Friday, September 4

Lamenting Days of Yore

Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap organized by Baking In A Tornado. This week I joined 15 other brave bloggers who picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts. 

Here are links to all the writers now featuring Secret Subject Swap posts.  Sit back, grab a cup, and check them all out.

My subject is: You have a choice of a perfect vacation. Where do you go and who do you take with you? It was submitted by The Diary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver. Here goes:  

via Virtual Tourist

I can sense it in my bone,
Feel its pull on the wind-
Can hear it echo within my breast-
Sending chill across my skin.

An isle worlds away is calling
Brazen realm of cliff and stone
A land of blooming thistle
I’ve glimpsed in aging tome."
-Luke Douglas

 Green. Jade. Emerald. Forest.

The color means trees. The smell of pine needles. Rolling hills of wet grass after rain. I've always been attracted to it. It means life and brightness. Even if there is no sun, and the clouds dim the day, I will find the green. It is always vibrant.

To me it also means Scotland. I instinctively picture endless fields, farmers and their sheep herding the countryside and tall trees as far as the eye can see. I grew up next to cornfields. That is a different kind of countryside. It always felt barren and dry.

I daydream about 16th century Scottish life. I'm not sure if that is what I would find now. I would take my husband, of 10 years, and cross the Atlantic Ocean. (He might have one arm left by the time we land. Airplanes make my stomach roll.) We would plant our feet on the foreign soil and walk off the beaten path. It is a place I wouldn't mind getting lost in for awhile.

We could rent a small cottage in an out-of-the-way town. Just us. No children. No expectations. Like the honeymoon we never had. We would wake up to chilly mornings with coffee and dew speckled landscapes. Then talk a walk down cobble stoned roads and find a market for breakfast. Then meet the people.

I am in love with accents. Not languages but the way people talk. French is supposed to be the language of love. I prefer the big, burly gents.Words so thick you have to watch the person's mouth to track what they are saying. They seem exotic. I would roll my tongue around words like Mackinnon, Beinn na Caillich, Argyle and Carnasserie. My ears would be filled with laughter because alcohol runs freely through Scottish veins.

Of course, we would visit the tourist stops. All the castles. Stonehenge. The Coast. Tea rooms. All the Pubs. The Lock. The Highlands. The Isle of Man. A free vacation is so open ended. We might never leave. 

Except for the kids. I almost forgot about them.


Wednesday, August 5

When My Tribe Has Failed Me

I loathe summer after the first two weeks. It is not because the boys get up at the crack of dawn (which they do). It is not because they try to crawl up my behind every minute of the day (they do that, too). They are pretty self sufficient three-fourths of the time. Honestly, I love school because it is a free babysitter.

School: the ultimate daycare provider. No one shames me for my enjoyment at seeing them walk through those double doors because it is educational (and kind of a requirement). I can do a dance like no one is watching on the drive home (mostly in my own driveway). I do not pray for the teachers. They took the job on purpose.

I have reached a high point after twelve years of being a SAHM and then a part time SAHM. I savor my cup of coffee if I wait till 8:30 a.m. I enjoy a few hours of eerie silence. I relish non-sticky floors and tables until dinner time. I can hop in the shower, walk around the house naked, and possibly have sexy time with my husband. Then take a nap to recuperate.

Jealous, yet?

If you have a tribe that you can depend on, I am, actually, more jealous of you.

I find it hard to comprehend. It is a lonely life. Why would someone want that? No one sees sees it that way.

I was brain washed to believe that, even though, I only have two hands, two more are only an arm's length away. I was raised by more than one mother, father, sister and brother. There was always someone around to take care of me. To ask questions. To answer questions.

I have parents, who live 20 minutes away, who have not offered to spend time with their grandchildren (on their own) for two years. The in-laws can not even offer because they live in different states. It is hard enough for me to spend money on us, let along fifty bucks a pop on a sitter. Who my kids can be crazy towards. Or who can judge us as parents. (Even though, I'm paying them.) Every time I see a social media status that reads "Grandparents are taking the heathens for a week" or "Third kid free weekend in a row", I get a little stabby.

I understand that life happens. Everyone has schedules that do not revolve around me and I have a schedule that revolves around my kids, husband, work and etc. I accept and deduce that if you have three kids (or more) under five years of age, your invitation to get together will probably fall through.

I miss being able to hang out with people and just....hang out. I do not want to feel like there are strings attached. Yes, I'm whining. However, when my tribe has failed me, I call bullshit.

  • Never volunteer to watch my children and ask me again if/when I'm going to have more.....bullshit.
  • Complain that we do not see each other enough, then call (or do not call at all) and cancel plans because you slept till noon.....bullshit.
  • I only see you at Christmas but please call to borrow enough money to pay a mortgage (but that is not what you're spending it on), even though you make more than me and have no kids...bullshit.
  • Ask us to fly, last minute, (during a two month lay-off) when you have never visited and we have drove 32 hours round trip, with two kids, three times.....bullshit.
  • Fail to take a firm grasp on your husband's balls and back out of an already paid for (by me) event that I gave you three months notice for.....bullshit.

