Random thoughts and musings of a single Mom striving to follow dreams and find pure BLISS.

Handmade Christmas

Well, I haven't kept all of you guys up to date on my employment woes because, truthfully, it's so amazingly depressing to think about I totally pull a Scarlet O'Hara most days; however, the other day I was shoved into reality. I was laid off of my Phoenix gig.  *sigh*

It's true. Just like last year around this time, I am not needed until after the first of the year due to low enrollment. I'm doing a bit of extra training so I won't forget what to do (umm, like I did last year) between now and then, but I'm totally NOT getting paid for it. *sigh*

My response? Dispondant and Depressed. Pop's response? Ok, don't worry about it. LC's response? Cool, now you can concentrate on getting a real job up here. (My response to that one, "I have been, but I have no work experience except teaching."  :P )

Well, I decided after both of those conversations that perhaps I should branch out farther and "spin" my education experience so it fits other areas. I actually applied to 3 non teaching jobs this past week. Check me out!! Starting Monday I will begin calling those various places because, by God, I want a job!

ANYWAY, even before this recent development, I had decided to call upon my creative talents for Christmas. Why? Well, I'm a single mom with 2 two part time jobs, guys;I have no money.

I researched various way to have a frugal, homemade Christmas for a week or so before I ran across things I could really do without totally stressing myself out-or leaving my comfort zone. (Two things I SO don't need to do right now.) Hell, I even found a few things I think I'll make and wrap up for myself.

For more information check out the Christmas Planning link on the right side of the page for more information and links to projects and pages to inspire you. I'll be updating it as I go, so check back to watch my progress or affer suggestions.

Maybe I'll even have my own tutorials...Woooooo. Humm, perhaps I shouldn't get ahead of myself.

Targeting Ten

So, after the crazy anti-fat person article from Marie Claire, I have been reexamining my eating habits. You see, I'm a total yo-yo dieter that eats from boredom. 

You'd think being aware of that fact would help in some way, but nope-not-so-much.  I'm pretty hard headed, I guess.

Trust me FF, I've been pretty damn bored lately. The scale has fluxuated between 3 pounds for weeks now because of my laziness and apathy.

Anyway. I've been thinking that perhaps I've been tackling this whole weight thing the wrong way. You see, I've always focused on the ultimate goal, on what I wanted, instead of how to get there.

How does one get there?

I mean, I know the same condescending bullshit answers that Ms. Kelly gave in the article, but if it were that easy me and every other overweight person that was tired of being overweight would no longer be overweight. Right? Right.

I think my first call to action is to take things in smaller bites than I've been doing.

First, I'm going to only focus on 10 pounds at a time. I'm down enough that each ten pounds will make a pretty significant difference. I'm also giving myself a deadline for that ten pounds...3 weeks.

Why 3 weeks? Because when I incorporate #2 and get my ass BACK into the gym, it really shouldn't be all that hard to see a difference. Seriously.

Secondly, I will resume my food diary. each time I've done really well, I've kept one. Well, then I'd get lazy, slack off, and end up having to start all over again. grr!  Just think, if you are too lazy to write it down, you are too lazy to eat it. right? Exactly. Plus, it totally shames you to actually put it all in writing. And just to make sure I'm properly shamed, I'm going to post it here at the bottom of whatever my random thoughts for the day happen to be.

Can we say accountability? Yes, yes, I think we can my friends.

The whole getting back into the gym thing is a total given because I've been feeling like crap and it's what used to make me feel good. I am also going to post my activity level for the day along with my food intake.

Crazy? yes, yes I am. Thank you.

Anyway, I think ten pounds is a much easier pill to swallow than the eighty pounds I supposedly have to lose according to "experts". Seriously, people, can you really imagine me eighty pounds smaller? I'm thinking I'd look like a scarier Kate Moss after a three week 8ball bender. <> I totally realize I'm only 5'4', but people I have a sturdy bone structure. Good, hardy peasant stock. 

No, I think that idea is unrealistic and would be hard to revolve my life around.  I'm thinking the ultimate goal should be a healthy BMI, in whatever size it's in. Now, since most of my weight is actually settled in my midsection thanks to my new, post baby body, it does provide a bigger challenge that it used to. But its a challenge I can deal with...10 little pounds at a time.        

Fat is the new Black

While I've been hearing the scuttlebutt around the Internet for a few weeks about an offensive article in Marie Claire, I didn't bother to read it because I try not to purposely read something that will piss me off. Ya know?!

SO, when Jen Lancaster chimed in with her own reaction to the article I took the bait and read it, along with her-very well put-response to the author.

In case you guys haven't read this jem of literary magnificence, I give you the opportunity here to read it complete with my own running commentary.

 Should "Fatties" Get a Room? (Even on TV?)Wow, you SO went there in the title? Really?

by Maura Kelly

The other day, my editor asked me, "Do you really think people feel uncomfortable when they see overweight people making out on television?" Slow news day, kitten? I guess everyone has to take a break from deep investigative reporting like new sex positions and what products Jennifer Anniston uses on her hair-you know, the hair do that hasn't changed in 15 years. We So care. Really.  

Because I can be kind of clueless say it ain't so? I'm not much of a TV person how very cultured of you, I guess you are a much better person than me— I had no idea what she was talking about, so she steered me to this CNN article, about the CBS sitcom Mike & Molly. As CNN explains, "the show centers around a couple who meet at an Overeaters Anonymous group [and] has drawn complaints for its abundance of fat jokes [as well as] cries from some viewers who aren't comfortable watching intimacy between two plus-sized actors." I tend to think of fat jokes in the same vein as religious or ethnic can tell it if you are apart of it. For example, I can tell Catholic jokes and "Mic" jokes because I am both, but I'm not as willing to laugh if told be an Italian protestant. Just me.

