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Archive for the ‘grotesquities’ Category

My friend up and took off for Tibet…she asked me if I wanted her racing bike…she didn’t want to toss it but she needed to get rid of it. She said giving it to me would be as therepeudic as tossing her wedding ring into the ocean…She’s going through something profound right now. Many of us have experienced the pain of a break-up with a husband/boyfriend/person that you gave your heart to only to be dragged along for and extended amount of time and then watch as they crush that organ under their feet. I was reminded of my own experience as I thought of her.  Are men the same way? Do they need to clean house of all memories? I’ve noticed a pattern in the grieving process, phases, if you will…

Phase 1: Numbness, denial…this isn’t really happening…he’ll realize his mistake and we’ll get back together. I couldn’t help but think of the Violent Fems “I hope you got Fat” if you aren’t familiar, the words are “I hope you got fat cause then you just might want to see me come back.” This is part of phase 1. As women go, we diet, or change our hair, or shop.

Phase 2:Acceptance, kind of…the paperwork is filed and you do all the practical things that mean it’s “over.” Still you blindly hang on to what you can, you want to “stay friends” you hang out or call every once in awhile. Your friends are not aloud to speak ill of the ex…not yet. Because what if by some freak chance you get back together? Then there’d be weirdness. “Time heals all wounds” I don’t know if this is true…time may just lessen the blow.

Phase 3: There is a catalyst in this phase, something to make you realise you were holding out for some sort of closure…some message…but you can’t verbalize what kind of closure you need…and then you receive some kind of blow that takes you out of your stupor. This one hurts like the initial revelation. It happens and you realize they really aren’t good for you. On any level. Are they dating again? Are you dating again? What was the final straw?  And sometimes you need to take all the pictures, poems, love letters…to a pit at the beach and torch them. Maybe he really did love you once and it wasn’t all a lie, but you NEED to throw that ring in the ocean! It feels so good!

Though I haven’t spoken with my dear friend about what made her decide to give up her bike, I can only wonder what happened that helped her reach this decision.  But I’m clapping for her! It’s been a few years since it started to go down, and I hope she finds what she’s looking for in Tibet.

And I’m starting to think metal detectors on the beach aren’t such a nerdy idea.

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I’m still incredibly angry with my computer or site or whatever is to blame for my troubles. I can’t paste pitures and I refuse to tell my “clean sweep” story without them. It just wouldn’t be the same.
What I can write about is a “Let’s Be Real” Monday for you since it will be Monday by the time you read this…

An Apologyto the people in my “Hot Yoga” class last Thursday…I’ll go ahead and own up to the fact that I had Mexican food for lunch…I’m sorry…

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He came up to her, holding his boot in front of her face.

“Mom, there’s feathers and all kinds of stuff  in my boot.”

She grabbed the boot and looked closely, a little too  closely. She knew that smell, the smell of rotting bird flesh.

Without hesistation she flung the boot and it’s contents onto the lawn. The feathery clump of dead bird fell out.

She heard a peircing scream puncuate the air and realized it was coming from her own mouth.

This scared the babies more than the fallen crow. Her youngest threw his arms around her neck and kissed her. “Mama, mama?” He asked. Wanting to know she hadn’t truly lost it.

How did that bird meet it’s demise? And why was it in her eldest son’s boot?

Two theories, feel free to provide your own: a passing cat dropped it’s prize in a convenient hiding place?

Or did the sad little creature fly at top speeds into the window, and upon impact drop into the child’s boot?

IMG_0914

You tell me.  

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  • I’d be a backup dancer~ I still try to shake my groove thing when no one is watching. Sometimes I get caught. Like the time I was attempting the Robot, in the kitchen. Husband walked in while I was doing that pose, you know the one where your elbow is cocked in the air and your forearm swings like its a loose hinge?  If you didn’t get all that, if ever we two should meet, I’ll demonstrate.  Well he walked in and caught me. I jumped, squeaked, and cover my face like he would just disappear if I didn’t see him.  He’s never let me live that day down.
  • I’d be a photographer for National Geographic.  And I would write. I used to think I’d marry the writer, not that Husband can’t write but I’m a tad controlling.  I’d of course take his input and “use what I could.” He would just be there with me in the throws of the jungle, lest I was hit on by the pygmies, or something.
  •  Maybe I would have a few more triathlons under my belt, maybe not. One in each state.
  • Become an anthropologist, and study different tribes in Africa through living with them for years until they accepted me as one of their own. I’d write books about it. I’d be a specialist. Everyone would want me on their talk shows.
  • perhaps I’d live on a sailboat, and moor at different places around the world.
  •  maybe I’d try out for Reality Television
  • maybe I’d be so popular on that show that I’d become some T.V. Host for an obscure cable channel.
  • I’d join the Peace Corps

I used to think that if I was old, I couldn’t enjoy traveling.  I think maybe seeing my Grandma pull over at one too many rest stops put the fear in me.  But I felt such a panic to get out and do and see everything before gravity got a hold of me.