I have no tribe. I have to take care of myself and the ones in the other room.We have survived thirteen years together and there was quite a bit of "come hell or high water". I cannot turn back time, control other people's actions or force the impossible.

Life really is survival of the fittest. The strongest minds and the strongest connections.

I've realized that only I can make time for me and mine. I'll appreciate my pack of four.

Wednesday, July 29

9 Reasons I Wouldn’t Make a Good Lesbian

 previously published on Sammiches and Pysch Meds

I work for the Post Office. I deliver #allthethings before you get to see them. A couple of weeks ago, I delivered Jennifer Aniston’s side boob. She was on the cover of People. It made me realize that there is no trace of wanting to be a lesbian in the corners of my mind.
Below is my list about why I don’t like cherry-flavored chap stick (AKA why I can’t see myself kissing girls).

1. I’m not into the boobs.I get boob all day, every day. Side boob, under boob, all the boobs. Knockers, tits, breasts (I’ve never really called them that) and melons. How do I prefer my knockers? Flat. I’ve warned the hubby that if he ever bulked up his pecs so that his were bigger than mine, I’d file for divorce.

2. I’m not an ass girl.I’ve got my own ass all day, every day. I don’t stare at man ass. It’s not really that sexy of a feature to me. What am I going to do with it? (Am I missing something?) I’ve never contemplated if women have a lot of “junk in the trunk.” I’m not, in general, interested in that body part on any gender. It’s also a “no-fly zone” and NOT an emergency landing strip.

3. I like penis.Sure, there are purple/green/rainbow-colored, plastic substitutes we could use, but they can never beat the real thing. There is something sexy about another person hoovering over you and knowing that they can’t fake that kind of release. Although, the no mess part would be a plus.

4. I can’t stand drama.Exit door 4. Please trip down the stairs on your way out. I’ll shut the door behind you.

5. I don’t need more mood swings.I have enough for five women. There’s Susie Q (I took a happy pill), Esmeralda (sexytime sister), Gia (I need a happy pill), Nicci (the mean bitch) and Miss Thang (ghetto anyone?). A female lover wouldn’t be able to compete. Last place is not a good place to be in a relationship.

6. I enjoy deniability.I usually wait till the last minute to go shopping for Aunt Flo’s personal needs. Like when it’s HAPPENING. I have no one else to put the blame on but myself and no else to yell at me. I’d also have to share my chocolate-flavored everything, which leads me to….

7. I’m not a fan of PMS syncing.Tsunami and Sparta make love. It creates that circle of teenage girls who pass tampons under the bathroom stalls like a new form of crack. Stay away from bitches who bleed together. Unless you get off on that kind of thing, and if so…..ewwwwwwwwwwwww.

8. I’m not all about the smell.Our room smells like sex sometimes. Usually mine. Men don’t really smell like sex. They smell like sweat from sex. A clean “litter box” is still a “litter box,” especially when you add pheromones. Gag.

9. I enjoy being the less hairy one with minimal effort.His legs are supposed to be hairy. And beards make panties come off. It’s a known fact (See: Life with the Bearded J’s). A woman with a beard? Not so much.

Wednesday, July 22

To The Other Woman

previously posted on Original Bunker Punks

Dear Woman I Will Never Confront,

We’ve known each other for three years now. Over the last six months, I’ve realized that we do not have anything in common, except that our kids like each other. What I have to say has nothing to do with that, though.

You try to act like one of the “guys.” You say you’re a tomboy. I get that. I don’t wear pink, either. (Really, that’s all you got?)

Honestly, you’re just not happy in your marriage. You have low self esteem from a bad childhood and a crappy relationship. I get that. But I wish you’d understand.

He’s mine. And I’m not sorry.

I’m not sorry that you’re husband treats you like it is 1960. I’m not sorry that he lets his creepy friends hit on you. I’m not sorry that you didn’t get to come over on New Year’s because he went to the bar and left you at home. I’m not sorry that you scrounge for money for birthdays and Christmas because his money is his money and your money is his money.

I pity you. I’m not heartless. However, all of the above is your problem. There are many solutions (but you may not like any of them).

Above all, stop.

Stop texting him lyrics from love songs. Stop questioning why he doesn’t respond back. Stop being pissy because he doesn’t show you attention. Stop asking for his help. Stop.

It torments me to invite you over anymore, and pretend that you do not make my stomach churn. I can’t relax around you. You’re like the mole on my back that needs to be removed. Unfortunately, I’m afraid of needles and both are expensive.

I trust my husband. Unquestionably. He’s a catch. I married him. I do not like to share. I should not have to.

P.S. You don’t say “I love you” to your married, guy “friends.”