My initial response was: Hmm, being overweight is one thing — those people are downright obese! So, what is your medical training to determine that? Did you run tests and take measurements? And while I think our country's obsession with physical perfection is unhealthy, I also think it's at least equally crazy, albeit I'm so proud that you know a big word, pumpkin in the other direction, to be implicitly promoting obesity! So, a show that features fat people is promoting fat as the new black? Yes, anorexia is sick that's a big left field, we were talking about fat people, but at least some slim models are simply naturally skinny there isn't on damn woman who is 5'10" and 100 naturally. Fuck you!. No one who is as fat as Mike and Molly can be healthy. Whoa, I'd love for the actors who play those characters to whip your ass to show you how unhealthy they are!And obesity is costing our country far more in terms of all the related health problems we are paying for, by way of our insurance, than any other health problem, even cancer. Were you told this or do you have charts? Where is you actual evidence? Cite it! (Not that I don't believe it, but she's throwing too much info around that isn't being cited.)

So anyway, yes, I think I'd be grossed out if I had to watch two characters with rolls and rolls of fat kissing each otherwell, I don't want to watch a couple of bony people spearing each other with their jutting bones while trying to embrace one another. CLANK! ... because I'd be grossed out if I had to watch them doing anything. To be brutally honest, even in real life, I find it aesthetically displeasing to watch a very, very fat person simply walk across a room — just like I'd find it distressing if I saw a very drunk person stumbling across a bar or a heroine addict slumping in a chair.Holy shit! That is really the most offensive thing I've ever heard in my life. As the former wife of an alcoholic, I can tell you watching someone work real hard to drink themselves into oblivion every single day is MUCH less aesthetically pleasing than a big person walking. Advice: Don't Fucking Watch! Turn you head, which I'm sure is bleached out blond with four pounds of makeup to make up for the dark circles and sickeningly protruding cheekbones from waking up at 4AM each morning to work out fiendishly while living on martini olives and lettuce.

Now, don't go getting the wrong impression too late for that shit!: I have a few friends who could be called plump Oh, well, how open-minded of you; what are they, a size 6 instead of a "healthy" size 4? Wonder if they will return your calls now?. I'm not some size-ist jerk.LIE!!! And I also know how tough it can be for truly heavy people to psych themselves up for the long process of slimming down Oh you DO? So, what part of your existence have you ever spent with a weight problem? . (For instance, the overweight maintenance guy at my gym has talked to me a little bit about how it seems worthless for him to even try working out, because he's been heavy for as long as he can remember.) Awe, look how sweet you are to actually talk to help, even if he is a fatty.

But ... I think obesity is something that most people have a ton of control over. It's something they can change, if only they put their minds to it.I'd like to repeat the question from earlier about how long your' battled your own weight problem? How's that anorexia coming?

(I'm happy to give you some nutrition and fitness suggestions if you need them — but long story short, eat more fresh and unprocessed foods, read labels and avoid foods with any kind of processed sweetener in them whether it's cane sugar or high fructose corn syrup, increase the amount of fiber you're getting, get some kind of exercise for 30 minutes at least five times a week, and do everything you can to stand up more — even while using your computer — and walk more. I admit that there's plenty that makes slimming down tough, but YOU CAN DO IT! Trust me. It will take some time, but you'll also feel so good, physically and emotionally. A nutritionist or personal trainer will help — and if you can't afford one, visit your local YMCA for some advice.)If it's SO damn easy and simple then why is most of America heavy? And I don' know who are are when you are at home, but you sure as shit ain't anything that I feel the need to take YOUR advice when it comes to a nutrition and fitness regime. 

Then again, I guess these characters are in Overeaters Anonymous. So ... points for trying?how gracious you are...

Then again, I tend to think most television shows are a kind of junk food for the mind and body.because you aren't an elitist bitch or anything.  The boob tube gives us an excuse to turn off both our brains and our bodies and probably does a helluva lot to contribute to the obesity problem, love the instant analysis on culture. maybe you should be elected to the federal government since you can obviously solve every one's problems with a random blanket of one-size-fits-all information. over all. So ... I don't know. No. no, you really don't. Finally a true statement.

What do you guys think? If they agree with you, probably very little. Fat people making out on TV — are you cool with it? Do you think I'm being an insensitive jerk? Yep, pretty much, thanks for asking, BTW. Oh, and your editor is also a complete schmuk! 

Now, any of you that are not familiar with the amazingly and biting hilarious Jen Lancaster; allow me to introduce her to you via her counterpoint to the hateful bitch.

I think I may go have a cookie...

Asking for Favors

So, here's the thing. About a month ago, I ran across a submissions page for a magazine that was specifically looking for short love stories. I thought "Hey I can totally do that" even though I've never written a love story in my life. I mean, I've written around it and in the vicinity of it, but never just something based on it. However, I figured good experience or whatever (ya gotta get a bunch of rejections out of the way in the beginning, ya know) and set off to bang out a paltry 2700 to 3800 words to send in.

I have 2447 words and I'm officially stuck. The first 2000 words flowed like the wine I rewarded myself with when I was finished, but I have fought for those last 447, guys. Fought I tell you.

I'd love for all of you to read this and offer thoughts, ideas, comments, questions, or advice on pieces, parts, the whole, or whatever. If I'm going to submit it I definitely need at least 400 more words, but I'm afraid to start picking at it. (For those who are CSI watchers, you remember the episode with the model who basically picked at her face until she went septic and died? Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of.) 

I need fresh eyes and honest (but nice please, I'm a bit sensitive since this is one of the first times anyone has ever read something fictional of mine).



PS- Things I know: it has no real title, the main character should have more background possibly, it's nowhere near reading for submission, and I'm a little nauseous that you guys will read it. Have Fun!

Love Story

I know it sounds crazy and you won’t believe me, but I swear my heart stopped dead when you walked into the door.

Those were the first words he said to me and when he spoke them as he looked deep into my eyes and brushed his thumb across my right cheekbone. There was an audible sizzle in the air when he touched my face. I heard it-felt it-as did he.

