Girls Weekends: Then and Now

As little as five years ago, a girls weekend away would have included:

• Several shopping trips before hand


• Enough dress up outfits for a month away from home


• More makeup and hair products than Hobo the Clown uses


• Huge, really really HUGE, earrings and assorted jewelry


• New sexy “come here” perfume


• Practicing up on dance moves

Not that we were being bad. We were just being “hot” and young. Having men want us was all that mattered; not that we wanted them back. We just needed to feel like we were still attractive.

This weekend away includes:

• A shopping trip to pick up special stickers and papers


• Three suitcases of scrapbooking items


• A tiny backpack of t-shirts and stretchy pants


• No makeup


• No jewelry


• Night cream


• Hours of sorting through papers and stickers to bring just what I need

Now it’s all about us and what we enjoy. Men . . . are there any on the planet?

To Enema, or not to Enema

Yes, this post really is about Enema’s . . . so if you are squeamish or eating you may not want to read on.

I have been psyching myself into fasting next week. While I would like to fast for 7-10 days, which is the recommendation, I am aiming for 5 full days. No, it is not a water fast . . . do I should stupid to you?

It is a juice fast, and I plan on telling you a lot about it next week, so I won’t go into detail about it. Don’t worry, I’m not likely to die from starvation. Not for a year or two anyway. This bear is packing!

The website where I’ve gained most of my information is hosted by a doctor who believes in healing yourself. www.naturalhealthtechniques.com

To get the most from your fasting experience they encourage you to do other things each day as you fast. These include:

• Brush your skin before taking a bath or shower


• Sunbathe at least 15 minutes a day


• When showering, switch from cold to hot – three times


• Some form of exercise for 20-30 minutes a day


• Give yourself 1-2 Enema’s a day

Now, I’ve actually heard of dry brushing before and I understand the value of it. I also understand that getting sun will help counter the depression fasting may cause. After reading their explanation bout the changing of temperatures during your shower, I’m okay with that as well. And, the exercise is a no brainier. Which leaves me with the original query of my post; do I Enema or not.

I’m be honest and tell you right up front, I’ve never had an enema that I remember. I think they forced them on 20 years ago when you were giving birth. At that point in the birthing process you are so accustomed to be examined and prodded by anyone wearing a green jacket, you don’t really pay any attention. That little thing called PAIN is holding all of your attention.

I was thinking an enema would be like a douche, just at the other end. I didn’t think that would be so bad; as long as you can buy them prepackaged. Because, yuck. Who wants to clean off what might get stuck in the little water holes when that comes out?

Then I got to reading their directions for an Enema and it’s nothing like I though. Well, it is sort of like I thought. Water does go up the ass; it just doesn’t run right back out. According to their instructions, you have to use a special bag with a knob to adjust the water flow. I believe I’ve already displayed the eekeness of this factor adequately. Then you have to contain the liquid inside you for as long as you can before you release it. They say the process can take up to 20 minutes to perform. That’s not even the end of it. While you are lying (Where exactly do you lay when your ass if filled with water?) down you have to massage your stomach to help loosen up the sludge in your intestines.

Now, before I go any further. I want to share that I know for a fact that receiving enemas is considered normal in many parts of the world. Lots of high price spas and health centers also offer it for their clients. There are known advantages.

What I have to ask myself is . . . when is enough, enough? I’m going to fast, make my own fresh juices to eat, brush my skin, get sun, go walking, and try to remain up beat and not kill my family members. Do I have to fill my ass with hot water too?

I mean really? Will it make that big of a difference?

We’re remodeling our quest bath so we’re all sharing at the moment. I can just see me laying on the cold tile floor, rubbing my tummy, and cussing like a sailor. Then Will starts beating on the door.

“Mom, I need to go pepe!”

Can you get up and walk around with a butt full of warm water? Should you?

Go Kill Yourself; Next Week

In 42 years of life I have gone off with my girlfriend(s) only once to enjoy being away from it all. I’m not talking about a party weekend. In fact, we spent the entire weekend eating at places people don’t take children and scrapbooking in our hotel room. You know your old when . . .

