trumpets, swords, light sabers, saxophones, light sabers, tubas and presents.

Sounds like my kind of party. I'm definitely in!

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Bossy's visit to L.A.

I was the first one to arrive. I picked up my cell phone and dialed ... Hey, it's L.A.

Tootsie!

JCK!

Are you here?

No, still on the freeway. I should be there in a few minutes.

It seems they're prepared for us. There's a big sign saying "Margarita Madness" and I had to wait in line for 10 minutes for the valet.

I think they said whoever was first to go ahead and get a table.

O.K., I'll see you when you get here. I'm so excited!

It was a picture perfect Southern California evening for Bossy's visit to L.A. The sun, low in the sky, shed amber light over the outdoor patio, lending a magical quality to the approaching evening. Perfect setting for JACK O'CLOCK! The male waiter, looking to be about 14, took my order. I was a little afraid he was going to get busted by the police before he made it back from the bar with my Jack & Coke, but luck was with me.

I was nervous. One of the things that I have found freeing about blogging is the anonymity. Somehow, on a blog you have this incredible opportunity and freedom to be wide open and raw, if you want to be. And the thought of going out and meeting people who have read your innermost thoughts can be a bit daunting. But, the lure of meeting other people who have the passion for blogging was too ...irresistible.

It had been difficult to decide what to wear. I finally decided on comfort with a little razzle dazzle thrown in. Jeans, favorite blousy top, and what I like to call my Rod Stewart boots - red snakeskin, just above the ankle, zipped up the back. [A "before kids" purchase for me by E... *sigh*] Frankly, if I get the opportunity to go out, I like to dress up. I live in SAHM couture de Tarjay a bit too much as it is.

I had been a little slow jumping on Bossy's Excellent Road Trip, only recently discovering her, but was intrigued by her journey. Most of all, I loved that she was a facilitator for bringing bloggers together. I've always loved the idea of community within the large world that we live in, and Bossy seemed all about community.

Best of all, I was going to meet Tootsie Farklepants! Thank GOD, our meeting was in the evening and my skin had had all day to plump out. Would she notice that I was a lazy ass and hadn't been using her recommended night cream?

And then one by one they started to arrive:
The admitted lurker G from Topanga -who should have a blog ...

Tootsie Farklepants... She is beautiful, of course. We know who really runs Mr. Farklepants' Senseo. It goes without saying that she made me laugh. But, best of all... she is incredibly warm and endearingly a bit shy.

And then a kick ass group of women bloggers...
http://grrl.wordpress.com/
http://notjustbarbra.blogspot.com/
http://www.leahpeah.com/
http://pumpkindelight.blogspot.com/
http://redstapler23.blogspot.com/
http://vintagethirty.blogspot.com/
http://queenofspainblog.com/
http://whereisgoodservice.blogspot.com/
www.glozell.com/
http://shayera.blogspot.com/
http://www.undomesticdiva.com/

With a male hottie, [who hosted Bossy], thrown in...
http://jason-thejasonshow.blogspot.com/

And the awesome lady who brought us all together...
http://www.iambossy.com/

This is a picture of Tootsie and MOI. We're happy girls.

All of us spent the evening talking about many things. We talked about blogging - why we started blogging, what our blogs were about, the passion we have for it, and how the commitment of it can also feel like a job. We shared stories about our lives, our careers, our families. Most of all, we just hung out together. And that was good.

Bossy is incredibly down to earth and real. And I liked her for that. She loves taking pictures, when she remembers to take the lens cap off.... And she's all about doing away with walls, and getting to know people. She almost single-handedly tossed a few round tables over her shoulder so that we all could move closer together and really talk. That was cool. It was a great night out. And that's not just because I don't get out much. It really was fun. Even if I was the oldest. DAMMIT!

Note: The huge Margarita Madness party that was going on had nothing to do with our gathering, but we like to think they were welcoming us, too.

