Omg. Have a real smartphone and i may just be able to blawg again! (Apologies for the lame post trying to make it work)
Category: Kaiser Mommy
1. If you would like to send a card, letter, expression of love, to Noah’s family in CT – please send them here:
Noah’s Ark of Hope Fund
261 S. Main St. #332
Newtown, CT 06470
If you would like to send something to Victoria, please contact me via the button on the left side of the page.
2. Monetary donations for Noah Pozner’s family.
Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep. Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous; and all for your love’s sake. Amen. – Episcopal Online Book of Common Prayer, Compline
Noah’s family is Jewish – This is a prayer shared by Katie -
There’s a prayer that is said every week called the Kaddish, or the Mourner’s Kaddish. It doesn’t specifically mention the dead but that’s it’s purpose, we say it to honor the dead. It is as follows, in the phonetic Hebrew, then in English.
Yit-gadal v’yit-kadash sh’may raba b’alma dee-v’ra che-ru-tay, ve’yam-lich mal-chutay b’chai-yay-chon uv’yo-may-chon uv-cha-yay d’chol beit Yisrael, ba-agala u’vitze-man ka-riv, ve’imru amen.
Y’hay sh’may raba me’varach le-alam uleh-almay alma-ya.
Yit-barach v’yish-tabach, v’yit-pa-ar v’yit-romam v’yit-nasay, v’yit-hadar v’yit-aleh v’yit-halal sh’may d’koo-d’shah, b’rich hoo. layla (ool-ayla)* meen kol beer-chata v’she-rata, toosh-b’chata v’nay-ch’mata, da-a meran b’alma, ve’imru amen.
Y’hay sh’lama raba meen sh’maya v’cha-yim aleynu v’al kol Yisrael, ve’imru amen.
O’seh shalom beem-romav, hoo ya’ah-seh shalom aleynu v’al kol Yisrael, ve’imru amen.
*Say on Shabbat
Magnified and sanctified be G-d’s great name in the world which He created according to His will. May he establish His kingdom during our lifetime and during the lifetime of Israel. Let us say, Amen.
May G-d’s great name be blessed forever and ever.
Blessed, glorified, honored and extolled, adored and acclaimed be the name of the Holy One, though G-d is beyond all praises and songs of adoration which can be uttered. Let us say, Amen.
May there be peace and life for all of us and for all Israel. Let us say, Amen.
Let He who makes peace in the heavens, grant peace to all of us and to all Israel. Let us say, Amen.
There are also words for mourners, things that you would say TO those who lost a child, rather than a general prayer of mourning, if that makes sense. It is:
Ha’makom yenahem etkhem betokh she’ar avelei Tziyonvi’Yerushalayim)
May God console you among the other mourners of Zion and Jerusalem
From Ali Martell:
O G-d, full of mercy, Who dwells on high,
grant proper rest on the wings of the Divine Presence -
in the lofty levels of the holy and the pure ones,
who shine like the glow of the firmament -
for the soul of Noah
who has gone on to his world,
because, without making a vow,
I will contribute to charity in remembrance of his soul.
May his resting place be in the Garden of Eden -
therefore may the Master of Mercy
shelter him in the shelter of His wings for Eternity,
and may He bind his soul in the Bond of Life.
Hashem is his heritage,
and may he repose in peace on his resting place.
Now let us respond: Amen.
(edited 1035 CST 15 Dec 2012: We should have information on how you can help in the next couple hours – an address where you can send cards via the USPS and a paypal where you can send donations. Thank you for being you, for being the light in the dark.)
I woke this morning on day infinitum of feeling low grade miserable. I caught something about a school shooting and passed it by.
It wasn’t my world, it happened to some people “over there”
Until my I saw my heart friend post that her family was in that school.
It was suddenly closer to my world.
Until I learned her nieces were safe …. Her nephew unknown.
Her Kindergartener nephew.
Suddenly it wasn’t some abstract event – I was connected to it. As I scoured for details, the school I pictured was a mix of where I work and where MY Kindergartener goes.
I stood vigil with others for the hours of the unknown. Feeling that silence that feels less hopeful with the passing minutes.