I have had an occasional weekend away with members of my family. Cindy, Becky, and Byjo have been wonderful over the years for arranging time for us to escape away together. Where we could enjoy the silliness that only comes with a bunch of drunk women reliving their free and wild days. My days were not nearly as wild or free as theirs, so I always took the photos and made notes for blackmail purposes later.

Regardless, my point is this. The one time I went out to get away from it all, my sister committed suicide. I was actually called in the middle of the night at the hotel I was staying at. Then months of emotionally crippling stress, pain, and sadness immediately followed. To say I didn’t come back from that weekend relaxed and ready to enjoy my life would be an understatement.

So, being the type of person who takes the bull by the horns, I wanted to let everyone I know that if they were considering suicide, next week would work out better for me. I know, how selfish can I be? Right? Well, I need a weekend away and I am going to have it.

Just in case my heart-felt plea isn’t reaching you, consider the following list of atrocities I am prepared to heap upon you after your death:

• I will plant stickers on your grave at least 4 times a year.


• I’ll ask the minister to acknowledge your gay lover during the ceremony.


• I will wear a bikini to your funeral. Do remember I’m 200 pounds and only 5.2 feet tall.


• I will take my dog to relieve himself on your grave every time I’m in town. And when the dog I have dies, I’ll get another one.


• I will surround your grave with statues of the Virgin Mary.


• I will put cheap plastic holiday decorations on your grave for EVERY holiday.


• I’ll play “You’re so Vain” on my CD player at your funeral, because it meant something special to us.


• I’ll post my own obituary in the paper and put in your worse school photo.


• I’ll egg your gravesite each Halloween.

Two new "How To" articles added to E-How Site

Those of you who are unfamiliar with www.ehow.com might not realize how addicting it can become. It is a site that allows anyone to post up directions to do ANYTHING.

A lot of people I mention it to are like, "But I don't know how to do anything." Yes you do. Everyone knows how to do something. How to brush the backs of your teeth. How to prevent the entire house from smelling like fish when you cook it. How to grill a stuffed jalapeno. How to avoid the in laws for the holidays. How to say "I have a headache" and not hurt his feelings.

Everyone knows something. And the articles only have to have 3 steps -- more are welcome. You can use photos or not. You can attach a video. And the best part? You get paid a little something something for taking the time to share.

Before you get to excited you don't get paid a lot. It depends on how many people end up putting out links to your articles and how many sponsors want to advertise on your pages. I have some articles that pay over $10 a month, every month, for the last year. The money you get paid continues until the site closes. I have about 80 articles published on ehow and I bring in around $60 a month -- for no effort, for ever.

Okay, I'm getting off the collapsing soap box now.

The real news it I just posted up two new articles. One on making your own vitamin infused lip balm with things you have at home and an article on recycling records by melting them for creative purposes.

If you check them out be sure to rate them for me!

It’s Just Melted Cheese

I’ve spent most of my life as a very shy and retiring person. Yes, you can quit laughing now. I have obviously outgrown most of it. Those of you that know me might be surprised to the degree I have gone in the past to avoid confrontations.

The one event that jumps out at me a lot lately, is how I order food at a restaurant.

I pull up to a Sonic and order myself a burger with mayo, jalapeños, and cheese, hold the onions. Will a cheeseburger plain. In addition, I want a diet coke easy ice and a child size sweet tea.

If you have a Sonic near you, you will understand that this is an order ASKING to be screwed up. It often is. I check it very carefully and send it back if I don’t get what I asked for. I don’t even care if they have to make two or three trips out to my car. I told them what I wanted and if they take my money, they are under obligation to give me what I pay for.

The funny thing is that when my girls were little; say 15-18 years ago. I wouldn’t even ask the people at the restaurant to leave off the mustard on their burgers. It was uncomfortable for me to do so. So every time the girls would see mustard on their burgers and say something, what would I tell them?

It’s just melted cheese.

Just imagine what else I never stood up for.

Kids will eat ANYTHING

This evening I had to run to the corner store and pick up something for supper. Will had to have an ice cream and he picked out a nepolian sandwhich. I opened the ice cream for him while he got into his car seat.

As I was backing up, I heard him say, "Oh man!"

I peeked over my shoulder and could see half of his ice cream sandwhich was gone and he was getting out of his car seat to pick it up. I asked him if he wanted me to role the window down for him so he could through it out.

