I Can Always Get Skinny…

Okay, so. In the not-so-distant-past, I had words with someone and the argument culminated, as they tend to do, in a very nasty exchange on our opinions of one another. The final volley being that I “Could stand to miss a meal” and that I needed to “Take a look at myself” thus implying I was, well, fat.

 

Y’all, I am 5’8′ and wear a size 10. I gave birth to 3 kids, none of which weighed under 8 pounds and I used every single pregnancy as an excuse to eat everydamnthing. All the time.

 

So no, I’m not tiny. I’m not built to be tiny. None of the women in my family are. It is what it is.

 

But this…. This stung. I actually moped for a few days. I wore all my big, shapeless clothes. I toned down my makeup and flattened my hair.

 

I tried to be invisible.

 

What. The. Fuck!?!?!

 

Here’s the thing. I am NOT the number on the scale. I am NOT the number on the tag in my pants. I forgot that for a minute and let some hateful bitch who is miserable in her own skin make me feel like less.

 

Then… THEN I got pissed off.  And it all came back.

 

The fitted tops.  The big hair. The crazy eyeliner. The bright red lipstick. The heels and patterned Converse.  I brought it ALL back.

 

Because I’ll be damned if I let some hateful twat dictate who I am or make me feel like less.

To paraphrase Kasey Jones. “I can always get skinny but you’ll never not be a bitch”.

 

Will someone else say something hateful and hurt my feelings?? Probably. It happens.

 

Will I shake that shit off like an ugly blazer?? You’re damn right I will.

 

Because let’s face it. Life is pretty damn sweet and not everyone has to approve.

 

 

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Sixteen

My chirren.

 

The Boy turned 16 today.

 

Tonight I broke down in big ol’ snotty, gasping tears and commanded TWH in hiccuping sobs to “Go down the hall RIGHT NOW and MAKE HIM STOP”.

 

It happened so fast.  My babies are (mostly) grown. They are their own people who are making their own lives.

 

I know this is what every parent works for and hopes for. That they will grow into incredible, funny, happy, responsible people.

 

Shit on that!! I miss my babies.

 

Somebody build me a fucking time machine.

 

Because it all happened entirely too fast.

 

 

 

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My Rock Star Life

Okay, so. I have been a Mom since shortly after I turned 21. At this point in my life, HALF of it has been spent raising other people.

 

Which obviously limited my free time.

 

There were very few clubs. There were no spontaneous road trips. Dating was… Different.

 

I was out a few months ago with my friend Stacey O and her Darlin’ One when she said to me “You know, when we first met at soccer, you used to talk about all the stuff you wanted to do and all the places you wanted to go and look at you now!! You have a Rock Star life!!”.

 

This weekend I was invited to attend a Mardi Gras Bal. Some of my friends were Royalty and I was really excited to go and see them have their Moment.  TWH & I walked into the hall where the ball was being held and had no seating assignment. The sweet little teen girl was leading us to our seats aaaaalllll the way in the corner when I spotted my friend Joseph, who was/is the Duke of Fun for this Mardi Gras season. When he heard of our plight his first response was “NO!!”. He had two spare seats at his table we were more than welcome to.

 

We found our seats and a few more friends and were agog at all the “swag” that made up our place settings. Joseph left no detail unnoticed. No one did. All the tables were impeccable.

 

We ate, drank, chatted, caught beads, drank some more, danced, congratulated our friends, danced some more and by 1AM, we were showered and in bed watching a movie and eating snack food.

 

Because we know how to party.

 

And in 3 weeks we’ll do it all again because I was invited to ride in Orpheus which is the big Lundi Gras (Monday) parade.

 

In the 10 years since I first met Stacey O and shared my dreams on the sidelines of a soccer field my life has changed dramatically. Some was good, some was not so good, and some is beyond what I ever imagined it would be.

 

I just might have a Rock Star life.

 

The best part is the Rock Star FRIENDS I get to share it with.

 

THEY truly are the VERY BEST PART.

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Sorry About My Tits

Okay, so. A week or so some guy walks into the shop and takes a seat. I’d never seen him before but several old-school barber shops have closed recently (we’re a dying breed) so that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

 

I finish with my client, turn to the guy and ask him if he’s ready to get a haircut. He responds with “I’m waiting for the guy”. and indicates T. No biggie, I figured he’d been in the shop before when I’d been out and he’s had T cut his hair before.

 

That was not the case. The guy sits in T’s chair and proceeds to tell him “Yeah. I’m new here and I’ve always had a man cut my hair so I wanted to wait for you.”

 

Ummmmmmm…… Excuse me, Fucker??

 

So, lemme get this straight. You chose T over not just me but the other woman who works in the shop because we have TITS!?!?

 

Do my mammary glands and vagina somehow make me less capable than my male counterpart??