Until the two word message that told me hope was gone.
There’s a door in my house with holes in it now. I poured my grief through my fists and when my fists didn’t work, I used my elbows, because I was sure as shit breaking something.
M’love pulled me away from the door, while I raged and sobbed and remembered all the other times I raged and sobbed and screamed for my “internet friends”.
In the next half hour, we the friends of the internet bound together, with our love language of black humour, with our experience sadly acquired over years of dealing with personal tragedy in the very public social media space.
Gather your people. If you don’t think you have people, find yourself some. Again and again, life shows us that we will need people to guard us, because the monsters under the bed are sometimes real.
We will share with you how to help, when we know the best way to help. In the meantime, please know that your job here is to send your prayers, your thoughts, your love to those who need it and be excellent to each other.
Do you ever wonder how many times you will have to be hit over the head with a lesson before you choose to learn it?
This is where I am right now.
Back in April, my friend Carrie sent me to a site with guided meditations, specifically because there was one about opening my heart to love that she thought would help me.
Night after night I would pick one and listen. One was a focusing on finding some kind of answer. I went with the flow of it, and the answer that came was “you don’t have long.”
Which immediately scared me. It felt omnious. I tried rationalizing it into something else – like I don’t have long before this life I’m living changes … a new stage beginning … something other than the feeling there was a definite end in the not so far off future.
Right after that, came M’love and things were good. Life was different, clearly a chapter change from a few weeks before. I was finally able to learn lessons about love while I was happy, rather than in the deep. I could see a future, but was fully enjoying the day to day without some goal in mind for what the relationship needed to be.
I started doing yoga and immediately fell into pain. Hours of massage later I am finally better . . . and not doing yoga. Which is bad. I know the yoga was pulling up things that needed out. Liv gave me all the information she had on helping me through it, helping my heart with the grief working itself out.
Heather lost her Jackie! – A beautiful, brighter than the sun woman, younger than me – gone.
Talyaa found cancer raiding her body. She’s fighting back with an “I don’t have time for ‘somedays’” attitude, but is finding that the minute to minute isn’t fun – that the intentions are great and optimistic – the living it is harder.
M’love needed to hear that he could still be his own person, even with me. That he was welcome to build a man cave in his house, that our life together could actually take place not in each others’ spaces every available minute. He doesn’t see forever, he sees right now and wants to make sure this is all good in the moment. (Apparently that ‘carpe diem’ tattoo on his shoulder really did soak in for him.) Even though I think we used different words to mean the exact same thing, even though we are in the exact same place with what we want from this relationship, it still stings and still pulled me out of the safe happy zone I was in with him, and I’m working on getting back to the business of being happy in THIS moment, since this is the moment we know we have.
All of this has left me knowing I need to live right now, just do it, make today count, don’t put off till tomorrow what I could do today, seize the day, live in the moment . . .
Yet I’m not awake. I don’t know how to wake up. I get it, but I have not yet acted on it. I’m stuck in the gray.
Frankly I’m scared that if I don’t get myself woken up that something really bad is going to happen to force my eyes open. I’d really like to avoid that and just act on the lesson I can so clearly read.
And yet, my house is a mess, I have not yet begun running, my blogs remain quiet, my finances a disaster, my knitting remains unlisted, my thoughts are still unfocused… scattered… my heart is hollow… my mind is distracted ….
I need you. I need a restart. I need this Labor Day weekend to be a focus time to start and sprint for a while. My intentions are all lovely, but I need action. I need to act. Right now.
I left my house at Oh Wow It is Early on Wednesday morning. Carrying Alex’s Chiefs Backpack as my carry on.
I arrived in New York for BlogHer12 at noon. Amazing Photographer Lotus and I sat in the bar, eating 25 dollar small plates of food and drinking 15 dollar drinks. (Red Wine and Vodka Gimlet respectively.)
I woke up Thursday morning, thankful for being smart enough to drink a lot of water and take a Vitamin I before going to sleep. Remember some OTHER photos I had taken with my phone, hit “delete” several times and then went about my day.
