United States of Motherhood: August 2007

Friday, August 24, 2007

Marital Secrets: My Bed Sheets are Sand Dunes

Ahhhemm...cough....cough....{nervously clearing throat}

I have a secret that I think I might just share in this post. I know. I know. What could I possibly be secretive about, eh? No, it's not anything to do with blogging on the toilet again. We'll see how it goes.

Let's start with some background. I grew up in a family where sex was openly discussed. Everyone knew my parents did it like bunnies. Even though they are Mormon, bawdy humor wasn't totally frowned upon. My brother walked in on my Mom on top and was never the same. All the kids knew what a locked bedroom door meant and, damn, that door was locked A LOT!

My paternal grandparents, not Mormon, were bawdy and sometimes even openly frisky. Grandpa had a handmade waterfall with the water coming out of a dirty old man's penis. It was wonderful to see my 80-something 6'4" grandfather still pinching my 4"11" grandmother's tush. They obviously were still in love and showed public affection all the time. It was pretty much assumed they had a pretty healthy sex life. So, when I was a bit older, I was surprised to realize they had separate twin beds, somewhat like June Cleaver's world.

Let's fast forward to my college years. I was pretty interested in sex, but held to my values of waiting for marriage. That lasted about 1 month after I met my future husband. Suddenly, we were doing it like bunnies on crack and I have the dropped GPA (before CG, Berkeley G.P.A.: 3.875; Semester after CG: 3.3 and one incomplete) and 7 month pregnancy upon graduation. Ooops!

So, fast-forward to today. I always thought I would be like my parents and grandparents. I would love sex. I would be the energizer bunny and luckily have a mate that felt the same.
I was right on one part. I have a mate that is always ready, but me? Meh! I have the sex drive of a turnip and it's been that way since I was 25 years old.

There was one time in our marriage that there was a FOUR month dry period--not including the six months when he was deployed where it wasn't missed. Luckily, I have a super-fantastic husband who was understanding. If it had been on the other shoe, I would have felt insulted, hurt, who knows...

I have asked for help over the years from doctors, but they always would say "You're tired. It will come back!" or "It's the Anemia. Your periods are doing a number on your body." or "Pregnancies do a number on your body. It will get better. You'll see." Or lately, "Sometimes, that's just the way it is. Unfortunately, they haven't done a lot of research for women."

I went to friends and a sister with healthy sex lives for help, but nothing helped. My sister is one of those multi-orgasmic creatures with a super healthy sex drive. Sometimes I wonder if she used up the sex drive juices before I was born.

I kept hoping that I would hit my sexual prime in my mid-thirties like everyone says, but nope. Nada. Zilch!

Funnily enough, I think I have finally put my finger on my dysfunction. I am sexually bi-polar. I have periods of euphoria when the bunny comes back 3-4 nights in a row followed by weeks of numbness, depression, nothingness in the sexual department. CG tries and I can't even wrap my head around it. He gets shut down.

Let's return to the sleeping situation of my grandparents. Were they fronting? Well, here comes my secret.

I sleep on the downstairs couch more often than I sleep with my husband.

It's not that I don't love my husband. It's not that I don't want to sleep next to my life partner. The answer is complex:

I have a terrible back. After multiple injuries in the army and as a Mommy, my back is just screwy. My muscles have torqued my hips, so one side is an inch higher and an inch more forward than the other. I have sciatica that has in the past forced me to crawl on my hands and knees up the stairs. Six months of twice weekly physical therapy only helped until the benefits ran out. I have bad days and good days, and the good days come from sleeping alone on the couch. I am a physical, restless sleeper and fighting for pillows, blankets and the sagging middle of the mattress leaves me in pain and exhausted when I sleep with CG in our bed.

Coupled with this is my need to have light and noise to fall asleep while CG must have absolute silence and a darkened, womb-like room. I need the TV on. He can't sleep with even the bathroom light on. We've tried various headphones or lowered volumes, but I have a hearing loss that makes that difficult to impossible as a compromise.