He was exactly the opposite of everything I’d ever found enticing in a man and the exoticism of that was intoxicating. Eyes a warm grey-blue instead of the usual liquid brown that drove my pulse wild, shorn dirty blond hair smattered with grey at the temples instead of the long dark locks of so many previous lovers, even the way he towered over me, instantly making me feel small and fragile was different. I was mesmerized by the sheer size of the hand that has been so close to my face moments before, hands that bore the calluses of hard work and yet the manicure of a professional at the same time. How curious.

I stood staring at this stranger who had spoken to me and touched my without consent, but who spoke so honestly that I didn’t even care. Instantly I knew that I would love this man forever.

And that is exactly why I laughed in his face and told him it was the most ridiculous pick-up line ever created. “So, hot shot, how many girls have gotten to hear that little jewel so far tonight?”

There was a smile on his lips even though his eyes looked hurt. I was satisfied he’d leave me alone for the rest of the night and pass the word about the “bitch in the red dress” so I settled into a corner table, feet up, and ordered my first drink, silently daring anyone to approach me. It was just my way.

Strangely enough “crazy guy”, as I nicknamed him, didn’t leave well enough alone-at least not completely. He nestled himself a bar stool that was near enough to overhear conversation, but far enough that touch wasn’t possible, but purposely in my direct eye line. The rest of the night I watched him talk, laugh, joke, and smile all while carefully meeting my eyes for mere second before resuming his conversation. Puzzling over this enigmatic presence, I began to consider the game that was afoot. Although I’d shut him down once that clearly wasn’t enough, he wanted me to see him as he was. He wanted me to watch his body and his movements to determine for myself whether he was harmless. Unfortunately for both of us, I knew he was harmless when he first stepped into my path

Harmless wasn’t an issue. The fluttering in my chest each time my eyes strayed over to him or I heard his voice over the dim of the room was the problem. I would not encourage this attention.

He had other plans. Each time I came in I felt eyes on my face and found those eyes on me. Caressing me. Challenging me to acknowledge him. He seemed to know my routine after a while and would have a drink waiting on me or send over one of several bottles of water I would always drink during the evening. He was always in my peripheral vision-almost close enough to touch, but far enough that I couldn’t overhear his conversation and he couldn’t hear mine.

Then he learned my name.

From that time drinks or bottles of water were accompanied by silly notes. Some made me laugh, some made me puzzled, but none made me anxious. It was almost seemed like he just wanted a reason to write my name because it would be repeated several times in the span of a few lines. But always I could hear him saying my name in each note, whispered in my ear as though he were passing behind me, hot breath on my neck, and the slightest touch of his hand resting between my shoulder blades. I blamed the chills on burgeoning winter weather, but those words smelled of lie and my friends began to comment on my obvious ardor for my admirer.

Although he never tried to talk to me again after that first night, he made his presence and attention quite clear and waited on me to make the first step towards him. My friends joked that he must have the patience of Job himself, but I saw it as a careful man trying to tame a feral cat into domestication. Sadly for him that was the last thing I was willing to accept. I’d been “tamed” once before and I was damn sure not following that same path again. Lesson learned. It was too bad that he was growing on me.

We had been playing his game for almost two months when I noticed I was taking more care in getting ready for the night. I made sure I didn’t wear the same dress I had worn on previous occasions. Hell, I even bought a new pair of heels that accentuated my calves and actually made my legs look at least two miles longer than they actually were. My earrings dangled and brushed against my neck making my pixie hair look more feminine, more delicate, than normal. I craved his attention, but felt too frightened to make the next move. Here again, I’d wanted no part of the domesticated lifestyle.

I walked in determined to purposefully make eye contact and smile my best and flirtiest smile at him. In fact, I’d decided that perhaps I’d do it each time a drink or a note came my way, even if it meant I was smiling at him a majority of the night. Maybe, just maybe I’d even saunter over for a quiet thank you, but I’d wait to see how the night played out. Life had taught me to be flexible with my plans.

I arrived and met no eyes at the door. I sat and felt no caress. Nothing existed in my peripheral vision except groups of beer guzzling frat boys playing darts. I waited and nothing came my way outside of my own order. Devastation could only be the appropriate word. I was devastated that he wasn’t there to watch over me or to send my quirky notes, plus I couldn’t shoot him my best smile and make him want me more than ever. Most of all I was devastated that I cared about any of that. My friends snickered about my disappointment telling me I should have acted sooner. “That’s what happened when playing hard to get goes on far too long. You blew it girl. Oh, don’t tell us you actually liked the guy? That’s even more pathetic.” Yep, my friends have always been the comforting, supportive type or at least they were until they claimed I was being ridiculous to shun any and all relationships due to one sour one-even if the sour one almost took my life. “Live and move on,” they say. Panic and live in fear, I do.

So, I did what any self-respecting woman who is fighting crushing disappointment and anxiety woman would do, I turned my carefully practiced smile onto the first drunken frat boy who met my eyes. Much like my group, he and his friends were regulars, although that is where all similarities both began and ended. I’d caught his attention on several occasions, but my game of cat and mouse had been much more entertaining than playing enticing for him. He was cute in a plain, white-bread-and-mayonnaise kind of way: brown hair, brown eyes, even tan of someone who plays in the sun, not one who works in the sun. He’ll do to play with for now.

I brushed past his shoulder on my way towards the bathrooms and glanced over my shoulder to make sure he was watching me. Sure enough he was, so I toned down my smile to something as more feral, more dangerous, more me. He followed instantly as I knew he would. He caught up to me, inwardly congratulating himself; I could tell. Little did he know that I was caught only because I chose to be; he had no choice in the matter. His hands slid up my arms and I could feel the length of his body against the back of mine. I knew there were only mere second to make the choice: continue on this path or abandon it completely. The smell of his cologne mixed with beer and sweat clogged my nose and anxiety clenched my heart. “Abandon this ruse now,” my brain screamed and my body instantly stepped away. “I never said you could touch me,” I hissed turning around to view his alcohol bloated face slowly fading and being replaced by a face much more menacing. I face I knew well and would never let hurt me again.

