Mi Amorcito

When I first saw this man back in October, I remember thinking that there was no way in hell he'd ever be actually interested in me. Just no damn way, people.  He's almost three years younger with three percent body fat and totally yummy. (I mean the accent alone, guys!) What in hell can I offer this man?!?!

Obviously a lot as it turns out because he has chosen me. Shut the Front DooR!!!

And better than that...he is all about me begin as girly as I absolutely want to be. In fact, he encourages me to get my nails done. I asked him if he thought it was a stupid expense and he replied, "Are you going to get them redone every 3 days?"

"Well, no; that's just silly."

"Then there is nothing wrong with you needing to get your nails done. It makes you feel good."

Sorry girls, he's all mine.

He is encouraging my weight loss and reminding me to eat (he used to check that I ate breakfast every day until it became a habit), but not because I'm big; because, "The kids and I need you around a long time, baby." I must say it's easy to eat well around him because he eats so well. Fruit, vegetables, rice, protien, smoothies...he likes good fod, but it isn't a NEED for him. Food fuels his body; it's not something he lives for.

Hummm...What a novel concept.

Actually, he asked me what I thought the other day because he was afraid he is getting too skinny. I told him that I would fatten him up soon enough with some good Southern cooking, but I wouldn't change a single thing about him. I have seriously never thought hip bones were sexy on a man until recently. Wow. Really.

Anyhoooooooo....

I feel myself blossoming under his light. I can remember once liking the feeling of being girly and feminine, but I stopped because it became passe'. I love the feeling of wearing dresses and feeling pretty...and I do. Where a majority of my life I always felt my weight (regardless of what I weighed) and felt awkward in pretty clothes because I didn't think I was pretty enough to wear pretty clothes.

For some reason I thought that pretty clothes highlighted my lack of pretty by drawing attention to myself instead of helping me become prettier. I know I'm not crazy and other people have felt the same way...right?

Now, as I stand beside him, I feel like the most beautiful girl in the room. Seriously. I do not notice who is prettier or skinnier or has a cuter outfit; I just focus on us and how good I feel around him. It's like the huge mountain of uncertainty disapears and I can finally relax into my skin. I have more fun. I smile more. I laugh more. I stress less. I fidget less. (This is HUGE in itself!) And all of these things are felt both with and without kids. I am as relaxed with all 3 kids as I am with just us 2. He just lets me be me and really loves it.

My cousin commented months ago that it was true love becasue I said I felt skinny around him. It's true. I do. I'm am never self conscious of my weight around him and when I've said I could wear something I've seen in a store window he has just looked at me oddly and said, "Why?" Like the fact that I'm probably around 70 pounds overweight has never really occured to him.

God, I love that Latin men like women with meat on their bones. Because while I may never lose all of this 70 pounds (even though I'm really trying and it's decreasing sssslllowllllyyyyyyy), he will still think I'm just as beautiful at a smaller size as he does right now. I mean...I'm going to get nothing but better!

Hell, I may be freaking impossible to live with by the time I lose a bit more weight. 


For example, I bought a dress on a whim. I thought it was pretty, but I would have NEVER even attempted to wear at any other time in my life...even when I was in college! But I bought this cute, lilac colored, strapless dress with ruffled tiers. (see below)

 I wore it out the other night with a little black shrug and wedge heels with black flowers onteh strapes and his eyes bugged out of his head. "Baby, this dress this dress!!! You look georgous!! Where did you get this dress!"

Don't ask me what anyone else was wearing that night. And don't bother asking his what anyone else was wearing because he proudly held onto me the entire night. I felt like a queen. I fetl like no one has ever made me feel before...I felt like my Pop finally wasn't full of total shit for the past 33 years...I felt beautiful.

Holy shit...I guess I am beautiful after all.  :)

Wanting What You Don't Have

I am so pissed off right now I almost can't see straight. For real; I'm not kidding. Oh, you guys will be too, just as son as I tell you the latest in the fucked up saga that surrounds anything to do with ex's fucked up family. AAAAKKKK!!!!!

Anyway, just a bit of background....

whathisname's "father" left his mom when he was around 10ish and had no actual relationship with him. Zero. Nada. Nothing. I was the one who encouraged the ex to get back in touch with the "father" because I thought it was a good idea. I'm not sure anymore.

