Five Months

My personal experience of the grief process has been one of ebbs and flows. There are times when I am nearly inconsolable and other times when I am perfectly fine. The last few months have been very good. I have been busy and had to a certain extent a feeling of acceptance about the death of my mom. But then out of nowhere, I started to feel the pain well up inside of me again. It was so familiar and I recognized it right away. I could feel it building in the pit of my stomach and then slowly rise into my chest where it sat square on my heart and made me feel like at the slightest provocation I would burst into a fit of tears.

And I did burst into fits of tears at the most inopportune times. Perhaps it's that Mother's Day is right around the corner or maybe because I keep seeing her everywhere. The other day I had to run into a gas station to pick up a snack for one of the kids and the cashier nearly took my breath away. While she didn't look exactly like my mom, her lips and chin were stunningly similar. I stood there staring at her, focusing on her features and trying to remember the last time I saw the likeness of those lips on my mother. I also see her in other people; the same skin tone, hair color, eyes. And I look at them almost like I want her to peek out from behind them and of course they look at me like I'm crazy because I'm a stranger to them. But I'm willing them to recognize me, for those to turn their attention and smile at me or to pucker up and come at me full force across my face. It's like I'm looking out for her and I hope that I will see her and she will turn to me and smile. I miss seeing her familiar face and how it was comforting. The moment passes and they are gone and her likeness is gone and I'm left there alone as before. It's in those moments when I miss her the most. After she first died what I missed most was her voice. Maybe because most of my interaction with her was over the phone but the idea of never hearing her again was heart wrenching. Now, it's all about the touch. I long for her hugs, for her face, for her hands.

I'm desperately dreading mother's day. I've been dreading it since she died in December but now, it's just everywhere. The other day in the supermarket I stopped in the card section to pick up some birthday cards and glanced up at rows and rows of mother's day cards. And right there I nearly fell to my knees with grief. Sure, I have people I can buy cards for, but it's not the same thing. My mother is gone.

I was also reading a book by Mitch Albom called "For One More Day". It's a book about a man who is in a bad place in his life and he goes back to his childhood home to commit suicide. When he gets home he finds his mother, who has been dead quite some time, there in the old house. He has interactions with her as if she were still alive and they spend one last day together. In the book he quite simply and heartbreakingly explains what it's like to lose a mother. I was reading at the play scape while the kids were jumping about and one line in particular talks about how after you lose your mom you are not privy to using that word ever again in referral to someone. That word, that one powerful word that you called out in pain or happiness as a child is now gone forever. Again, I started to cry because I never thought of that before. I have not called anyone "mom" in nearly five months now and I miss it.

I've decided to continue to buy a mother's day card for her and I will call her mom and write down how very much I love and miss her. I will write her name on it and address it to heaven. Because the fact that she isn't here does not mean that I should not continue to honor her and remember how much she means to me this mother's day and every year after.

Mother Of The Year

I'm a shoo in...

for mother of the year. Need an example of why? This morning I was in the bathroom putting on my make-up and in the mirror I could see Bear standing at the tub with my mostly-gone tub of dollar store coconut body butter. She was dipping her chubby little fingers into the lotion and rubbing it all over her arms, legs and face. I should have gone over and taken it away from her. That's what a reasonable mother would have done. But me? I'm thinking, hey..she's quiet and under supervision (mostly). Plus, she will be thoroughly moisturized and smell like a giant coconut. It's a win-win.

In The Efforts Of A Tight Ass

Monday I decided to complete my circle of fitness by taking a body sculpting class. It focuses on strength training with weights in order to sculpt a tight hard body while still looking feminine. Now I do running, spinning, sculpting, swimming and yoga. Nobody could ever accuse me of NOT covering my bases!

I had heard about the sculpting class from the the other women in the lockerroom. They recounting nightmarish tales of never-ending squat sessions and the occasional "I thought I was going to die" declarations. I poo-pooed their stories because they made it seem so dramatic. "It couldn't be THAT bad", I'd say in a patronizing tone. "Well, then come to class and find out", they'd challenge.