Then, there's the open window CG must have, no matter the weather, which makes me shiver and dream of break-ins. Oh, and let's not forget he tucks in the end of the bedsheets and comforter while I need my legs free to constantly move about in the elusive hope of finding a comfortable spot for my back.

Finally, comes in the sex, or lack of... If I sleep downstairs, CG is less likely to try to get busy and then I am less likely to have to hurt his feelings and shut him down. So, dear readers, I am beginning to understand the twin beds of yesteryear.

BUT! Fucking Hell! I am not 80 years old.

Then, yesterday, I heard of a study that 73 percent of 60-80 year olds are having sex and even more are masturbating and, of those active, most were having sex 2-3 times a month. Fucking bloody hell. I am worse than an eighty year old. I am at a loss as to what to do.

There are times when I wonder why CG doesn't get frustrated. What's in it for him in this marriage? I don't know how I have gotten so lucky to have a husband that doesn't stray. There are times when I get so depressed about this that I think I wouldn't blame him. Yet, he knows that cheating, of all things, would hurt me the most and kill our marriage.

I wonder if it has to do with my terrible self-image? I hate the way I look so why should he find me desirable. CG assures me he finds me sexy, but the 60 lbs. I have put on since we were married takes it's toll on my self-worth. I can't stand looking at myself in a mirror, seeing myself in most photographs, so having someone else see me at my most vulnerable is a problem. Yet, even at my thinest, I have had this lack of sexual desire. I just want to shake myself and say snap out of it!

So, we plod on in a marriage where he sleeps alone most nights. I have become the couch potato downstairs. And I curse the stars for what has become of me! Last night, I had one of those bi-polar euphoric moments when I finally felt a glimmer and rushed upstairs to spend the night in my marital bed and in CG's arms. It was wonderful. But, will these glimmers be enough to satisfy CG? What about me?

So, I come to you, dear reader, for help? Has this happened to you? What can be done? Am I the worst wife in the world?

Should I fake it? Do you think it will ever come? Am I doomed to having the sexual desire of a gnat? How abnormal is this?

Have my physical sleep needs doomed me to miss those euphoric moments because I am sleeping on the couch? Any husband out there experiencing the same? Is 1-3 times a month enough?


Sunday, August 19, 2007

Troll Dildos: Mother Nature is So Dirty

So, don't ever say Mother Nature doesn't have a sense of humor. How about these 'shrooms? Brings new meaning to fun-gi, eh?

As seen on our hike in the Mt. Rainier National Park on the,
no joke, Wonderland trail.

Don't these remind you of something?

Did I mention our hike was to an area on the map called "Paradise"
with copious, gushing falls?

I feel all "puckered" up with laughter myself! I know I'm being juvenile. Who cares!

P.S. The Park Rangers there seem to have a sense of humor themselves:

Weeeee'rrrrreee Back

We went on a fun, fun, fun camping trip to Mt. Rainier this weekend, hence no posts and visits to all your blogs. We spent our time on death march hikes and ogling the splendiferous nature.

Now I'm too cranky after cleaning all the camping gear to wax romantically. I think I need some time to gain prospective. Perhaps clear the fog from my mind after sleeping with a root in my back one night and a deluge of rain the next.

We won't discuss the rolling to the corner of the tent because of the dramatic grade of our tent. Nor the velcro sticking my head to my sleeping bag. Not even the blisters will we discuss. Nope, we'll keep mum, meditate a lot, and glamorize our fabu trip in the morning, 'kay?

I'm positive tomorrow will make camping seem all butterflies and sunshine (which it was) marred by the boys rolling in mud on a short stop on the way home. They rode home in their underwear because I refused to let the mud-caked shoes and splattered clothes in my car. Mean mommy.

A friend (and Eldest's best friends) caught us as we just arrived home. His friends barrelled into the car and Eldest met his consequences in being humiliated while in his Power Ranger underoos. Maybe he'll stop and think next time he rolls in mud, eh? Nah! I doubt it. He's had a series of consequences since we've been home. I can't say the other two are much better. Need to take deep breaths.