He said, "No. It's only got hair and dirt on it."

And he ate it.

It's Official, I'm Obese

I come from a long line of fat women. It's true. My great-grandmother, grandmother, mother, all my aunts . . . they all ended up fat. Some of them fought the good fight, but at the end of the race they were all at the same place. Overweight.

I only mention one side of my family, for I have no information on my fathers side. I'm a bastard. And no, I'm not saying I'm mean and kick small children and animals. (Not all the time anyway.) I was born illegitimate and my father died in Vietnam. I have no idea of the family health on that side of my family.

Most of my life I have fought not to be fat. I've worked out. Gone on endless diets. Jogged, walked, biked. You name it and I've done it. But the forties have not been good to be. Well, for a cow, they might have been good.

I know I need to get my butt in gear and start watching what I eat or find a way to work out with Will, but I keep putting it off. It is just easier to buy larger clothes than to work at loosing the weight.

About a week ago, I succumb to the checkout stand magazine rack allure and purchased All You's Health and Fitness issue. It has since been laying unopen on my dining room table, under the take out boxes. I dug it out during super and was flipping through it. I found a place where they give you the formula to figure out your BMI (Body Mass Index). Being a nerd for mathematical equations I ended up completing it and found I had a BMI of 35.

Under the formula is a table that explains the different number ranges. I look down and the very bottom of the table says "30 or higher". That would be me. And what did it say under 30 or higher?

You are obese.

I don't know why this was such a shock. Did I expect them to call me fluffy? Tell me I had big bones? I hate the word obese.

When I looked over in the other columns there was more good news. I found out that I'm at higher risk for high blood pressure, diabetes, cancer, asthma, and so much more.

Hoping to get a better idea of what "obese" really was I looked up the definition online. Here are a few of my favorite phrases:

a condition in which excess body fat
has accumulated to such an extent that
health may be negatively affected

obesity has been found to reduce life expectancy

one of the most serious public health problem of the 21st century

Obesity is often stigmatized in the modern Western world


So, I'm going to be sick and die young. And they think this is worse than continually buying clothes with more XXs in them?

I did see one comforting note in the definitions of obese:

perceived as a symbol of wealth and fertility
at other times in history and
still is in many parts of Africa

You might ask, just in case a time machine is not made available and you don't win a free trip to Africa, what are you planning on doing? Am I starting a new diet tomorrow? Going to increase my exercise? Join a gym?

I've decided on a definite two-punch regiment guaranteed to make me feel better. I'm going to "post" about it, because that always takes away some of the stress when I'm dealing with things. Then I'm going to quit buying magazines on impulse; it could be deadly to your health!

Redundant TV

From the time I met Steve, almost 12 years ago, we have not paid for cable TV. Now, in my old life, pre-Steve, that wouldn't not have meant we did not get cable. It would have meant one of our friends had "hooked" us up for free.

With Steve it means we only get the TV channels a set of rabbit ears will pull in.

There is a reason behind us not having cable, well two actually. The first is cost, the second is Steve is addicted to TV. He will watch ANYTHING. He will spend his entire weekend and every evening glued to the most boring crap in the world. He tries to blame it on not having access to TV as a child. I think it is his form of escapism; like my reading.

While I enjoyed cable when I had it, I no longer miss it. In fact, I've grown to almost hate our TV all together. It's like the loud, obnoxious, and stinky old relative that visits and never leaves. My dislike of TV has been aided by both my husband and my son.

Steve can not stand to watch a commercial. Any time a commercial comes on he will start surfing our 7 channels trying to find something to watch until the commerical is over. What happens is that he will end up watching pieces of 2 (maybe 3) different shows at a time. So if I walk into the living room and sit down, just as I begin to get some "buy in" to a show, he changes the channel. And there is no way to catch every piece of any show he ends up flipping back and forth too. You are always left in the dark.

And my son? Well, as any mother of children can tell you he watches a movie to death. Then he resurrects it and watches it again, and again, and again. And that's only the first day. I've seen each movie Will owns so many times I can quote the dialogue as I'm working on the computer and hear it in the back ground. That's something, seeing as he must have 200 VHS or DVDs.