So I went for my morning jog and then stopped by the class as if it were an after thought. It started off easy, a few stretches, some ab work, a couple of balancing exercises. Then we did some arm sculpting and without notice she rounded into a 20 minute session of torturous lunges and squats! The pain started in my thighs and radiated through my hips, butt and back. At one point I looked to the woman beside me who had a devious grin on her face cause she knew I was going to punk out at any second and declare her victorious. This just made me more determined to finish the class. I bounced. I crunched. I dripped sweat from pores that had never before been opened! Afterwards, I felt terrific and when they teasingly poked fun at me in the lockerroom I wasn't lying when I said I felt great! That is until a few hours had passed...

That night I sat down to watch some TV with Howie and when it was time to go to bed I couldn't move. My legs were on fire and when I stood up they were shaking so bad I thought they were going to collapse beneath me. I grumbled and moaned as I made my way up the stairs and eased into bed. The next morning I nearly cried when I had to sit on the toilet and then I couldn't get up afterwards. I still tortured myself by hitting the gym again and doing my standard 30/30 on the eliptical and in the pool. That didn't help. I swear I must have done more damage than normal muscle toning because my thighs were red and swollen and hot to the touch. I had shooting pains in the backside of my thighs and twinges down into my feet. Luckily, my abs and arms are fine, they must have been in better shape than my lower half, which surprises me since my legs usually do most of the work. Spinning is not easy on the legs let me tell you!

Mamaw called and I lamented about the pain to which she says, "how do you get sore doing sculpting, don't you do that with your hands?" She thought I was CLAY sclupting!! It shouldn't surprise me because when I first told her about the spinnning class she totally thought I was going to a class where they were going to teach me to spin yarn!! From a spinning wheel!! Cause you know, that's all the rage these days. That and jousting!

I DID NOT attend my spinning class this morning. I tried. I got up to use the potty and could barely use my thighs to walk the 10 steps to the toilet much less do the high resistance runs required in class. If I had gone I'm pretty sure my thighs would have burst open and shreds of mangled muscle would have fallen out from the open gashes. I will be doing my yoga class tonite. I know it will be agonizing but something tells me that the stretching will help. I have another body sculpting class on friday. And by the end of the summer I will be able to crack a chestnut using nothing but my ass cheeks. Cause my ass will be toit. Hard...like rock.

Memo To Kids: April 2008

To: The Dirty-Faced Progeny
From: Yo Mama
Re: Yo mama house so dirty she has to wipe her feet before she goes outside.

Birdie:
Let me explain this to you, my child. The things that your father and I say and do are NOT to be repeated. What happens in this family stays in this family, got it? There is no reason for you to blabber everything around town. The other day at the playscape I told you to stay away from a crazy lady who was screaming dirty words at her children and looked like she was ready to shoot venom from her fangs. I specified by saying, "we don't talk to strangers and that woman does not seem very friendly." And what did you do? You turned right around, marched right over to her and said "Hi, my name is Birdie but I'm not supposed to talk to you cause you are strange and my mom says you aren't very friendly." My eyes grew two sizes and the feeling of humiliation was so strong that I KNEW I was going to die!! I turned to the mom standing beside me and asked her to rip my arm from my body because we just added the "dismemberment" clause to our death policy and knew that your dad was going to need that extra money when the poor nanny who will be watching you demands extra pay for the trouble you cause! I think that inner filter that you are supposed to have was somehow missing when you got packaged and shipped to us! You don't need to tell the neighbors that daddy walks around naked or that mommy doesn't always wear a bra! But this rule does not apply when you are a teenager and your boyfriend comes over and I tell him that you are in a bad mood cause you just got your period. That is totally kosher. Also, enough with the naked cowboy business. I took you to New York City. You got to ride the train, eat at a cool little bistro, walk down times square, gorge yourself with bags of M&Ms, watch a play on Broadway and stay out WAY past your bedtime. But what do you remember? Nothing but damn naked cowboy!!