Ah, the great outdoors!

Friday, August 17, 2007

LOVE is a Battlefield

Nope it's not our anniversary. It's not his birthday. I just felt the need to give a holla to CG.

You rock. You bought me Funyans for camping. You bought me cream for the coffee you made me. You eat all my leftover frosting after I eat the cake.You gave me three gorgeous kids, a bee-u-tiful house, a bitchin' SUV, and the best monkey...

BUT! Best of all, you helped me finally finish spreading out that amazing pile of bark the neighbors have been oogling, landscapers have been trying to steal, and of which required me to climb over to get to my car. It's gone. Even though I bitched and complained the whole time, you continued to haul load after load. You even vacuumed the remnants from the drive. You rock! I knew there was a reason I married you:

Pigment-ly Challenged

I grew up in a family as a fair, blue-green eyed, blond haired, freckled little girl amongst olive skinned, dark hair and brown eyed kids. See pale kid=1. Tanned, brunettes=5. Somewhere along the way, my older siblings convinced me I was adopted. It was believable since I looked nothing like anybody in my immediate family. They also had this lovely jingle from a soda company they would sing to torment me:

"I am a pepper. You're a pepper. She's a pepper, but you're a (with much revulsion) salt."

Truth be told, it never made me sad to look different from my family and my mom assured me that I looked like the Utah Mormon side of the family. What I didn't like were the constant burns. My mom never used sun screen to my knowledge on any of us kids. Can we say that I am a walking skin cancer waiting to happen. I burned so many times as a kid.

There was one time where I spent seven hours on a lake water-skiing. I burnt so badly my face swelled. My nose peeled every night for over a year. The dermatologist said I had damaged the lower dermis. Lovely. While my sisters slathered themselves with Crisco (no joke) on the roof of our house, I spent my teenage years perfecting my green hue, wearing black and coming out only at night.

So fast-forward to today, I gave birth to two "salts" and one "pepper." I am always faithful about slathering my fair-skinned boys with sun block. We even had a scare with my Eldest with skin cancer. Yet, I neglect my little pepper. She has never burned. Ever! Okay, in Florida, while we were moaning all night in pain from the burn we got after swimming our sun screen off in the ocean, she turned a slight flushed pink. See no burn.

While she doesn't burn, she tans like crazy. That said, I am sure she's just as easily could get skin cancer that runs in the family. I feel terribly guilty and some times in awe of how quickly she tans. Case in point, three days ago she played with the neighborhood kids in front yard in a new tankini (while the boys brains were melting slowly while playing our new Wii) for hours. No sunscreen? Yep. Burn? No. Crazy killer tan? You be the judge:

Do you see that line on her tummy? That was done in one afternoon. Thank God we swim indoors year-round. Yup, this is a pin up Mommy of the Year moment:

Most likely to give my daughter skin cancer. Woot!

Thursday, August 16, 2007

I Bought it On eBay

Ahhh...another year rolls by. Eldest is officially eleven and he's got the eye roll to prove it:

I'm shocked at how fast he's growing up. He's getting so tall and so gangly. One nice thing is that, despite the quarrels, the kids continue to love each other:

Along with the Wii, I forgot to mention that we did give Eldest some redeeming birthday gifts? He received an actual book (you know--the kind with pages that he won't look at now we have a Wii?), a bookmark, and a book light.

Then there was one gift left. Along came the best gift of all in my opinion. I bought tickets for us all to go to the Puyallup State Fair. Yee-haw! The last time I was at a fair, I learned that pigs have corkscrew penises and got ejaculate on my jeans for my edification.