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I love her with a fierceness that is primal

One of the things that I adore about my children is their differences. It is such an opportunity for my growth as both a mother and a human being. GIRL has an initial reserve with people. She has a penetrating stare, and is not immediately trustful of others. I like this quality, especially in a girl. She is the perfect companion to take to a tea party. She savors every bite of food and loves all the details in the setting of a table. She is incredibly determined, most especially to do things herself. She will repeat, repeat, repeat until she gets it right. It is very difficult for her if she doesn't "get it right" according to what she thinks "is the right way." She gets a little stuck in thinking there is just one way of doing things. One of the great things about her going to preschool this year has been for her to see that things can be done differently, but often with the same result.

She gives the best hugs in the world, lingering and squeezy. But, she is very clear when she doesn't want to be touched or approached. In our home we call this "needing some space." It is treated with respect whenever possible. She has strong opinions about what she likes and doesn't like. She started picking out her clothes at 16-18 months old. She has dressed herself for a very long time and does it on most days. She is a child who is greatly comforted by routine and repetition. If her Mommy "always" buckles her in her car seat then she gets very thrown if her Daddy tries to help her. Somthing as simple as this can be enough to cause her to go into a very large explosion. She is passionate and extremely articulate. People are always commenting on her articulation and her ability to carry a conversation. She is very competitive with herself and others. This will serve her well in life, but is challenging to her mother.

Her eyes are huge and expressive. Her lips are such a rosy red that it looks as if she has lipstick on. Her cheeks, soft and round, the kind that people would pinch -if they could. I love to dive my nose into those cheeks. And she LOVES to be tickled. "Stop. Stop it...Do it AGAIN, Daddy! DO IT AGAIN!" can be heard here often. She has informed me that "it is Daddy's job to tickle me." Her giggles are addictive. She expects a lot of herself. Too much. She is a magnet. There is something about her... She loves books. She loves to be read to and loves "reading" to herself. Early on she was a quick study and would memorize and read the books aloud. She has long legs and a round little body. Her hair is fine with a hint of a curl on humid days. Brown with lighter highlights, almost like stripes. Her eyes...hazel, ever changing. Sometimes they almost look blue. Usually a shade of green. She is her daddy's "Girly Girl," yet BOY has taken to calling her that himself. GIRL adores BOY, but gets frustrated when he won't do what she wants him to do. She is a boss.

Once her reserve is gone, she is a wild child. Expressive, loud and loose limbed. I can already tell that she is a sensualist. She can be an instigator. "BOY climb up that chair and jump off of it." "BOY, let's draw with markers on the table." She does this often for show, looking out of the corner of her eyes to see if anyone (Mommy!) is noticing. She is strong... in spirit and will. She LOVES to paint or draw. She produces about 12 pieces of art a week. I believe she has a gift. She painted the butterfly cut-out pictured above on Sunday. I find it remarkable in many ways. The sense of color. The variety of brush strokes. The attention to detail. She is my daughter and she is 3 1/2. I love her with a fierceness that is primal. What wonders are ahead for us? I'm sure she will unveil them.

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Each fissure an episode of rage...

Sometimes I get disproportionally angry with my children. It feels as if they have set out to personally make me insane. But, I know that just isn't possible, is it? They are only 3 and 4 years old. Far too young to be plotting. Later, when I can sit with my anger calmly, I feel frightened. Frightened that such small people whom I love with all my heart occasionally incite rage in me. And then I feel as if I might just dissolve ...a window shattering inward in slow motion. First the cracks start. One by one. Each fissure an episode of rage... until finally the shards fall. Piece by piece. A window left without its glass, its center. Bare. And vulnerable to all the elements.

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Upcoming rendezvous on Bossy's Excellent Road Trip, FIREMEN! & Ancient Math Equation

On Wednesday night I am going to meet a bunch of LA area bloggers. BOSSY is passing through town on her road trip and we're all hooking up at a well known cantina. I plan to wear fishnets something suitable and Tootsie will definitely NOT be wearing CROCS. Did you get that? I GET TO MEET TOOTSIE ON WEDNESDAY NIGHT! If she shows up. I just peeked over there on her blog and she recently pulled an all nighter. So...Mr. Farklepants might just ground her. I'm hoping he'll be lenient this time. If you hear about any sirens in S. California going off...you'll know it's us! Speaking of sirens...