Bubba:
Sometime during the last few months, when I wasn't looking, your testicles dropped around your ankles and you became a man. The sweet little boy who would innocently hum the alphabet song while playing with his teddy bear is all gone. The other day you tried to burp the alphabet, with vibrato. Then you asked me to pull your finger and beat me to the punch by letting out a monstrous explosion from your butt which made the windows rattle and the floor shake. Plus, you are also completely fascinated with my boobs and ass! I totally blame your father for this because when he comes home he sneaks up behind me as I'm standing at the kitchen sink and wraps his arms around to cup both of my boobs while simultaneously dry humping me and biting my neck. Yeah, I know...a great example. I was unstrapping you from your car seat the other day and you gave me a sly little smile and reached out and honked my knockers and when I jumped back in shock and disgust you chuckled so hard your little body was shaking. Then when I was talking on the phone you stood in front of me innocently with a cute little smile. I wasn't paying attention as your eyes drifted down the front of my shirt. It wasn't until you wanted a better look and reached out to pull my shirt open and shoot your grubby little hand down into my bra. It's totally incestuous and it creeps me out! At any moment I expect you to wink at me an make a *click* sound with your tongue before you raise your eyebrows up and down and say, "hey baybee, how you doin'?" *dry heaves* On another note, please stop torturing the cat. She is old and grumpy and does not like to be toyed with. You have scratches up and down both legs and arms and one of these days she is going to rip one of your eyes out and then toss it down the hall with her paws while you clutch your face and scream, "why, God, WHY???".

Bear:
I am totally convinced that Baby Einstein is crack for babies. You cannot eat your breakfast without first getting a hit of "Baby Mozart". Then you demand that "Baby Bach" be playing in the background as you attend to your morning business. Your afternoons are not complete without "Baby Noah" and if we ride in the car you start having fits of withdrawal complete with the shakes, sweats and bargaining until I let you watch "Baby Van Gogh". Sheesh, can't you just take up vodka or something. I'm sure it would be much less addictive! You are talking ALOT now and every time I walk into the room you say, "Hey Guys!" and I always look over my shoulder to make sure there's not an entourage standing over my shoulders waving at you. You also say, "want some" everytime I walk to the refrigerator and your standard answer for every question asked is and emphatic "NO!". You are also a little vegetarian. The other day when we had a picnic with the mom's club there were tons of kids sitting on blankets eating peanut butter sandwhiches and cookies and donut holes. Not you. You sat with a bowl full of edamame shoving handfuls into your mouth until you looked like a deranged chipmunk. I also want to make note that you really need to start leaving the barrets/head bands/rubber bands in your hair. It's so long that it cascades down your forehead into your eyes and I wonder how you ever see anything. Then when you eat or drink anything your hair gets sticky and sticks to your face and it takes superglue remover to get it off! So please, lets get the hair out of your face and don't give me the "but that's the style, all the other toddlers are doing it" speech again. Just because your little friends would throw themselves from the tower of the playscape doesn't mean you have to!!"




Let me sum up this month with a few words: jealous rages, naked cowboys, fighting, animal torture, boob fondling, ass grabbing and serious addictions. Man, our house sounds like a trashy airport strip club!

They Got Me Again

We have a standing rule in our house about answering the phone. The phone is not to be answered if the caller id shows the caller's number beginning with 800, 866 or 877. Because it doesn't matter how many times I register us for the do-not call list, the damn credit card company keeps calling to complain. Something about not receiving a timely payment. Blah, blah, blah. No Seriously, there are just some lists that God himself could not shake himself from. One such example is the Special Olympics. They are sneaky bastards because when they call they don't say, "hello, may I speak with Mrs. Steeler please." They say, "yo, hey is Licha around tell her Dave is calling." And then Howie hands me the phone with an accusatory look in his eyes and mouths the words "who the hell is DAVE?" As soon as I say "hello" he's all, "hey remember last year when you donated $15 to fund the Special Olympics, well because of you a young boy who lost his legs and arms to a congenital defect was able to participate and earn a red ribbon and he owes it all to you. " *sigh* "So, would you like to help another young person live out their dreams of competing in a life-changing event?". Well, shit. My inside voice is saying, "hell no, because if I donate again this year I am guaranteed to get another call from you next year and you will demand more money with your guilt trippy sales pitches." But that's my inside voice coming from my selfish, twisted and cynical brain. Outwardly I say "okay" and thump myself in my own forehead for being a gullible, spineless, tender-hearted people-pleaser.