So, what makes this fair cool is Weird Al's corkscrew-y hair. Yep, we are going to see Weird Al Yankovitch in concert at the fair. {Shaking my head}

In my world before kids, Al would not have been a concert I would have been caught dead at--not enough black, Doc Martens, and morose depression. Now, I look forward to his eBay jingles. Eldest is a fan of the Star Wars song above as well, which is what spurred this purchase. I'm partial to Candian Idiot, White & Nerdy, and this classic:

Yes, it seems like only yesterday I was eleven and listening to Weird Al and now it's something we can share as a family.

Happy Birthday, Alley Cat. I'm so glad you made me a Mommy.

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Bloody, Bloody Gas Guzzlers & Gaming Woes

Yesterday, I visited my favorite budget buster, Costco, once again. It's been one of those months where I spent more at Costco that some third world countries pay for educating women.

Ack! Usually I would laugh at my joke, but all I feel like doing is cringing. You see, I caved. It's Eldest's birthday coming up and I did what I said I would never do. I forced CG to make a marital promise to never do what I did. Yep people, I caved chose to be nominated as the most perfect mommy in the whole wide world by purchasing a Wii.

Ack again! I'm still cringing. At least, I try to convince myself that the kids have to stand up and move around. It won't contribute to childhood obesity. It may suck most of the gray matter between their eyes out their open, drooling mouths, but hey, they won't get fat!

After rushing down to get one of the last three machines (a whole pallet had been delivered that morning--damn, this machine is still hott!), all the young adult Costco checkers coveted it. One twenty-something lovingly stroked the package.

"Ohh, I want of those!"

"Me too!"

One checker, sensing my pain and hypocrisy at buying this device of evil, assured me that her friends come in to work sore all the time . She always thinks it's a night of drinking. Nope, she said, they were sore from bowling on the Wii all night.

See, I am saving my children from irresponsible binge drinking by getting this Wii. Who knows?

PB could have turned out like Lindsay Lohan!

Eldest could have taken Robert Downey Jr.'s rocky path.

Yet, I super mommy, have saved the day. I deserve a freaking medal. I am a freaking hero!Eldest has thanked me at least six times in the past hour. Boy howdy is he happy. Boy howdy, I feel like a dingleberry.

Coupled with this purchase, I filled my gas guzzling SUV with $80 of gas yesterday. We then went on our merry way to shop for school supplies and clothing. When I came out to the parking lot after spending a small fortune, we drove on to Target. I suddenly realized my full gas tank registered only 1/4 of a tank. What the fuck!

I suddenly remember that I have heard people have been siphoning gas in the area. Shit! I called CG to lament about the injustice and the feeling of being violated. I was incredibly pissed and let everyone in Target know as I moaned into my cell phone.

We purchased yet more supplies with lots of swearing about the ridiculous school supplies list and the ever-elusive 12 count crayons. Ten? Yes. Sixteen? Yes. Twelve? No where to be found at either Target or Staples. Then, off we went with a car full of sharpies, anti-bacterial wash, and Crayola goods up the whazoo, but sadly not full of gas.

But wait! What? My gas gauge suddenly registered 3/4 of a tank. Then it went back to 1/2. What the heck? Realization dawned that my gas WAS NOT siphoned. My gas gauge was just broken. What relief! What satisfaction. Why is it I felt more upset about someone stealing $60 of gas from me than the possibility of hundreds of dollars to repair my car? Who knows! I never claimed that I was a logical person.

Monday, August 13, 2007

Naked Guy: Where Art Thou?

When I went to Berkeley, we had this total waste of DNA called the "Naked Guy." You might remember him? He got national coverage on all the networks for attending classes all year naked. Nope, he wasn't all that that either. Sigh. Why is it always the gnarly ones that decide to fore go the clothing?

He ended up being expelled for, of all things, sexual harassment. There wasn't a rule against walking naked on campus. Jeez! Silly campus administrators never thought someone would do this?! So they said putting his bare parts where other girls had to sit promoted a threatening environment. Ha! Hygienically challenged? Yes! Threatened? Uh, no!