I wandered Radio City, Columbus Circle, Central Park, 5th Avenue and Times Square before coming back to the hotel to strip down, cool off, watch some Olympics and take a nap.
The conference began a little early because THE PRESIDENT, as in Mister Barack Obama, was giving a welcome address to attendees. I don’t care if one is Republican, Democrat, Purple, Alien or went to Chick fil A on Wednesday – BlogHer is my favorite conference, THEY see me as valuable enough to have me work with them FOR the conference, The President of the frickin United States sees THIS conference as valuable enough to take time to speak to all of us – I am a very excited girl. A link to President Obama speaking at BlogHer12.
I went to a meeting, kissed my Lori Luna (Vice President of Events for BlogHer). I met up with Andrea (always my Mommy Snatch, but officially Savings Lifestyle) and went to the SocialLuxe party.
I passed someone and asked, “Why does she look familiar?” Oh because she is Summer Baltzer from Design on a Dime. Right. Uh. Sorry about accidentally touching your ass. No really. I am sorry.
I met up with a bunch of Curvy Girls at SocialLuxe and also at Babeland. After getting sippy cups, clearly it’s time to go to the classy sex toy shop. I really really liked the Soho store – it was clean, classy, the staff was lovely, showing us how to turn off toys when we couldn’t figure it out. We liked that they only had “the good stuff” and that you could hands on (I said HANDS ON, not snatch on) test things out to see how it felt, buzzed, and worked. After all, I think it is well established that me and mine know our toys.
This year, I decided to try something different – actual thank you emails for private parties. So I sent one to the SocialLuxe planner and to the Babeland planners – I’ve decided that after blogging for five years and being at four BlogHer conferences, that I am now the old guard, what with the lack of squeeing, and worrying about my shoes, so this year I will be gracious and really work on saying THANK YOU to people. So far so good. I like me better this way.
It is now Friday morning and I need to get up and get ready so I can find lunch with MARTHA FRICKIN STEWART and get ready to mic wrangle my first panel this afternoon. Loves ya’ll, miss those who aren’t here, but you know I will incessantly text you. xoxo
I grew up in a world where Mom only locked the doors if we were going to be gone for more than one overnight. Dad left a spare key out where we could find it if we needed it – and that was to the business and the house.
I grew up in tiny villages (300 people) to small towns (5000 people) to a college town (18K – with all the students).
I didn’t start locking my car till my backpack was stolen freshman year of high school. Mostly I was pissed because I had a report in there that was completed and untyped and I had to redo it.
I didn’t grow up in a bubble – Dad was a mortician, a county coroner, death happened, it also paid the bills. Sitting at Dad’s desk meant risking seeing photos of “oh wow, that’s what happens when a Ford Probe meets a telephone pole …. daaaaaaamn.” Going to get him from “the back” sometimes came with the shock of realizing he was working on a tiny little person who wasn’t going to grow up.
I live in an Air Force town. War and fighting are relevant in the abstract. After 9/11, when the skies were quiet everywhere else, we had B2s flying east … and home again.
I did grow up without violence in my face – it belonged on tv and very rarely made it close to my life. I didn’t think about things like “tactical advantage“.
The first time I touched a gun was when I was dolled up for bridesmaid duty, I drunkly tossed my arm around the waist of my matching groomsman and my hand landed perfectly grasping the butt of his gun. As I did the sharp intake of breath, he said “smile” …. and I did. Brilliantly beautiful smile covering the OMGWTFBBQGUN reaction in my head.
After that, I started dating said groomsman. I learned about not wanting to have your back to a door, I got used to glowing nightsights in the dark of a bedroom, paperwork filed in triplicate in airports, having a meetup point if shit went south at a football game and we needed to beat a retreat.
It was a different way of thinking, I didn’t like it, I didn’t like looking at the world with eyes sweeping left to right and back again while being on the watch for crazy. I got used to it though. It was a way of life, and at the root of it was the knowledge that being aware meant we had each others’ back. Nothing bad was happening TO us if we could help it.
Now I am a good shot with a gun. Some guns. My accuracy varies widely. I know basics. Such as “always assume the gun is loaded and ready and treat it as such”, “only put your finger on the trigger if you intend to pull it”, “only aim it at something or someone you want a great big fucking hole in”.