The "father" lives maybe 20 minutes from my house. 20. Two-Zero. Twenty. That's it. Has that man, or his wife (Note-not the ex's mom) darkened the door of my home? Nope. They came to Cait's birthday party and to Tristan's birthday party. No phone calls. No cards. Nothing.

Well, perhaps not nothing...occasionally I get a message on FB from the "stepmom"-written in all caps-which I begrudgingly answer because it is usually heavy with guilt trip sauce...and I don't tolerate guilt trip shit from MJ so why would I tolorate it from someone else? I mean really people.

Anyway, I got a box via the US postal service today from, guess who...that's write. It was from them. The box is full of Christmas presents for the kids.

That's right, FF, those assholes could not even be bothered to drive 20 fucking minutes to come see my children and hand them their gifts in person. Nope, they mailed them.

Did I mention they live 20 minutes away?

Did I also mention that ex's Mom lives further away and drives to my house almost every time she is off work to come visit the kids? She usually only gets one day off a week, and she spends at least a few hours of it with those babies because they are important to her. Because of that, anytime we are anywhere near where she works we stop by and visit for a few minutes. I make an effort because SHE makes an effort.

If she isn't able to come by for a couple of weeks, she calls for a general update. Ok, so most of the time it's after she's around a 6 pack in so it's a short, but interesting conversation, but she tries.

What do I get from the others? Not a goshdamn thing. Actually, damn near less than that even.

Do they expect me to drive to their house, while they sit in their recliners, chain smoking in front of my children? Umm, yeah, NO! If my children are SOO important you can make an effort, therefore I will make an effort.

Now, I should know better because they never came to our house when we were married, so why us not being married anymore should make things any different, but...dammit! It just pisses me the fuck off.

And you know what, I bet they talk about me like I'm dog-shit because I do not go over there and visit with them. Once again, I bring up the smoke the billows out of the house when they open the door. Every time we took the kids as babies they cried the entire time and ended up with a cold because of the smoke. Plus, I have nothing-nothing-nothing-NOTHING in common with either one of those people, except the kids. I'm not all about a social call. I'm not about a "let's catch up". I don't really know them and from whe I can tell they don't really want to know anything about my kids.

Pop says to let it go and to not worry about them becasue the kids have plenty of grandparents. And I know I should, but it just gets in my crawl that those people are treating my babies like second class citizens that aren't worth thier time enough to come visit.

I know how that feels. I've been treated like that by MJ's mother since I was 11. (Don't ask, I still do not know what an 11yr old does to become oustrasized by her own grandmother. However, suffice to say neither me or my sister are, were, or ever will be the "Golden Grandchildren" that she gives two shits about.) And I didin't have anohter grandmother to pick up the slack. I was just grandparentless and I always felt like there was a huge, gaping hole in my soul where something should have been and wasn't. The idea that this person genetically bonded to me disliked me to such a degree that I didn't matter to them. I don't want the kids to feel that way. To feel slighted. My parents (along with ex's mom and my brother-in-laws parents) will defintely take up any slack, but I'm afraid as they get bigger they will always earn for that thing they will never get-just as I always have. The acceptance and love of those people who could fucking care less.

I mean, tell me a single person who would not just love these faces so much they wouldn't want to see them as much as possible....

Pops's right (as usual), screw them..my kids ROCK!!

Applications and Jobs

I can't even tell you guys how many freaking applications I've filed out, how many resumes I've sent out, or how many times I'm crossed my fucking fingers to get a job that I inevitably do not get.

Here's the thing...I have paid my own way since I was 21. Apartment. Car. Food. Incidentals. Everything. Now, my parents would throw a bit of gas money my way if I visited home for a random weekend  (Ok, so that's usually HOW they got me home-the promise of money. Don't judge; I worked all the time and had to be compensated.), but all-in-all I was self sufficient.  And while I would occasionally throw a pity party for myself when I'd go to work and miss out on something fun my friends, who weren't self-sufficient, were doing that night. it never lasted too long because even then I realized that it would pay off in the long run...and I was proud that I could take care of myself. 

