I don’t even have a title for this one. December 5, 2007

By chance, I came across a blogging community that I had not bothered to look for before. I found myself on one of the “deadbaby blogs” today. There was this woman, she is my age and she recently lost her son. Her story and her words could be mine. Yep, I picked that scab today. I read and read until I was in tears. Reading her words, makes me see how far I have come. I remember those feelings that the world should come to a halt because mine certainly had. I felt hopeless and broken. I remember brief periods of laughter followed by guilt for forgetting about him for even a second. The physical ache of my arms being empty.

2 years ago today, I was in this womans shoes. I was having her thoughts. It is strange to see your craziest thoughts written on someone else’s blog. I still think of him every day but it is fleeting. He is never far from my mind but he does not consume it. I can live again. My heart still aches, and on occasion I still go in to the “Aidan box” to smell his blood stained cap. I think I have sniffed the sweet baby smell right out of it.

If she were to read this, she might think I am being trite when I say that it indeed gets different. I am not sure it really ever gets better but it definately gets different. I can do different.

Spammers Suck November 15, 2007

You know, when the spammers were at least a little creative and coming up with cool quotes and random musings, I almost didn’t want to delete them. They were interesting then. Now, I just wish they would go away.

I am not sure if I should be relieved that the only people I am subjecting to my rantings are the cock enhancers and viagra peddlers or if I should be bummed about it.

Burning Down the House… October 22, 2007

San Diego, CA is on fire.

My family all seem to be safe & sound. Some have been more inconvenienced than others but all the homesteads seem to be in tact and every one is accounted for. We are lucky indeed. Currently my little familial unit is waiting to see if we will have to evacuate. There is some confusion on that point.

I certainly don’t care what it is that you believe in but please if you believe in something just say a prayer, light a candle, wiggle your nose, or whatever you do to ask the powers that be for mercy, for peace, and maybe even a little rain or at least some humidity. There are a whole lot of folks who have lost everything and they could use all the good thoughts and prayers they can get.

-Mogo’s Mom (who is freaking out a bit)

Balance, or a Lack Thereof August 14, 2007

This is a repost from a blog I posted on MySpace once upon a time. I was looking at some old posts today deciding what to delete and what to keep in an effort to clean up my workspace and when I came across this one I said to myself “Self, this is exactly how you are feeling right now post the damned thing again.”

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Balance, it is a nice word. I like the idea of it. It sounds lovely.

My zodiac sign is Libra with Libra rising (and a Taurus moon). Libra’s like to be in balance although; I have never known a Libra who was. The truth is us Libras mostly cannot make up our mind about anything. Often our equilibrium is thrown off and we are rarely if ever in control (and OH how we love to be in control)! We like to dole out justice and point out when others have done wrong. We love to show you how unbalanced you are and how to go about fixing it all. It is a flaw, I am afraid I am plagued with it and I am sorry if I have subjected you to one of my famous rants.

The truth is my world is pretty off kilter. I am the girl who looses her shoes at your house. I loose keys and sunglasses regularly. I am rarely if ever organized. My bills sit on my computer desk un-opened until someone calls me to remind me that it is late. I forget to feed my fish, water my plants. It is a wonder that I remember to feed/bathe Mogo. My laundry is usually strewn about on my bedroom floor. The clean laundry is housed in a hamper folded but never quite making it to the drawers of my dresser. I lag horribly on things like thank you notes and RSVPing to any party or function. I am really bad about getting the oil changed in my car or even washing the damn thing.

I strive for balance. I want to be one of those women who always looks put together. She doesn’t have loose buttons on her jacket, she doesn’t ever spill coffee on her chest and if she does, she has a perfectly pressed blouse to change into in her purse or something. I want to be “her”. I want to find out how she keeps her skin clear and flawless, her make-up perfectly applied. She never gets raccoon eyes from her eyeliner. How does she walk in those 2 inch heels without taking them off every 5 minutes or complaining that they hurt her feet? Why is it that she knows just how much perfume to apply so that it lasts all day but doesn’t cause her co-workers to sneeze? I bet her white bras are perfectly white and her sweaters and knits don’t get those little fuzz balls on them. Her hair doesn’t seem to tangle or muss. If she puts it up, it stays up and doesn’t frizz around the edges. If it is down it is luxurious and perfectly brushed with no flyaways to speak of. She is amazing to me. I am just not that girl. I am not genetically made up that way. Where do these women learn these skills?

You see, I do have these spurts of energy where my house is clean and I am organized and on top of everything but they only really last a week. I am convinced that those are simply weird spokes in my menstrual cycle. I want to find balance. I want to be more disciplined and more in control of my own life. I want that internal voice that tells me when I need to change the oil on my car; the voice that argues with me when I want to procrastinate on paying a bill. I think this is the same voice that tells “her” that she only needs 1 cookie, or 1 beer, or not to eat the whole fricking bag of potato chips. “Her” voice probably reminds her to keep her 2 inch heels in the box they came in so they don’t get smashed by her Doc Martins. Come to think of it… “Her” voice probably told her not to buy the Doc Martins in the first place. It probably reminds her that it is time to see her colorist or to get her legs waxed. Alas, I have no such voice. My inner asshole does not concern herself with such trivialities. She spends all her time telling me what a fuckup I am and that I will never even compare to “Her.”