With the new digital deadline coming up we had to get our converter boxes; which Thank God we got for free. When we installed them, we gained an extra 4 or 5 channels. One of them has become Steve's new favorite. It seems to have less commericals and it shows repeats of old shows Steve and I watched as kids. So Steve gets to set and watch the original NightRider, A-Team, Simon and Simon, and much more. He loves it.

I guess they are just getting started because the first week or so we received the channel it didn't have any call letters or a station name. Then it would just flash the letters RTN on the screen. Steve and I made a game out of trying to guess what the letters stood for. We agreed the end was definitely Television Network.

As it turns out, Steve was right. Our new channel is the Retro Television Network. I still think my name was more suitable; the Redundant Television Network.

Sexy Lingerie Plus Size

Have you ever looked at the options for sexy lingerie in a plus size? It KILLS me.

I have always loved sexy lingerie. Sexy bras, panties, night gowns, etc. I even still get catalogs from places where I use to purchase such items. Beautiful colors, soft silks, sheer lace. Aah, the good old days.

The funny thing, is that these same catalogue sell what they called plus sizes as well. But, and this is a very big BUTT, the design doesn't change.

HELLO! Most women who wear a size 2X are not built the same way your size 6 model is. Do I want tight clingy lace outlining my two tummies? How about those tiny little bikini thongs that come with all their sets . . . imagine a tummy hanging over the front end and not being able to see the string in the back!

Yeah Baby,
Take me now!

Really, why doesn't some overweight woman with tons of rolls, wrinkles, and sagging body parts design some sexy lingerie that hide what we don't want others to see and only hints at the sexiness of an over weight woman. Hey, we have great cleavage. Baby's got back! I even have nice shoulders; just don't show my upper arms please. And instead of something so short you can see my thighs rubbing together . . . how about something a little longer with a sexy split up the side?

And another thing . . .
If you are selling plus size lingerie, please put it on a plus size model.

Today I am the Window

I know you've all heard the saying:


Some times you're the window,
Some times you're the bug.


Well, today I am the window. (And I have to say after being the "bug" for the last few months, that it feels damn good.)

Last Sunday, Steve took Will and drove to Kerrville to go fishing. They left about 10 in the morning and didn't make it back until almost nine that night.

I went shopping BY MYSELF. I didn't have to push a basket around the entire store just to keep Will corralled. I didn't have to drive said basket in the middle of the isle to keep Will from randomly pulling shit off the shelves. I didn't have to wrestle the small hands that grasp for candy at the check out. Oh yeah! Look at my bad self.

I had lunch with a GROWN UP; who didn't bring a kid with them. We ate at a place without a playscape or "kid's meals" on the menu. I tried new foods; my appetite in shock over options that didn't include "and would you like fries with that". We ate at our own pace and sit and visited after the meal. I'd almost forgotten what that felt like.

Then I came home and played around with new pattern ideas. One flopped, BIG TIME. One came out really well. And another I only got about half way done. I took my time on them. I'd work a little while, then read, then go outside and lay on the hammock.

I dyed the gray roots in my hair. Spent the rest of the day in loose comfortable clothes that didn't match but were comfortable as hell. I picked up a pizza for dinner and had two different guys flirt with me. Obviously, they were more attracted to my joyful happiness than my startling clothing choices.

That was a good day. In fact, it lead to a good week.

BUT, the really startling news is that tomorrow Steve is going back to Kerrville fishing again and he's TAKING WILL. Again.

Yep, today I am the window.

Chinese Fire Drill

Have you ever heard of a Chinese Fire Drill? It may be a southern, or a small town, thing; I'm not sure.

They were usually ran when you were out with a bunch of friends. The driver would pull up to a red light and stop and someone would shout, "Chinese Fire Drill." Then everyone would through the doors of the car open and jump out. We'd all run around the car like crazy until the light turned green. Then we would all jump in the door closest to us and take off.

It was fun, stupid, and probably only safe to perform in a small town. Hey, there were few things to entertain us back in the day . . . we had to take what we could get.

Regardless, the last week I've been participating in a Chinese Fire Drill every night; only instead of cars we've been using beds. And ewww, you nasty minded people! No, Will has been sick as well as going through some painful growing pains and he's not been staying in his bed.