“Stupid bitch! How dare you play coy with me?” His words were slightly slurred and spittle sprayed from his harsh, indignant mouth. I simply smiled as one would smile at an angry child, “Now, did you really think anything was going to happen when you walked back here? You were merely a point that I believe has been made.”

His hands grabbed the tops of my arms. I hadn’t noticed how massive they were; I’d been too busy looking at the overindulged physique. I’m usually not so sloppy when choosing my play-toys, but my discontent distracted me. His words became harsher but my mind had already separated from my body, calming me, and assessing weaknesses for escape when another pair of hands only vaguely familiar to me grabbed frat boy’s throat. “You need to leave the lady alone,” whispered the darkness because my champion’s face was shielded by shadow.

I didn’t wait to see what happened next or even thank my defender before escaping out the back door. Gulping the night air, I became to feel my senses return to me and evaluate how stupid and dangerous my actions had been. What had I been thing? Why had I made such a mistake? He was the reason. It was his fault and I would tell him the next time I saw him-whenever that would be. That thought faded from my mind as my shivers began and a low and angry voice demanded my attention, “What the fuck was that?”

My shivers turned to electric pulses at the sound of his voice. I turned to see my hero, my champion, was my guy. The guy who I’d been playing cat and mouse with these last two months, the guy that I thought had abandoned the chase. He was here and standing in front of me-and incidentally quite angry. But I’d seen anger before. This anger was more a mixture of hurt and confusion, not pure rage, not hate; so, I unleashed the full force of myself on him.

One step. Two steps.

I touched his face tentatively, wondering if he would flinch or turn away. When he didn’t, I reached up and softly, carefully laid my lips against his. His surprise at the chaste kiss lasted less than a second as he pulled my body flush against his and deepened the kiss. Coming up for air, but still allowing him to cradle my body against his I looked up and whispered, “You weren’t here.”

He looked at me strangely, but I continued spilling my thoughts, hoping he wouldn’t interrupt, so I wouldn’t lose whatever moxy it was that kept the words flowing through me, “I had prepared for tonight. I was counting on it. I had made my decision or at least as much of a decision about you as I was prepared to make tonight and you weren’t here. I couldn’t swallow the feeling of regret. The feeling I had lost my chance; so, I decided to play a game.”

His grip loosened on me for a second and I thought he would walk away, but instead he tightened his grip and buried his face into the crook of my neck. “A game? A game? Leading men into a dark corner of a bar is a game to you?” He stared at me in disbelieve, possibly thinking he was also apart of the game, but he wasn’t. He definitely wasn’t.

“No, garnering attention was the game. Smiling and flirting and having him follow me like a puppy was the game. Had you not distracted me so completely I would have known he was the wrong choice. I would have known he could overpower me.”

“So, you are blaming this on me?”

“Damn right!” I stared deep into his eyes. In for a penny, in for a pound, my mom always said. “I was angry and hurt that you moved on and needed something to regain the power you took from me. I needed it back. You don’t understand.”

He face contorted and I couldn’t figure out if he was about to yell or sigh or call me an idiot; instead he touched my face, much like he did the first time we met and lowered his face to mine. What began as a soft, sweet kiss grew into intensity until I could feel all of the longing and frustration he’d felt over the past two months. His fingers curled into my hair and gently tugged until my neck was laid bared to him and I closed my eyes as his lips and teeth barely ran across my skin-ear to collar bone. A sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan escaped my lips, surprising me, but motivating him to continue exploring my neck with his lips and my body with his hands. Finally, he found his way back to my lips pouring all of himself into the kiss. I felt something inside me release and I clung to him as though he were the only thing between life and death.

Somehow understanding the meaning of that, he eased the kiss back and whispered, “I know it sounds crazy and you won’t believe me, but I swear my heart stopped dead when you walked into the door.” His whisper rang in my ears and this time I didn’t laugh because I knew he wasn’t reciting a line; this was a true and honest feeling that he was laying bare to me. He was attempting to begin again before our own game and before my dangerous error. This time I respected it and laid my hand on his chest and looked into his eyes, “I was waiting for you.”

New Look

So??? You guys like the new look?

I thought it was about time for a bit of a facelift and you guys know I'm a sucker for anything that is princessy....ummm and free.

If you love it (and you know you do) check out Leelou Blogs for your own.

That's What I Said.

Because I love the rawness and hilarity of her words, Pretty All True is one of the first blogs I read in the morning. In fact, I get a notification on my toolbar when a new post is published and I instantly click on it. (Although I have learned to look for the warning labels she is kind enough to place at the top of a post in case the kids are running around.)

Today's post was, like most of her posts, honest and raw, but this one had a different twist. This one hinted at a much darker time than she normally shares. It tasted of sadness and regret and I rolled it across my tonuge until I was sure to have sucked the marrow from it. Her mother admitted to never knowing what she endured at the hands of her father and a string in my soul was plucked and stretched farther than it has been in a while.

Not in sadness, you understand. No, in complete understanding. Below you will read my comment to her post and her reply. (You will so understand why I love this woman and totally want to be her friend in the most serious and non-stalker way possible.)

Jamie: I read the words of your mother and I hear my own voice-my voice from over a year ago, before I left my ex-husband. The guilt I had for taking my children’s father from them was overwhelming and suffocating at the time and I almost caved because how could I be so selfish to put my personal happiness above that of my children’s. I’ve been where your mother was.

It wasn’t until months later when my son’s nightmares finally stopped that I realized my ex was the “bad” guy in every single nightmare he’d had since he could tell me what happened in his dreams. (My daughter had just turned a year old and my son was almost three when I left.) He still gets shy around men he doesn’t know. Sigh. Now I tend to chastise myself for not seeing the world as it was before I finally worked up the courage to leave-when I was still a coward who thought she was lower than shit. I’ve been where you mom was.

