Monday, November 28, 2005

Toy Whore

For the past two nights I have found myself staying up into the wee hours to find Snowflake's Christmas presents. Drooling at the fine sweet treats that wait for him Christmas Morning, I am caving in to the gross materialistic consumerism that drives our society all in the spirit of the season. I think I am a Toy Snob.

Yes, I look down with a disgusted tsk! to Fisher-Price and Playschool, plastic and batteries. Today's cheap, mass produced toys leave little to the imagination and they are just so annoying you want to find creative ways to destroy them for you own twisted pleasure!

It's not about quantity. It's about gorgeous, wonderful wooden objects of functional art that will create amazing memories for Snowflake. It's about him opening up a box in 30 years to find that his toys are perfect for his own babies. Last year for his birthday I bought him a bunch of building blocks from HABA. These are like the colorful blocks that I had as a child and you cannot find them anymore. They are made of hard maple and lacquered with lush bright stains, some in unusual shapes.

Christmas will bring Snowflake a "Like-A-Bike" from Germany. It is so cool, I can hardly wait. It teaches a toddler to balance long before they get on their first real bike. Bonus= they never need training wheels. Then there are the toys from Vilac, a company in France that has been making toys forever. One is a wooden blue plane pull toy with St.Exupery's Little Prince riding in the cockpit. SWEET. The other is a beautiful wooden clown push toy. I couldn't resist ordering a luscious "Fan-Fan the Elephant" pull toy for Sid's bambino. There are more...

I could go on and on, excitedly touting every detail of all the precious presents I purchased, describing the Rolls-Royce like finish, the non toxicity of it all, the SpielGut award... I would be in a gleeping frenzy! Suddenly the thought occurs to me...

I am a Toy Whore!

Thursday, November 24, 2005

The Warmth of Winter



All the small things that mean so much. Words can barely describe those moments when we feel blissful joy and unconditional love. I did a little holiday decorating outside for Snowflake. This is a branch on his funky tree. To say that I was overwhelmed when I saw the expression on his face when I showed it to him last night for the first time is an understatement. That smile, the wonderment and curiosity blew me away. I cried tears of joy! I told him I did this for him. Everytime he sees it he points to it and says,"Mom." And I say "Yes, my sweet, mommy did that just for you". I can melt even in the coldest winter.


The Truth About Kinkadia

Thanksgiving Evening. Families gathering around a bountiful table, beaming with love for one another, telling each other just how happy and important they are to one another. All Norman Rockwellesque. I imagine my beautiful mother swelling with pride as everyone raves about the most amazing meal they've ever eaten. My dad sheepishly gives her a pat on the ass and a quirky smile that only she can understand. "Oh, Edward!" she gushes. "Stop that or you'll be cruisin' for a bruisin' later!"

My brother and his girlfriend gaze at one another over the glow of candle light, rosy flushed cheeks, smiling at their new baby boy. The pure love is palpable.

Snowflake enjoys his first Thanksgiving meal in his highchair all by himself, savoring every last bite, although most of his sweet potatoes make him look like a newly tinted redhead.

The conversation is bright, lively and comfortable. My dad begins to speak, telling us all how happy and fortunate he feels to have such a wonderful family. He begins to choke up as he remembers my brother Thom who died five years ago. He would have been 34 years old on the 29th. Sid and I rally around him, comforting him with words and love.

We savor this meal and afterwards everyone enjoys congregating in the kitchen, telling funny stories as we clean the joint back up. Then we all gather around the fireplace for warm snifters of Brandy and these amazing mints Mother made from scratch. It is a beautiful evening that ends with lots of hugs, warmth and love as Sid & Nancy and I leave their home to go our separate ways.

Looking back I can see them, standing in the open doorway, arms intertwined, waving goodbye to us on this dark, cold starry filled night. I swear to God there is a little twinkle off my mom's teeth when she smiles as I leave.

Thomas Kinkade could not paint the high voltage glow bursting out of the windows at this family homestead.

The reality is just so, so... so NOT Thomas Kinkade. The only glow coming from this house were the flames coming off the bottom of my feet as I Mach-Oned it out of there, slamming the door as I went. It was the usual send off of holiday fare for our clan.

The meal was exquisite. Every morsel delectable to the last crumb. I think Sid and Big Dad were done within 15 minutes tops. Then it was off to the couch for the sound of silence and more beer. The drone of the television taking the place of any thoughtful conversation.

