How to get the WAND in 30 minutes or less... a tutorial

What is the WAND?
A hint...there is nothing twinkly about this wand. It doesn't light up or glow with happiest place on earth cheer. Although it might be made in China... Still unsure? Bibbity-Bobbity-Boo? No. How about ... I'll get you my pretty, and your Big Girl Va Jay Jay, too!

If you are still clueless about the WAND, JCK would like to educate you. Having left WAND virginity long ago, in a land far, far away, JCK has been WANDED more times than the average gal.

The WAND is a tool. A long, unbending object that aims to go where you would rather it didn't. Lest one be wary of contracting an anti-social disease, a condom is used. There is nothing life-like about this WAND. It is made of hard, solid, plastic, and is attached to a machine by a dangling wire. Can JCK hear an...**ooohhh****ooohhh?

Why would one get the wand?
Aside from "just for kicks," the WAND can be used during infertility treatments to gauge the growth and size of follicles (containing eggs) that occur after a rather large amount of hormones. This use of the WAND would be in the category of hope and excitement. As JCK knows well, if a miracle baby is at the other end, it is worth the WANDING. However, the WAND can also be used for other purposes. Say....for detecting fibroids or cysts. Fun stuff like that.

JCK believes in spreading the good news. So, JCK will take you through her experience. It is a story that is up close and personal. Otherwise known as getting the WAND.

The Dress Code:
Oh, golly, gee...what to wear? Of course it is up to you, but JCK prefers jeans over dresses for this type of experience. By the time you leave, you'll have had enough of a Wow Nelly! breeze across your buttocks, and won't feel like being free and easy below the waist. Running shoes are best for a quick exit when done.

The Prep:
You will be given instructions. Undress from the waist down, and put the "robe" on with the opening in the front. Open. In. The. Front. They do not exaggerate. The robe in question is still open in the front, after you tie the strings. In fact, it cannot attract more wind gusts than if your robe were... a sail. Indeed.
And, inevitably there is always that friendly sailor just outside the dressing room, so smile.

The Wanding:
You will be ushered into an understated room in shades of gray and pale gray. You will be asked to climb up on a cot with wheels, otherwise known as a stretcher. After the technician places a small sheet across your upright knees for modesty, otherwise known as WHY BOTHER?, you will be asked to lift your fanny to the sky so that she can place a rolled towel underneath your hips. This enables your nether regions to better salute the ceiling.

The Incorrect Way:
It is after you are in this comfortable position that you must pay attention, for the wand descends between your legs and halts at the entrance. It is most important to note that the WAND be at the correct entry point, for a lubricated WAND can go into a myriad of dark, happy homes. Yes. It. Can.

Excuse Me! You are entering my bottom!.... is a possible scenario.

Er...OOPs... So sorry... says the technician with 10 years of work experience wielding the WAND.

Hahahaha...Nervous laughter ensues.

Hark! Do not miss this opportunity for a mutual chuckle over the wandering, wayward WAND.

The Correct Way:
Once the WAND has the correct entrée, your technician will say, "Now, you will feel a little pressure.

It's not too bad, you convince yourself.

The word RAMROD comes to mind.

It is good to keep breathing. Perhaps you can reflect on what an amazing thing the vaginal canal is... So accommodating to a variety of ...WANDS.

Then, if you are lucky, the technician brings you back by saying, O.K. we're done. You will feel a little pressure as I take this out.

Again with the pressure! Oy!

Always ready to help, you will show off all of your hard work practicing your Kegel exercises. Finally they have a purpose! So, you help eject the WAND by the force of your own vagina.

The After:
All is well. It is over! You can shuffle to the bathroom, where you will discover that the WAND's lubricant has been applied with, perhaps...a spatula? Indeed, you wonder how much lubricant was utilized. You contribute to the downfall of the planet, by believing more is better when it comes to toilet tissue. Twenty minutes later you emerge. Somewhat drier.