I think she just needs to be shot, but then I would have no voice at all.

Why do we do this anyways? August 11, 2007

There are those who are of the opinion that blogging is narcissistic at worst, and a total waste of time at best. I don’t know about that – I love to read them. Perhaps that is a bit voyeuristic but to know that some Mom in South Africa is having some of the same crap going on as I do… well it just makes me feel like a little less than a freak. I also think that blogs give a unique opportunity to have discussions about things that folks think about. The anonymity of the internet turns some people into crazy trolls but for the most part I have noticed that folks can agree to disagree and have a thoughtful debate (thank the gods that we can delete comments though!)

As for the writing of my blog, I love it. Perhaps that is because I am a narcissist who likes to waste time. All I know is that I type faster than I write and when I am supposed to write in my spiral bound journal ON PAPER, I only actually do it twice a year. When I blog, I actually write about 3 times a week at least. For the most part I write about things that are stuck in my head. I have A LOT of opinions and it just is not fair to subject my poor husband to them all. When I have the blues you all get to hear about it (ad infinitum), and when I cannot contain my pride or chagrin about Mogo I come here rather than impose my Mogo stories on innocent strangers in the elevator at work.

I guess I am a Mommy Blogger. I don’t really see anything wrong with that but I frequently see other mommy bloggers who are trying desperately to be anything but that. Not a worry for me. I am a Mommy. It is my most important and my favorite function. It makes up who I am and how I interact with other folks. It colors my opinions on politics and on current events. I do not know how other women separate the mommy in them from the other stuff because for me, it is all intertwined. It also gives me a chance to be myself completely; I am pretty honest in this venue. I can allow the chick that only lives in side my head, aka my “inner asshole” but sometimes thats the chick that lets me admit when I have done wrong or when there is a lessons  to be learned from whatever experience. I don’t let her talk much in the real world. She is sort of a pain in the ass. Here though, I can just let her do the typing.

I have a few topics that are off limits for my blog. I will not talk much about my marriage. I don’t think my Old Man would appreciate it much. I won’t talk about work with the exception of the occasional vague reference to the fact that I work with scientist weirdos but mostly anything goes.

So, I am taking a leap here… I am hoping to start some discussion. So I have a few questions…

1. Why do YOU blog?
2. What purpose does it serve for you? Do you get an artistic release from it? Do you get to complain more than you do in real life because no one of any consequence to you can tell you to stuff it?
3. Do you consider yourself voyeuristic for reading other peoples blogs?
4. What are your blogging taboos?
5. Do you even read your comments?

Can’t Stand Them… August 7, 2007

So I was over at Culture Lust this a.m. where they were talking about The BRATZ Movie and since I am of the opinion that BRATZ Dolls are the bane of every Mom’s existence (and if they aren’t they certainly ought to be) I figured I would talk about it here too. Feel free to jump in with your opinions anytime. Lord knows, I have lots of them.

I am what I consider to be a feminist (well sort of). I think that for this (meaning my) generation there is a new definition to what feminism is. We don’t have to turn ourselves into men to fit into the business world and woman can do any thing men can do and often better (ok, save for a few exceptions because there are just a few things I cannot reach to do myself and my Old Man is King of opening a Strawberry Jelly Jar). In a world where Gloria Steinem got married until death parted them due to cancer, and where we have a female candidate for Americas top office although many will admit she is just not the right “Man” for the job (I am a John Edwards kind of girl myself) many aspects of feminism have changed over time. That is not to say it is better now (although many things ARE better) just that the original folks from the Feminist movement have paved our way to where we are now and we should not stop moving it all along. (BTW, Thanks Girls!) We don’t have to hate men to compete with them. We can be feminine and be strong, opinionated, and powerful. Now, if we could only work on the infighting that makes us women our own worst enemies we would all be much better off.

All that said my girl power opinions definitely spill over to how I intend to raise our little one. I want this little girl of mine who loves pink and princesses and anything that is remotely girlie to climb trees, play with bugs, and hike in the canyon all the while in her frilly pink dresses (Go read “Growing a Girl” it explains my point precisely). I want Mogo to know that she is about more than her body and her beautiful face but that her body deserves respect and how to demand it of those who would objectify her. I want her to embrace that she is smart and that she does not have to “dumb down” to win friends or influence people. That her cleavage (which she is bound to have lots of due to genetics) is not the most important thing to display – and that if I ever catch her dressing like one of those Bratz dolls, I am gonna kick her little… Oh sorry I got a little off track there. Basically, I want her to learn all the stuff I didn’t until I was much, much older.

So far Mogo knows that Mommy thinks those BRATZ dolls are “Tarts” (an unfortunate word I had not meant to teach her) and she is not allowed to have one. She knows that I don’t like Barbie because she does not look like what a real woman looks like. She also knows that I would write a different ending to many of the fairy tales we read. I have her trained. If you ask her what she has to do before marrying her prince, she will tell you she has to “go to Gradumate School to become a Master.” We discuss these things in an age appropriate way. I don’t keep her from watching the Princess movies but I do ask her a lot of questions about what makes sense to her with regard to the stories and how perhaps the Princess of the week could have handled things on her own. Thus far she has some pretty good ideas. I am encouraged.

