Ty is not my middle child's first name. It's actually his middle name. His first name is Godfukindammit. Like you know how in real life or sitcoms when a kid is in Big Trouble and mom yells the kid's first AND middle name in that ooooh boy... you are in so much trouble....get over here this minute voice? Well, when I'm pissed at Ty this is what you hear in my house Godfukindammit Ty what the fuck!?! that's just how it is in The Sanctuary Yesterday the kids were off for like the 7 millionth day in a row. Mia went to the sitter's, Jack went to work, and Ty hung out at home with a friend. It occurred to me before I left to remind him to CLEAN UP AFTER HIMSELF. But I didn't. I think maybe deep down I knew either way I'd come home to a disaster area regardless. And being an Eternal Optimist, I thought maybe I'll come home to a relatively clean house and be so pleasantly surprised and I will beam adoringly at my middle child and say thank you for cleaning up after yourself Ty i didn't even have to remind you you are awesome disclaimer #1: now I know you're thinking WTF??? the 12 yr old should automatically clean up after himself, shouldn't have to be reminded, and absolutely shouldnot be thanked and praised for meeting the minimal responsibilities of being part of a family. It's my own fault. I succumb to the it's just easier to do it myself i don't want to fight nag bitch and i do it better anyway thing. It's my version of the i feel guilty and like a bad parent because i work and i'm not home enough and your father and i are not together thing. It's just the way it is. I need to remind all of them like every night to clear their plates which get dumped in the sink instead of put in the dishwasher but at least Jack and Mia do it. And they say ok Mommy or sure Mom because they know they get off so easy with me when it comes to housework and chores and they know it's the right thing to do. But Ty can be a pain in the tush. He'll huff and puff and stomp and throw his body around. Sometimes he looks at me like I have 2 heads and I've asked him to... I don't know... drive the getaway car while I rob the Credit Union or eat a bowlful of raw eggs or something. Sometimes I get a why do I have to do it? Why can't Jack do it? That's when his first name is Areyoufukinkiddingme and his last name is Becuzisaidso. So last night I get home late from a brutal 12 hour day and the kitchen is a MESS. Like a we made pancakes for breakfast and frozen stuff for lunch and baked a cake and didn't put one damn thing away mess. Like a the box of Bisquick is wide open and the tops for the Pam and Wesson are... I don't know... not on the Pam and Wesson mess. And a the cellophane wrappers from the frozen lunch stuff are scattered around and most definitely not in the garbage mess. And the sink is overflowing with crap and the crap that doesn't fit into the overflowing sink is spread from one end of the counter to the other mess. Sometimes Ty's first name is Whathefuk. Whathefuk Ty the place is a mess down there. Blank stare... what??? Sometimes Ty's first name is Areyoukiddingme Areyoukiddingme Ty? There's crap everywhere. It was CLEAN when I left. More blank stares. We couldn't clean up cuz the dishwasher was full. Sometimes Ty's first name is Seriously Seriously Ty? That's when you empty the goddamfukin dishwasher and load the dirty shit up. Why should I have to clean up your crap after I worked my ass off all day? Still more blank stares. He just doesn't get it. Or maybe he's just a turd. I took a deep breath and calmed down. When I'm calm he's just Ty. Ty... tomorrow morning you're gonna clean up the kitchen before you go to school. Blank. Stare. Confusion. Before school Mom? Yes Honey. Before school. I'm not gonna look at that mess all day. So you'd better go to sleep now so you have time in the morning. OK mom. So this morning, the kitchen looked pretty much the same as last night. I didn't hear the usual bye mom when Ty left for school. Aaargh. I figured he'd either completely forgotten entirely possible or hit the snooze button and woke up late also entirely possible. oooooh im gonna kick his ass when he gets home. after I clean the kitchen. On closer inspection I saw that he had emptied the dishwasher and partially loaded it. But there was still half a sinkful of crap and the Wesson bottle and Pam can and Bisquick box were still sitting on the counter. Maybe to him that was cleaning up. Maybe he ran out of time. There will be an explanation later I'm sure. Sigh. I feel a lecture coming on. And more blank stares. Sooner or later we'll get it right. disclaimer #2: I'm cranky and tired and premenstrual and I love my Whathefukinfuk Ty to bits. Now it's time to clean the kitchen