You collect your clothes from the locker. You dress, throwing your clothes back on with careless abandon. You walk out through the waiting room, hoping it is just you who hears a SQUOOSH, SQUOOSH sound every time your legs separate to take a step. You make it to the elevator, sharing a ride with a variety of characters. All of whom do not look happy. Perhaps not a good time to shout:

How can they call it a WAND?!! Where's the magic? The glitter dust?

It is not a shared moment. Vacant stares. A quick exit to the street.

Aftercare Instructions:
You will go home and put a sign around your waist for your husband's benefit.

All openings have been filled. No WANDS need apply.



JCK hopes that this tutorial has been helpful.






******
It is to be noted that JCK is fine. There are no burgeoning eggs, nor things to worry about. All is well.

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BlogHer celebrates women bloggers around the globe

In May it will be 3 years since I started blogging. That summer I discovered a phenomenal site for women. BlogHer. And it is like nothing else.

BlogHer celebrates women bloggers around the globe. It was created by 3 women who were intuitive, innovative thinkers at a time when women's voices were not being heard. Now they are.

Boy are they! Whether your blog has a small readership or gets hundreds of hits a day, you are welcome in the BlogHer community. In fact, there are no small blogs at BlogHer. Lisa, Elisa & Jory don't think like that. They believe if you have something to say, and you say it well, you should be heard. It's an equal playing field, and everyone is on the same team. They welcome controversy, thoughtfulness, and yes...a little raciness, too. They believe that women support each other, and don't buy into the stereotype that women are out to get each other.

BlogHer encourages, validates, and empowers women. Best of all they are responsive to any question or concern. (Special shout-out to Denise & Yvonne, who have helped this...er...technologically challenged gal...) In a world where automated messages abound, this stands out, and feels so respectful.

Yet the word that describes BlogHer best to me is ...approachable. I will never forget meeting Lisa Stone at BlogHer '08 in San Francisco. Gathering my courage, I walked up to her in a crowd, and waited. (She's a popular lady, you know!) As she turned to me with a bright smile and a hello, I immediately felt comfortable. She's the real deal...

In celebration of BlogHer's 5th Anniversary, my 5 words to describe BlogHer are:

Responsive

Encouraging

Validating

Empowering

Approachable

Congratulations on your 5 year anniversary, BlogHer! You should be proud.

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Work that matters

Life was simpler when I was young and single, and could curl up in bed with a box of chocolates and a romance novel.

Another viewpoint on change today. A Facebook friend linked Seth Godin's latest post: No, everything is not going to be okay. It struck home. Especially this...

No, everything is not going to be okay. It never is. It isn't okay now. Change, by definition, changes things. It makes some things better and some things worse. But everything is never okay.

Finding the bravery to shun faux reassurance is a critical step in producing important change. Once you free yourself from the need for perfect acceptance, it's a lot easier to launch work that matters.

I am at a crossroads right now. I am probably going back to work. If I can find a job. Ideally part-time. Isn't it interesting how the very thing that I've been bemoaning - not having work of my own, desperately needing a separateness from my role as wife and mother, now feels threatening. Because... it is becoming a financial necessity, and not a choice. How nice it is to have choices. Yet, how often do we look the other way when opportunities present themselves?

Work that matters. It resonates. It lures me. It feels a bit...out of reach. Yet, if I can ground myself, and not sink with the fears of the what ifs??? What if I go back to work and my children feel abandoned? What am I going to miss? What if I get a part-time job, but am unable to manage the pick-ups and drop-offs of my children? What if I'm too tired to write? What if...

I am a reassurance seeker ...junkie. I'm better than I used to be, but...truthfully? I have a long, long way to go. When Godin uses the phrase "faux reassurance," is he talking about seeking reassurance that isn't real, that the people delivering the reassurance are false? Or, is he saying that the whole idea of reassurance is false, because you really can't be reassured? Because, "everything is never okay."

Perhaps it is like the fable of Santa Claus. We believe it until we don't. I reassure my children all the time. It will be okay...I say. Am I setting them up? I don't think so. Because, I need to believe it is going to be okay, too.

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That monster...the unknown...threatens me

January always seems to be a time of challenge for me. This year is no different. I am finding myself clinging to what has been, knowing that change is coming. My heels are digging in, making skid marks, and shrieking across the floor. Change isn't just coming, it is going to inhale me, suck me up, and shoot me out into....something different.