The other charity I can never seem to turn down is our local police union. Mostly because if our alarm system were to go off in the middle of the night because a maniac has broken in and is headed upstairs to slaughter us all with a pair of rusted hedge trimmers, I don't want the police to cross-reference us with a list of generous donors and say "hell, it's just those cheap bastards down on Elm street who didn't bother to help us in our money drive this year. Lets finish our coffee and donuts before we head over to save them. Tight wads!!"

But I know their phone number and I avoid their call at all costs. Lets just say if the phone was ringing and I had the choice between picking it up or being mauled by a pack of wild wolves I would seriously have to think about it. So you can imagine my frustration the other day when our babysitter picked up the phone when the police union called and said, "oh yes, she's right here." I knew who it was on the other line and time stopped and then went in slow motion as she handed me the phone. They got me. Again. This time for $25.00 but it was balanced out by the fact that they were offering tickets to a concert featuring The Regents . Not that I'm into that type of music but I knew that Mamaw would be over the moon to attend such an event. So Howie and I are taking her out tonite to listen to the delights of "Barbara Ann" and "Runaround" blaring in the high school auditorium.

And the babysitter? Well, she will be tending the children for free, or at least she better be. After all, she's the one that got me into this mess in the first place!!

I Think I Need Adult Diapers

It's been a busy few days. Thursday I woke up at 4:30am and didn't stop moving until 9:30pm. And then I crash landed across my bed with my shoes still on. But that was okay because Bubba woke me up 2 hours later and it was a good thing I still had my shoes on because I had to run out and get him medicine at 3 in the morning. He had a cough and was a little feverish.

We've all been a little under the weather. My allergies kicked into full swing yesterday when the temperature reached 70 degrees. It's like a twisted joke that the weather would be so beautiful and the only way I can enjoy it, if only slightly, is by enduring a runny nose, itchy eyes and constant sneezing. The sneezing has taught me a lesson, though. Apparently, I need to tone up my kegal muscules because I peed my pants...TWICE! I was thinking to myself that I need to be sure to give my ol' kegals a workout one of these days and wondered how funny it would be if I stood in the middle of the cardio room at the gym with my arms spread while squinting my eyes as I tightened my pee muscles and people would ask what the heck I was doing and I would reply, "oh, I'm strengthening my hoo ha muscles and soon they are going to be able to bench press 300 pounds and pull a small truck across a 100 foot obstacle course." And then I started cracking up at the thought of the YMCA offering a "Kegal" class alongside the spinning, aerobics and yoga classes. Do you think they would look at me funny if I suggested this at the front desk?

But I did enjoy the nice day. I took the kids outside and let them frolick in the leaves and dig for bugs and throw rocks into the woods. The only one who wasn't having a good time was Spencer. I swear the sunshine is cryptonite to that damn dog because at my suggestion of his napping on the warm deck he ran and hid in the corner. I had to pull him up and drag him across the kitchen and he still threw a fit so finally I had to hold a gun to his head and threaten to feed him Mamaw's leftovers.