Now my children are 2 and 4 and our happiness knows no bounds, or screaming, or harsh words, or icy glares and silences. To borrow a phrase from you…we are all kinds of awesome now.

Kris: I have no adequate words for what you have shared here.

Know that I love and respect my mother.

And I am happy she is not there now.

And I am happy that you are not there now.

And that instead you are all kinds of awesome now.

I am all teary.

Love you.


My last post earned a few comments that left me reeling.

I was complimented on my confidence. Can you believe that shit?! Me? Confident? For real?

I have to say that is not a description that has everevereverever  been used to describe me in any way, shape, form, or capacity. Seriously.

Of course then I had to read my post again and I discovered the damnedest thing...I did sound confident. then I had to think back over my day and I discovered that at no point in my day did I feel negative in anyway about myself. I didn't hide and shy away from people one time. In fact, I even found myself giving and getting smiles in return-and from cute men too.

That's when it struck me...holy shit, I AM confident. Huh, ain't that some shit. 

I wonder when that happened?!

Well, I guess it all started when I was no longer bombarded with messages that I was shit.  Then, there is the whole elimination of everyone and everything that made me feel badly about myself.

Definitely a move in a positive direction, wouldn't you say?

Well, I've also dropped some weight and quite a few inches. I'm nowhere near my "goal" by a long shot, but I have to say that I am really enjoying the shape and dimension of my body. There's a definite hourglass effect happening and it makes me feel very sexy. (SHOCKSHOCK)  At this point I could even care less if anyone else sees it or even appriciates it because I like it.

Get the fuck out...there's that whole confidence thing again.

that's fucking cool as shit, guys. check me and my (slowly, but continuiously shrinking) ass out!

I am confident.

I am happy.

I am finally comfortable with me.

Well, at least for today; tomorrow might be another story, but I'll cross that bridge when I get there. But what a cool bridge for me to have to cross!!

Totally Mom Sexy-and Not a Size 2

 As you guys may or may not know, I am a blog stalker. It's true. The voyeuristic glimpses into someone else's life that make me know I'm not a total freak of nature is the panacea of my heart and soul. Seriously! It really does make me feel better to know there are more like me out there...Buahaha!

Anyway, one of my favorite's is having her one year blogaversary and I'm too excited to help her out with a bit of a post in celebration of this momentous occasion. Why? Well, because the Mommyologist is hilarious, totally fun, and someone I would SO be friends with in real life and not just cyberspace. I mean, you guys all know how much a I love a person who is real and doesn't embellish their thoughts and feelings. I don't so why should you?

Anyway, The mommyologist is all about bringing the Sexy Mom Back-regardless of what you "feel" you have become...You HAVE to read her inspiration for this post (click on link above)...all will be explained there. Trust me!!
Out of all the options to declare myself a sexy mom I chose, "I will never ever be a size 2, but I’m still Mom Sexy" because let's face it, Umm, I really will never be a size 2. Why? Well, let's just look at the many reasons that size 2 is pretty much unattainable....

1. I'm pretty such my basic bone structure is larger than a size 2; in fact, it probably closer to a 6, but then I'd just be a skeleton with skin stretched over it. I seriously DO have a large bone structure (I've taken all the "tests" that determine it, ok people. I know these things), especially for someone who is only 5'3".

2. There is no one in my family that is, ever has been, or ever will be a size 2. (Again the whole bone structure thing, ya know.)

3. I like to eat. Crunch, slurp, chew, sip, bite, savor, or roll...I do love to do it all.

4. I like food. there are sooo many yummy things in the world that I just cannot think of a single reason why I'd want to prevent myself from eating most of them in order to squeeze myself into a size that looks as if only fits small children and "little people".

5. Taking inspiration from #4, I do not think size 2 really exists. Seriously. Have you ever held up a size 2? I seriously think they are just misplaced toddler sizes. Who wears that shit? Is anyone that size in real life...and that mystical fairly-land called "celebrity" does not count because anyone who gets paid to work out, has a tummy tuck along with their  Csection, or appears nude to millions of people on a regular basis is just NOT a real person. Sorry.

Now, how in the hell does any of that make me a sexy mom you ask? Because I am real. I'm a curvy bundle of pure happy that gets cuter when I get angry, or so I'm told pretty often.  I am a natural (bottle hair color not the issue here people) and attainable entity that gives living and breathing affection and love.

I do not worry so much about clothing size and potential rolls that I cannot appreciate the feel of hands on my waist or tummy when circled from behind. Not only am I a naturally touchy-feely person, but I am remembering how much I crave touch. My grouchy moods are caused when trying to be "hands off" with the world. A hand, a hug, or the briefest graze of a finger tip is all I need to keep smiling and moving in a positive direction.

I'm a giver, a spoiler, a motivator, a nurturer, a hugger, a snuggler, and a damn fine cook.  What's not to find amazingly sexy? Oh, and although I can't tell a joke to save my soul, I am seriously effing funny. Seriously!

Truthfully, everything that makes me who I am makes me a sexy mom...and it also all the things that make a size 2 completely unnecessary.
I really have nothing to say today because it's a really good day. LC had to work today, but he did send a very sweet text. 

"Thinking about you!"  

 (Excuse me while I giggle like a fourteen year old girl right now...{blush})

That's all I got for today. 

Well, that and my smile.  

Big Smiles

Can I say that I all but swooned on this gem I received today....

Can't stay on line but just wanted to say that I am thinking about you. Have a great day!
I swear, just about the time I think I'm totally imagining the whole thing and there's no way he could really like me I get something like this from him...and then, of course, I get all silly and smiley. I'm such a damn girl.  

Happiness Recipe a'la Blake

Because I am a huge, phenomenal dork, I randomly search for cool quotes to use for my FaceBook statuses. I figure that everyone can only hear about my love of wine, the potty train status of my children, or the general progress of my day for so long before they just reaaaally don't, there are times when I just bored myself. I mean, I look at the things I've written and all I can think is, "Damn you are one sad, no-life having, super boring broad, aren'tcha McCarty? Wow!"