THEN I married a man who was terrible with money. Terrible. Awful. Horrible. Total Suck! Y'all I didn't even know what a bounced check notification letter looked like until I married him. I think it took 6 months to see my first one. By the time I was given full run of the finances (Yep, the one that still must count on fingers to add and subtract was given full responsibility for all money. Nice huh?), not only were they in a shambles, but he had quit his job and moved to Phoenix to wait tables. Hence, he made almost zero money. I lived 3 hours away, busting my ass and trying to figure out a way to get hired at a school in Phoenix-and also trying to get HIM hired as a teacher in Phoenix, which he was totally uninterested in being for some reason. However, I somehow always made it work. No matter how much or how little, I always figured out how to make everything work. Now, I will admit that it mainly consisted of me doing without anything I wanted so everyone else could get spoiled (and God knows he had to have a 12 pack of beer every fucking night), but I truly thought of it as "doing what I had to do." I could do without and not fly into a total rage or having a nervous breakdown so I did. Did I complain? Occasionally, but it's not like it ever mattered.  I even got two extra gigs teaching adjunct classes online so I didn't have to work quite as hard making pennies stretch.

And can I ever make pennies stretch!!! Trust me...I'm good.

Anyway, this whole "waiting for a full time gig" while working two part time gigs is starting to wear thin. Thin I tell you! I miss the days of being self-sufficient. I miss the days of everything around me being mine. I miss not having to share and not feeling guilty if I don't feel like cleaning the kitchen.

I mean, I'm trying to keep positive and keep the belief that there is something out there for me and me alone and it will totally work out for me alive in my heart...but my friends, I'm being rubbed raw by my current adventures in limbo.

The only thing really getting me through is knowing my Pop understands the pride in my soul that screams and rages at its bonds each time I have to ask for help, or money, or anything at all. He understands because he is the one who molded the pride of my self sufficiency in me.

Perhaps it's just PMS that has gotten me going, but I talked to a guy on Monday that told me he'd contact me for an interview as soon as he was given all the applications and I still haven't gotten a phone call. I think I might can wait until Friday to call again (it would be call number 3 total), but I'm terrified of looking too desperate. (Now we all know I am, but does he really need to know?) 

I'm really just looking for a bit of good luck because I think the Good Luck Fairly lost my fucking address. If anyone sees her please send her to me...please.

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).

Thanks,

Me

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.

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.

Advice

One of the blogs I follow posts a brilliant question that instantly resonated with me, "What advice would you give your 15 year old self?"

Wow, Julie Musil you just totally rocked my world with that!! You say, just for fun and mention to not wear high waisted jeans or maybe not turning down Bill Gates at the prom, but I'm afraid mine may be a bit more serious than that...just maybe.

Let's see...at 15 I was a 9th grader at Colmer Jr. High. Remarkably, it was actually a good year for me and I do not remember very many things that cloud up that year for me. However, I did begin a pattern that year that would significantly infect the next 15ish years of my life...I passed on "crushes" I had out of pure fear and never took the chance, the leap of faith, to see what would happen.

Now, don't get me wrong, I don't regret anything because, good or bad, I am the person I am because of my collective life experience, but I can't help but wonder what life would have been like had I ever believed I was worth the chance. I was good enough for myself and the world. Would my crushes still have been my crushes? Would my boyfriends still have been my boyfriends?  Would my choices still have been my choices?

Good question...

However, I think I might take that chance.

I'd tell that 15 year old me to look into the mirror and see that the world sees, not what I believe I see. That I am truly beautiful and worthy of love, beauty, trust, and love. That I have talents that have hardly been tapped, but I need to cultivate and promote those talents-not to hide from them or be ashamed of them. And most certainly not be so self conscious of myself that I would wait years to ever show anyone a piece of writing and still feel inept. 

Of course this begs another question...how to you ensure a 15 year old has self esteem? I ask because I know I didn't, but I hope and pray to every Deity I can possible think of that I am able to ensure Caitlin has more than her share.  (Tristan too, but it is mainly a girl issue, especially since she looks like me but acts like my sister and mother. I am just at a loss about what to do with her as she gets older.)