Now I have to have conversations with my son about them. “See this? This is a gun, it is loud, it can put big holes in things and hurt people. If you want to see it, touch it, talk about it, you get an adult and we will explain to you anything you want to know. The gun sits on a shelf waaaaay up there where you can not reach it. Please do not try to get it alone – all you EVER have to do is ask and we will get it and teach you about it.” Calm conversation. Giving him facts he can understand, explaining safety, not creating fear, teaching respect.
In a circumstance of an intruder in my home, I’m fairly certain my response will be getting to Alex and bailing us out his window and running like the wind, all thoughts of bang behind me. I’m okay with that. In my head, my priority is having Alex’s back and getting us away from danger.
M’love is a raging rabid 2nd amendment fan. He has an assortment of guns, including the currently target for the anti gun crowd – the AR15. People are making points that AR15s are only for killing people … lots of people … no need for civilians to have them – Others are screaming 2nd amendment! 2nd amendment! Give me my weapons!
Here’s the deal as I see it. Ready?
Where is the limit of what weapons we want in the hands of civilians? On a continuum of Slingshot to Nuclear Warhead – where is the line drawn? Seems a reasonable way to go about discussion. Provided people are reasonable about it.
Which brings me to my next point. Reasonable people.
I held an AR15 last month. Shot it. Several times. Never had the urge to whip it around and shoot anyone. (To be totally honest, M’love snickered at one point and I did consider pistol whipping him with it… but that is another discussion entirely).
That man in Colorado? Something was sprung in his head. Take away his guns and he would have used bombs, take away his fuses, he would have used a vehicle, take away his vehicle and he would have used tomatoes. Somewhere along the way, he decided that mass murder was a good idea. I’m pretty sure he didn’t have a friend there who looked at his outfit and said, “Hey man, enjoy the show tonight, let me know if Christian Bale is still using the gargling marbles voice.”
I bring it around to this. We all need someone watching our back. We need to feel connected to a person or people or community. We need to give a damn about someone and want the best for them, want to protect them. We also need people who are looking out for us. We need the girlfriend who says, “I’m not going in public with you in that outfit”. We need the conservative/liberal opposites like I have with Mommentator. We need to remind each other to not be sheep when listening to the charismatic voices on the radio. We need the person who reminds us we have value when we feel like the whole world has gone crazy and is against us.
I believe focusing on the weapons is a mistake, I believe focusing on the people and what happened to lead them to that very messed up place is a better use of our energy.
We need people to have our back. We need to invest in others and watch their backs as well.
It used to be simple.
Scout and I had Alex. I was exhausted, never wanted to go through pregnant and newborn again. He only ever wanted one child. He got his boy on the first shot. Done.
Then my dad died, I was destroyed, and the only thing that that let me survive that was my brothers. Granted, non-legal step-brothers if one wanted to be technical. Still. These men are the brothers of my heart, of my soul, and no amount of blood, nor lack of it, changes my family love for them.
Scout had no siblings – biological, of the heart, or otherwise. So he had no comparison, no drive, no longing to give Alex what I had.
We eventually came to the “let fate decide” point – schedule the snip n clip, if we are pregnant before then, another baby it is. If we are not – we are not, forever hold our peace. Before the appointment day came, we were separated and in different states.
My next two “relationships” if you will, were with men who: 1. Had boys already and 2. Had the snip n clip done.
Again, it was easy. With these men, there was no option of me birthing another child, and they had siblings ready built in for Alex. Simple.
Then I spent the next year alone. Can’t get pregnant alone, unless we are naming her Jesusette. Simple.
What little thought I gave to it, came down on the side of “Fuck no, I like my sleep, I love Alex, I never want to live through three again. Ever.”
When I went any deeper into it, Scout and I are golden in our agreements because we each only have Alex. We have no split loyalties with our love. All we do, focuses on Alex and that forever unifies us in our decisions. It allows to parent him beyond well, and together, same page.
No more children for me. Baby factory closed. The End.
Then God laughed, as he does when I make a plan.