Naked Guy was rather underwhelming in all departments if you know what I mean. I walked into him one hot afternoon off campus in his perky gym shoes and socks and thought that sun block would be a good idea, but you wouldn't need much. I'm sure he didn't get much play for advertising his inadequate wares. He actually dated the older sister of a good friend from college. On that national TV program, he dropped her very unusual name so her parent's could be proud. So considerate.

So, Isabel from Seattle Mom Blogs saw a naked guy on a bike in Seattle this weekend.

Naked Biker at Critical Mass in San Francisco: Maybe the Naked Guy's on a Bike Tour?

It made me think: Where did that dagnab Naked Guy go? Was that him at Critical Mass? Anyone know? Now that I think about, maybe that was the Naked Guy that Isabel saw? Naked Guy, where art thou? Here's one rolling out to you from the Gym Class Heroes titled appropriately, "Clothes Off:"

Saturday, August 11, 2007

Effing Gardening

So about 3 months late, our back garden is really shaping up. We cinched down some cypress trees in the back today that have been leaning over since this winter's wind storm. We cleaned up the flower beds and put a king's ransom (well over $300) in flowers which will probably die in less than two months, but hey, I'm worth it.

We are also almost 1/2 way through 12 cubic yards of bark. Only about another bajillion wheelbarrows loads left. And oh yeah, CG almost cut off his middle right finger with a chain saw. Yep, the middle finger. He actually had a nasty gash on another knuckle and felt the blade on the finger. {Gasp} I try to insert humor at that point because CG's quite green. He's running around the back garden like a chicken with his head cut off.

I say sparklingly, "Don't do that. You need that hand for computing. It pays the mortgage."

Eldest, cuing in for the need for distraction says, "Yeah, how will you say eff you to people without that finger."

Lovely! So glad my mens' priorities are straight. I wonder when CG's been using that finger? Tsk. Tsk. The things we teach our kids.

Besides that, everything is rosy. Enjoy the pics of flowers from our garden before Autumn comes or someone loses an eye. Gardening is effing dangerous, don't you know!?

Note: CG let me know my photos looked all effed up in Firefox. It looks fine in Internet Exploder. Come my viral Freeware Vixens to the Dark Side. Chant with me:

Bill is Best! Bill is Best! Bill is Best! Bill is Best! Bill is Best!

Don't want to pander to the God of the Internetz? Okay, well it looks even better on Feedburner. So, push that orange button on my side bar and subscribe away.

Friday, August 10, 2007

Surfing Over Glass Houses

Dearest White Tahoe Driving Mommy in the Issaquah Costco parking lot,

I would like to thank you for the copious bumper stickers with which you have decorated your delicious SUV.

I appreciated the reading material while being stuck with melting ice cream, bored kids, and wilting salad bags in the Costco parking lot queue.

Also, without these, I would never have known the vital information that you LOVE surfing (although you must not get much play in SEATTLE); you heart Hawaii; surfer girls do it better; you heart Jerry bears, the Grateful Dead, and Harley Davidson.

Even your license plate made reference to your love of surfing. Gee, without that, I really wouldn't have been sure if you really like surfing.

You even were so original as to put that humdinger, "Mean People Suck" and the Darwin Fish on the back. Wow! It's great to know you through your bumper stickers. I haven't seen this many since walking on Telegraph Avenue.

In all, I counted over 50 stickers. The best was by far the "Visualize Using Your Turn Signal." I considered writing you a thank you note for chastising all those inconsiderate Seattle drivers out there. That one was priceless:

I almost missed it as you suddenly turned left--without using
your @#$%R#$%^& signal.

As I went around your hypocritical rear-end, I saw I had missed the pleasure of even more original stickers on your side.

May I suggest another more appropriate one about people in glass houses?

No Sarcasm Here,


Call Me Super Mommy: I Took the Money Update

This Pin Up Mommy really screwed the pooch on this one:

Li'l Man comes to me after breakfast with pleading eyes.

"Can I? Mom?" He asks while waving his DS.

Ha! Now I can get him. Let him know the power of the greenback.

I put my hand out and say with sparkling smile, "That'll cost you ten dollars, my man."