If anyone has tips or ideas on how to keep a healthy self image in girls as they grow up I'd love to hear them because I fear failing her every day. I fear looking to her eyes as a teenager and seeing myself radiating back so strongly that I know exactly what she will do or say next. I'm not sure how I will react to ever see the pain emanating from her the way I always felt mine did. Of course, I guessing it really didn't since no one ever noticed it.

So far, I make sure I tell her daily...

How much I love her (because I do),
How smart she is (because she is),
How pretty and beautiful she is (even though I feel a bit vain saying it since she really does look like me),
How funny she is (because she is a total goof-ball),
How talented she is (She's a dancer, for real, y'all!),
How proud I am of her when she does anything.
And how much I love her...with lots of kisses and cuddles.

Truthfully, that's all I really know to do. I'm sure I will ask for advice man more times as she grows because this issue has plagued me since the day I found out I was having a girl. (Imagine being elated and then terrified in tandem.) How can I help her become the person she is supposed to be?

Oh I KNOW he didn't!

Let me just tell you, my ever loyal FF (faithful few), that I am about as pissed off as I can possible get about right now. In fact, I had to wait an extra hour after finding my "topic" today just so this post would be more than an example of Gangsta Rap-curse words with a bit of non curse words thrown in to almost make a complete thought. OH. MY. GOOD. GRACIOUS. BUT. I. AM. MAD!!!!

You see, I am a teacher. I've taught CCD (Catholic equivalent of Sunday school), high schoolers, adults, and my own children. I have tried to be anything other than a teacher, but have found that I am a teacher.

Why?

Well I have always seen teaching as my personal calling. (I know I usually don't get all "churchy" and choose to keep most of my religious views to myself due to growing up the lone Catholic among Baptists who thought all Catholics were going to Hell because we worship statues and aren't Christian, so hold on cause I mean business!!) No matter what I have ever tried to do in my life I have come back to teacher because I KNOW beyond a shadow that no matter how frustrated I get my frustration lies with "man" and not with the teaching itself.

Ya see, when you are truly called do DO or BE something, you will never find complete fulfillment until you answer that call. Translation, I can do any job I want, but will never find contentment in my soul until I teach.

Don't believe me? Read this...

1 Corinthians 12:28
And in the church God has appointed first of all apostles, second prophets, third teachers, then workers of miracles, also those having gifts of healing, those able to help others, those with gifts of administration, and those speaking in different kinds of tongues. 


See? I told you!

So, now I will get to why I'm angry...
"You should have chosen a different career field."

Are you freaking kidding me?????????????????????????????????????????????????????  Seriously! Are you an idiot on purpose or does that shit just come naturally? What a schmo!!

What happened to teaching being an honorable profession that was respected?

I think it started with all of that "Those who can't...Teach" bullshit! I mean WTF people. If I could sucked at what I do then I damn sure couldn't teach it. For example, I suck at math; therefore I do not teach math. However, I am a good writer; therefore I teach writing. See what I mean?!  I do not know who concocted that little jewel of propaganda, but I'd sure like to whoop his/her ass!

I mean, damn, we are begged to become teachers and then allowed to drown in a pit of overwhelming frustration by barley being able to support ourselves (or our families) and pay our students loans and deal with parents who think we are against their children and deal with students who think we are against them and appease administrators who have no idea what we do but are under so much pressure to make numbers that they can't help but make our lives miserable. Did I mention that we are begged to become teachers by the very government that has created all of these stupid-assed state tests that absolutely have no way of assessing  what a student actually knows. How do I know that? BECAUSE I FUCKING WENT TO SCHOOL FOR 5 YEARS AND GOT A MASTER'S DEGREE IN EDUCATION THAT TELLS ME HOW TO ASSESS STUDENTS COMPREHENSION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! An over-lengthy multiple choice test that lasts between 2 to 4 hours was NOT mentioned in any class I ever had as something positive. Translation: It's a stupid idea that only hurts our students...but I think I'll stop now and give this rant it's own personal post later.

Anyway, I digress so, back to my original topic...It seems that Mr. Taylor has just outlived his usefulness as a public servant. I never minded that he was a Catholic school alum. I never minded that his children all attended Catholic school. However, when MY career and MY calling (as well as that of so many others) is dismissed so completely and so thoughtlessly, I can now see that he has become part of the problem instead part of the solution.

