Apparently, I was a guest poster over at Juggling Life today! Talk about "Juggling Life"! I didn't even know until ... uh, 8:11pm today. It is a quiz for all of you to give your husbands, so please head over there and have some fun!
Let me know if you give your husband the quiz, or if you want to write a post about it. I plan to post Jim's answers soon, and I'll link to you, or at the very least, your husband will have bragging rights!
Showing posts with label guest post. Show all posts
Showing posts with label guest post. Show all posts
Monday, July 6, 2009
Friday, June 5, 2009
Mound of Venus
(My guest poster today is JCK from Motherscribe. I love to read her blog, because she captures the beauty in the everyday moments of raising children. She also writes honestly about the frustrations. And, as you'll see in this post, she's funny. If this post doesn't make you laugh, seek help.)
I have just confirmed two things. That I am not into S&M. And… if you are going to experience pain, tis’ best to take that shot of JD beforehand. Yes. Have that shot or two of self-medication. Skip the cola. That little bit of sugar won’t do anything to prevent the onslaught of FIRE that occurs when you choose to have hair ripped out of your nether region. Hair.. RIPPED OUT.
You see, I went to get my usual done. My upper leg wax that I get every 6-8 weeks. It's a bit painful, but bearable for the result. Dreamy smooth skin. I hadn’t had a bikini wax in years and thought ..why not treat myself? Treat. Yeah…I DID just say that. So, I go to my usual gal and say that I want a little bit more taken off this time. Note my use of those three words… A. Little. Bit. I pointed to the area. She nodded. We communicated. Or, so I thought. Apparently, a little bit means something very different to me than it does to my anesthesiologist. Oh yeah, I mean aesthetician. I SO could have used an anesthesiologist, though... Oh, my…YES. I could have. It would have been so lovely to sleep through THE PAIN.
Is there not something additionally horrific about a nice woman talking in a quiet voice, the two of you sharing stories of your lives, and every mmmm... 30 seconds or so she causes you PAIN? There you are chatting nicely back and forth. She lays the warm wax on your skin, which feels kind of soothing…lulling you into a false state of relaxation and then…RIPPPPPP. Silent Scream. Pain. PAIN. That was PAIN. And then she does it again and AGAIN- yet checking in with me every once in a while to make sure I'm O.K.?
O.K.?
Yeah…sure. But, what THE HELL just happened? I believe my Mound of Venus has been RIPPED OFF. And maybe my Vagina, too. Is it still there? I look. I think it is. Still there. Gulp.. Gulp. Trying not to cry… I smile back at her through clenched teeth. Can she tell I’m faking the smile? Would another woman NOT EXPECTING this much PAIN have BITCH SLAPPED her? But, I can’t do that.... Damn! I'm a nice middle-aged suburban woman. I’m a mother for God’s sake! I stay SILENT. We talk of other things. Anything. Best NOT to focus on the PAIN. Or… to look down. I flip over onto my stomach. Dear God. Let my ass be hairless. It seems the worst is over. Phwwwooooo...We finish. Amazingly my panties still seem to be on. I thought they had been shredded. No blood? No evidence of the carnage? I'm shocked.
I thank her. I get dressed. I pay her. I feel lighter. So MUCH lighter. I walk out. Am I taller? I believe I AM taller. Did my body unravel into a stretching yoga pose whilst I was on the madwoman's table? Oh, no…it is just that I’m walking higher. My feet aren’t really touching the ground because my entire VA JAY JAY is on FIRE. And I’m...well, I'm ...hop walking. Kind of like a cowboy who has been in the saddle all day with burrs in his britches. Except not.
I get home and drop trou. Panties next. And what greets my eyes? Oh…NOOOO. Oh, no, no, nooooo. My VA JAY JAY looks like it is a VA HEY HEY for air traffic controllers. The hair (what’s left of it) resembles a…a… a landing strip. Yes. A. Landing. Strip. IT IS HIDEOUS. Hideous, I tell you. Some fucking feminist I am.
There IS a silver lining in all this. Isn't there? There is! Tonight, once I can walk again, I’ll have a new signal system for my husband. No more WINK WINK NOD NOD.