Today the most EXQUISITE thing happened. BOY and I were tuned in to the Magic Fairy of the Universe today. Oh, YES, our sights must have been all aligned in Jupiter, Mars & Venus at once. The Magic Fairy waved her wand and produced a firetruck with 4, count them, 4 GORGEOUS hunkin' firemen. The kind of men that my girlfriends and I used to refer to as R&R. Rough and Ready. And they were READY for us.

It started out innocently enough, BOY & I were making an emergency pit stop so that he could go to the bathroom. We zoomed into a little strip mall with a coffee shop, and as we were exiting the vehicle I briefly considered the bushes as an emergency target in front of the car. But, while I scanned the parking lot for interlopers, my eyes spotted Big Blue Eyes, Big Blond with dimples, Big Sexy and Big Older, But Still Sexy sitting atop their Big Red fire truck. Perhaps not the time for a whiz in the bushes, although I'm sure they would have appreciated it. But, you know image is everything. Especially when your hair was blown dry perfectly - for once. So...we hit the coffee shop running, made our bathroom stop and headed back out to the parking lot. I then dragged BOY over to the fire truck:

Let's go talk to the firemen, BOY. I'm sure they'll want to say hello to YOU. [Me First! Me! Me!]

Well, hello there, says Big Blue Eyes.

HI! The mother BOY said, batting her eyelashes smiling up at him.

And within seconds, another fireman, Big Blond with Dimples, got out of the truck and proceeded to give us a complete tour of the truck. I'm not talking 5 minutes here, people! NO... we are talking at least 15! Big Blond with Dimples let BOY try out the side seat & look out the window, opened EVERY single compartment and explained what was in it, answered all 8,999 questions poised by BOY, pulled out the heart monitor equipment [I think he thought I was going to swoon], showed us his Paramedic badge on his very manly muscled arm sleeve, showed us every single hose BIG and small, had BOY climb up to the top of the truck to touch the ladders, and as a finale BOY got to sit in the driver's seat and do the steering wheel. Big Older, But Still Sexy was in the passenger seat up front and jiggled the seat up and down so it seemed like BOY was taking a ride. Heaven for Preschool BOY and his Mama. Pure and simple. After we said our good-byes and I stumbled walked away with BOY, I gave BOY a big squeeze and said:

You now WHAT, BOY! If you hadn't had to go to the bathroom we would never have stopped and we would have missed the firemen!

I think he got it, but not with the same sense of fate that I did.

Well, since I'm wanting to look my best for Wednesday night's rendezvous, I better go do another steam treatment. I've discovered the most amazing spa-like skin treatment. 1) Walk into your kitchen soon after you dishwasher's cycle has finished 2) open the door and 3) stick your head in. You might initially balk at the blast of hot steam, but once you can see again it is really quite effective. And much more optimistic than sticking your head into an oven after a long day.

I leave you with this gem. It is not the New Math or even the old math. This is what I like to call Ancient Math...

The Equation:

Husband + 2 children go to local park to burn off energy

- Wife who has 2 hours in her own house by herself

= CARNAL KNOWLEDGE that evening...

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Questions for Motherscribe

I've been getting quite a few questions in my comments lately and I thought this would be a good time to answer them.

Janet from Adventures in the 32-Aker Wood asks: Did you order that book yet? You know I wrote that post just for you. Janet, I KNEW IT! And from the moment I read your post I saw that you were dangling luscious VIGGO just out of range. You tease! SKOVBO, a collection of photographs and poems, by VIGGO MORTENSEN looks intriguing. Although I saw that it didn't come with a life size poster of Viggo, which is an impediment. I may just have to put it on my Christmas wish list and cling to the memories of our time together.

Barbra from Not Just Barbra asks: So, we're carpooling next Wednesday night right? You betcha, Girlfriend! We're off to tackle the wilds of Calabasas or the Steaminess of Hollywood. The meeting place for our assignation with BOSSY hasn't been fully decided yet. Just throw a bunch of LA people together and you have a perfect situation of indecisionitis. Can't wait!