Now, do I know how schools should be funded so teachers can finally receive the paychecks they deserve? Nope. Why? I didn't go to school to figure that out. I went to school to hone my skills as a teacher so I could spread the love of language. Why? Because I love to read and I love to write so I decided to combine my love of those things with my passion and calling for teaching and....Voila!! English teacher!

So, now I am told that I'm at fault for being poorly paid. That I should have chosen better? That I should have ignored my true calling from God and committed my life to another  occupation that would fill my pocketbook, but not my soul? That since I did, in fact, choose to be a teacher I should shut up and deal because "I should have known better"?

Well, guess what, Mr. Taylor? While I knew I would never be rich, I did think that I could support myself and while I never thought I would ever be a single mom of two that needed to live with her parents because it is all but impossible to survive. But I guess THAT'S my fault too.

I know one thing that I will happily take credit for...helping vote you out of office. Maybe they will let you teach at your Alma mater when you come back home.

Gene Taylor, a Representative that my family has voted into office for years and years and years (until now), was asked a question about why teachers were the second lowest paid college degree, but one of the most important. His reply was....

Taking Responsibility

It's been a year now. A year since my marriage ended and time that I identify and take responsibility for my role in what was a "pretty on the outside and ugly on the inside" marriage.

Don't get me wrong, I certainly don't think I caused this, but I do not think I necessarily helped either. You see I had a list. Yep, a list of things that would make a good boyfriend/husband. I thought I had hit some sort of weird jackpot because he met every requirement on that list; in addition to that, he met lists that weren't on the list also. I used my head...checked off my list and pushed in my chips. Done.

What I didn't do was hand over the keys to me. I held back a small piece of myself that, truthfully, I've hidden from everyone. hell, I'd almost forgotten it was there until recently.  So, while I was throwing every once of attention, support, and loyalty into my marriage I ultimately left out two major things...love and trust. Why? Well, suffice it to say, I never really intended anyone to get them. They are messy and more likely than not, will end up exploding in your face. I thought I was safer to keep part of myself back. (Gee, no wonder I was so ecstatically happy all the time.) No shit, I thought him loving me as much as he did would be enough to carry me through life. I didn't believe in fairy tales...they just didn't happen to girls like me.

Strangely enough, as most chicks in my situation, the divorced-single Mom favor, as anti-fairy tale- No longer believing in love or anything resembling it. Me? I finally do.

Isn't that both fucked up and hilarious?!

Just when I should be raging against love, I finally think I'd like to try it. Why? I feel like I was saved from my life because something better was planned for me. I guess I prayed hard enough to God, The Universe, and every other Deity in the world that they collectively decided to give me what I least expected...happiness.

Now, I have found this happiness and love? Nope. Will I find this happiness and love? Truthfully, I don't know. I think I will, but I now know that nothing is certain in life. However, I think the greatest gift I've been given is the  realization that I short-changed myself and my ex-husband, and for that I am sorry. But I have the opportunity to make it up to myself and actually be willing to accept and give love. Will I go searching under every rock until I come find it? Will I create a page long list of requirements that this imaginary man must reach? Nope. I'm good. I did that the last time remember? I have totally learned my lesson.

Love will come to me when it does. When I have made my peace with myself, with my life, with those around me, with The Universe. How do I know this?

Because I deserve it AND because I now believe in fairy tales.

And I'm proud to say that that is the first time I have EVER been able to say that in my entire life.

W, F, and G - Part 2

Holy crap!

Just when I thought it'd be OK and I'd get through the rest of the book with out a hitch...WRONG!

I feel like a silly emo kid reading The Bell Jar or Catcher in the Rye for the first time because I want to break out my pencil and underline passages and make notes in the margines.

"Dieting was like praying. It was a plainative cry to whomever was listening: I know i am fat. I know I am ugly. I know I am undiscliplined, but see how hard I try. See how violently I restrict myself, deprive myself, punish myself. Surely there must be a reward for those who know how horrible they are. "

And that was the passage that almost made me throw up...but I continued on...

"And precisely because dieting and binging were the main ways I was expressing my despair, the consequences of not dieting or binging were staggering...like breaking a vow that was never supposed to be broken."