The ladies and babies enjoyed this ocassion, lingering in the dining room, laughing and enjoying every moment together. Leftovers stashed, dishes done. Big Dad and Sid retreated to the den to watch "Goodwill Hunting" just as we joined them, leaving us alone for more bonding time.

Movie completed, it was time for Sid and Nancy to leave to join her parents for Thanksgiving #2. Car loaded, goodbyes said, Big Dad joins us in the living room, turning on the television to watch football.

"Did Sid seem a little down to you?", mom says to my dad.

"Yeah. He just visited with his friend who is a successful real estate agent in Florida and has a life," he says, "He's thinking about his life and it's disgusting!"

"Just like what you're doing, it's a shame," he directs to me.

Here we go...

I don't need to get into the sordid details here, but basically what I hear is, IT'S DISGUSTING=YOU'RE DISGUSTING. IT'S A SHAME=YOU ARE AN EMBARASMENT TO ME and so on and so forth. Like Faberge Organics shampoo & Farrah Faucett, it all keeps multiplying over and over. Then the whole go back to school topic comes up. I totally kept my cool, informed them that Snowflake and I would be spending Christmas together HERE because I refuse to spend special times with someone who obviously thinks so little of me. Why fake love? Why fake it for the sake of holidays?

I will not allow Snowflake to grow up thinking that the way his Gramps treats people(women) is normal. Snowflake is going to have self esteem made of steel. Yet, he will be compassionate and sensitive to all plights.

We left and Snowflake fell asleep almost immediately in the car which gave me time to bawl my eyes out to Scarborrough Fair, which just happened to be on my radio.

Will this ever end I thought to myself. Master of Light? Master of Bullshit is more like it. The lights are on, but that glow is so false. Thomas Kinkade can kiss my white ass.





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Sunday, November 20, 2005

Sanitized for My Protection

I have this wooly, natty, ratty, rusty brown and black sweater that I have worn for what seems like forever. It is a cardigan but only one button remains at the top. It is full of holes that I just don't seem to notice. I put it on over my sweater and it makes a great little coat pared with my moth ridden scarf.

It has walked with me through some rough and happy times in life. I just cling to it. I think it may be my security blanket. Like Linus, I just can't seem to survive without it in the fall, winter and early spring. Nothing else is quite so me. So comfortable.

Earlier this fall my mother ordered me to remove it so she could burn it. She said, "Ms.Mamma, take that nasty thing off! It weighs you down and today is a new day!" I had the look of sheer horror on my face... "No way!" I gasped like a scared little kid. How dare she try and take my woobie from me! I just couldn't part with it. I wear it everyday.

She was shocked to know that the manager of a store commented on it. She beamed how she just LOVED MY SWEATER! I couldn't believe it. I actually laughed in her face and said, "You've gotta be kidding?! My mom thinks I should cremate it!" Then I think...hmmmm is she just doing a little ass kissing or does she dig it? I decided she dug it it because it IS the coolest old sweater around.

I went about my favorite day as usual. Sundays just have such a luxurious feel to me. I went to my neighbor's to borrow something and we chatted for a while. They have these two adorable teensie weensie puppy dogs. Being the canine lover I am I scooped up Louie the supposed Pomeranian with gusto for a nice little rub. His "carnie" owners claimed the pup to be purebred, but he turned out to look more like a Spitz. He is a great tenacious lover. So spunky he defies his amped up bark collar. He actually wore/burned the hair off of his throat. He doesn't care. You can hear him rousing the neighborhood every morn', as it should be. He is a true dog and I love him.

Fed Ex is a chihuaha-jack russel terrier mix. He is drop dead sexy in his couture polar fleece and custom leather and dog bone charm collar. He is a gorgeous red color with a black mask. You just want to eat this dog up when you see him. He has one big problem though. He is a submissive.

He didn't want me to pick him up but when he saw the love Lou was getting, he changed his mind. Well, I pick him up and we're just happy as clams. After a conversation about how he peed on her brother the last time they were together, I said "Really! He didn't pee on me!"

WRONG!

I walked into my house and The Chidler just zoned in on my left side, where I was holding the wizzer. Yes, I did not escape as I thought. Feeling my security blanket I skim over the pee soaked wool. Ugh! YUCKIES! I whip it off and have flash backs to my mother and I think maybe it is time, maybe this is a signal that I should just sentence it to the dumpster once and for all.

