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This post is NSFA (Not Safe For Anyone)

At first I was going to say that this post was NSFW, but upon reflection, that’s TRUE, but an incomplete caution. This post is not safe for work, home, in your car, with a fox, in a box, or with any breakfast product, rhyming or not. Honestly it’s not safe anyone at all.

If there are small children in the room, do not read this post. If you are of delicate sensibility, please do not read this post. If you are not in the mood to be completely horrified, for the love of God: I’m trying to explain to you that you should not read this post.

If you—like me—believe that the only redeeming value of being completely traumatized is in then sharing that trauma with others, and relishing in their anguished squirming and scream-whispers of, “No! NO! THAT DID NOT HAPPEN!!” then you might like to read this post. But you can’t say I didn’t warn you, because I did. REPEATEDLY.

Dare to read on? Alrighty, then. HAVE I GOT A STORY FOR YOU! (more…)

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Comments { 116 }

Minutiae for your Monday

I have a variety of not-long-enough-to-be-a-complete-post stories which are either 1) still interesting enough for sharing or 2) mind-numbingly dull but I don’t realize that and insist you must know, and therefore that shall result in this, a disjointed mishmash of unrelated things all in one place. It’s just like my junk drawer! Only with more words and fewer pen caps!! (Moral of this story: If you need a paperclip and a button, I’m your gal.)

There’s a slight twinge of remorse here that I don’t have a more exciting life or whatever, but on the other hand, I got up this morning and brought up Facebook and was immediately presented with several hundred of my closest friends (haaaaaaaa) complaining about snow. And I’m not doing that! This is going to be WAY more interesting (to me)!

Though—speaking of weather—we had a gray, rainy weekend, and nothing makes me adore my spoiled rotten dog more than a few days of rain. While her lovable traits are numerous, the fact that she will leap at the door as if bladder explosion is imminent (ZOMG MUST GO OUT NOW NOW NOW OPEN THE DOOR I’M DYING!!!), then will poke her head out onto the porch once the door is opened, listen to the rain for a moment, and flounce back inside, all, “Just kidding, did you know it was RAINING out there? I just had my hairs did. I’ll just flop down on your couch and cross my legs for a while and take a nap,” is endlessly hilarious to me. This is a dog who was picked up as a stray, clearly in terrible shape. What have we done over the last three+ years that now has her convinced she’s far too delicate to even get WET? (more…)

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Comments { 41 }

Reunited and it feels so goooooood

I want to say stuff about how it’s going with Chickadee, because I am so happy, every minute, and still whispering to Otto, “Is this real?” and surreptitiously pinching myself because it’s so much better than I’d dared to hope for, having her back home.

I don’t want to say anything about how it’s going with Chickadee, because if I’ve learned anything over the last 18 months or so, it’s that the things you think you can control or anticipate as a parent can change in an instant, in terrible ways, in ways you never considered, in ways that make people judge your family for things which truly fall under the “there but for the grace of God go I” umbrella (though no one wants to believe it could happen to them), and I am afraid if I shout “IT’S AWESOME!” from the rooftops, the good will end.

But mostly I want to say stuff because it gets better. It got better. And for a long time, I didn’t know if it would. I don’t want to not celebrate out of fear of the unknown. This isn’t the end of the story, but it’s a damn fine middle and worthy of celebration. (more…)

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Comments { 77 }

Haaaaaairs

As soon as we started having full-cast rehearsals for The Vagina Monologues, most of us noticed something weird: We had a disproportionately high number of redheads in the cast. Now, I’m guessing not all of them were natural redheads, but still. Only something like 1% of the world’s population has red hair, and according to Wikipedia (“they can’t put anything on the Internet that isn’t true”), here in the U.S. only between 2-6% of the population is red-headed. In a cast of 28 women, we had 8 redheads. That’s almost a third. Apparently when it comes to talking about their lady-bits, redheads are much more likely to do so. You know, based upon my completely unscientific, anecdotal observation.

I am currently somewhat obsessed with hair. I have made my peace with my own hair color; since giving up dye and cutting it all off last spring, I have come to love my silver streaks. I feel more ME, again, somehow. I don’t know how I’ll feel when I’m ENTIRELY gray, but right now I’m digging it. (Though I am maybe a wee bit jealous of all those beautiful redheads….)

So on the color front, huzzah! It’s all good! The problem is that I’ve reached the PLEASE KILL ME portion of our growing-out-my-hair program. (more…)

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Comments { 37 }

Back to real life

One of the things I love about doing a play is that it completely lifts me out of my regular existence of largely being a hermit, spending my days alone at the computer, spending my evenings with Monkey and Otto and then vegetating on the couch in front of some truly horrible television programming. [Sidebar: So now that we all know that Storage Wars is fake you'd think we'd stop watching it. You'd think we would remove it and Storage Wars Texas from our DVR. You would not think that we would continue popping popcorn and plunking ourselves down to watch these shows every week like they were solid entertainment, but you would be wrong, because... ummmm... yeah, I got nothing. I like popcorn? Yes.]

It’s good for me to pretend to be a social person. By the time we get to show week, we’re all cruising along on adrenaline, and I gamely pop in my contact lenses and spackle my face every night and head out to spend the evening with a fabulous group of women. And I love every minute of it. I keep finding myself thinking WHY DON’T I DO THIS MORE OFTEN?