Flutter asks in response to my Thank You Note Shame post: I almost always do, wanna hire me to do yours? Well, Flutter, it sounds a bit kinky, but YES would be delighted for you to do mine.

Questions from my poem Chocolate Orgasm:

Jennifer, from Thursday Drive asks: Is this how you got E's attention? Actually no... when E first laid eyes on me I was wearing a very conservative suit and using someone else's words in a training film for a corporation. Perhaps he saw through the attire?

Angie, from Keep Believing, asks: Need a cigarette? Honey, never smoke while nibbling on chocolate delicacies. Kills the afterglow.

Manic Mommy asks: So...what exactly were you doing sometime between 1992 and 1993? Let's see... I was single. I left LA a struggling actress in the summer of 1992 to move back to Atlanta and turned in my waitress apron for paying acting jobs for a while. And I met my husband in the spring of 1993. We both seemed to like chocolate and... Oh, Oh, OH!!!

And on my post on wanting to be a good mother Manic Mommy asks: Montessori kept popping into my head as I read this post. Have you looked into it as an option? I actually did look into Montessori, but since BOY has been in a play based program for 2 years and Montessori programs have a different way of doing things, I decided that my other options or possibilities would also be play based schools. (With the idea being if there is a move, to keep things as consistent as possible. Hopefully it will be a moot point, and we'll be able to create a new plan for BOY in his current school.) Thanks for the suggestion, MM! She asks a lot of questions, this Manic Mommy.


Questions from my Where I want to be 10 years from now...written in 1993 post:

Kalynne from The Philosopher Mom asks: But...where in this scenario are your kids? My lovely Kalynne, although you yourself have a life resembling Cheaper by the Dozen , [one of my all time FAVORITE childhood books-by the way], back in 1993 I was not exactly thinking about children. No, I was single and thinking of ME and a possible dream career path. (Personal note to Kalynne: please don't correct me in the comments by saying that you ONLY have 9 children. You get what I mean. Let's not be PICKY about the math.)

Suzanne from A Golden Journal asks: how does this post compare with where you are today? Are you surprised by how far you've come? Do you recognize your progress as a writer? Suz, I feel pretty good about where I am today with my writing. I'm trying to focus more on the production of it, the almost daily writing, rather than it being "my best ever." Just the fact that I am writing regularly after years of just "talking about doing it" is empowering. I don't feel surprised with how far I've come, because I don't really think I've gone that far. That said, I'm hoping to go further in my risk taking as a writer and to really stretch myself. I do see the progress. Some of the writing pieces that I've been digging up from the boxes in the garage are really bad. I like the Chocolate Orgasm poem because it is different, but I also want to work on it a bit more. It doesn't feel quite right yet. This blog is a great space for practice.

Questions from the Evidently wrinkle cream should not be mixed with hemmoroid cream post:

Purple Teacup asks: WHERE did you get the top illustration? Charles Reid did my header. He designed it for me. It is actually a pen & ink painting with watercolor, and then he digitized the painting. I have the original painting and a couple of sketches! And she adds: I just can't put something that goes down there on my face..... Purple Teacup, you will be greatly relieved to know that the hemmoroid cream had not been used in those DOWN THERE areas.

Jen from Rants & Raves asks:
1. What wrinkle cream do you use, and does it work? (I need to invest in some) Jen, I have been random in my selections, but just yesterday I heard about an amazing night cream from THE SOURCE, our own Ms. Tootsie Farklepants.
2. Did you ever try the hemmoroid cream on its own, just out of curiosity? Jen, don't you think this question is A LITTLE PERSONAL!? My GOD woman, have you NO restraint!?
3. Did you tell your friend that story? I did not. She reads my blog sporadically, and has not mentioned that I seemed a little off the day of the her son's baptism. Although...her nose was a bit twitchy on that day. I believe there appeared to be an odor coming from my undereye region.