I have to say it came out really nice after a good washing. It removed years of debris and it is actually a little fluffy now. I think I might throw it away tommorrow. Probably not.

It's almost like new.


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Tuesday, November 15, 2005

Mamma Bear Unleashed

Tonight Snowflake and I had din-din with Nana, Gramps, Sid & Nancy. Everything was the same as usual. My mother cooks and everyone else gobbles it down and leaves her with the mess. Except for me. Tonight was different. Tonight I lost it. I blew like Chernobyl. Sometimes I wonder if I over-react. Do I? Sid seemed half buzzed up when he arrived courtesy of Gramps. Neither Sid nor Nancy have fully functional driver's licenses.

After drinks and dinner Sid is ready to leave, pronto. In the meantime, Nancy has barely finished her glass of vino and is in the midst of showing baby pictures to Nana. Does he bother to ask her if she's ready to go? Of course not. This isn't my gripe.

In the midst of his buzz he gets up to use the bano. Snowflake, unbeknownst to me, accompanies him. I'm looking around and say, "Where's Snowflake?"

Just then he comes walking out of the bathroom with Sid(who happens to be his uncle). I said, "Was he in the bathroom with you?"

"Yeah", he says.

"Did he see your penis?"

"Yeah, You know it's perfectly a natural part of life, sister," he non-chalantly states.

I completely lost it.

"Yeah, it's perfectly natural if you have a dad in the house, but we don't! That is so fucked!" I seethe. I have a full blown tirade. Snowflake has never seen me like this.

I am absolutely livid. Oh yes, Snowflake comes to the bathroom with me, but I don't spread my legs and say "Look here's my pussy! Check it out!" Maybe I am a little whacked, but to me, it just paves the way for complete strangers. Hmmm... Snowflake will think it's okay for just any old freak to whip out his cock and fling it around. It may as well have been my next door neighbor or Bill Clinton. It just doesn't matter WHO it is.

It would also be different if Snowflake spent ALOT of time with his uncle, but he doesn't. As a single mother I don't live by the same order of a two parent household.

Maybe if I were a complete hosebag I wouldn't have a problem with it. Maybe I just need to let go and have some more Dick in the house. Penis' everywhere for everyone. Strange men using the bathroom and staying overnight so that when lil' Snowflake is potty trained and wakes to wee in the early hours he'll have a piss buddy. I can just imagine it, "Hey Little Buddy, I didn't know you were uncut?!"

Mommy what does "uncut" mean?

I don't think so. I am trying to do the right thing. At this point I really don't think Snowflake needed to see my brother's business, or really at ANY point. I am the Mamma Bear and he had no right to take that power from me. I'm sure it was an innocent mistake. Snowflake loves to flush the toilet. In this day and age you can never be too careful. Do not assume anything is okay with me.

I am the Mamma Bear, screw with Snowflake and I will rip your fucking head off.


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Sunday, November 13, 2005

Don't Look Him in the Eye (or the Ass)




My best friend always says, "Whatever you do, don't look him in the eye!" Why wouldn't you look this cute lil' baby in the eye? It unleashes a hellfire of ass-shakin', tongue lickin' DYN-O-MITE! The Chidler feeds off of raw body language and eye contact. At seven years old he is still a puppy, a self described lap dog who wants nothing more than a nice walk and lots of hugs. Yes, hugs. He enjoys standing on his back legs and wrapping his front paws around your waist.

If you DO look him in the eye at close range and he channels your nervous energy you may be in for a good tongue lashing with a heavy dose of ass breath. You may just pass out. I've tried it all...Greenies, bones,breath mints. I think it has something to do with his almighty jowls. The rest of him smells great...almost like chocolate chip cookies.

He's defintely not picky when it comes to food or snacks. I can remember one morning coming downstairs without my contacts in and seeing a sparkly glint of metal on the living room rug. Picking it up I find it is the underwire from my bra. Hmmmmmmm...methinks.

The next morning he is crapping out cups and straps from the bra. Thank goodness for the giant Catalpa leaves in my yard. On a different occasion I noticed LuLu's neckerchief from the groomer was missing. It was checked like a Pizza Hut table cloth.

I didn't really think anything of it until I saw The Chidler careening from spot to spot on his haunches(I always wanted to use that word in a sentence) straining. There is no mistaking a red checkered bandana coming out of a dog's asspipe. Once again I came to his rescue with a Catalpa leaf.

At least he draws the line at metal.