Change is good, I say. Change brings new life. I am a hypocrite. I applaud change in others. I encourage my friends to embrace it. I am THE mom with a mission, when it comes to advocating change for my own children. Yet, I am a coward when I have to make changes...myself. I tremble at the door of change. I don't like it. Not one bit. That monster...the unknown...threatens me.

As is always the case, I will avoid change as long as I can, until I am no longer able to take another step, without changing. Something. Will. Have. To. Give. The old way no longer working.

Who do I see now when I look in the mirror? I see a middle-aged woman who no longer has the luxury of waiting. Who still has time to stretch and grow, if she allows herself to do so. If she starts moving. Forward. Not in circles. She must step out of her comfort zone. A zone that doesn't feel all that comfortable, anyway. Yet, she draws comfort in sameness. Even if it isn't good for her soul. This is who I see when I look in the mirror.

My identity is permanently entwined now with my role as Mother. I both embrace and rage at this. For there is no greater demand on me, no greater depth of love, than what I feel for my children. And how they feel about me.

At the end of the day, no matter that many of my dreams are still out of reach, I can put my arms around my children, inhaling their soft scent... knowing that my biggest dream has come true. I am their mother. I am blessed. Yet, I want more...

Yet... Always, always the "yet." Why? I am ...afraid. Afraid of stretching for those dreams. Because stretching requires growing. And FOR THE LOVE OF GOD...aren't I growed up yet??? No. Not yet.

As uncomfortable as my current skin has become, shedding it takes guts. Putting on a new skin, hell...even polishing the old skin - still a change, causes me to freeze. Uncertain. As if in a dream...sinking in quicksand, falling without a parachute....

But, I AM! also a person in my own right, with dreams that are separate from those of being a mother...and a wife. Like a broken record, it is a constant, a buzzing, this need to have a separate self.

So, what about those other dreams? Are they valid? Can they have a life? Yes. But, in order to create that possibility, I must make changes. I must. Or, I will never know...

*******************
Painting Imminent by Chuck Gumpert.

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Haiti. I can't turn away.

I'm writing over at BlogHer today. Come read me there.

Would you like to help the people of Haiti? You can donate here or here.

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Smelling like sunshine, grassy dirt, and markers...

In the sunlight, her light brown hair turns to burnished gold. Hand over hand, she traverses the monkey bars, eager to meet my smiling face at the other end. Almost every day she writes me little love notes. All for me. Some scrawled across torn strips of paper, in her tiny hand. Her love is bountiful. She still looks for me, eagerly, when I pick her up from school. Big eyes wide, excited, ready to leave and share her day with me. Her stories require a comfortable seat and a patient ear. They are long. Very. Long. The details of each event, that I didn't see, accounted for and noted. She is quick to memorize, and often repeats back verbatim what I said...weeks ago. She is meticulous and precise with her lettering, a passion, not something I encouraged. It just happened, and she is happy about it. On Christmas Day she spent over 2 hours in one spot, working on her own fairy tale storybook. A present from Santa. She is messy. Oh, yes. So, so messy. The playroom, a tale of what she's done that day. A trail of cut out paper scraps, pens, crayons, scissors, and tape. With a few baby dolls, toy kitchen goods, and doll house furniture thrown in the ring of MESS. She loves to paint and her school clothes boast of it. She and I joke about being able to judge how great her day was by the amount of paint on her clothing. Mama, can you tell what kind of day I've had today?! She has a temper. Whoa! Frustration is something that covers her body in seconds. Rageful, and later...sobbing remorse. She is hard on herself. A perfectionist. Often, it is one way or the highway with her. She impulsively calls out to me from another room or the back seat of the car... Mommy? I....LOVE....YOU.... She adores her brother. He is the apple of her pie. She spends many a freewheeling hour playing with him. The big brother, 10 months older. Who also frustrates her like no one else. She worries about him. She is a rule follower. She finds comfort in having a plan. She likes preparation, not surprises.  She is thoughtful, very smart, and often pensive.  Sometimes...I wish...that I could hold her here, at 5 1/2 ... just now, the vision ever present. A little girl growing and stretching every day. Less round, more long of limb. Roses in her cheeks. And stars in her eyes. Smelling like sunshine, grassy dirt, and markers...