And speaking of Mamaw. Remember when I told you I was going to make her a cake for her birthday? Well, I told her this and she brought over a cake mix and frosting so that I wouldn't have to run to the store. I made the cake and started frosting the two parts together and licked my fingers and the frosting was the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted and I was all, what the hell kind of frosting is this (it had no label) and she says, "why is it bad? I was worried about that cause it's about 5 years old!" I immediately started to scrape it off but she told me to leave it there, she would eat it. And she did. The WHOLE cake! Then she had the gauld to accuse my homemade pizza of being the culprit of her nuclear diarrhea. Lets do the math: Nobody else who ate the pizza got sick + nobody else ate a whole cake with expired frosting = Mamaw is a loony.

Howie comes home tonite, well technically tomorrow. He arrives at midnight. He says the conference has him beat. He's been in Vegas for 6 days and says he only saw the light of day once that entire time! They took them out to see the Blue Man Group and Circque Du Soleil but he slept through them both. Probably because neither one of them featured nekked women girating and slithering along a pole. *snicker* I'll say this for sure; I have a whole new respect and adoration for single mothers and people like Mapletree (aka woman with nerves of steel). How they deal with raising 3 or more children on their own as a full time gig is beyond me. Kudos to all of you because after a week alone I was ready to stand on the corner of the nearest highway and start tossing the children into open car windows as they wizzed by.

*Scratch*
*Wheeze*
*Sniff*
*Sneeze*

Well, shit. I guess I better go change my pants...again! If any of you truly love me you will drop by with a basket full of Claratin D and adult diapers :-)

Little Miss Muffet

As told by Bubba...

"Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet, eating her "turds" and whey. When along came a spider, and sat down beside her, and frightened Miss Muffet away.


Cause you know, whey just isn’t whey without a side of turds!

The Green Eyed Monster

The other day I took the kids to the library. I was standing there trying to keep Bear from biting through a stack of magazines while simultaneously reminding Birdie that a library is not the place where you should declare "my butt itches" and then commence a dig in your underpants while sticking your tongue out and grunting. A couple of other mother's came in, one of which was my friend Lysa and another mom from the mom's club. It wasn't even an official mom's club type playdate but when you live in a small town and it's raining outside, it's not a far stretch to assume that you will run into other mom's who are just as desperate as you to get the hell out of the house called Dodge.

Sarah had her baby girl with her, who is just about a couple of months old. In other words, still super tiny but not so tiny or fragile that you wonder whether her bones are made of jello. She was not making things easy for her flustered mother who was trying to entertain her big brother. It's been a long time since I held a tiny baby so I squirted my hands with Purell and offered to hold Evie to which Sarah responded with a look of complete adoration and relief. I scooped Evie up and couldn't believe how small she was and how much she smelled like a brand new baby doll. She snuggled her head right into the crook of my elbow and let out a baby gurgle and I swear to God I felt my milk let down which is strange cause I haven't breastfed in nearly a year! But that sensation, it's so strong and overwhelming. I could feel the pounding in my breasts as I swayed her back and forth until she fell asleep.

She was sleeping peacefully when Bear paused momentarily from her tower of leggos and caught a quick glimpse of me fornicating in all sorts of ways with a child that was NOT her! She lept up and raced across the room leaving a trail of books, puzzle pieces and gold fish crackers behind her and when she reached me immediately started to scream and attempt to climb up my legs. "NO! What the hell do you think you are doing? You are mine, for me, as in nobody else better come near you or else I will bite through their jugular and tear shreds of skin from their faces. Put her down, now, I said NOW!!!!"

Okay, so she's only 17 months old and couldn't say all that but she was screaming and shaking and pounding her fists. And a stream of "words" was spewing from her tiny little mouth and I couldn't understand what she was saying but I'm pretty sure it was laced with profanity. Evie, like most second children, was oblivious to the commotion so I put her in her car seat and turned my attention to Bear. The veins in her face were protruding from her forehead and she was sweating profusely. And I thanked GOD that she is my last child because if I had the audacity to try for another one, I have a sneaking suspicion she would break into their room at night and smother them with her Care Bear!