One day I came home from work and he had shredded a really nice linen and silk corded down filled throw pillow. It was like the North Pole on the living room floor. Feathers everywhere, but no linen and no silk cord. This time he brought the pug into the act. I cannot tell you just how much fun it is to pull "textiles 'n things" out of your dog's ass.

I look at it this way: what better preparation can you have for becoming a parent? Thanks Chidler! Poopy diapers are a breeze. I've never had to pull anything out of Snowflake's ass.

Yet.


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Friday, November 11, 2005

Moontime & ManHunks

Mi casa is like a morgue this evening as little Snowflake is passed out on the living room floor, exhausted from accompanying me to work today. The excitement of opening the oven, climbing up and standing on it's door over and over and over like a admiral at the helm of a great ship was too much for the little swab. He wore his po'sef out. When the wee pirate wakes I have a nice little nosh of Quinoa, edamame and tomato sauce to quell his hunger. And boobies for his nightcap. Ah, the pirates life.

I had a craving for a Mimosa. Cocktail at my side I hit connect on my dial up modem. After a nice long soak in my spa-like tub, painting my toenails and giving myself a facial, my homepage was just about loaded.

Warm and giddy I headed to yahoo! on a whim to peruse the personals. My inner "wild woman wolf" may have been excited if I were a flannel wearing, F-150 "bad girl who drives bitchin' toys" and has wet dreams about Nascar drivers or plans weekend getaways to Cabela's or Gander Mountain. I know WHY I never do this.

It's the same reason why I have IM's shut permanently off. "moontime" was incredibly persistent and funny. His avatar piqued my interest so I returned his hello. After 2o minutes of pleasantries ol' Moony just couldn't tell me enough how he just LOVED "moontime". In fact, he was obsessed with it.

When he asks me if I know what it is, I'm thinking it's like a fall harvest hippie kind of thing... full moons, whatever. WRONG! Turns out "moontime" is every chicks worst week of the month...aka the dreaded period. And then he mentions something about having one BIG red eyebrow as often as he can and loving it, REALLY loving it.

It was like being at the end of a really long, striped hallway hearing the reeee, reeee, reeee of the movie Psycho. This is the Freakish Disappointment that always turns me off. Just when you think it might be okay to jump in the pool, something is floating toward you and it is NOT a Baby Ruth.

Back at yahoo! a 36 year old single athletic man in my area wants a potential female to "check her baggage at the door". His photo: a picture of him shirtless turned to the camera at a strange blurred angle. This makes him appear as though he has only one front tooth that juts out at a weird angle or he's been smacked down ala "Deliverance". He is unshaven and he is definitely not smiling. He's probably thinking this was Brad Pitt sexy. I'm thinking potential ax murderer.

My top match for compatibility according to yahoo! is a 32 year old who wants me to "release the biker within me." I dig Vespas. Wearing a sleeveless t-shirt, glasses, sporting a mullet and furry 'stache, he claims his "ideal women would be someone who is confident & sexy, comfortable, social, athletic & energetic." Either he subconciously wants a three-or-moresome or he's looking for a lady to bust him out of his mom's basement and give him a break from his internet porn habit.

In 2005 shirtless with mullet is just so everyday to me. These are the male denizens of my community. Yet they almost beg to be retro. These chaps look so much older than they claim to be. Maybe it's just that they're so furry. I can't see the "real" them, literally. That combined with a cultural affinity for binge drinking makes Ms. Mamma happy to be at home with Snowflake on a quiet Friday night.

I think I'll have another Mimosa.


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Wednesday, November 09, 2005

A Boil On His Ass / The Luxury of Time



Have you ever seen a Whirling Dervish? It is a most mesmerizing experience. An ancient religious practice, men in flowing gauzy swathes of material, spinning, spinning, spinning with these crazy pointed hats on their heads. I feel like a whirling dervish sometimes. Spinning from day to day, week to week... endless, bottomless days that seem to meld and stretch into an eternity of "what's the point" and "this is all there is".

Don't get me wrong, life is GRAND, AMAZING and a true gift. I can't help but think I have somehow blown it all. Wasting the gift of youth on being too scared to leave the comfort of familial security. Ms. Mamma is on video as a spritely 18 year old dissing the community she now lives in. I said I would never live here, never work for my family. HA!

I live here. I bought a house here. I work for my family. I got knocked up and had Snowflake as a single mom at 35.

I am empowered by being Snowflake's mamma. This alone should give me the kick in the ass I so desperately need.