Hey, honey! Lookie lookie! Just in case you didn’t know where to put the engine down, here’s your very own landing strip!
...................................Now, you know sweetie…staring is RUDE.
................Come on DOWN...BIG BOY!
What would Mae West say?
Are ya gonna be a LOOKIE LOO or a WINNAH, Big Boy?
On second thought…I think I’ll have the lights out and have him fumble around for the goodies. But, that's later. Right now? I’m going to lie down and put ice on my mons pubis. And in my next life…I’m going to come back as a hairless Norwegian.
I have just confirmed two things. That I am not into S&M. And… if you are going to experience pain, tis’ best to take that shot of JD beforehand. Yes. Have that shot or two of self-medication. Skip the cola. That little bit of sugar won’t do anything to prevent the onslaught of FIRE that occurs when you choose to have hair ripped out of your nether region. Hair.. RIPPED OUT.
You see, I went to get my usual done. My upper leg wax that I get every 6-8 weeks. It's a bit painful, but bearable for the result. Dreamy smooth skin. I hadn’t had a bikini wax in years and thought ..why not treat myself? Treat. Yeah…I DID just say that. So, I go to my usual gal and say that I want a little bit more taken off this time. Note my use of those three words… A. Little. Bit. I pointed to the area. She nodded. We communicated. Or, so I thought. Apparently, a little bit means something very different to me than it does to my anesthesiologist. Oh yeah, I mean aesthetician. I SO could have used an anesthesiologist, though... Oh, my…YES. I could have. It would have been so lovely to sleep through THE PAIN.
Is there not something additionally horrific about a nice woman talking in a quiet voice, the two of you sharing stories of your lives, and every mmmm... 30 seconds or so she causes you PAIN? There you are chatting nicely back and forth. She lays the warm wax on your skin, which feels kind of soothing…lulling you into a false state of relaxation and then…RIPPPPPP. Silent Scream. Pain. PAIN. That was PAIN. And then she does it again and AGAIN- yet checking in with me every once in a while to make sure I'm O.K.?
O.K.?
Yeah…sure. But, what THE HELL just happened? I believe my Mound of Venus has been RIPPED OFF. And maybe my Vagina, too. Is it still there? I look. I think it is. Still there. Gulp.. Gulp. Trying not to cry… I smile back at her through clenched teeth. Can she tell I’m faking the smile? Would another woman NOT EXPECTING this much PAIN have BITCH SLAPPED her? But, I can’t do that.... Damn! I'm a nice middle-aged suburban woman. I’m a mother for God’s sake! I stay SILENT. We talk of other things. Anything. Best NOT to focus on the PAIN. Or… to look down. I flip over onto my stomach. Dear God. Let my ass be hairless. It seems the worst is over. Phwwwooooo...We finish. Amazingly my panties still seem to be on. I thought they had been shredded. No blood? No evidence of the carnage? I'm shocked.
I thank her. I get dressed. I pay her. I feel lighter. So MUCH lighter. I walk out. Am I taller? I believe I AM taller. Did my body unravel into a stretching yoga pose whilst I was on the madwoman's table? Oh, no…it is just that I’m walking higher. My feet aren’t really touching the ground because my entire VA JAY JAY is on FIRE. And I’m...well, I'm ...hop walking. Kind of like a cowboy who has been in the saddle all day with burrs in his britches. Except not.
I get home and drop trou. Panties next. And what greets my eyes? Oh…NOOOO. Oh, no, no, nooooo. My VA JAY JAY looks like it is a VA HEY HEY for air traffic controllers. The hair (what’s left of it) resembles a…a… a landing strip. Yes. A. Landing. Strip. IT IS HIDEOUS. Hideous, I tell you. Some fucking feminist I am.
There IS a silver lining in all this. Isn't there? There is! Tonight, once I can walk again, I’ll have a new signal system for my husband. No more WINK WINK NOD NOD.
Hey, honey! Lookie lookie! Just in case you didn’t know where to put the engine down, here’s your very own landing strip!
...................................Now, you know sweetie…staring is RUDE.
................Come on DOWN...BIG BOY!
What would Mae West say?