Enter “Mine”. Who has a son. Who can look out at life and be open to the possibilities of more children. He also comes from a family of FIVE children (yes his mom is a brilliant saint). His perspective is wholly different.
Enter my hormones. The ones that raged out of control in an “I must have you NOW” fashion on a day where, if I had WANTED to make a baby, I would have done exactly what I did.
I am HOW OLD and apparently not responsible enough to put in a diaphragm or grab a condom? Fucking hell. I could blame raging horny hormones, but they wouldn’t be the ones nursing a hungry, angry baby and trying to work full time at a job that requires sleep, patience and love. *If* I even got to keep my job, as I live in a Bible Belt state where “moral turpitude” can kick you from a job working with young children if you do something frowned upon like, say, getting knocked up while not married.
The next 24 hours brought an order from drugstore.com for some Plan B and an appointment with my GP for some actual birth control.
I tell you ALL of that to tell you this -
I sat in that doctor’s office alone, waiting for her. I was contemplating tubal ligation, IUD, the pill, ready to hear whatever other options she had for me that would keep me from being pregnant in the near future.
I realized I HAD A CHOICE. My heart could be open to having another child. I HAD A CHOICE. Just like everything else in this last year – WHAT DID I WANT? This massive mountain of thought sat in front of me while I chewed through it. I HAD A CHOICE. It was ALL ABOUT ME. Wow.
Did I want another child? Well. The possibility was enough that I wouldn’t want my tubes tied. The possibility was enough, yet not enough, that I would know in the next five years – so I wouldn’t want an IUD.
The doctor came in and we talked about the shot – which if you are on for more than two years, they will want to take a bone density test because it can eat at your bones. Another guide – I would know in less than two years if I wanted another child.
Going through these options, gave me the parameters to know how long I would want to take to make this decision, and it gave me the freedom to know I actually could make my own decision.
My shiny new Nuva Ring, sat in my refrigerator, waiting the start of my period. I went through the horrifying thundercunt days of far too many hormones raging through my system, along with the stress of “am I? am I not?”
I was still sure that another child was no where in my plans – now, a year from now, two years from now.
I tell you ALL OF THAT to tell you this.
There was a spark in me.
A spark that said, “Hey. This would be okay. Ya’ll would have a sweet, adorable, little one. Mayhap even a GIRL. This could be a really good thing. It would all work out. This could be happily ever after.”
That stilled me, stunned me – after everything I have seen, survived, and done – after the walls of cynicism and fuck you have been built high and hard -
That girl still lives in me. That girl who can look at the world with so much hope an optimism. She lives in me. I thought she was so far gone. She is not gone. She lives in me.
I am not a broken soul. I continue to have hope. I continue to find joy. I continue to have faith that no matter what, I am going to be okay.
Most important – I now know that deep down in my gut, I still believe in happy endings. I still believe in happily ever after.
Another child? Probably not, but I have some time, and I have a choice in the matter. I also have the optimism that whatever I choose will be right. For me and for us.
After the debacle of the boys and calling off men for the summer of 2012 and planning for all my romance to be of my own design with my girls … After deciding I loved my little house and my little life – I sat at my friend Amanda’s and I met a boy. Nice enough boy.
A month later I decided to make a play for the boy. As you do. Because you can. I put on a black dress that Piper sent me, I did my hair. I did accidental touches. I talked about tight jeans and red dresses. He later told me I was simply fishing with dynamite.
The next day we started chatting on facebook… then the texts… several hundreds of texts and he came over. Into the awkward of “oh, so this is how it is going to be . . .” The transition didn’t take *so* long though.
I was (and am) determined to show him who I am. Actual Me. Actual Dawn. One of the things that I like about him is he knows who he is. I finally know who I am, and I’m not going changing for someone. I’ve tried all my life to be “the girl” for “the boy” and funny how when I gave up on that and just let my own freak flag fly high, there was the matching flag to mine.
He is my geeky boy, of DnD and always skinny dipping with his crazy friends (the boys and the girls – shy my boy is not). Shooting things, skinning things, hard cider drinking, reading Fifty Shades of Grey against his will.