This wouldn't be a big issue but for a few things. One, I don't like to be touched while I sleep. If Steve's foot wanders to my side of the bed I scoot further over. Even with a king size bed I will be hanging off the bed trying not to touch Steve or Will when he ends up in our bed.

Second, when Will is sick he wants Mama and only Mama. The other thing is that Steve goes to bed at 9 and Will and I somewhere between 11 and 1.

So this is the way my nights have been going:


Steve goes to bed at 9:00.
I put Will in his room to watch a movie at 9:00

Every 10-15 minutes for the next 2 hours
Will needs to pee, get a drink, or give me a kiss

About 11 I go lay down in the quest room
Will's movie is out and I have to put another one on

Will falls asleep
I go to bed with Steve.

Will comes in get it's our bed around 2ish.
I lay there with my eyes open until he's asleep.
I pick him up and take him back to his bed.
I go back to bed with Steve.

Will comes and gets back in bed with us about 3ish.
I lay there for 1/2 an hour trying to sleep.
I get out of bed and go to quest room.
Will shows up in quest room about 10 minutes later.

Will falls asleep in quest room.
I take him to his room between 4-5.
I get in bed with Steve.
Will comes in gets in bed with us.

I lay there for 1/2 an hour trying to sleep.
I go to guest room to sleep.
Steve wakes me when he gets up about 6:30.
I go get back in our bed.

I wake up at 7:30 like normal.
Will sleeps until 10.

Fishing -- Just Like the Lottery

This afternoon Greg called to see if Steve wanted to drive to Kerrville and go fishing tomorrow, Sunday. They stock trout in the rivers in Kerrville twice a year and Steve tries to make it down when they do. Steve's also really stressed out from over work and needs a break; some nature.

Steve asked if I wanted to go and I said no but that he should go. Then he said in a "please don't agree with me" voice;


"Did you want me to go and take Will so that you could have the day off?"


I almost fell to the floor and worshiped at his feet for simply having the guts to ask; when I knew he would prefer to go without taking Will. I did tell him that would be really nice.

Then I waited all night for him to call Greg back and tell him he was coming, and he never did. I asked him before bed if he was going and he said he wasn't sure. You can bet this answer would have been different if I'd told him to go without Will.

But the thing is that whether he goes or not, I've spent at least 5 hours tonight dreaming about what I would do on Sunday all by myself. Which pattern would I try out? Would it be the new toddler car seat cover I want to design? The baby sling? The new washable mop instructions?

Oh wait, maybe I won't sew at all. Maybe I'll clean off the dining room table and scrapbook all day. Oh yeah! That would be fun. I could put on some music. Open the windows for a cool breeze. Not get dressed all day; stay in my comfies.

And really, that was just the beginning. You wouldn't believe the things I've contemplated doing tomorrow. But as the hours passed and Steve didn't seem any closer to committing to the trip; I felt a little let down. Not bad, I understand that in his over-worked stress that Steve is not handling Will well. He hasn't been all week. He will hardly be home 20 minutes and he's over reacting to Will's desire for attention. Steve needs time off too.

But after Steve went to bed I began to realize that the "chance" that I could have tomorrow to myself was actually the same as the thrill I use to get when we played the lotto -- which I haven't done in a loooooong time.

But I remember what it felt like. How you'd mentally plan on what you were going to do with the funds if you won. I use to play just for those brief moments of happiness. I'd dream of who I could help out, where I could move, what kind of business I could start, helping my girls out, the new car I would buy.

So even if Steve and Will do not go fishing tomorrow, I appreciated the thought that they might today.

Who decided it was Science Fiction?

As most of my relatives can attest, I am an AVID reader. In fact, avid doesn't do it justice. Where most avid readers can be classified as people who read 20 or more books a year, I average about 30 books a month. And that's when I'm still trying to participate in my real life. When I am depressed or sick you can easily double that amount. I've been an avid readers since before junior high -- that's over 30 years. It would not be an understatement to say I've read literally thousands of books in my time.