 

Or are you just somehow intimidated by an intelligent, confident woman who’s able to hold her own in a male dominated profession??

 

I’m guessing the latter. And since that was most likely the case, you decided to try and “humiliate” me by announcing loudly that you were waiting for “The Guy”??

 

Slow. Golf. Clap. For. You.

 

You misogynistic asswipe.

 

To his credit, T told him that any one of us could have cut his hair.

 

Sadly, now only one of us actually WANTS to.

 

Well, only one of us wants to give him a DECENT haircut anyway.

 

I’d love nothing better than to give him a reverse mohawk so he can look like the jackass he actually is.

 

Life is hard. It’s even harder if you’re a dick.

 

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If anyone needs me…

Okay, so. We are having some work done to our house. Today we are having all new windows installed.

 

In AUGUST.

 

In South Louisiana.

 

Because we OBVIOUSLY thought this through.

 

Anyway, there are contractors walking in & out of my house. The air conditioning is running non-stop (because, yes indeed, we ARE air-conditioning the ENTIRE neighborhood today, thankyouverymuch), and I desperately have to pee but I’m afraid to leave the dining room table because I have absolutely no idea where the strange men are in my house and there are giant, gaping holes in my walls, and one of those holes may or may not be in our master bathroom.

 

Yes, we have another bathroom but it is the domain of a teenage boy. Need I say more?? Really??

 

So… If anyone needs me, I can probably be found hiding under the dining room table in a blanket fort. You’re welcome to come in but you’d better bring an adult beverage. For yourself, of course because I’m not sharing mine. I NEED that shit y’all.

 

Ooooohhh!!! Some pastries wouldn’t hurt either.

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I Was Just Too Smug

Okay, so.  A few weeks back, I had to have a routine mammogram. It took next to no time, I texted “bewbie squish” selfies to The ECB before and after, and I was on my way. I got home and posted to my FB page “Okay, so. I don’t have any history of breast cancer in my family that I’m aware of so I don’t view a mammogram as the Sword of Damocles. It’s more like 30 minutes or so I had to take.out of my day to stand topless in a room with a very nice lady who squished my bewbies in a machine. It was over quickly and involved minimal trauma.”

And Karma laughed. Because I was just too smug about it all.

I worried I might come off as offensively glib when I posted that. I expected to get slammed for that but since FB has screwed up the posts so badly that almost NO ONE sees a blog pages stuff anymore, I got crickets.

I DID, however, get THE CALL. The call where they say “We saw a spot and we want you to come in and have some more stuff done so we can determine what it is.

WELL SHIT!!

I sat there for a minute processing and trying not to go to the darkest place possible because, like I said, I have no history of breast cancer so I didn’t feel like I should panic.

I did text TWH and a handful of friends to let them know what was going on because I needed the “protective bubble” then I went in the next week for my tests and waited for yet another phone call.

The call came and everything is fine. I’m as normal as I’m gonna get, I suppose, but oh my dayumm!! I DID NOT like the week of uncertainty and wonder.

And I get to do it all again in a year or two. Wheeeeeeee!!

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Bright Lights in the Darkness

The bright lights in the darkness on The Day the Earth Stood Still were the people who stood beside me.

The EMT who called me every time there was a change and asked for a follow up phone call later.

The stranger who stopped who called again to ask if I’d heard anything because he was “worried to death”.

My family and friends whose constant calls, texts, and messages kept me sane and whole.

The Queendom who responded with overwhelming love, support, and offers of help.

My fellow Bloggers and Twitter addicts. I’ve never met any of these folks in real life but they were there for the whole thing.

People who passed along my FB posts and tweets asking for prayers for my little girl.

People from high school, whom I haven’t seen in YEARS, who offered words of sympathy and support.

 

Anyone who “liked”, commented, texted, called, messaged, and “shared”. Anyone who did ANYTHING.

 

You were all the bright lights in the darkness.

 

And I am so very grateful.

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The Day the Earth Stood Still

Friday afternoon I answered a call. From a number I didn’t recognize.

It was a man whose name I neither knew or recognized.

He asked my name. I said yes, I was she.

He asked if my daughter’s name was Miss A. I said yes, it was.

He began to speak.

My heart stopped.

My breath caught in my throat.

The earth stood still.

I listened carefully.

Then I began to move.

I gathered my things and ran for the door and my car. Phone still pressed to my ear.

Listening to the man I didn’t know and will never meet describe my second-worst nightmare.

Miss A had been in an accident. She was being transported to the hospital.

The extent of her injuries was unknown.

And she was 2&1/2 hours away.

I called TWH. When he answered, I yelled “I’m going to Jackson!!”

He didn’t even need to ask. He told me to come to his office.

I told him to meet me at the house, I was already on the interstate.

Then I went into crisis mode.