Pure Debauchery

Howie left for Vegas this morning for his annual business conference. Last year it was Disney World, this year Vegas. I desperately wanted to go with him but I’m holding out for a European conference cause how shinit would THAT be? *fondles passport* Last night when he was packing his stuff he was lamenting about having to go. "I’m going to miss you Sooo much", he says. While I’m sure that’s true I’m sure he’ll get over it as soon as he rounds the corner into the casino and hears the dinging of endless miles of slot machines, black jack tables and roulette wheels. His eyes will gloss over and drool will start to drip from his lips as he makes his way, zombie like, to the first machine that gives him the come hither look. That and the tits. If Vegas is plentiful in anything, it’s tits. Tits in the casino, in the bars, in the showrooms, at the pool, dripping out of the tanktops of slutty tourists living out their "Girls Gone Wild" fantasies. And it struck me. I need to sex the man up TONITE! I’m not going to send him into the battlefield of topless dancers and legal prostitution with a loaded weapon. No sir! *checks breath*

So now I’m alone with the kids and really it’s not a big deal. I’m used to being alone with the trio of trouble. But for the couple of bewitching hours in the evening when Howie lends a helping hand, I’m flying solo. My plan is to lock them in their rooms while I down a bottle of chianti. But don’t worry. I’m totally going to make sure they have a pair of scissors, a bottle of liquid drano and a box of matches to entertain themselves. Cause I’m a good mother after all. I thought about bringing Mamaw over to help me out but seriously the woman can sometimes be more trouble than it’s worth. The other day she had Birdie trying to bust into the child protective cabinets to get a bottle of Cascade and I’m all, dude...the whole point of the child protective locks is so that they WON’T get into that shit! "Well, if it weren’t so hard to get into, I wouldn’t need help!" That’s when I picked my nose and flicked it in her coffee but I totally did it incogneto cause even though she’s blind she’s got extra super senses that know when I so much as roll my eyes at her! It’s really creepy the stuff she knows! She is coming over on Tuesday night so she can be with the kids for my ass crack of dawn spinning class Wednesday morning. Plus, I wanted her to come over so I can make her a birthday cake. She turns 59 this week and she’s already chanting the likes of 60 being the new 20!

In all honesty, I’m quite looking forward to having my evenings to myself. I’m going to watch marathons of chick flicks and give myself a home-made manicure and pedicure. Then I will eat a whole tub of chocolate chip cookie dough IN BED and wax my upper lip. Pure debauchery I tell ya. I’m also going to stay up crazy late (translation: 9:00pm) and talk on the phone to my girlfriends and finish "A Measure Of A Man" by Sidney Poitier. And then I will crawl in bed and wish that Howie was there with me cause even though when he’s home I sometimes want to shove my fingers up his nostrils to cut off his air supply, I totally don’t know how to be away from him for very long and I’ll miss him like crazy!

The Lost Tampon

I’m going to preface by saying right now that if you have a penis you should probably exit this blog PDQ. This blog is intended for readers of the female persuasion and if you continue and are confused and a little mentally scarred at the end, please don’t come whining to me cause I TOLD YOU SO!!!! So, if you have chest hair (except for Sandy), please go do something useful like scratching your junk. If you have ever menstruated, I apologize for the delay and on to the regulary scheduled blog...

I’ve lost countless things in my lifetime; toys, books, homework, jewelry, purses, money and most recently my mind. Actually, it was losing something else that finally caused me to lose my mind. You see, of all the things I have lost, I never imagined that I could ever lose a tampon. And I’m not talking about, I had one in my pocket and suddenly it disappeared, there must be a tampon-napper on the loose. I’m talking about *ahem*, lost the g-damn tampon after I put it where I thought was a safe place.

I got up early to do a full hour in the pool. I went pee-pee, did my business, got dressed, packed my bag and headed to the Y. I had woken up a little bit late and I was in a hurry but I’m sure I wouldn’t forget something as important as feminine hygiene. So off I went. Dum de dum. After the work-out I took a shower and got dressed all the while talking to a friend of mine so I wasn’t really paying attention to what I did or how or anything. I quick put my clothes on and left so that I could be home in time to get Bubba dressed and fed and on the bus.