Mostly I read romance. Oh, it's changed a little ever now and then. When I was very young I was really into Barbara Cartland and her innocent Regency Romances -- back when I still believed in Cinderella. When I was in my 20s I was a big Harlequin romance reader; generic romances with normal every day twists that still ended up happily ever after.

Actually, that phrase "Happily Ever After" has come to signify to me the entire gendra of "romance" books. But back to my point, . . .

As I hit my thirties I needed something with more grit and started reading romantic suspense. These are generally longer stories that involve crimes, deaths, guns, and twists of the plot but still even happily ever after.

The further I got in my thirties the more suspense I needed. I started actually reading suspense novels (without the romance). But I quickly found that I preferred they be written by women. Overall, I found that women did better jobs of building characters and relationships while downplaying the gore in the mandatory murder scenes. And no, they didn't all end happily ever after.

I'm my mid thirties I decided to try my hand at writing. One of the easiest gendras to get into right then was erotica. So I started buying and reading erotica. While I never published a book, I did become quite addicted to reading erotica. Boy, you want to talk about a "feel good" book.

While pregnant with Will I read the most gory, murdering, possessed books I've ever read in my life. Things I previously would not have touched with a ten-foot pole. And I couldn't get enough. About 2 weeks before he was born I got rid of every one of them and haven't touched them sense.

Since Will's birth I've found myself drawn further and further into Paranormal Romances. I started reading Werewolf stories but was never going to read Vampire stories. But as time passed I found an avid interest in all paranormal romance. I read about werewolves, werecats, vampires, genetically altered beings, demons, gods, fairies, you name it.

Tori says I just ran out of anything else to read and so I HAD to read Paranormals. I think they appeal to many women in my age group for several reasons:

1. We are to old to believe in Cinderella
and we're ready for the big bag WOLF!

2. They all feature what I call
Compulsive Relationships
Where only one person will do as a soul mate
and when you find them nothing will stop you.
The men don't care how old you are,
what you look like,
your education, employment, nothing.

3. They all have tighter family relationships
family means EVERYTHING to the
paranormal being. Children and family ties
are sacred.

4. Most of the authors have created entire
new worlds and species. Something new to read about
and learn; that's hard to come by after your 30s.

5. Animals can go all night Baby!


But while Paranormal romances have increased in popularity like crazy, most big book retailers still do not have a paranormal section. I have a Barnes and Nobles, Hastings, and Borders within 15 minutes of my house. Not one of them has a paranormal section.

When I shop at Hastings or Borders the paranormal authors I enjoy are filed in with the standard romance authors. But tonight I went to B&N to look for a new book out by one of my favorite authors and they didn't have a single one of her books. I finally located it in the Science Fiction area.

What the shit? Science Fiction? She doesn't write about space ships, robots, time travel, or the future. She writes about werevolves. Her books are suspenseful, full of action, have animals in them, and end happily ever after. I wouldn't have been as surprised to find her in the Suspense, Action, Animal, or Romance sections.

But who the hell decided she was to be placed in Science Fiction?

She liked it!

This is a short, and very odd, post . . .

I sent a few chapters of my book to my daughter Bonnet along with 5 different critiques I'd received from a group. It can be overwhelming when they all come in at once and it's hard for me to know whose advice to follow or what "really" needs to be changed.

Bonnet is a big reader and a very good writer. She has always done extremely well with her writing in school and out. And I knew she'd be able to direct me towards the comments I should take to heart; and those I can just ignore.

So she sent me back the file tonight and the first paragraph of her email follows:

"i liked it overall. very well written and good insight into the paranormal. this usually isn't a type of novel I'd read, but i feel like you give off enough detail to where i am comfortable & understand a little about the were-culture."

I just felt such a glow when I read it. She likes it.

Visitation Hours -- Short Story

I found a short story I wrote years ago recently and it seemed to write something no one EVER read, so I posted it in the Wolf Cub blog. It is a little long and I didn't want to take up a lot of space on something generic like writing.

Check it out!

Touched Out

Tonight as I was walking past my husband to answer a summons from my 4-year old, my husband held his hand out to squeeze mine as I walked by. It's a sweet gesture that he does quite often, but tonight it was more than I could handle. I walked around his hand without touching it or offering him an explanation.