MamaGeek asks: Make that a double OUCH. And obviously things did turn out FINE. Right? Right? Well, MamaGeek, I guess it is all in your perspective. I usually wear a large hat and oversized sunglasses in public.


Questions from The Product of a Good Mother post:
Happy Geek asks: Sooo, how does one get glue out of the comforter? (I will need to know this someday!) HG, do you really consider me a Domestic Goddess? I am extremely flattered. I am happy to report that the white glue stuff comes out in the washing machine.


Questions from the Pink Trees are a Catastrophe! post:

Domestically Challenged asks: Maybe cranky ladies have pink trees? Well... I guess that depends on what you mean by "have pink trees." And where those pink trees are located. I'm suspecting stuffed up the gluteal region, below the cleft. Is that what you meant? Umm..perhaps not.


On my post about BOY mainlining jelly beans and another parent's comment on this:

Jenn from Juggling Life asks: So you're damned if you do, damned if you don't? Yes, Jenn, I do believe that could be my Sad Sack Mommy's Motto.

Mrs. G asks: Aren't most of us just doing the best that we can? My dear Mrs. G, how kind of you to think that I am doing the best that I can. I would like to think that this is true, however... on this particular day in question I FAILED TO MENTION another dramatic development, which was that I had to jump fully clothed into a swimming pool to rescue BOY who was lit on SUGAR from jelly beans and thought he could swim. BOY was fine. As for his mother, what could have been a sexy, wet and wild look 10 years ago just looked soggy. But, soggy was doing the best that I could. I'm sure you concur.

Sober Briquette asks: Doling out the sweets is my territory - gotta win them back over by the end of the day, right? Yes, Ms. Briquette, I used this age old candied method in encouraging pooping in the potty. E obliged. He'll do anything for candy.

On my 6 word memoir meme post It's now JackO'Clock, and all's well:

HRH from June Cleaver Nirvana asks: Did you find yourself then thinking in 6 word segments for the rest of the day?? Yes. I. Did. You. Little. Wench.

An interesting question from the post Just your ordinary day...

Painted Maypole asks: but do you have your own puzzle? PM, I am a BIT unclear as to your question. Are you saying that I am SO popular in my own mind that I have my own photo puzzle? Or were you calling me a dinosaur? If so, it SMITES. You, YOU ingenue, YOU!

Thanks for the questions! I hope I have answered them to your satisfaction.

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TRUE CONFESSIONS...My Thank You Note SHAME

I like to think of myself as someone with good manners. I say "please" and "thank you," open doors for people, know not to use the butter knife as my own, don't slurp my tea, and try not to fart in the presence of others. I possess a firm handshake and I look people in the eye when I am talking to them. However, there is one virtue that I totally lack, perhaps the most important one, and that is being a writer of thank you notes.

It is not that my thank you notes are banal or unimaginative. No, it is far worse. I don't write them. At all. It is not something I'm proud of. It makes me appear at best flaky, and at worst thoughtless or insensitive. It is ...my thank you note SHAME. Why do I have such a problem? The roots go deep. It isn't that I am unappreciative, although I'm sure it appears that way. I'm not going to resort to that lame excuse that gets thrown around far too often "I'm too busy." Everyone is busy these days. It is life here on planet Earth in 2008. Nor am I too intoxicated or lit up on caffeine, chocolate or the occasional whiskey to write legibly - and I know you ARE thinking that!

So, what is it? What exactly is my problem? My lack of social graces in this very important instance, which is a pattern repeated again and again? O.K., TRUE CONFESSIONS... it is because, I AM LAZY. There, I've said it. Lazy. And laziness combined with failing memory, otherwise known as "Mommy Brain" is just not a pretty picture. And it doesn't inspire confidence in myself that I will ever change. Although, truthfully, I really would like to change this about myself. It is rather humiliating. Take last month, I came across the list of presents that GIRL received for her birthday last...September. I'm good at writing lists! But, I have NO idea, at all, if I sent thank you notes to all the lovely people who gave her gifts. I have a vague memory that I may have succeeded in writing a few of them, but I am afraid that they were only written in my head. I say such lovely things in my head, too! Unfortunately, the giver of the gift never knows that I've said these things, because they NEVER RECEIVE A THANK YOU NOTE!