Are ya gonna be a LOOKIE LOO or a WINNAH, Big Boy?
On second thought…I think I’ll have the lights out and have him fumble around for the goodies. But, that's later. Right now? I’m going to lie down and put ice on my mons pubis. And in my next life…I’m going to come back as a hairless Norwegian.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Belly Laughs
(Today's guest poster is Jenn from Juggling Life, and boy she isn't kidding with that name. She is the queen of multi-tasking, and often, her posts make my head spin, but I love reading about her fun life! She is the kind of person that everyone wants as a friend, and a mom who everyone probably goes to for advice!)
Though the youngest of my four children is a freshman in high school, I find that I faithfully read and enjoy several blogs written by moms of babies and toddlers. (Jen's being one of them). I think I read them because they take me back to what was a magical time in my life--and, I like to think, my children's lives. All of the different stages of life and parenting have their positives and negatives--and I wouldn't want to be stuck in the baby/toddler years forever, but they were sure fun while they lasted.
My firstborn was MVP--an 8 lb., red-headed, pop-eyed (from the suction), slightly-bruised thing at birth. Now he is a strapping 6'2, not the least-bit pop-eyed, 19-year old. I won't be the first to tell you the time flies.
MVP and I spent a lot of time at night alone as the job my husband worked required long, late hours. One night I was sitting on our bed, MVP facing me in my lap; I was playing patty-cake with him. He was 2-months old.
Now, as a new mother and an inveterate researcher and devourer of information, I knew exactly what and when every developmental milestone was. Belly laughs were 3 months.
Yet at some point during our game of patty-cake MVP's grins turned into giggles turned into belly laughs. I was in love with the kid already, but if I hadn't been . . .! We spent an entire evening laughing at and with each other. It was a magical night and one I will always remember.
That header up there? It takes me back!
Though the youngest of my four children is a freshman in high school, I find that I faithfully read and enjoy several blogs written by moms of babies and toddlers. (Jen's being one of them). I think I read them because they take me back to what was a magical time in my life--and, I like to think, my children's lives. All of the different stages of life and parenting have their positives and negatives--and I wouldn't want to be stuck in the baby/toddler years forever, but they were sure fun while they lasted.
My firstborn was MVP--an 8 lb., red-headed, pop-eyed (from the suction), slightly-bruised thing at birth. Now he is a strapping 6'2, not the least-bit pop-eyed, 19-year old. I won't be the first to tell you the time flies.
MVP and I spent a lot of time at night alone as the job my husband worked required long, late hours. One night I was sitting on our bed, MVP facing me in my lap; I was playing patty-cake with him. He was 2-months old.
Now, as a new mother and an inveterate researcher and devourer of information, I knew exactly what and when every developmental milestone was. Belly laughs were 3 months.
Yet at some point during our game of patty-cake MVP's grins turned into giggles turned into belly laughs. I was in love with the kid already, but if I hadn't been . . .! We spent an entire evening laughing at and with each other. It was a magical night and one I will always remember.
That header up there? It takes me back!
Monday, June 1, 2009
I wuv you
(As I mentioned in my last post, I am on vacation this week. My guest poster today is Jonny's Mommy, over at Boondock Ramblings. What can I say about Jonny's Mommy? Sometimes her posts make me laugh, sometimes they make me cry, but I always enjoy them. She is my most loyal reader and commenter, so I just LOVE her. )
I am so excited to be guest posting for the infamous Jen at Rants and Raves! I’ve been reading Jen for quite awhile now, keeping up, especially, on her son Dylan, a mere two weeks younger than my Jonathan. Of course I also love reading about her hunky husband Jim (I’m sure she would say this. Of course, I’m not saying he’s hunky. I mean, he is, but . . . I’m not saying that, because that would be inappropriate . . . ya’ know speaking about another woman’s husband that way. OK. Listen, I’m trying to be nice and honest. He’s hunky. But so is my hubby. That’s all I’m sayin’. Movin’ on.)
What impresses me most about Jen’s Dylan is how smart the kid is. I mean, he is really smart. And so articulate. I have to admit, there were times I was a bit jealous of how articulate and smart that little Dylan was. I began comparing him to my little guy. I imagined he was already telling his mommy and daddy he loved them, when, no matter how many times I prompted him, I couldn’t convince Jonathan to tell me he loves me.