To be honest, I would have thought the explanation was apparent. I had the words "DO NOT TOUCH ME" tattooed on my head, I'm sure I did. I could feel the pain from where each letter was pounded in during the day. My head was throbbing, my left eye lid was jerking, my nerves were shot and I could not take one more person needing anything from me at the moment . . . not even a quick hand squeeze.

I've suffered through this before when Will was a baby. It's not uncommon for new moms, but this is the first time I've ever had this problem with a child as old as Will. By the end of the day I am just touched out. Every single touch, caress, hold makes my entire body cringe and my ear drums sensitive. (Okay, I know the ear drum thing is odd; but I have very sensitive ears.)

With new moms, they actually tell you to expect something like this. As a society, we really don't touch each other that often. Even if you spent all evening wrapped up in your spouses arms, it would probably only be 4 hours a day or so. With a new baby you end up holding it 10-12 hours a day, more if you breast feed. By the time your husband comes home you can't stand to be touched at all. So yeah, if the actual birth, weight gain, and exhaustion haven't put an end to your sex life being "touched out" will.

I have two grown children, and once I was past the baby stage with them I never had another episode of being over touched. But I had three sets of grandparents that lived in the same town, a slew of aunts and uncles, and my girls both went to headstart starting when they were 3 or 4. So I had plenty of breaks. Plenty of time off. Not so with Will.

Will and I are essentially together 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. No grandparents (the type that pick up your kids and keep them a few hours anyway), no aunts or uncles, we don't qualify for headstart, and we can't afford pre-school. So from 8 or 9 am until 11 or 12 pm every day of every week of every month of his 4-year old life I have had Will with me.

I have left him twice with Tori for a few hours in the last 4 years to have a date with Steve. I know, your jealous . . . two dates in 4 years. I go, Girl!

I have been lucky enough to have 1 weekend and a 3-day break when Steve watched him so I could sneak away.

Yes, Steve does live in this house and he comes home every night. But Steve has been averaging getting home around 6 or later the last few months. Then between 6 and 9 when Steve goes to bed, we have to eat, he has to relax, I have to take a bath, etc. Not really any time to escape and if I'm in the same room with them, Will is laying on me, kissing me, jumping on me, or yelling in my face.

I'm going to say that 3 our of every 4 weekends for the last few months Steve has been gone or working -- at least one day of the weekend.

Then Bonnet moved out of state and Tori picked up a second job. So Will sees less of them then normal as well. The result is that he clings to me even tighter. He has gotten to the point he won't hardly go to the convenient store with his dad without me. He cries if Steve tries to take him away from me.

And when we are together he can hardly go without touching me CONSTANTLY. I must get 200-500 kisses and hugs a day, my face is chapped and my neck has a crick in it. If I lay down to watch TV or read, he literally climbs on top of me. If I set down he crawls in my lap. If I'm on the computer he climbs either in my lap or on the desk between me and keyboard.

If someone else is with us he doesn't like me to touch them or set next to them; he'll force his way between us. Will doesn't like me to talk to anyone else when he's around either. I am suppose to talk and touch only him.

I know some of you out there are thinking that some day I am going to miss this and regret that it ever come this close to suffocating me. And I know you are right, to a point. I do have grown children. I know how fast they grow. How much you miss the opportunities. How much you miss the unguarded love.

But right now, I just need to breath.

Getting Back in the Box

I have a strange, and possibly highly unpopular, view on most American's lifestyle that I'd like to share.

First, I'd like to start out by saying that most of us are brought up from a young age to succeed. To strive. To make something of ourselves. To be better than the last generation. Plow our way into the future. Make a name for ourselves. Do I sound like your parents yet?

We start stressing about our children's school work while they are in pre-school. Are they doing as well as their classmates? Are they dressed as well as their classmates? Do they have the same supplies as their classmates?

When it comes to birthday parties? Our children want the same toys, clothes, and parties as their classmates. And more than often, us as parents want our kids to have better than the family next door does.

If a neighbor down the street gets a new car, everyone starts looking at their car and wondering if they need a new one. And this is true of lawnmowers, computers, golf clubs . . . just about everything.

As a nation, we are constantly stiving to out "do" ourselves and our neighbors. Constantly striving to "get out of the box" that we are born into. To suceed.

