The super power of boobs
August 4, 2006
Normally I stay away from any topic that is controversial or not related to me specifically. Since this blog is my own narcissistic rant.
But this article got me.
Who are these people who are so offended by a photograph of a nursing baby that they would tear the cover off of it so their husband would not see it? Honestly has he never seen your breasts before? And what about those Playboy magazines he sneaks peeks at in the store… do those make him uncomfortable too?
Truthfully I have seen more boobage on prime time television and don’t even get me started on the whole Mtv thing.
So the message we are sending is that it is okay to see breasts in a sexualized manner, but not for what they are actually intended to do.
I just don’t get it.
Posted by Chris @ 10:10 am
The anguish of the melting ice cream
He licked the scoop of ice cream and it fell onto the pavement. I took the picture right after I scooped it up and stuck it back on top of the cone.
He wasn’t upset about the fact that it fell. Or the fact that it might have dirt on it now. No, he was upset because some of the ice cream stayed behind on the pavement in a little puddle.
And that is NOT FAIR!
I did tell him to feel free to bend down and lick the pavement if that would make him happy, but my suggestion was met with even more anguished screams.
Oh to be five years old and lead such a tortured existence.
Posted by Chris @ 2:50 am
A Perfect Post
August 3, 2006
Lucinda started the perfect post awards as a way for people to “reward” the posts that they particularly enjoy within a given month.
I feel particularly honored to have recieved TWO this month. Honestly, I was giddy.
The first one for was for Celebrating A Life, post about my step-father’s 85th birthday extravaganza.
The second one was for this one which was about one of my many talents and poop. Who doesn’t like a good story about poop? The univeral thing that bonds us mothers together. Well, that and sagging boobs.
So thank you to MomCat and Fireflies and Frogs for thinking of me. I feel lucky.
Posted by Chris @ 4:04 pm
back to my regularly scheduled life
It has been strange. This coming back home. Surreal even. I wasn’t prepared for this.
It’s only fitting that this morning, within moments of sitting down with my laptop and coffee at my breakfast room table, my 19 month old son knocked over my cup of coffee. It poured out all over the table and by the time I got a dishrag it had poured off the end of the table and onto the floor.
It is an old house; the floors are not level. Nothing forms a puddle in my house, it forms a river.
I began cleaning it up and the mess kept getting farther and farther away from me. It is 8:00am and already it is oppressively hot here. And I was annoyed.
My 19 month old son splashed through the coffee. “Uh-oh.” he said. Stamp-stamp-stamp in the river of coffee.
I was angry. “Get out of the damn coffee!” I wanted to yell. But I didn’t. I looked over at him crouched down in the coffee, his eyebrows raised, and his mouth in the perfect “O” shape and I felt guilty and sad.
I had been away, on my own, all alone for 6 days and I come home with less patience than I left with. Instead of feeling rejuvinated, I feel something else. I am annoyed at myself and my own insecurities. I read the accounts of the conference written by other people and wonder if I were really there. I mean all of the things that people have blogged about happened, yet all of them together somehow do not form the whole picture. And I am not even sure that it makes sense.
I am saddened by the way I feel I was treated by a friend. And I guess lonely. After meeting, talking, laughing with so many interesting women I feel a definite lack in my real life.
Yes, I feel lonely. Which is ironic considering I have seven children who never leave me alone for even a minute and who talk to me until my ear drums rupture and I become deaf.
We finished cleaning up the coffee “together” which really means I cleaned it up, and cleaned him up, and tried to make it SEEM. LIKE. FUN!!!
As I walked back into the breakfast room I glanced out the picture window and see that an animal has gotten into our garbage cans once again. All our garbage is spread out over hell’s half acre. I mentally chastise myself for having my 11 yr old bring the trash out last night, though simultaneously wonder just how difficult it is to secure the garbage can lid properly.
I sat back down with a fresh half cup of coffee, since that is all that was left in the pot, and open my laptop. My daughter snuggled up next to me on the bench. Her little index finger stroking circles on my arm. Her finger found my shoulder and began scraping away at what remains of my temporary tattoo.
“Mommy take this off now. You need to take this off. It’s not yours.”
I know what she means. And she is right. It is time to get back to my regularly scheduled life.
Posted by Chris @ 7:03 am
the un-blogher post
August 1, 2006
I arrived home late last night. I have been mentally composing blog posts about the experience of being at Blogher, but none really capture it. Instead it sounds like name dropping… or something. I’m not sure. I had a great time, and maybe I’ll write about it more. Maybe.
But for now I have to go spend time with my children, who unlike me, want to share every last detail about what they have done the past five days in excruciating, real time detail. I should probably give them my undivided attention. And show them all the
free crap presents I got them. Post-It notes and hyatt pens for everyone! YES!
So I will leave you with these random notes I would write if my brain matter wasn’t already oozing out of my ears from the non-stop talking of my children.
Dear people flying cattle call airlines,
What is up with you people forming a line hours before the scheduled boarding time?
It makes me so angry to see you all staking your claim in the front of the line that way. Irrationally and homicidally angry. Then I am forced to cut in front of you in the line just to show you how you wasted the last two hours of your time. And listen to you passive/aggressively whisper about me while I look at you and smile.
Dear strange man from Texas who sat down next to me on my final flight,
When you get on a plane and see two women sitting in a row with a empty seat between them do not say, “There is the perfect seat for a dirty old man like me” if you want to carry on a conversation with either of them. Because if you say that you are a dirty old man, we will believe you. And that is not an endearing quality.
When your husband tells you not to lock the car doors because the locks do not work anymore, believe him. Do not lock the doors. Because if you do not listen you will be forced to climb into the trunk and stuff your upper body through the hole where the arm rest in the back seat folds down and try to unlock the door with the ice scraper.
Dear my children,
While I appreciate your efforts to welcome me back home by being demanding and argumentative, I would have been just as happy to be welcomed home by all of you sitting in a circle, singing kumbaya.
Posted by Chris @ 6:24 am