******************
Note: My heart goes out to the people of Haiti. And to all the moms who cannot wrap their arms around their beloved children tonight.

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...and she is obviously a NO GOOD, hypocritical, obviously TWITTER troubled, gal

JCK has an admission to make. She has succc....succcc....succumbed to the lure of TWITTER. Why? What was the groundbreaking moment that sent her over to the other side? JCK cannot fathom that IT moment. JCK cannot fathom much. JCK is suffering from some sickness, most probably picked up at one of her children's schools, or from TWITTER itself. JCK would be rageful, or at the very least annoyed by this, but at the moment, JCK is feeling too weak to do much of anything. Except TWEET and moan. TWEET and moan. Perhaps you'd like to come find her? At the very least you could hate her because she is on TWITTER, and she is obviously a NO GOOD, hypocritical, obviously TWITTER troubled, gal. Or, maybe say ...never, say never. And, leave it at that.

JCK is wondering just what it IS about good intentions, checklists, having an opening in one's schedule, (free time???), that brings about the perfect recipe for getting a virus. JCK is suffering from a stomach ailment that appears to be affecting her cognitive skills, as well. Hence, her decision, earlier this morning,  to begin rearranging the layout of her right hand sidebar. Unfortunately, in the rearranging shuffle, JCK inadvertantly deleted her advertising. JCK is one smooth operator. JCK is currently in bed. But, before you get too excited, do know that the only sexy thing in site is her...sometime paramour, her red hot lap top. *sigh*

So, between bouts of running to the LOO and picking up/dropping off children at school, JCK is engaged in lying/sitting abed. Until moments ago, JCK was thinking clearly, but at this juncture...that remains debatable. And so, until further notice, JCK is over and out....

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Alone! Clutching her Tarjay gift certificate close to her bosom

Imagine if you will, JCK sauntering into Tarjay. It is a rare morning in which she can arrive at Tarjay before 8:20am. The parking is plentiful. She is full of good will toward men, most of whom are not in the building.

It is just JCK. Alone! Clutching her Tarjay gift certificate close to her bosom. All seems well with the world. Especially when she picks a cart, and HARK! the wheels move like well oiled machines. Instead of one of those carts that starts acting up about 100 yards into the store. You know that cart. n'est-ce pas?Moving close to the speed of light, because you have 1 hour to get in and out of the store, and pick up your child from preschool, when suddenly, out of nowhere, the cart STOPS on a dime, and the handle slams into your midsection. OOF! And, the blow is so powerful, that you can only squeak out a muted FUCK!!! You then lurch about like a drunken sailor, red of face, and gasping for breath...and by the time you return to the cart area, and choose another cart, you are too tired to shop. But, JCK digresses....

Let it be said that JCK is not a natural shopper. But, she feels unnaturally comfortable at Tarjay. Sadly. It is home away from home. JCK's life with two children aged 6 and 5 is almost all about practicality. Tarjay is practical, and occasionally, if JCK gets lucky, even ...dare she say it? Hip! JCK does have very strong Scottish roots. Mmmmm...perhaps that is why she is partial to a muscular rump under cotton, strong calves, and that Scottish brogue that makes JCK feel like she is lying naked on velvet...waiting.

At Christmas, JCK was lucky enough to get this cherished gift certificate, which she holds so close to her bosom, from her husband E. It was painful for him. E. To buy her a gift certificate at Tarjay. You see, E is more of a Lordstrom's kind of guy. Now, JCK has nothing against Lordstrom's. She has adored previous gifts that E bought her there. However, JCK really, really needs a few essentials, and she would rather buy 8 items at Tarjay than 1.5 items at Lordstrom's. Scottish.