One of the reasons that America has such an issue with agressive drivers is this same phelosophy. When some one pulls in front of us we don't percieve it as a merge. Hell no, the son-of-a-bitch just cut us off! We are prone to either speed up and ride his ass or zoom around and whip back into their lane in front of them to show them. To show them what I don't want to even contemplate . . . that we're idiots?

In our jobs, we are never happy with the position and responsibliity we have. Even if we are capable of living off of it. We constantly try to improve and move "up" the ladder. Even though this requires more time away from our family and the things we might enjoy in life.

I too have been guilty of all the above. But what Steve and I realized at some point was that we were not "enjoying" our life. Where was the time to play? To spend with our kids playing ball? To go fishing? I've always heard the following saying:

You can't take it with you.

But I never really thought about it until a few years back. All of a sudden, people my age are getting cancer, dying, or being severlly injured. We had to ask ourselves, if this was the last day of my life would I be happy with it?

Not suprising, the answer was no. When we really looked at our lives we felt like we were on a treadmill that just kept speading up and it was all we could do to keep up. As we looked at our lives and our expectations we realized that the problem was that while everyone encouraged us to Go! Go! Go!

No one every told us when we could stop. There is such a push to suceed and be more, but no guideline supplied to know when you've reached it or how to stop when you do.

So I'd like to suggest that everyone quit worring so much about getting out of their box and think about getting back in it.

Would you not be happier and more content if you didn't have to strive to advance in your choosen field? What's wrong with where you are now? Is there really anything "wrong" with your current car? Is it worth getting yourself in a hissy-fit about a car pulling in front of you and your being a whole 2 minutes later to where ever you are going?

When you teach your child to reach for more and to achieve and be all they can . . .

Please remember to also teach them that life is not a race. The winner is not the first person to reach the end.

Getting Rocky off the Floor

Steve and I have two dogs: a 11 year old border collie named Rocky and a 10 year old mutt named Winkles (Bull Winkles actually). The average life span for a border collie is about 12-14 years. The average life span for a small mutt is about 18-20 years.

As would be the case, Rocky is the most beloved and we've noticed a huge decline in his health over the last year. In particular, he is having trouble getting up from the floor. We took all our carpets out and the floors in the center of the house are all tiled; and cold. Every time he goes to get up you can see his joints aching as he stumbles around.

When Bonnet was visiting she allowed Rocky to crawl on the futon with her and I didn't discourage it although I don't normally let the dogs on the furniture. What I noticed was how much better he got around during that week. So as soon as Bonnet left I started a search for a toddler bed. That is a bed low to the floor the size of a baby crib. I located a free one the next day and picked it up for my dog; although I didn't tell the donating party I was using their nice bed for a dog.

I bought used linens for the bed; small ones so they would be easy to through in the laundry on a weekly biases. I put the bed in the corner of the living room behind the couch and next to a window. I figured he could look outside; in the summer I'll open the window for him to get fresh air. It's really out of the way there.

So I introduce the dogs to the bed; it's really large enough that they both can sleep on it. As soon as Steve sees it he says, "Where are you going to put the other one?" And I'm like what other one. Then he points out that the dogs NEVER share a sleeping spot and that Winkle always gets the choice spot.



While Winkle ways in at about 12 pounds to Rocky's 60 or so; she rules the roost. There truly was never a bigger (well small really) bitch born. She eats first. Gets best sleeping spot. You name it; she's top dog. And yes, she got the bed.

For two days I watched and Rocky never got to sleep on the bed. So today I picked up a used crib mattress and tried slipping it under the toddler bed so just a part of it stuck out on the end. Figuring Winkle didn't need the entire mattress. Winkle took the top bed and Rocky was cramped on the little mattress. So then I pulled out the entire mattress and laid it next to the other bed.

For over 4 hours I watched and Rocky would not go near the bed or mattress. Winkle lay there just watching him.

Finally I pulled the damn thing feet away from the toddler bed and over behind the couch. Immediately Rocky came lay down and has been resting comfortably ever sense. I let them out once and he got up with out any sign of aching or weak joins. But his is now what the area behind my couch looks like.



What must one go through to relieve a little pain in the joints of an old dog?