When I graduated, I wanted to become a professor. My father thought that was "stupid". He asked me how I could stand to teach the same thing year after year after year. He told me he would not help with graduate school and if it was something I wanted to do, I was on my own. I pussied out. At this point I'm not sure if I had a lack of confidence in myself or was just lazy.

I am sure my father shares the same DNA as Archie Bunker. And although he has a much larger bank account, everything has to be done on his terms. After 15 years he thinks I should now go back to school and become a teacher.

Interesting to note that when I told "Money Bags" I was applying to law school and taking Kaplan a year after college he was right there singing a new tune with his hand stretched out pledging his financial support.

I didn't become a lawyer. I became the boil on his ass. Someone he resents. Someone who leaches money out of his pockets. Someone he supports loathingly. Someone who no longer wants to be a teacher.

I don't know what I am going to be when I grow up. I don't know HOW I will support Snowflake if the family sells the business. I do know that we will be fine. He may not dress in Oilily, but he will be as gorgeous, as happy.

I know that I have been given the luxury of time. That is my father's gift to me. Something he has never had.


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Thursday, November 03, 2005

Tundra Bunny




Snowflake in all his glory, exploring the beach. October 29, 2005

Sexless in the City(Or Ode to the Oral-B)

Snowflake, The Chidler and I live in what most would consider a teensy bumblefrick town in the Midwest. Population roughly 50,000 or so including "outlying inbred areas". Snowflake is pushing 20 months and it has been over TWO YEARS since I, your humble servant have gotten laid. That just BLOWS MY MIND. Is it time to call the appliance guy, the furnace guy or just jump the mail carrier?!

I have not had sex since I left Snowflake's sperm donor one late September evening in 2003. I'm sure I could snag another uneducated damaged male who thinks "news is stupid" if I really wanted to, but why? As one hip mamma once chimed "When you lay down with a dog you get fleas- or a baby". BINGO! As an educated person, I have to admit that the attraction was purely physical to Snowflake's Y connection. Incredibly cute but for one major physical flaw... Teeth like a demented hillbilly on crack. My mother accused me of being on drugs for going out with him.

I had recently lost my brother and thought I could open up and give someone a chance rather than exclude them based on shallow observations. Note to self: BAD TEETH = BIG BIG PROBLEMS. I digress...

So what's a hot single mamma to do? Ask yourself the same question some woodcutter asked me one day in the office... DO you know BOB? I said, no. "Battery Operated Boyfriend" he said... Immediately I acknowledged, "Oh, yeah, sure". Everyone shags themselves! Except for the armless. I mean isn't THAT a given? I'm sure I would have spontaneously combusted if it weren't for my Oral B 3-D toothbrush. Totally discreet and rechargeable! Just lock the bathroom door and if someone knocks, you're just brushing your teeth, damn it!



UPDATE! May 11, 2007 Still riding the wave. I'm the Queen of the Castle, Mistress of My Domain.

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Tuesday, November 01, 2005

Babies & Bidets... What's the connection?

Time flies at warp speed and October was just another casualty. Baby and I enjoy every minute we have together. I have never been a mamma to rely on props for entertaining him. I never "put him in a bouncy chair" to space out at semi-inanimate objects. Babies seem like major inconveniences to most of the mothers I see.

Someone very close to me recently had a baby. Let's call them Sid & Nancy. Not married and years between them, he's 31 and she's 23, they appear to be a recipe for disaster . Their baby watches the flickers on a televison screen with hypnotic abandon. Put that baby in a cheesy Fisher Price "special chair" and he is in another dimension. Although Sid pays for everything, Nancy can't help but whine and bitch about how hard it is to get everything done even though she is at home full time.

Hmmmm... Imagine what it must be like for Ms. Mamma. Doing it ALL ALONE, like so many other mammas.

Nancy is sooooo busy everyday all the time doing whatever it is that she does that the baby gets a bath only two times a week. Ummm, ok. Some of you birds will say... "hey, little babies don't get really dirty until they can crawl." Well, my friends, babies still get poo on their bums! Diapers are hot and sweaty and a wipe can only do so much. My bambino has always gotten a bath pretty much everyday. He oozes Burt's Bees Baby Bee Aroma. It is what a baby should smell like when you pull them close, not an old ski cap that someone wore for twelve weeks.

Maybe the American aversion to bidets stems from infanthood. A once over is good enough until bathing time. God forbid I should wash my a-hole after taking a dump! That would be sick!


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