We quickly fell into “adore”. Studiously avoiding any use of any word that might start with an L. Too quick? Too hurt? Too crazy?
A thousand texts and messages in, we were all dressed up at a party. On a crowded porch, we just kept looking at each other – and there it was. Oh shit. Yeah. THIS is happening. And it ain’t to toy with, and it ain’t casual and holy shitballs hang on, cuz this merry-go-round just got a whole new speed.
Determined not to say “it” first, I again broke my own rules and said, “If I tell you something, will you not run scared?” He nodded. I said, “I left adore behind a while back.”
He let out the laugh that knows. “Oh thank God, it’s not just me.” We let our our sighs of relief that while it was all new and scary and unexpected, it was also balanced and crazy and celebrateable (is too a word!)
The night before I left on my roadtrip, he declared I was leaving with a hickey so all the world would know I was his. I thought he was kidding. Won’t underestimate that threat again.
As I rolled the miles east, he texted he was with his friends. In the pool.
Bright green jealousy blasted across my world. Splatted with orange rage. MY BOYFRIEND. MINE. No naked pool time!
I tried to shake it off. Decided I wasn’t shaking off shit and replied with essentially the above thought. NO. MINE! Do not LIKE!!!!
He replied with “I am yours.”
Not to be swayed. DO NOT LIKE NAKED POOL TIME! DO NOT DISTRACT ME!
I was armed for bear. Every vanilla lecture about modesty I have ever heard coming to mind. Things are different now! How can you not see! Raging against myself. MINE! Not for others to see! MINE! My inner toddler RAGED.
“Would it help if I told you I am in swim trunks?”
The white paintballs of peace shot and spattered across my jealousy and rage, covering them. Oh. …
I didn’t have to fight to be heard. I didn’t have to explain myself, my feelings, my argument. I didn’t have to be validated. There was no war of words. I did not have to beg to be understood.
It was simple. I am yours. He may have marked me as his own, but he also marked himself as mine with a yard of fabric and a hell of a lot of respect.
So my summer of 2012 will be filled with a different kind of romance. Still the girls and the me time, but also this boy who shows his love with words and actions – like epic hickeys and swim trunks.
I gave in to the hysteria of women everywhere going “zomg! you have to read this book, Fifty Shades of Grey.
I was so completely underwhelmed in the first few chapters. To sum up for you:
“Hi, baby, my name is Christian Grey, baby. I am hot, rich and like to fuck, baby. I have commitment issues, baby. I have control issues, baby. I have rules, baby. I’m a bad boy, baby.”
“Hi, I’m Anastasia Steele. I am 21 and have never had a sexual thought in my entire life. I have never kissed, I have never wanted to be kissed, I have never touched myself, the extent of my experience is what my friends told me about Judy Blume books ….. Sir. My inner goddess peeks her head out, smiles and says ‘Oh I can TOTALLY change a man as totally fucked up as this. My subconscious is so naive she can’t even begin to understand how much that will never ever happen. You can’t fix someone else’s fucked up.”
The first time they
make love, fuck hard, do it, she is instantly lubed up, the condom package opens easily and rolls on without effort, she not nervous at all, and she is banged with about all the finesse of the infamous Brokeback Mountain scene. She comes repeatedly from very little effort on the part of anyone, she never chafes, never wonders if her cervix is going to bruise, never questions, never inadvertently gets a wad of hair in her mouth and has to spit it out. She also has no gag reflex and, even though, she has never thought about anything sexual, she knows to cover her teeth with her lips whilst doing the oral thing.
So clearly, fiction.
I kept reading. What I am getting out of it is different than what some will get out of it.
These people talk. And talk and talk. They are very clear about what they want . . . well he is, to the point of having a written contract about it. Which, really, how awesome would that be? Here is a list of things that I will not tolerate, you make up your own list and then we know. Hard limits. How nice would it be to know that upfront, if you call him Sir or Darling that he will recoil. How fantastic would it be to feel free enough with someone to say what you are comfortable with, what you would like to try.”