Then it hit me -- my little guy is pretty smart himself. Maybe he wasn’t talking as well, or as early as Dylan, but what he didn’t say, Jonathan made up in actions, something he continues to do.
I am constantly amazed at what Jonathan does and as he begins to speak more I am also amazed at what he says. I may not always understand him, but I do now, more than ever, understand he’s developed his parents’ sense of humor, sarcasm, and smart mouth.
On Memorial Day Jonathan and I traveled to my parents, about 45 minutes away. At the end of the day Jonathan was not interested in climbing in the car to go home. He wanted to collect rocks and put them in his bucket, in the ditch, and anywhere else he could find to throw and store rocks.
I gave him about 15 minutes of “rock play” and then lifted him into the car and told him we had to head home to see daddy (the man who stayed home, cleaned the house and did all the grocery shopping. Isn’t he amazing? Later that night he also jammed his knee while playing with his son and remained in severe agony for part of the night, shrugging it off because he said he was simply glad his son had had fun.).
Once in his car seat Jonathan took his pail, filled with rocks, and turned it upside down in the seat next to him. Rocks were spread all over the back seat of our car.
“Jonathan! I said you could keep them in the pail! Not pour them all over the car!” I shouted and started scooping up the rocks and tossing them back into the driveway.
Then I heard it, at least I’m pretty sure I heard it: “Mama,” in a very pitiful tone. “I wuv you.”
That might be what I said, but I heard this: “But mama. I love you. Why are you yelling at me?”
I gasped a little, looked Jonathan in the eye and said “Did you just say I love you?”
He grinned sheepishly, bowed his head, and said “Yeah, mama.”
He knew I would melt like hot butter on a summer day. I kissed his forehead and said “Oh, baby, I love you too.”
I hooked his seatbelt, shut the door, turned away and muttered to myself: “You little stinker.”
I’m pretty sure that all along that kid knew how to say “I love you” and was waiting for just the right moment -- the moment he could whip that emotional arsenal out and shoot his way out of trouble. Little stinker.
I am so excited to be guest posting for the infamous Jen at Rants and Raves! I’ve been reading Jen for quite awhile now, keeping up, especially, on her son Dylan, a mere two weeks younger than my Jonathan. Of course I also love reading about her hunky husband Jim (I’m sure she would say this. Of course, I’m not saying he’s hunky. I mean, he is, but . . . I’m not saying that, because that would be inappropriate . . . ya’ know speaking about another woman’s husband that way. OK. Listen, I’m trying to be nice and honest. He’s hunky. But so is my hubby. That’s all I’m sayin’. Movin’ on.)
What impresses me most about Jen’s Dylan is how smart the kid is. I mean, he is really smart. And so articulate. I have to admit, there were times I was a bit jealous of how articulate and smart that little Dylan was. I began comparing him to my little guy. I imagined he was already telling his mommy and daddy he loved them, when, no matter how many times I prompted him, I couldn’t convince Jonathan to tell me he loves me.
Then it hit me -- my little guy is pretty smart himself. Maybe he wasn’t talking as well, or as early as Dylan, but what he didn’t say, Jonathan made up in actions, something he continues to do.
I am constantly amazed at what Jonathan does and as he begins to speak more I am also amazed at what he says. I may not always understand him, but I do now, more than ever, understand he’s developed his parents’ sense of humor, sarcasm, and smart mouth.
On Memorial Day Jonathan and I traveled to my parents, about 45 minutes away. At the end of the day Jonathan was not interested in climbing in the car to go home. He wanted to collect rocks and put them in his bucket, in the ditch, and anywhere else he could find to throw and store rocks.
I gave him about 15 minutes of “rock play” and then lifted him into the car and told him we had to head home to see daddy (the man who stayed home, cleaned the house and did all the grocery shopping. Isn’t he amazing? Later that night he also jammed his knee while playing with his son and remained in severe agony for part of the night, shrugging it off because he said he was simply glad his son had had fun.).