Yup. I did. Breast Augmentation. The twins arrived Wednesday, November 7th. 275 ml of silicone goodness. Each. Way easier than a c-section. Recovery reminiscent of super engorgement and double mastitis, with a little bruising for good measure. I've always been a pretty low maintenance kind of girl. Very little make-up. Extraordinarily lazy when it comes to grooming hence the dreadlocks. Skinny on top and bigger on the bottom my whole life. Overall slim. And totally flat chested. I only wear wore a bra when absolutely necessary, much to my kids' chagrin. mom oh my god mom its so BAD you need to put on a BRA. Well, when you start out with tiny boobies, then spend from age 34 to 41 either pregnant or breast feeding for all but about 6 months, you're gonna be left with sad deflated little fried eggs on your chest. The boobitas had done their job well. My baby-making years were wonderful and had been the only years my innate dysthymia receded without pharmacologic assistance. It all started during the summer when a friend/friend of a friend decided to get liposuction. I think she's absolutely gorgeous but she was unhappy with this here and that there. I think she cares a lot more about how she looks than I do and I'm not saying that as a judgement it's just that I'm pretty much a freakin slob. So friend is very happy with her lipo results and one night BAM!!!... it suddenly occurs to me...I could have boobs... will wonders never cease Being a small very small breasted woman, I'd always made assumptions about what it means for a woman to get her boobs done. I pretty much chalked it up to low self esteem, not being ok with yourself, superficial attempts to fill an emotional void, not feeling attractive enough you know... all THAT stuff So here I am, contemplating breast augmentation. On one hand it was such a bizarre about face for me but on the other hand the idea sat really well. Still, it was so out of character, I told myself I'd sleep on it. I expected to wake up the next morning saying to myself self you are SO SILLY... boob job... hahahaha... Needless to say, the next day when I remembered BOOB JOB I still thought it was a GWATE idea. And just like that it was decided. And once it was decided, I found that I was more honest with myself. When I caught a glimpse of myself naked in the mirror, the decision allowed me to acknowledge that I didn't like the way my droopy boobs looked, and that they could be different and it was OK. Talk about self acceptance. I realized I hadn't been OK with not being OK with my body. How's that for a mindfuck? The internet is an amazing thing. I did a ton of research which for me is a few hours because I usually just fly by the seat of my pants. I looked at hundreds of before and after picts, checked out implant sizes, saline vs. silicone, even youtube diaries of women documenting their own boob job experiences. At the end of August I had a consult with a local plastic surgeon about whom I had heard good things. I knew he had done a couple of my moms (one young with one child, one older with 4) who at the time I thought were nuts to not be OK with their post baby boobs. While examining me he asks questions what size bra do you wear now? ummm... hmmm... I don't really know... I buy little girl bras at target... they're cheap what size bra did you wear before you had children? ummm... I didn't really wear a bra.... what was your biggest cup size when you were breast feeding? ummm... uhhh... I don't know... I wore a nursing bra for 7 years... I've gained 15 lbs in the past 3 years and none of it has gone to my boobs. I just want to look balanced. hmmm... you probably really needed to gain that weight Which is true. I was really skinny. And I feel much better with the extra weight. My butt cheeks and thighs are dimply but so what. My arms finally have some flesh on them and my back isn't all bony. I feel way more feminine. My face is softer and not drawn. I look kinda of normal instead of thin. And yoga keeps me strong and flexible so nothing jiggles too much. Well, being the awesome plastic surgeon he is, he looks at me and says I'm thinking silicone. 275. He hands me the implants and I tuck them into the bra they put on me because of course I wasn't wearing one and voile! I looked in the mirror and it was just perfect. Not too big at all, accentuated my nonexistent waist. Looked nice. And so I scheduled the surgery. Friends were very supportive. Sisters were...ummm... concerned. Which makes sense as we were all raised by the same mother. A mother woman who NEVER indulged herself, thought she was homely, and always wanted a nose job. Meanwhile, she was stunning in her own way, and had the high cheekbones and prominent nose of her Shawnee grandmother. I think there was a big part of our mother that never felt good enough. But that had nothing to do with her nose. So I got my new boobs and though still a tad uncomfortable, I am very happy with my new look. They're still a little firm and sore with occasional zinging pain. My nipples are now super round instead of loopy sleepy slanty eyed. I'm hoping those stupid hair follicles that have been sprouting 2 inch long hair are gone, but I guess it will be a few months before I know for sure. I still feel like me. I don't feel like I have a new lease on life, or now will find the perfect guy. I don't feel like Cinderella. I had already filled many of my emotional empty spaces, and certainly the empty spaces left are not gonna be filled by the boobs filling my new full B cups. I just like my new boobs.