I’m realizing now that there are still time for those dreams in my future.  Who DOESN’T want to see a 50 year old back-up dancer at a Gwen Steffani concert?  And I’m really looking forward to traveling with the Husband. He’s never been past the North American continent. He’ll be a great traveling companion, and perhaps the pygmies will still try and hit on me in 20 years.

I am grateful for being out of the rat race. I worked for a great corporation in my twenties but I remember feeling a bit like a mouse on a wheel. (Hence the “rat race” Eve. Duh! and, does anyone say duh anymore?) But seriously, I wasn’t cut out for it. I knew I was just making money to spend it, then make it again. I had no drive to move up the chain. I didn’t want more stress or responsibility.

Although my worries now have the capacity to be the worst they could ever be, like the loss or sickness of a child or spouse, my joys have that same potential.  I wouldn’t understand how happy I could be, if I didn’t have my kidlets. I know I sound sentimental. And maybe one would think that my excitement over my toddler’s first exclamation of “mommy, I poopoos” is only because my day to day life has no other real thrill in it. That could possibly be true.

I like to think of it as I helped create this life and I’m taking this journey with them. I’m  learning to communicate for the first time, through them. I’m seeing the world through these fresh eyes. All three pairs of them. Suddenly that other stuff is comparatively not as exciting.

My 5 year old has never seen “The Ranch” before. We’re going there in 2 weeks. To him that is as thrilling as me travelling to the Great Wall of China. 

One might expect a conversation during with 3, five and under mindless drivel. But I get to hear comments like “If a human is friends with a rhinoceros, it might not turn out so well.” FRESH CONCEPTS! I’m tellin’ ya!

Spaghetti dinner, I’ve had it many times in my life. My children devour it like it’s sugar coated.  And really they’ve only had it a mere 260, 156 and 78 times in their life as oposed to my 1560. It’s also one of the few meals all three agree on and there is a certain satisfaction in nourishing another human life. 

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, out of all the things I’ve done, and all that I could be doing, my wisest choice was to marry a sweet man and raise some kids. I know in the end my joy will be full.  

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They said it could never be done, they said it was IMPOSSIBLE!

But not only did I take care of a puking child, rotate two loads of laundry, put a few morsels of clothing away, clean the kitchen, make dinner for a friend with a fresh C-section, and maintain some means of sanity,  but I did the unthinkable…I cleaned the kitchen after dinner as well!

I know, I know! It really is incredible. So now I reward myself with NOT ONE, but TWO chocolate cupcakes, as I sit down to watch a show that always makes me smile.

But I will raise my glass of milk to you who couldn’t accomplish what I did today and say “Don’t give up, there’s always tomorrow.”

In the words of Micheal Scott…”I wish I had prepared something to say to you right now…May God guide you on your quest.”

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“Smell my armpits?” She dares her son.

He sticks his face in and takes a good whiff.

“Ewww gross! I should have known better!” He says, coughing.

He’ll never fall for that one again. 🙂

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Who gets pulled over for going 27 mph in a 25 mph zone?

I do!

Who has been driving around with an expired license?

I have!

Who almost got arrested and had their car impounded in front of the wee ones, with the five year old in the back seat asking mommy all types of questions like “Is he going to take your car away?” “Am I ever going to get to school?” “How come you’re in trouble?” and all sorts of other questions that leave a mommy guilt ridden?

If you guest me again you’re on a roll.

I can tell you why I put off renewing my license, well I didn’t notice it was about to expire till we already moved, and then I found out in Washington you have to retake the drive test! Who has time for that? Well obviously I thought “not me” and assumes I was above the law. Secretly I always enjoy fighting the man!

Side note, you’d think the first time I was pulled over and got away with a slap on the wrist would have been my wake-up call. I’m such a stubborn cuss.

So now on top of retaking the drive test I have to go to court and prove that I renewed my license.

Why do I do these things to myself?

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