Once in his car seat Jonathan took his pail, filled with rocks, and turned it upside down in the seat next to him. Rocks were spread all over the back seat of our car.
“Jonathan! I said you could keep them in the pail! Not pour them all over the car!” I shouted and started scooping up the rocks and tossing them back into the driveway.
Then I heard it, at least I’m pretty sure I heard it: “Mama,” in a very pitiful tone. “I wuv you.”
That might be what I said, but I heard this: “But mama. I love you. Why are you yelling at me?”
I gasped a little, looked Jonathan in the eye and said “Did you just say I love you?”
He grinned sheepishly, bowed his head, and said “Yeah, mama.”
He knew I would melt like hot butter on a summer day. I kissed his forehead and said “Oh, baby, I love you too.”
I hooked his seatbelt, shut the door, turned away and muttered to myself: “You little stinker.”
I’m pretty sure that all along that kid knew how to say “I love you” and was waiting for just the right moment -- the moment he could whip that emotional arsenal out and shoot his way out of trouble. Little stinker.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Guest Posting at Boondock Ramblings
The always entertaining, Jonny's Mommy, over at Boondock Ramblings, asked me to be a guest poster. She is one of my favorite bloggers, so how could I refuse? I like her because even though she is refreshingly honest about the exhausting job that is raising a "very active" 2 year old boy, she obviously adores her son, loves being a mom, and keeps a sense of humor throughout it all. She gets my sarcastic sense of humor, and I love that. She is also one of the most loyal bloggers I know. Her son, Jonathan, is only about 2 weeks older than Dylan, and is totally adorable.
Click here to read my post, Toddlers Talk, and while you are over there, you really should read some of hers.
Click here to read my post, Toddlers Talk, and while you are over there, you really should read some of hers.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
I'm Guest Posting on Motherscribe
On December 28, 2007, I left a comment on a new blog that I had somehow stumbled upon. The author of the blog, JCK, from Motherscribe, had just done a very long, involved meme, and I wrote, "Thank goodness you don't like me enough (yet) to make me do one of these". Yet! Here it is 8 months later, and I am guest posting on her blog tomorrow! I love when I get what I want! HA!
I knew the first time I read one of her posts that we just had to be friends. Who wouldn't want to be friends with her? She is a talented writer, who writes about raising a BOY and a GIRL just 10 months apart, with honesty and humor. She sees the beauty in the little moments of being a mom, and she celebrates them. She writes with candor about the struggles of raising children. She is REAL. She is funny, and she is fun. I love to read stories about her and her husband E, because you can just tell they are an adorable couple, and their sex life is smoking! (She writes odes to his luscious bottom, so one has to assume). Then there is her fishnets. My husband refers to her as "the fishnet chick". A woman who cleans in her fishnets, with a feather boa knows how to keep life interesting. Her poetry inspires me, and one day I hope to sit across from her, sipping drinks, (hers will be a JD and Whiskey), munching on chocolate, reading each others poetry, and of course, laughing. I just know there will be laughter.
I really don't want to let her down, so could you PLEASE all go over there and read my guest post tomorrow, and leave a comment, and if you're not reading JCK, you are missing out.
I knew the first time I read one of her posts that we just had to be friends. Who wouldn't want to be friends with her? She is a talented writer, who writes about raising a BOY and a GIRL just 10 months apart, with honesty and humor. She sees the beauty in the little moments of being a mom, and she celebrates them. She writes with candor about the struggles of raising children. She is REAL. She is funny, and she is fun. I love to read stories about her and her husband E, because you can just tell they are an adorable couple, and their sex life is smoking! (She writes odes to his luscious bottom, so one has to assume). Then there is her fishnets. My husband refers to her as "the fishnet chick". A woman who cleans in her fishnets, with a feather boa knows how to keep life interesting. Her poetry inspires me, and one day I hope to sit across from her, sipping drinks, (hers will be a JD and Whiskey), munching on chocolate, reading each others poetry, and of course, laughing. I just know there will be laughter.
I really don't want to let her down, so could you PLEASE all go over there and read my guest post tomorrow, and leave a comment, and if you're not reading JCK, you are missing out.
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