So it is about communication. It’s also about trust. Trusting that person you are naked and vulnerable with. Now, I’m not suggesting that we all need a Red Room of Pain and nipple clamps, but what about pushing a personal boundary? Sex with the lights on? No? Sex in the dark, yet NOT under the covers? What about touching him *there* if you want to know what it feels like? What about saying “SLOWER” when you want slower, instead of letting him assume the pace he has set is right for both of you?
What about letting your inner freak flag fly? Getting over trying to be perfect for someone else and instead just being you?
I’m at the start of something new. All that newness and boundary setting and establishing how things are and how things can be. I’ve never talked so much at the beginning before. I’ve never been so much just ME with a man before. Can I tell you how fantastic that is? To embrace the whole “this is me, like it, hate it, here is a list of the fucks I give about what you think about who I am, because I like me, if you do – great, welcome to it.”
I refuse to live anyone else’s life again. This is my life. It is still scary to be open and vulnerable and take the risk of sharing actual me. Yet, I can not tell you how good it feels, at last to know who I am and have the icing on top of being adored for being that person.
(I’m getting some compensation for this post.)
I’ve never had fantastic luck shopping for sex related anything in mainstream stores. Either I have to dodge buying my pleasure packs from teenage boys, or I have to have a friend buy my condoms because I’m in the line behind the oldest teacher in my building (this was a real event when I was student teaching.)
As a single thirty whatever woman, I realized it’s probably a wise idea to have SOMETHING on hand. If you build it they will come kind of thing. (Yes, I realize there are all kinds of dirty puns available there – quick – dirty pun me in the comments below.)
Long, long time ago, I reviewed sex toys for Eden Fantasys. I was contacted last week and realized – problem solved – tell you about what they have going on – load up on condoms for if things go well, toys for if they go less well. (Or, I suppose that could be if they go REALLY well.)
So here’s what they have to offer to you:
Save 25% on all Evolved Novelties products and plant a tree - http://www.edenfantasys.com/presents/one-toy-one-tree
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If you need me, I’ll be shopping online for safer sex – which is way more comfortable than shopping with kiddo in tow whist not wearing a wedding ring. (Bible belt or not, I know I’m not the only woman who just cringes over that shopping trip.)
I will do a lot of things as a teacher. Wear a tutu, worry about my kids, laugh when a Kindergartener throws up on the carpet, hold my breath and antibac my face, arms and hands when the “sneeze pocket” fails and I get hosed with … whatever. I will eat school lunches, use the teacher voice, sing songs, read books, do reports, miss my OWN kid’s first day of school and holiday parties.
I draw the line at Teacher Night at the local chain food restaurant.
Today was the first day anyone gave me a hard time about it. It started with a teacher grumbling about “some people haven’t done it at all” over lunch. (Same teacher who has her own axe to grind with me and can’t seem to stop running her mouth about me anyway, so her opinion isn’t high on the “matters to me” list, but it’s one more annoyance for sure.) Then the (sometimes scary) secretary noticed I wasn’t on the list. I’m like “uh yeah, I’m parenting my child.” Then the principal was like “uh yeah, we’re all parents” (said nicely) and I’m all “uh yeah, and I have a kid who is in bed by 615 some nights.”
There’s so much here. I’m not sure where reason ends and excuse begins.
I’m picking Alex over fake slinging food at a restaurant I actually loathe.
I have an issue with encouraging families to take their kids to a fast food place when we spend the rest of the time encouraging healthy habits. Hoops for Heart anyone? Just got done taking THOSE donations. HELLO?
I don’t see how it encourages students and families to respect teachers if we are out working fast food. I’m not knocking a fast food job, except for where I say I think it’s safe to assume no one is aspiring to sling a burger as a career. “Hey kids, stay off drugs and eat your wheaties and one day you too can leave your kid with a sitter to come make people eat food that will kill them sooner so we can have some petty cash to buy … I don’t even know WHAT with.”
Now it would be fabulous if I could just have an opinion, make a choice and be done with it. But oh no. I’ve had that nasty tight throat all evening. It’s only getting worse. That “oh God, I’m going to get caught, I’ve done something wrong” feeling. The “I chose my kid over my work oh shit” feeling. The “What do I need to be doing to take the heat off myself and get people to forget all about it” feeling. Combined with the “Fuck this, this is bullshit and I don’t want any part of it, for some pretty freaking GOOD reasons” feeling.