I work well there.

I plan. I organize.

I think.

20 minutes later, I’d pulled into my driveway and I had a plan of action.

Pack clothes. TB with friends. Dogs to groomers.

30 minutes later, we were on the road and my phone was busy.

I spoke with police officers.

I spoke with EMT’s.

I spoke with my child.

We both cried.

I finally get to Jackson.

I walk in to the trauma room and see Miss A.

On a gurney with an oxygen mask, a cervical collar, and covered in blood.

Worse than I thought.

So much worse.

The earth paused again.

I take it all in.

Then I move.

I kiss my child.

I hold her hand.

I ask questions.

I start to clean off the blood.

It’s not as bad as it looks.

But it’s bad enough.

She is bruised and broken.

But she is alive.

And she needs me.

She asks me not to leave her.

I promise I won’t.

And she sleeps.

Just for a minute.

She wakes up and calls for me.

“I’m here Baby. I’ll always be here.”

She is alive. She is whole. She will heal.

I see pictures of the car later.

I realize what a miracle this is.

And I weep.

I weep because she is alive.

I weep because she is whole.

I weep because she will heal.

I weep because she came so very close to not.

I weep because my world will continue as it was.

With both my children to hold and love.

But I will ALWAYS remember the day the earth stood still.

And I will pray it never happens again.

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Aaaaahhh Springtime. We meet again.

Okay, so. As I’ve mentioned before, I have a love/hate relationship with the Spring. It makes me simultaneously joyful and sad for a multitude of reasons. But I try every day to chose the joy. Some days I fake it. Some days I find it. Every day I try.

 

This year has already surpassed last year in the joy category. I’ve surrounded myself with an absolutely amazing group of people who make my heart sing. I’ve deepened relationships that already meant a lot to me. I’ve created new ones that bring me laughter and joy.

 

I should, by all accounts, have no complaints. But then things happen like my trip to SAMS yesterday.

 

Yesterday I realized that Miss A is really and truly going off to college in the fall.  I realized it when I saw an ottoman and looked closer to see if it had storage in it because it had a cute pattern on it and I was going to snap it up to put in Miss A’s dorm room.

 

OMIGAWD MY KID IS GOING TO COLLEGE!!!  When in the fuck did this happen!?!?  Cue the funk.  Cue the tears.  Cue the wallowing and the worry.

 

She’ll be 18 in a little over two weeks.  In a few months, she’ll leave her Dad’s house and go on to carve out her own space in the world.

 

I worry that she’s not ready.

 

I worry that she’s enough like me that she’ll be too stubborn or proud to ask for help when she needs it.

 

I worry that she still leaves wet towels on her bed.

 

And wears mis-matched socks on the regular.

 

I worry because she’s my Baby Girl.

 

And I want the world to be kind to her. Even though I know some days it won’t be.

 

I worry, and I hope.  The world is a big, scary, wonderful, amazing place.

 

I hope she experiences it all and comes out all the better for it.

 

Some days this Momma gig kicks you right in the ass.

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Cabin Fever!!

Okay, so. You all know that I live in SOLA (South Louisiana) and it’s usually a mild, semi-tropical climate where the seasons are: Hot, Hot-as-Balls, Football, and Mardi Gras.

Not so much this week. This week it’s been C.O.L.D.!!  We had sleet last Friday, then an okay weekend, followed by sleet & some snow ALL FREAKING DAY yesterday. I have basically been home/ off work since LAST FRIDAY. I went to work for a few hours (2&1/2) Saturday but haven’t been back since.

I am slowly losing my mind. For reals…  I have done ALL the laundry, save what we currently have on our bodies. I have baked a batch of muffins and a batch of scones. The house is clean. My kitchen is  currently spotless. I’ve even washed the dog beds for fucks sake!!

I looked at TWH last night and said “I can’t remember the last time I shampooed my hair”. (Since I color my hair, I don’t shampoo it every day. Every 2-3 days usually does it for me. Rinse & condition. That’s it. Judge me if you like.)

Anyway, I used to read these FB posts by SAHM’s blatantly stating that they couldn’t remember the last time they’d showered/shampooed their hair/shaved their legs/whatever and I would think “Eeeewwwwww….”. Being relatively sure I bathed every day when the kids were little. (I may not have, who the hell knows anymore) I totally get it now though. You’re home, you’re in your comfy clothes, you may or may not currently be wearing the same yoga pants/leggings you’ve been wearing for the past three days. IT DOESN’T MATTER.  Everyone is still whole and breathing and you haven’t left the house this week anyway.

Having said that, as soon as it gets above freezing, Imma lace up my running shoes and go burn off some of the calories I’ve consumed (Cabin fever eat-a-thon, yo!!) along with some of this excess energy.

THEN I’ll shampoo my hair.

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