Hence the quotes that try to explain my random moods much more eloquently than I am able to do on the fly. (Ok, so if I tried I probably could, but it's FB people. Do I really need to put that much thought into it?)

The William Blake quote I found today may actually stay up for a while because it instantly made my mind begin to spin with ideas and possibilities...

The essentials to happiness are something to love, something to do, and something to hope for.

After thinking about it I think I'll make a list of each, almost list a list of blessings, except this is more like a recipe for Blake's  Happiness....(I do SO love a list)

Something to Love? My children. My family. My friends. My job(s). Coffee. Sparkly anything. Fresh flowers. The sound of my babies' laughter. Cuddling, kisses, and hugs. Daydreaming. Getting texts that make me smile. Sunsets. (I probably love Sunrises too, but I'm not a fan or being awake for them.) Jangly bracelets. Cooking meals that happily fill tummies. Singing in the car. Hearing my kids sing. The size of my clothes slowly decrease. Bright colors. Toile.  

Something to Do? Attempt sewing. Teach (sometimes) willing minds. Cause spontaneous smiles to erupt from those around me when I smile. Make jokes. Play outside with my kids.  Wander voyeuristicly around FaceBook. Read almost everything I can get my hands on-whenever possible. Avoid unpleasantness, maybe a bit too much. Work on my WIP. Daydream. Search for my place in the world. Work towards my dreams. make the clothing size decrease more quickly.

Something to Hope For? Winning the mystery Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes, like they swear I will. Looking into the future and not feeling a cool line of fear slide down my spine. Text messages that make me smile. The day my 3 person family lives on our own. Finishing my WIP. Finding an agent. Finding my own little place in the world. Sailing on a Disney cruise. Traveling far and wide. Making my daydreams a reality. My kids to have a dad. Remarrying. My clothes being in single digits.

While I'm sure my lists will shrink and swell with each passing day and moment, but as of right now...that's all I got...And from the look of it, I got quite alot to be happy about.   

What's y'all's recipe?

Halloween Goodies

So, My wonderful friend over at Cerebral Lunchbox put together this fab little blogfest for us little guys and I am overwhelmingly happy to be apart of it for three important reasons...

1- She and I are similar souls (otherwise known as rather recovering teachers who'd much rather write)

2-I gotta be honest...I'm not against the idea of having more members of the FF to listen to me ramble and occasionally bitch. Just saying...

3-This post is all about Halloween and I lovelovelovelove Halloween!!!

Anyway...on with the show...

Halloween creates a special kind of nostalgia for me because as a kid we had our own kind of tradition of eating pizza and of my Pop stealing testing the good candy. 

(Yes, I've tried to recreate with my own kids...however, they are just now old enough to "get" the whole idea of Halloween and tradition. Ok, at 2 and 4 they don't get tradition, but the do understand consistency and it's almost the same thing. Don't judge..I'm working on it. And I like candy. What? They are too little to need all that sugar...share the love I say. )

The main trouble here is this post is supposed to be about Halloween specials from when TV used to be something other than medical dramas and cop shows. (NOT hating on cop shows, mind you. Personally, I can't live without NCIS or perhaps I can and just dont' want to..MmmmMark Harmon. Oops Sorry.)

Other than Your the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown, I have absolutely no memory of any Halloween specials or shows....except this one.

Yep, Teen Witch. (insert jeering, finger pointing, and gnashing of teeth here)

I admit it...I watched it every year. Umm, I think I watched it last year too, but last year is a kind of blur so I can't be sure. For those unfamiliar with his cinematic jewel, it is about the girl pictured above, please take a few minutes of of your life and peruse the's freaking classic.

 Louise, is is indeed a teen and finds out on her 16th birthday that she is a witch. Now she's been a total dork up to this point in life and finds herself suddenly popular because, well, she's a witch people..she casts a spell.

Yes, it is a typical, teenage angst, findingyourtruepathandfriends, feel-good, MESSAGE laden Disney movie that only the 80's could supply. (Think Sixteen Candles Disney-fied) However, for a girl that has always felt socially awkward, the idea of begin able to have that much control over the world and people sounds fabulous. I mean, who wouldn't want to cast a spell and suddenly be and have everything you ever wanted. Hummm, that STILL sounds like a good plan. 

My choice of spell pretty obvious...If you've read this blog at all, you totally know what I would cast mine for....

I wonder...what would YOU guys want to cast a spell for in your own lives?

Everyday Amazing

So, my friend, D, and I have a similar conversation almost every single Monday for the past several weeks about this man....Maksim Chmerkovskiy.

It's usually just a list of obvious statements about how, just smoking hot he is, but tonight something hit me-something profound. Something that D just could not agree with ...

Read along...

D: Oh everything about him is hot...

Me:  He's not an everyday guy...just special occasions, dress up and be pretty kind of thing...

D: I would want him for an all the time....
Me: Not me, the artistic temperament would wear me thin, but he'd be a great toy .
D: He would just be nice to stand there and look at and him not say anything....