I think the BRATZ dolls are just a symptom of how we as a society over sexualize our children. For example, you cannot easily find a cute and reasonably priced 1-piece bathing suit for a toddler, and Mary Kate & Ashley are putting out Bikini underpants for the preschool set at Wal-Mart (although I wonder if they did that because those are the sizes they fit into). Not to mention that when you buy a pair of jeans in a 4T you better have her try it on at the store lest you realize when you get home that you just purchased a pair of low-rise.

Over at Culture Lust, Angela points out that children use toys to try on different personas and to simulate real life scenarios. I remember what the little girl next door would simulate with her Barbies when I was a kid and let’s just say that girlfriend had some interesting ideas about what constituted baby making and I was happy to correct her. Somehow when I think of simulating anything with these dolls, I have visions of an A.N. Roquelaure school of pretend play that just disturbs me (see Ann Rice Sleeping Beauty Series). Perhaps I just need to get my head out of the gutter though. I still don’t like Barbie but I would prefer it over BRATZ any day of the week. Somehow I get more of an old fashioned Missionary position type feel from Barbie that I just don’t get from BRATZ. Even if they are trying to clean up the BRATZ image what with the new movie and all. I don’t think they can convince me that it is ok for them to look like they are working a street corner just because they are good at math.

What will be really difficult as Mogo enters Kindergarten is keeping up with this when she desperately wants to be just like all her friends and have all the same stuff they think is cool. Judging by they way these dolls are flying off the shelves, I imagine it is inevitable that mommy’s explanation of “I just really don’t like them” is not going to be enough to placate her much longer. I guess I will have to cross that bridge when I get to it though.

Wiggling my Nose for my Imaginary Friend June 26, 2007

I live to read blogs. I have completely changed my web surfing habits because of my introduction to blogs. I have a few comfort blogs that I check everyday like a soap opera or something. Thing is, unlike a soap these are real people going through real stuff and they have real lives – I am pretty sure of that since well, I write one too and I am pretty sure I am real (well, mostly).

So now I have all sorts of friends inside my computer that I have never met or talked to but I know them intimately. I root for these people, I cry for them, and I cuss like a sailor on their behalf. I don’t know if they eat their boogers while driving or if they had a Raggedy Ann doll when they were little but the anonymous feeling of intimacy I get from reading their blogs makes me venture a guess (no, not about the booger eating) as to who they are. It is so strange to me that I could feel this bond with folks I have not ever met.

That said (and get ready because I am going to rant now)…

I was reading one of my comfort blogs today and I am crying and cussing like a sailor. The world is just not fair. I know – I know my Mama done told me that life is not fair but damn does it have to be SO VERY UN-fair? Not only is it unfair but it is almost as if the Universe targets specific people for repeated tragedy and pain. Julia over at “Here be Hippogriffs” (and here too) has a similar problem as I do, she has no problem getting PG, it is the staying PG that alludes her. She has a basic understanding about the cause though and has been doing IVF and whatnot to try and conceive (again, it seems she has a little boy around Mogo’s age I am thinking of proposing a betrothal actually.) She is currently PG with twins and just found out that one may have a translocation. I am not sure which chromosome but I do know that I hate the word translocation and I do not know this woman from Adam (whoever Adam is) but I know PG Loss and I know about translocations of those pesky chromosomes and well, FUCK. That’s all there really is to say… Fuck, bugger, bloody hell, JC on a Pogo Stick. This particular translocation debacle is only slightly more fucked because she is PG with twins and that just makes it that much more complicated. I just want to wiggle my nose and make it better for her, for us, for all of us who deal with this sort of loss but I am just not that kind of witch.

BTW… I know that in the grand scheme of things there is more happening in the world than pregnancy loss and neo-natal death. I know I am blessed and charmed and I am so grateful for my sweet Mogo (why do I have to make that disclaimer?) I get all that. I know that children are starving in
Indonesia and about a bazillion other places (including just down the street). There is strife in the world, there is pain, and there is injustice. Yes I get it, I get it but here? In my little corner of the world, in my heart, this is the thing that I can’t get out of my head. Why? Why her? Why me? Why does this happen? I consider myself a fairly spiritual person and I can usually see the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel but I still have to ask it – What is the fucking purpose of these losses for these women, for these families?

So say a prayer, light a candle, hug a tree, send some love, what ever you do when you hear about crazy fucked up situations or don’t but that is what I am going to do for my imaginary friend Julia and her little fetbryos.

Edited 8/2/07 to add: Apparently Ms. Julie and her twins are doing well and no translocations have been found. It was premature cynicism. I am breathing a sigh of relief for her. It also makes me painfully aware of what a roller coaster pregnancy can be after such loss. I am sure if I ever conceive again, I will be a mess until the whole pregnancy is over. I can’t wait.