Even more perky back, he squeeks with glee, "Oh, alright!" He scampers upstairs to his room.

Ha! He won't ask so easily next time... All the sudden, he is at my side with ten bucks. "Wuh?"

"Here you go." He immediately starts to play said DS at the kitchen table.

Who knew Li'l Mr. Moneybags had so much money. No idea where he got it. Maybe a five finger discount from PB? Birthday money never spent? Disneyworld spending allowance? He usually hordes and never wants to spend money.

Wow! I don't know how long I am going to let this play out, but Mama needs a new pair o' shoes. I figure he must be good for another $10 or so...

Eldest comes screaming into the kitchen. "Is it true? Can I really pay to play my DS?"

Shit. I've created monsters. Thanks God PB doesn't like electronic games or all my kids' brains would turn to putty. I need them sharp, with high paying careers, so they can keep me in the style of which I want to be accustomed.

Maybe I'll start paying them with their own money to read books. OOhhhh... I know. I can be one of those Mommies that pay for grades. That'll get them in the spirit of learning. Gah!

Thursday, August 9, 2007

I Took The Money

Life's so hard. I think it's time for a Pinup Mommy of the Year Award:

Li'l Man comes running up to me after a dinner of cold cereal with the rest of the half 'n half.

Sounding like a little Bob Barker, he presents, "Mom! I'll give you this $10." He waves it madly over his head.

"Why?" Very suspiciously.

"I'll give you $10 to play on my DS."

Considering I would have said yes anyway, I considered it easy money. I can be bought.

Sure I'll take your $10. You can always make it back by not whining. God! I am raising a Republican.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to bid on some shoes on ebay.

Want to Read It From The Beginning?

For a limited time only, to celebrate my 35th birthday and coincidentally, hitting the 3500 visitors mark, the entirety of my blog, in all it's inane blathering glory, is all on one page.

*Read how it started (CG's a story thief).

*Discover how really crazy I am when it comes to roadkill

*See pictures of my disgustingly cute urchins

*Hear about my in-laws

*Hear in minute detail how much my period sucks

*See how limitless-ly I despise Hillary Clinton

*Find out about my Mormon childhood and why I'm agnostic now...

*Discover how many ridiculous typos ONE sleep deprived, bitchalicious mommy can make on a blog

Come one, come all to the conservative, but gay marriage believing, former military officer who graduated from Berkeley, Republican but agnostic, environmentally supportive, former PTA president who talks frankly about marital sex and lack thereof, mother of three's carny circus.

Tickets are FREE!

And hopefully, all the blathering doesn't freeze your hard drive.

You are SO Damn Selfish

Dearest Husband,

Today is our 129 month anniversary. I love you. I'm am still aglow on how well you nailed ... my birthday. Everyone covets my tampon holder especially.

I am however going to be brutally honest with you:

Next time you go on a business trip that requires you to wake up at THREE FUCKING KILL ME NOW THIRTY in the AM, could you PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE Turn of the device of torture we call an alarm clock before you leave?

At that time of the morning, all I can do is flail and snooze, flail and snooze. This continues for the 1 hour limit, when I can sleep again--only to forget about it in the morning. Then what happens? Well lather. Rinse. Repeat.

I am so incredibly bone tired and it's ALL YOUR FAULT for going away on a business trip, so we can pay our mortgage and buy me tampon holders and last night's pizza delivery.

By the way, you really need to ask for a raise so we can hire a house boy from a sorority to make my coffee and rub my feet while you are gone, since you're too busy to fly back 1000 miles every morning to do your husbandly duties.

Did I mention since you weren't here to make us dinner, we had to order delivery? It hurt me to do so since it is your job to make dinner most nights.

With love,

P.S. Could you be a little more considerate next time, and pre-make a weeks worth of cocktails before you go? You know how challenging my life is without my first Bloody Mary of the day. I forgive you this time.

Seriously, CG, I loooooooove you and missssssss you. Hurry back from your trip.

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