After most of my morning to-dos I decided to go to the bathroom and change my business. But my business (a.k.a. the tampon) was MISSING! And I did what any person who has lost something does, I retraced my steps. But it’s not like I had it tucked under my arm and just happened to set it down somewhere, clearly the number of places it could have gone was limited!

I started to freak out. And I’m thinking to myself, what the hell happened to it?? Did I put it in to begin with? Yes, most definitely. Did it fall out?? Nah, I’m pretty sure I would have felt that. But it didn’t stop me from hyperventilating over the idea of it escaping!!! OMG, just kill me now!!!

I called my friend, Lysa. Cause I needed moral support and the conversation went something like this:
"OMFG Lysa, I lost my Tampon".
"Um, who is this?"
"Bitch, please. I’m freaking out over here!"
"*giggles* what did you do??"
"I don’t know, but I think I lost my tampon and I don’t know where it what the heck do I do?"
"Holy shit, you really lost it??"
"YEEEEESSS!"
"Okay, okay, do you feel it?"
*thinking really hard* "Nope!"
"Did you feel around for it?"
"Yes."
"How well?"
"Pretty damn well"
"Shit! Well, go check again!"
*checks* (just so you know, it’s a true test of friendship when your friend will sit on the line encouraging you while you dig for tampons)

By this point my heart was pounding in my chest and I just new I was going to end up in the emergency room with toxic shock syndrome. In fact, I could totally feel it setting in.

Symptoms
Feeling faint (check)
High fever (*wips sweat from my brow* check)
Muscle aches (*rubs shoulder* check)
Confusion (huh? check)
Fatigue, weakness, heavy breathing (check, check, check)

OH MY GOD. I’m going to DIE!!!!!!

I was just about to jump in the car and head to the emergency room when I decided I needed to pee and thought I would check again. And wouldn’t you know it *chorus of Allelujia in the background* I found the stupid tampon. It was there the whole time. Hiding. Mocking me.

I swear, sometimes being a woman S to the U to the CKS!

I have NEVER had this happen to me before! Is this common? Has this happened to any of you? Any embarassing stories to tell??

Hoochie Mama

I think I was 9 or 10 when I officially got boobs. It's sad that I don't remember because that means it's been THAT long ago. I hated them cause they developed very quickly and were so glaringly obvious that everyone couldn't help but notice which made me completely self conscious. It wasn't until I was a teenager that I felt comfortable with the twins, but even still, I wasn't always comfortable in my own skin. Nowadays, I consider them a blessing, a couple of warriors who have charged through the battles of breastfeeding, engorgement and ill fitting bras.

I'm so proud in fact, that I don't mind wearing low cut shirts that show them off just a tad. Nothing inappropriate or Fredericks of Hollywood, just a little something low in the neckline that might show off a flash or two of boobage.

Apparently, this display has not been lost on Birdie cause the other day I noticed she was walking around the house with her shoulders pressed together looking like some sort of deformed creature and I was all what the heck are you doing? To which she swung around proudly and says "look at my boobs"!! She was pressing her chest together to form cleavage that poured out of her tank top.

She's 5! Okay, she'll be 6 next month but still. I didn't think girls would be into this kind of stuff till at least 10!!! She's supposed to be thinking only of Barbies and princesses! And then I felt bad cause I thought that she was doing this because I had been a bad example by wearing low cut shirts and showing off the tits. What kind of a hoochie mama am I??? But then I remember that I never dress trashy, am always tasteful and am proud of how I look and there is nothing wrong with feeling good about yourself. Maybe because I set the example of being happy with my body, Birdie won't feel like I did, guilty and embarrassed, when she starts to sprout little buds of her own. Maybe she'll be excited and proud and walk tall.

I've always wondered how I would teach my daughters to be proud of their bodies and love themselves and I realized today that the best way to do it is to love myself!