Me: See, he's a look pretty, not everyday wear.
D:  I don't know how I would classify him other than hot!
Me: Smoking to be sure, but...I think I'm happy with just window shopping. Not really my kind.
Ok, to clarify, I do not think I'd ever meet this man in person or stand a snowball's chance in hell, BUT I do not like fussy men. And not like fussy as in argumentative (but I don't really like that either) but I mean a man that needs constant tending-and he seems exactly that type.
I'm thinking that a really good man is like a really fabulous pair of blue jeans (ok, so this can work as a description for a woman too, but I personally don't swing that way...I just don't want to be sexist).
The perfect pair can be warn everyday...
Dressed up or dressed down.
Just as comfortable and sexy in bare feet and as in heels. (I'm NOT suggesting I want a man that wears heels...just Go with the metaphor, ok?!)
Easy to take care of...
and fit you like a glove.
An everyday kind of guy and not some look pretty that may fade or tarnish with time and wear..
(Yes, I have switched to a jewelry metaphor, I'm an English person, fucking sue me alright. Jeez people.Get with the program already.)
Not someone that demands constant polishing and adoration...something more substantial and solid that can handle the ebb and flow of everyday life. (and now we are at water...for those students of Judy Frye...what does water symbolize? Ah, yes. A change in plot. Thank you.)
Now there will be those that may argue that either Maks can be everyday where or only smoking hot guys can be special occasion wear only, but that is just not the case. It's all attitude-looks never come into play. Ok, so Maks started the train of thought so I guess they do a little, but not a huge amount. Sometimes an attractive guy doesn't know just how attractive and wonderful he is, whereas an unattractive guy can need much tending because of his need to "prove" himself. It's mostly about the person inside.
(Anyone who has known a beautiful, yet hateful person knows this is true. If yoau re ugly on the insdie there is no way to be pretty on the ouside. I can finish losing weght and buy a new bely button, but some others broads I know can't buy kindness or surgically implant sweetness or comassion. It just doesn't happen, people.)
As pretty as the above picture is, I think he'd be a terrible partner in life. Instead of the super starched, trendy, skinny jean that'd leave me breathless (from sucking in) and fidgety from constant adjusting...I'd much prefer the soft, comfy, glove-like jeans that make me feel wonderful and beautiful all day- everyday.
So, I leave you with this musical idea. Listen well, my FF because this...
well, this is my idea of everyday amazing...


So, here are just a few words that have been associated with me by a certain, very sweet someone...

  • adorable (This has been said several times in conversation.)
  • awesome (This was accompanied by an exclamation mark in a text message, thank you very much.)
  • great
  • cool
  • funny
Just saying....I'm totally smiling right now (and blushing eeeever so slightly).

Throwing Myself Under the Bus

Yep, I'm going to do it; you heard it here first. (or at all actually because I don't think my comings and goings are really news worthy-yet (WINKWINK) )

Anyway, I have come to a huge decision and wanted to share it here so I would have people constantly on my ass about it basically. If you have never looked at the pages listed along the top, left side of this page (No the Other Left. Geeze guys!) you should notice a link that is titled What this Girl will Do in a Year.

If you can't see it you are, indeed looking at the wrong side of the page, so look again. Ahh, now we are cooking with gas.

Well, one of the items on that list is to finish my major WIP (work in progress) by Christmas. The idea for this particular piece struck me (damn near literally) while I was attempting the C25K back in Febuary. (No, I didn't finish that either, but it is ALSO on my list. By God, I WILL do it!) However, after working and piddling with it I decided to get super serious this past June. And then I hit a huge block wall...

It's not I ran out of things to say,  I literally hit a section that I couldn't write through, under, over, sidways, beside, or in the general vicinity of and every time I tried I hated it so completely that it began to color the entire work for me. Well, FF I just couldn't have that!  

So, I took some time off to work on other pieces.

Then I did some traveling.

Then I got my classes at JC.

Then T started to school and I thought my time would magically open up...WRONG!

Nope, now MJ makes even more snide comments whenever she sees anyone on a computer. "What? I wasn't saying anything about you?!" Methinks she doth protest too damn much, but that's just me. Patience has never been a virtue of mine (ask any former students, they'll tell ya that's the honest truth.), but I have tried to be as passive as possible (as a gift to my Pop) in expalining that between the writing I'm (attempting), teaching online, grading papers via email, and yes, periodically checking FB to catch up on anything that happens outside the city limits of Pascafuckingoula that the computer is pretty much necessary to my life.

With that being said... have spent less and less time working on anything of substance because I can only throw short snatches of time together to do anything without being made to feel, well, like total shit about it. (I even stopped going to the gym for 2 solid months so I never had to be away from the kids. guess what? No parade...)

The writing has suffered. I have suffered.  

The suffering ends now. Damnit. I WILL finish. I will mark this off my list. It will be something I'm proud of, but I have to stop accepting convenient excuses to put it off.

And how, pray tell, will I accomplish this lofty goal? Besides tell all of you so you can stay on my ass out it, I am actually going to query a few agent. AAKK!!!!! Yep, you read that correctly. I read about a couple of agents that are looking for new blood and thought, "What. The. Hell. Why not?"

Now, I fully intend for those of these nice ladies to read my query letter and first 5-10 pages and basically tell me, "It was nice, but it's me not you." I mean, no one gets a stroke of luck on their first shot. Would it be awesome? Hell yeah, but not exactly practical. that being said I'm sure I will thrown an enormous pity party complete with streamers, confetti, and hats while eating Ben and Jerry's Birthday Cake Ice cream straight out of the carton. Knowing something doesn't make it easier, folks, you know this. Don't judge!

So, that's the big announcement...

I will finish at least a first draft by Christmas AND I will send out 2 query letters so I can get the first of what I'm told will be a string of rejections out of the way.

Wish me luck!!!

Shut the Front Door!

I'd like to open by thanking my Faithful Few, who has grown to a whopping twenty-two.
(Did that sound kind of Seussical to anyone else? Hee Hee!) 

veintidós. vingt-deux. venti-due. Είκοσι-δυο. Dwadzieścia dwa. tjugo-två. ยี่สิบสอง. Ashirin da biyu. Twenty-two!!!

When this little project of mine started I seriously didn't think anyone would read my aimless droning and whiny ramblings.


Well, I take that back, I thought my family would read it because, let's face it, we are genetically predisposed to be nosey and get all up in everyone else's business and comment. Hence, the perfect way to purge my personal demons AND allow my family to practice our favorite past time. (Notice I am saying OUR and not THEIR. Ohh, I am soooooooooooo guilty of this.)