Mostly the overwhelming, “Rule Number One: Must… not… rock… boat… must… not… rock… boat” … this rule has been broken, and my anxiety is off the chart and my throat is tight and my fight or flight wants to kick in, my breath is tight and it’s all pretty much crazy making.
Craziest of all is that in the grand scheme – this so! does! not! matter! But in my brain tonight, I’m running in circles trying to figure out WHY this has triggered the crazy to such a degree.
Like I titled – guilt? shame? I can’t even get it named. I made a choice and I’m scared there might be consequences? I actively broke the social rules of my work environment and it might bite me in the butt? Any of that could be it.
I’m livin’ on some weird edge of fear and I’m ready to get off.
(ed: 24 hours later, I do want to say that my principal is one of the best supports I could ever hope for in this whole working parent thing. She’s done it herself and she’s a good mentor for me on finding the balance between worky guilt and mommy guilt. Today there wasn’t any ick factor. This whole issue is just so loaded for me – something I actually don’t at all agree with, combined with my need to be with Alex, but then thrown off because I’m bucking the culture I work in by NOT jumping on board. It’s all very weird to me.)
I’ve concluded that I do not know where I’m going. I’m lost.
I could be all WASPy about it and set a goal.
I could be all Navajo about it and decide that setting a goal could prevent me from going with life’s flow and finding what I’m truly meant for.
I could hide under my covers and not come out. Oooo… there’s a thought…
I could . . . .
What I’m GOING to do is get up in the morning and show up. Show up to my job I love, even though there is someone sharpening a knife to stick in my back. Show up to my job I don’t know the future for (Thanks budget cuts!) I will work a more than 12 hour day and come home to maybe see Alex for a bonus two minutes before he falls asleep. I will repeat this on Tuesday.
I know where I am not meant to go. I trust that wherever I am is the part I’m meant to be at – but it’s crazymaking to not be able to see the big picture.
I’m a mess. Haunted by a strange slip of a dream.
I had a good birthday. (Even if my birthday wishes didn’t come true.) I learned that getting a little bit of love from *so* many people is a wonderful way to start a new year. I’m trying to hang onto that glow of love from that day.
It’s like trying to see ahead in the dark – only it’s lit by an uneven strobe light – there are flashes that make sense individually, but over all it’s a stuttery mess and I’m reaching out trying to figure out the end while I’m in the middle.
I suppose I would be happier if I would just settle into the moment and focus right here. No worry for the future, no thoughts of the past. Perhaps that’s the lesson of now, and why it feels like Groundhog Day up in here – like haven’t I DONE THIS already?
There is something I am supposed to be learning … doing … accomplishing … and this is the core of my problem – WHAT is the “something”? I am seeking a cosmic to-do list . . . something I can get a gold star and an atta girl for . . . some rubric to follow . . .
Gah. Adulthood is confusing. This actually feels . . . like . . . midlife . . . . puberty . . .
Yes. That’s exactly it. And it’s just as bizarre to be in this emotional growth spurt as it was to be in the physical one so long ago.
I dreamed about you last night. It was wartime and we were together and in danger. We narrowly escaped being put in the rooms where the gas was thrown and the yellow-green explosion came up from below.
It was cold but not bitterly so. We were rounded up with others and as we waited for the soldiers to get to us, I looked at you directly, saying, “I love you” for the first time. I cringed, because I had been determined to not be the one to say it first. You looked at me, smiled and chuckled. The smile met your eyes and I knew I was being teased. What? Just because we are facing soldiers and an unknown future, I need to start saying things that might sound like “goodbye” or “this might be my last chance”? I could read it all in your eyes.
We were scared, but we were strong together and that was all we needed.
Today I woke to my safe life, but I have been haunted by the dream. By you. That feeling of being stronger together and able to face impossibility together . . . I miss you so much . . . daresay I love you, but I’ll be damned if I’ll be the one to say it first.