Moving from wanting to throw up to wanting to cry. Progress? Maybe or maybe not, I'll just have to see.

The Past Year

Today is May 17th.

In two days, it will be May 19th.

Three Hundred and Sixty-Three days since "that day".

Since that day was so amazingly life changing, I thought I'd reflect on just what these past 363 days have done both TO me and FOR me. 

• It tested my skills as a Mother. Before I have loads of help and support, even if that was just because I was always told I wasn't a very good mother, but the fact remains that I flitted through the first years of my children's lives with minimal fuss or muss and always had the opportunity to "pass off" any disagreeable jobs. Now I have me. Don't get me wrong, when I'm at the end of my rope my parents are right there to boost me back up, but it's still just me. While my kids are fairly well behaved (most days), they are not always angels or quiet or still. However, they say "ma'am" and "sir" and I think that is something special. The rest is nothing that will make them delinquents later in life, so I'm OK with my wild youngins.
• It helped me reestablish Jamie. I didn't realize I had lost her until I no longer had another person demanding I devote every spare second of thought and molecule of energy on him. The first time someone made me laugh I realized that I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a reason to laugh let alone just let loose and laughed. I had been SO wound up in trying desperately try to fix what I knew was broken and dying-just so focused in trying to make HIM happy somehow-that I forgot that MY feelings and MY happiness were never even considered. I dressed how HE wanted me to dress. Did my hair how HE preferred it done. Cooked what HE liked to eat. Went places that HE wanted to go (For any unaware, those are only places that serve beer, which is why I haven't been to the movies in years.) I deferred everything him because he was the one that was emotionally erratic and seemly dissatisfied with anything involving being an adult. (home, family, responsibility, job, etc.) MY wants, needs, desires, feelings, thoughts, opinions, likes, dislikes, tastes were pushed aside by me, at the same time they were deemed unimportant by him.  SO, these past 363 days I have gotten to unpack my wants, needs, desires, feelings, thoughts, opinions, likes, dislikes, tastes and dust them off from seven years of disuse. It's been eye-opening to spend bits of time rustling through all of it; I really am nothing now like the person I was then. I feel I should reintroduce myself to those who only know me from that time. Hell, no wonder I was "encouraged" to not see or contact my old friends or family members. You guys, wouldn't have recognized me! I was kinda like the Zombie version of Jamie or submissive Barbie Jamie. NO good! The BIGGEST thing I've found I like...is ME!!!
• It allowed me the opportunity to re find my dreams. Once upon a time I wrote silly stories and poems as they popped into my brain. I've always referred to it as an itchy feeling in my brain and the only relief I get from that feeling is to write out the itch. (I really thought I was crazy until my Dad told me the the exact same thing happens to him-down to describing it as an itch. Wild.) I even remember writing "Write a novel" on my 25 Things to Do list I made in Mrs. Ladner's Oral Communications class my Senior year. Unfortunately, I married someone who people thought was creative, but wasn't. In fact, he was always jealous of it. Between that jealousy and my personal deprivation, my itches gradually dwindled into oblivion. Gone. Nada. Nothing. I wanted them, but could not conjure up the simplest idea, let alone flesh anything out. I felt empty-drained of what I can only describe as a twinkle.  Strangely enough, when the initial haze of disbelief cleared it all came back to me. And let me just say, it freaking FLOODED my brain. I started this blog to help with the overflow of ideas, but I think there are no less than nine different folders on my computers containing, what I believe are good idea and snippets of research. Now I'm just wondering how I will ever get everything written with all the free time I have...buahahahahahaha. I'm just glad to have it back.
• It brought me back into the fold of my family and friends. You see, he wasn't a fan of anyone HE didn't personally bring into our circle of friends. If they were my friends first there was always something wrong with them. Except my Theta Sisters, he knew better than to talk shit about them; it was just friends I tried to make after we were married. this past year has definitely taught me who my real friends are and who really loves me. I mean, actions speak louder than words and I got the intended message loud and clear from a few I thought were buddies of mine.

I think the most important lesson I've learned is that I am way more capable, talented, beautiful, intelligent, and amazing than I thought I could ever be...and All I really did to accomplish it was get shed of a husband. Who knew?!