Stinky Love

While we were camping this weekend, Merry and I made a stop at the pit toilets.
As I was holding on to her, helping her balance her skinny butt over the seat, she looked up at me and asked, "You love me, right?"
"Of course", I answered.
"Then don't drop me."

Babies or Boobies?

The comments on my last post were a little confusing. Amanda went ahead and requested one of my suggested options - she'd like to hear my son's adoption story. But the overwhelming response was from by biggest fans, the Chinese porn spammers. They always have such nice things to say (once I run their comments through google translate - and then reject them). It's not clear, however, which option they prefer. It seems like they're telling me I need more naked Asian ladies in my blog. And who knows? They might be right.

So please, give me something to blog about.

I've been at a bit of a blogging loss lately. I can't seem to put two thoughts together, much less a whole paragraph. But the thing is, I feel that there's something I need to get off my chest.  I'm just not sure what it is yet. It's like a giant gas bubble that you just can't get out, so you try to make yourself burp, but all you get out are those small semi-polite sounding burps. My recent posts are the burps of ten-year-olds, timidly testing a newly learned skill. I'm waiting to be inspired to rip out the ground-shaking beer and pot sticker belch of the winner in a frat house drinking game. I keep opening up this web page and staring blankly at it, waiting for the verbal gas to bubble up. And it just. Doesn't.

And so, to fill space, we'll turn this into a choose your own adventure blog. I will offer a list of subjects I could attempt to write about, and anyone who reads this thing can comment with their blogging adventure choice. That includes you, Chinese porn spammers.

1. the time Kim tried to convince me to let her stick a steak knife up my nose.

2. the time I adopted my son.

3. the time I met my boyfriend on an internet dating site.

4. the time my brother chased me through the woods with a knife, like in a horror movie.

5. the time I sewed through my finger with a sewing machine while making super lame dance costumes.

6. the time I became a Christian and then an atheist and then a Pagan and then a Wiccan and then an atheist and then a Catholic and then an atheist.

7. the time I went to college on a dare.

8. the time I realized that I still hold on to a lot of misconceptions from my childhood.

9. the time I went out to dinner with my boyfriend's ex-in-laws and they all called me Liz and I stared at them blankly.

10. the time I decided to never again use the burp as writing inspiration analogy.

Class of 90

Next weekend is my would-have-been 20 year high school reunion. That is, the school that I attended until I was 15 is having its reunion. The school I graduated from is either not having a reunion, or I am not invited. The latter being more likely, since I had a hard time convincing people that I graduated with that they had ever even seen me before, much less attended classes with me.

Me: We went to school together.

A guy I went to school with: uh.....

Me: No really, I think we were even in the same trig class.

The guy: um.... No, I don't think....

Me: I was the one with pink hair.

Guy: oh, yeah. sure...  (long pause)... You graduated?

So, through the magic of the internet, I happen to know that the class that I didn't graduate with is throwing a party next weekend. Um, at his house. And even though I probably don't really belong there, I believe I will attend. Because I have skipped too many rights of passage in my life, and darned if I'm gonna miss another one. Besides, it's a great reason to go visit my brother for the weekend.

Aren't you a little short for a storm trooper?

Meredith came out of her bedroom this morning red-faced and angry. Stomping her foot, she demanded, "I need to wear my bad guy costume!" Being a kind and patient mother, who never mocks her children, I bit my tongue to keep myself from saying, "You're three years old, you can't take off your bad guy costume."

I hate today

Today is technically my fifteenth wedding anniversary. Of course, we’re not married anymore, not really. He told me he didn’t want to be married to me when I was two months pregnant. Our daughter is three years old now. We’ve been living apart all this time, with other people. I’m happy with Eric, I love him. I love him in a way that I never loved my husband. And yet.
Today still feels like a giant kick in the gut.
Today all the betrayal, lies, loss… it all washes over me like it’s brand new.
We will meet with the lawyer next week. Make it legal. Make it final. I suspect though, that June 17th will feel like a sucker punch for years to come.

Pimple

My three year old daughter holds my face between her two hands. Studying it; memorizing it. Or so I tell myself. My heart fills, remembering all the times that I have done the same to her. Looking for shadows of myself in her big gray eyes and tracing the curves of her smile. She turns my head right and left. Brings her nose up to mine, our eyes crossing as we try to focus. Will she remember my face like this when I am old?

"Mom, what's that red bump on your nose?"

Thin Ice

Last night as I was lying next to Lucas in his bed reading him a story, he rubbed my belly and looked at me expectantly, saying, "why is your tummy getting bigger?" I assume he wanted me to tell him that I was going to have a baby.

How do you explain premenstrual bloating to a five year old, while impressing upon him the importance of the extreme delicacy with which he should approach this subject in the future?

Goodbye

Lincoln is gone. He made it till spring, just short of his 10th birthday.

Ten years was not enough time.

A Wild Pack of Family Dogs

Our most recent milestone: Eric's dog, Cassie (for whom I have decided that Cassandra Louise is a better fitting name) spent the weekend with us.

This is momentous only because there was a time when my two bratty dogs would have tried to eat her. But, since they are now ancient, arthritic and/or sickly, all Lydia could muster was a half-hearted attempt to munch on her big poofy neck when first meeting her. I think she may have just been thrown off by all that hair. In fact, my once fearless, dominant, tenacious pit bulls only really noticed that there was a big hairy collie in the house when she plunked herself down for a nap in their path. Lydia woke me up crying in the middle of the night because Cassie had decided to sleep right at the top of the bedroom stairs and she couldn't figure out how to get through.

Still, as calm and well-behaved as they all were it was like being knee-deep in a pack of dogs all weekend.