Good fortune appears to continue for JCK on this beauteous day. Indeed, she is no sooner in the women's section than she begins to thrust clothing items into her cart. Blouses, jeans, je ne sais quois.... JCK believes it is vital to fill one's cart, make your way to the dressing room, and get it over with. Ahhh...yes, the dressing room. Where one changes. Harsh lighting, mirrors everywhere, it IS like waiting in the stirrups for the OB/GYN to enter. However, it must be done. Every single pair of JCK's jeans have holes. Large ones. JCK's knees play peek-a-BOOM. She has no jeans. And, JCK without jeans is akin to well... a Scotsman without his kilt. Not that there is anything wrong with that.

JCK has in hand 5 pairs of jeans. E, bless him, has been mentioning that he believes that JCK would look good in low rise, bell bottoms. JCK believes that this particular style of jeans is not for her. JCK is fully into her womanhood, and feels confident in her own ability to choose her jeans. However, just for kicks, she tries on a few pairs of low rider, bell bottom young woman's jeans. Although JCK is on the smaller side, and can fit into these young woman's jeans, the look is ...totally unacceptable. The rear not only flattens JCK's already descending derriere, but there is a poofy, pouch effect in back at the waist. Almost as if JCK is a Kangaroo in reverse. And, if JCK sits down, the back slides down so low as to reveal her....full bodied underwear. No, it will not do! So, JCK moves on. Quickly. Some shuddering is involved.

She tries on womanly jeans. Fit solutions. Slimming style. Stretch denim. No-Gap Waistband. Mid Rise. Boot Cut. They are delicious. Comfortable. Flattering. JCK gets 3. She tosses a few blouses into the shopping cart, and she is done. She soars over to the check-out, still clutching her Tarjay gift certificate to her heaving bosom. Success! She swaggers out. With change in her pocket. All is right with JCK's world. For today...

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So, where is JCK today? In 2010?

All of her life, JCK has wished to be...exotic. Sadly. She. Is. Not. Exotic. True, she does sport a head of silver hair upon her head. Alas, people can and will call it gray. And, gray? Not exotic. Foolhardy. Not sexy, not even Wow Charlie. Perhaps, some women might call her hair plan, Just plain Stupid.

Growing up, JCK always looked like the girl next door. As a child, throw her a goat, and she'd have been Heidi. In her 20s, she did walk on the wild side...a bit. There was that stint working for Eastern Onion Singing Telegrams (yes, that is JCK as "the nurse.") back in the 80s. Then there was the brief, yet memorable, bizarre gold/silver lace classic combo attire period, while working as a hat check girl in NYC...the late 80s. Truth be told? JCK kind of sashayed through the 80s. She had a bit of flair. A kind of charming, blundering, naivete.

So, where is JCK today? In 2010? Well...she is beginning to imagine herself as a new type of exotic. JCK has evolved, people. No more run of the mill exotica for her. No. Her idealized version of EXOTIC is ...well, one of those women who appears to step out of a magazine. You know the type. Unruffled, yogasized, well sexed (as opposed to under or over), on the plus side of sleep, whose children appear scrubbed and never, ever whine, and at the end of the day? She only has kind words for her husband. Now that? Would be exotic.

Ummmm....JCK?

Yes?

Would you come down, please?

But, why? It is so comfortable here in never, never land.

JCK!!

*sigh* Yes. O.K. OKAY!!!!!

JCK is slipping into her imaginary khakis...oh, the sexiness...the mystery... BUT. The pockets? Appear to be flaring outwards. The pockets. Flaring. This will NOT do.

JCK is back in her ripped jeans. Exotic khaki clad women will have to be admired. From afar....

Being authentic in 2010! JCK likes that. She likes it...a lot.

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Happy New Year!

JCK wishes you both wonder and yes... a little verve in 2010. It's never too late to get out those sparkly red shoes and click them a few times.

The Southern California Motherscribe household is welcoming in the New Year with our Georgia tradition of eating collards and black-eyed peas for good luck. E's greens are infamous in these parts. He started cookin' yesterday, and honey and bacon are involved. Heh. JCK will throw in some cornbread, coleslaw and cheese grits. A crowd is expected. Nothing like sharing good food with the people you love.

May your belly be full, and your heart soar in 2010. HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!

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