So I usually avoid commenting on current events, and maybe everyone's tired of this by now but all the hoopla about Petraeus just leaves me saying what the fuck??? He's a MAN!!! MEN CHEAT!!! So do WOMEN!!! OK. Enough with the exclamation points. I was bouncing around Blogland and came upon Mama D who had something to say about it. She's not alone in her opinion. Why is it that people expect men who are in positions of power to have more "moral fortitude" than men who are let's say... laborers? Or teachers, or doctors, or drug dealers, or garbage picker uppers? It seems to me that Powerful Men might be even more likely to stray, because as you know, it's all about the woolly mammoth. Not that Powerful Men are more vain, more selfish, or more likely to believe the rules do not apply, but if a man has the genetic make-up to become King of the World, wouldn't nature and evolution want that DNA to carry on? Survival of the Fittest and all that stuff? And women are attracted to power. It's just the way it is. It makes for stronger babies and more security and more woolly mammoth steaks and woolly mammoth blankets. Over at Denise in Margaritaville it's all about hormone induced fidelity today. The only thing oxytocin ever did for me was make my milk let down and my uterus contract. Which I guess are both things that would immediately deter me from having sex with other men. I'm thinking there are as many explanations for infidelity as there are colors in the big crayola box. And we are all assholes at least once in our lives. Humans have assholes. We also have whole souls that can manifest devotion, honesty, loyalty, respect, and love. This Huffington Post piece makes the most sense to me. I don't feel outrage on behalf of Mrs Petraeus. I can't claim to be glad or relieved that she's "furious" rather than stoically standing by her man. That shit is between the two of them. To quote my brother-in-law, no one on the outside can ever really know what holds a marriage together or breaks it apart. I think it's fucked up that the guy had to resign over it. Who I have sex with has absolutely no bearing on how I do my job. Just sayin' And my guess is Mrs. Petraeus will remain Mrs. Petraeus. I could be wrong.
I'm sitting here trying to write and it's not working out so well. I feel scattered and unclear and confused and a little loopy in my head. Dark. Cloudy. Is it a weird time? Is it weird out there? I feel like maybe it is. It seems like lots of ladies are On the Verge. Maybe the 4 day Breaking Bad Marathon wasn't such a good idea. Talk about dark. Jeez. I had to rinse my mouth out with 3 hours of Glee. Both Sister Halona and Yogini Shannon have said you should go back to blogging. Which is funny cause I've been thinking the same thing. Blogging/writing/storytelling helps me sort out the shit in my head. And there has been an abundance of shit. Not bad shit just life shit. Figuring things out shit. Being a grown up shit. Cleaning shit up shit. Making some changes shit. Just shit. And you know how when you're dealing with shit if you're not careful that shit will get everywhere? Well, I'm tired of trudging through it. I'm tired of wiping it off my sleeve and getting it in my hair. ok seriously-watch the damn video. I know it's long and you're all really busy but it will make you smile. Everyone I've sent it to has been blown away. And those are some hard to please bitches, yo
It's a new dawn. It's a new day. And I'm feelin good
"it occurred to me that the only real sin you can commit as a mother is to deny your children's right to be who they are and what they want to be and that the only real sin you can commit against yourself is to deny who you truly are and prevent yourself from being who that is"