And then the show ends and I come down with some sort of Mystery Exhaustion Virus and I remember why I don’t: I’m a delicate flower. (more…)

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Comments { 16 }

It’s getting hot in here…

To be filed under Things I Never Thought I’d Be Blogging About At My Advanced Age: Breastfeeding.

Specifically, I have to tell you something about back when I WAS breastfeeding. You know, a dozen years ago. I have teenagers; let me tell you about my breast milk! That won’t embarrass anyone AT ALL. But it’s germaine to the topic at hand, which I solemnly swear to circuitously reach in due time. Probably.

More specifically: When Chickadee was a wee floppy baby, I breastfed her, and I also pumped now and again because I truly bought the hype that formula was THE DEVIL, as young mothers who know everything about parenting are sometimes wont to believe. Breast milk was BEST and DAMMIT I was going to give my baby only the best so that she could grow up to have no problems ever. [Sidebar: HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. I want to grab Young Mir and shake her until her eyeballs rattle.] So I nursed, and I pumped, and eventually Chickie went on a nursing strike and I ran out of frozen breast milk and ZOMG I GAVE HER FORMULA. Clearly this is why her life isn’t perfect.

This is also why—when I was pregnant with Monkey—I insisted that we buy a freezer. A freezer I could fill with breast milk. This seemed totally logical at the time. (more…)

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Comments { 47 }

The little black pants that could

I may have mentioned a few (dozen) times that I’m in a play this week…? Possibly? And one of the super things about putting on a production of The Vagina Monologues is that it really doesn’t require any sort of set or costuming or anything. Basically the director picks a theme for what the cast will wear and then everyone goes home and pulls something out of their closet and whatever. Boom. Done.

Last year we had to wear black, purple and gray, in whatever combinations we wanted. That was really easy, frankly, since I wear those three colors kind of a lot, anyway. This did not stop me, however, from going out last year and buying some, umm, SPECIAL pants for the show. In my defense, they were on clearance. Also in my defense, I was doing the “angry vagina” monologue and I really wanted to wear something kind of hardcore that I would never ordinarily wear. Further in my defense, SHUT UP, it is TOTALLY not weird that I bought some faux snakeskin black, shiny skinny jeans.

[Chickadee was horrified. Like, asked me over and over to confirm that I would never, ever, under any circumstances, wear them "for real" any time other than the show. Her horror amused me, but not to the point where I wore them anywhere else. Because they are ridiculous and that was the point.] (more…)

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Comments { 30 }

Patriarchy!!

So I think I mentioned that I’m doing The Vagina Monologues again, this year. (Do you live in northeast Georgia? You should totally come see it next week!) I love everything about being in this show. EVERYTHING. I love being in a show, period. I love being surrounded by a group of kick-ass women. I love raising money for a worthy cause. I love knowing we’re raising awareness. I love the way Monkey’s face contorts when he references, “That… SHOW… you’re in.” (One day I started reciting my lines in the car and he said, “What the HECK, Mom? YOU ARE INAPPROPRIATE.”)

Basically, it’s all good. I think Otto particularly enjoys that for a couple of months I am leaving the house and interacting with other people on a regular basis. I’m not saying that I’m not completely adorable just as I am when I interact with just my computer and my child’s school for weeks on end, I’m just saying that he has an easier time peeling me off his leg when he gets home when I have to leave for rehearsal.

And of course I consider myself a feminist year-round, but it’s OH SO EASY to forget about all of the things out there that are Not Okay when you kind of don’t spent a lot of time out in the world. Then I start with the play and get all GRRRR! RESPECT THE VAGINA! all over again while these issues are front and center in my brain. (more…)

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Comments { 50 }

We interrupt this funk with some noise

I do my best stressing-out in bed. It’s my gift. Also, it makes me pretty much the greatest spouse ever, because what is sexier than a person who gets into bed at night and immediately begins crying and/or agonizing over a variety of unfixable and unhappy life circumstances? Nothing! ROAWR! Otto is a lucky, lucky man.

Fortunately for me, Otto is also a patient, patient man. Why, in the last year or so of… uh, challenges… Otto has even relented somewhat on his position about bedtime snuggling, now pretty much reflexively pulling me into a cuddle the moment I start fretting after the lights are out. (I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, before, but if you don’t have yourself an Otto, you should get one. They are SWELL.)

So last night it was kind of par for the course: We got into bed, I called the dog up (she was hiding underneath, as she does), and as Licorice settled between us and Otto took my hand, two things happened. First, my brain began to race, because YAY FOR BEDTIME ANXIETY. Second, we heard a bizarre noise in the distance. (more…)

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Comments { 45 }

Clean up, move on

By all accounts, 2013 is so far turning out a lot better than 2012. Of course, the bar was set pretty low, but still. I know January 1st is arbitrary as Markers Of Life is concerned. That didn’t stop Otto and me from looking forward to that flip of the calendar page as if our lives depended on it. And with nearly 1/12 of this year behind us, we remain hopeful that this year is Better.

And it is. We are all trucking along in our various paths towards some kind of normalcy. The days of Constant High Alert, Holy Shit The Sky Continues To Fall are over. Maybe.

What I am learning about myself is that I have mastered the art of faking it until I make it, and also that time is helping me learn the fine art of compartmentalization. I used to be a perpetual waterfall of emotions, unable to separate out the current moment from the hundred (thousand) that came before, forever trying to suss out the appropriate emotional state for THIS moment without the baggage of the rest. (more…)

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Comments { 26 }
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