I shouldn't say "NEVER." You know, you never should say never. I did write a thank you note to my mom and step dad in mid-February for the wonderful Christmas presents that they sent us, most especially the children. Another confession? I actually patted myself on the back a little because 1) I actually wrote a note and sent it and 2) it was sent out within 2 months of the event. Maybe I'm improving?

Until BOY turned 3, we always had a "No Gifts Please" policy for birthday parties. I would put it as a little note on the birthday invitation. My family ignored this request, but that is what family is for, right? And family doesn't really count, because they love to give gifts to your kids. Wonderfully creative things like that cat, that still seems alive and freaky in the playroom. In fact, it just looked at me and meowed a moment ago. But, I digress... No gifts. That was our little deal. Other people were doing it, it seemed a great idea. And it was. I was given tremendous kudos for my restraint, for the ability to limit the avalanche of gifts that could occur when you have a playgroup of 20 people, plus other friends, plus family and somehow 30 presents does seem obscene for a 2 year old child. For any child. But, TRUE CONFESSIONS? ... I didn't do it out of any admirable moral fortitude. No, I just didn't want to write all of those thank you notes. Especially when they never get written...

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Chocolate Orgasm

My hands shake as I desperately
unwrap your jacket
tearing at the last layer
eager to get at your dark, milky skin.

My tongue darting out
gliding over your solid, boxy shape
getting the first taste of you...

My mouth moist with anticipation
slowly, softly taking you in
nibbling on your squared edges
sucking on the sweetness that melts in my mouth.

The bolts of pleasure begin...
streaming through my toes
a newly stoked fire sending
red hot fingers of flame, shooting upward
bursting through my pores.

I lay still
awash in your giving...
my chocolate orgasm.


Written sometime between 1992 and 1993

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Where I want to be 10 years from now...written in 1993

I've begun digging through some old journals and notebooks, rediscovering a period where I was doing some stream of consciousness writing and poetry. It has taken longer than 10 years, but I feel like I am pretty close to what I was dreaming about on this February day in 1993. Although, my black coffee- no cream & sugar has been replaced with gallons of Irish tea accompanied by cream & sugar, and a keyboard has replaced my pen and stacks of paper...

Where I want to be 10 years from now
February 18, 1993

I want to be a writer. I want to be a writer. I will be a writer. I will brandish my pen as if a sword - slashing down words with passion, slicing with pain, whistling with witticisms. I will be the heroine -dancing with glee - feeling my heart in my throat. Having passions - putting them on paper. I will sit in my book lined study, the scent of books in my nostrils - the crisp, clean paper stacked up high - pens and pencils there. Perhaps they will be scattered. I shall feel incredibly alive and connected. Some days I will be filled with doubts - feeling fuzzy and worthless. Then a turn in the road and inspiration hits, the wings of thought fluttering into my creative pool, splashing me back in the face. My coffee cup by my side. The smell wafting up to my nose - comfort, warmth, definitive black.

When someone asks what I do, I shall look them boldly in the eye and say with ease... I am a writer. Sometimes thoughts will lie clenched in my stomach, fears gnawing at my gut. Then expelled bursting upon paper. Perhaps I will have to leave my study, my sanctuary and move my body - allowing the rock which is fear to roll out of my toes, so that I can bend over, pick it up, throw it in the air and watch it twirl another way before catching it. Or, I will pick it up and hurl it as hard as I can out the window. Oh joy! To really feel at one with myself - to have a deep private moment and then tease it out and let it seduce another. My red passion, my white terror, coloring a canvas of my own creation. I shall be the painter, the sculptor, the actress, the musician, the writer - all of these in one. The giant smile full of fierce sparkling teeth that has lain deep within my belly, the small child that dances there, safely - will come to dance upon my desk in the sunbeams ...smiling her rapt smile and she will be me.

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