Anyway, it's totally amazing to me that people I do not share genetic markers with actually read what I write. In fact, I checked out the "Stats"  tab and found that I had had readers in North Korea (WTF?) and New Zealand, among other places. Seriously, 2 from North Korea. I'm fucking international people!!! WooHoooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

However, all excitement aside, I really appreciate the time all of you (even those who are "officially" followers, we will SO go into why you are officially following me another know who you are!) take by reading my randomness, or rather embracing my crazy little chaotic, ADHD, who-the-hell-knows-what-I-am-thinking-least-of-all-me, often bitchy, and occasionally mournful epistles. (One of you, and you know who you are, said I didn't whine, but let's be honest...I do. I know I do. I'm cute and foul-mouthed a majority of the time, but when the mood strikes just wrong I am overdramatically and fatalistically morose. It, too, is a genetic trait shared by several among you-only because, you  know, the whole genetic marker sharing thing.) 

I am humbled and honored beyond reason that you guys desided to join me on my journey. God only knows what will happen next, but I'm sure hoping for my broken, gravel road to disapear behind me as I cruise ahead on something more akin to cobblestone. Let's face it, I know I have a long way to go before I can get to a nice, smooth, asphalt interstate and I'm all right with that.  Cobblestone gives me balance while allowing me to experience all of life's little quirky bumps, plus I kinda dig the whole Victorian feel of it.  

Thanks for the love, the support, and the constant ego boost that comes from each click you make on this site.

All My Love...

A Little Misty

Every morning and every afternoon I fall juuuust a little more in love with this guy I see while I'm driving to T's school. So, perhaps I'm not in love with him because I have no clue who is is (although I know where he lives). Seriously, I am only slightly exaggerating, because I think is just wonderful.

Ok, so let me just tell the story...

My normal route to the school takes me by Reserrection Elementary school and each morning I pass by a Dad (whom I lovingly refer to as Ultimate Dad) in some stage of walking his two children to school. I first noticed them leaving their house, which is just down from the school, with him pulling a little red wagon. I thought it was absolutly the cutest thing I had ever seen in my life. 

Since that first day I have seen them pretty much every morning. And to make matters even worse on my particular little, tender heart, I saw him walking the kids back from school this afternoon. I swear my eyes teared up and I sighed over the Ultimate Dad. Now, this is the part where I tell you that other than the bit of white in his hair, I have absolutly no clue what this man looks like. I only know that he's average height and has what looks to be a second grader and a preschooler.  Actually, not really him so much as the idea of him. The idea of the dad who walks his children to and from school (I think he works from home) just squeezes my chest until tears pop up. I SO desperatly want that for my kids.

I mean, I didn't think about them when I got married and they ended up with someone who woud have either found 10,000 excuses to NOT do it or only go with a beer in hand. While I never, never, never in a million years would ever, ever, ever, ever, ever want my ex back, I can't help but morn what I wasn't able to give them-an Ultimate Dad*sniff

However, I want to take a moment to thank Ultimate Dad and other Dads of his ilk for being phoneminal dads. I'm sure there are times when you may not be appriciated as you should, but know that your job is amazingly important. I thank you for you give me hope.

(And Moms married to these Dad's, please know that I am sinfully envious of you. Whenever you get a bit fed up with his shenanigans, remember how lucky you are to have a real dad for your precious children. Not all of were so lucky.)

Soap Box Over!
Thank you and Good Night.

This Week at a Glance

In the name of accountability, I have decided to list a number of GOALS that I would like to accomplish will accomplish this week.

  1. Get ass back in the gym. (I went today!!!)

  2. Once ass is back in the gym, go 3 times.  (1/3)

  3. Do much better on eating than I did this past weekend.

  4. Grade massive amounts of papers in a timely manner.

  5. Finish Dylan's blanket!!!!

  6. Remember to breathe!!
Wish me luck!!!!

Week's End

So, last night I had a whole lot to say, but I'm afraid I can't remember a single thing in this morning's light. Light, which is absolutely beautiful, btw. I know this because I went to WalMart this morning at an unGodly 8AM to get milk, T's lunch things,a nd honey buns. Now, I won't be wining any Mother of the Year awards by feeding my kids honey buns for breakfast, but they love them SO much and I'm in NO WAY tempted to eat them myself. It was MJ that got them hooked. I have always despised them. Yuk!

The other piece of random on my brain is about Life Coaching. I'm not sure how many of you guys know this, but last year (around this time actually) I was given the opportunity to have a life coach through my wonderful mentor/friend/former teacher, Sharon Ladner. She had just become certified and offered to be my coach. (That reminds me, I still owe her money. Please let me pay you, Sharon!!) Anyway...I found all of the materials we poured over last year not too long ago and reassessed myself. All I can say is, it's amazing what a year does to a soul.
Last year my "word" was Independent; I was determined to do everything alone no matter the consequences. All I cared about was my single minded quest for establishing a new life for me and the kids. now, I'm not saying I do not care about that now, but now I realize there are always consequences and I do not care to pay some of them. My new word (or phrase actually) is "Quality in all things which I am involved". To me this means that I want to establish quality in all my relationships (personal, professional, parental, familial), in my parenting, in my work, and within myself.  I'm proud of my new goal and I will be really working towards achieving it. I wonder what my word will be next year?

That being said...I've actually been thinking about becoming a Life Coach. It hit me the other day in class, as I was listening to and talking to a student, that I was actually doing for her what Sharon had done for me: listening and offering directions while letting her decide her own direction. It was like my favorite part of teaching, the talking and listening, without grading all those papers. The only issue at this point is the cost of all the reputable and accredited programs; however, if that is what I'm meant to do then a way will be provided, right? Yeah, that's what I think too.

On a personal note, I was unable to visit LC this weekend, but we kept in touch. He was sad to not see me, but understood that with Pop out of town I couldn't slip away for a visit, even a brief one.

I must, at this point make several confessions...
  1. I really, really, enjoy getting "Good morning" texts each morning.
  2. Likewise I really, really enjoy the "Good night" texts at night.
  3. I am a bit nervous that I enjoy them so much, but I refuse to freak out about it.
I am determined to sit back, relax, and let the Universe take me where it wants me to go. Fearless.