I married a mirror

“I like the Charcoal one. I like the dark grey one. But I like the Charcoal and it would look so good in that color. Well, I think the dark grey would work better. Charcoal. Grey.  CHARCOAL! GREY!” ect, ect, ect…. It could go on like this for days.

This is what happens when you marry a mirror. I should have known better. My husband and I waste most of our time arguing the same point when deciding on anything from wall color to what we want for dinner. It is exhausting. We think similarly on politics and family, have similar tastes in aesthetics and alcohol, and yet we agree on nothing. We were raised by families with a strong work ethic, yet somehow we both ended up in the Arts with zero attention span. We are both Aries (my birthday is the day before his), and while this might contribute to our bull headed arguments where we both feel we are the one in the right, I feel most of our disagreements are just the ridiculous projected ramblings that go on naturally in our heads. It is as if I am trying to convince myself on a point and so I try to convince my husband when he already agrees. It is a weird and useless thing we do. To be honest, I have never seen myself more than since I’ve been married. I really do feel like I married a mirror. I constantly have to see myself for who I am and I enjoy this new perspective. I’m glad I have my husband and a better grasp on who I am, but sometimes there are the moments I miss singledom and the cloud of escapism it can provide.   

Superman is dead

Superman went down in flames this week. He fell from his lofty view and crashed and burned and he deserves every little bit if his demise. My step-father being the all American dad with wholesome family values, the guy who would pull over and help a stranded driver on the side of the road, change their tire, and then give them some extra gas money to make sure they get home safe, the MacGyver man who could build anything and I mean anything out of anything decided to construct a double life for the last 5 years with his high school sweetheart in Arkansas unbeknown to my devoted mother. Now I know men cheating on their wives is nothing new but I also know men have evolved enough to be in control of their libido.

There have been multiple relationships that have recently ended in infidelity and my question is:  What happened to men growing up to be a good man? What happened to them wanting to be Clark Kent, Brandon Walsh or even Al Bundy, while a cynical character, he was ultimately a good father and husband. Now men admire and covet the Hank Moodys, Charlie Harpers and Greg Houses. Womanizing, disrespectful and completely narcissistic. 

I want my good guys back. I think we all deserve it and should accept nothing less.

Passing the reigns

I think it is time to pass the reigns. I complain about my husband not doing enough for me or being pro active enough with our son but in reality he does a good job. I’ve come to realize that I may have a bit of a problem just one day after beginning my New Years resolution of taking more time for myself. I have a tendency to be a little controlling. I’m not the creative free spirit may of my friends are. I am a controlled creative and that just can’t be good. You just have to look in obvious places and my bad habit is screaming out. Hanging in my closet all my clothes all face the same direction divided by category of shirt, sweater, dress, skirt, pant and each section orderly from short to long. There will be no sweatpants intermixed with my stack of denim. My sock all have mates and they are folded together nicely in the drawer together. Black t-shirts with black t-shirts and everything folded and stack as if you were in a store. Maybe it was my years of working in retail that infested me with crisp folds and straight stacks but I can’t stop and my compulsion doesn’t stop there. Just look in the kitchen cabinets or the towels in the bathroom. It’s like the famous saying, ‘A place for everything and everything in its place.’ Only my desk has escaped this strange game of Tetris my mind plays of neatly fitting all the pieces together. What I mean by all of this is that I may have become a bit overbearing with my clothes, my house and with my son since he was born. He and I just spent so much time together in the first 6 months of his life because of his relentless breastfeeding that my husband never really had the opportunity to get to know him the way I did. I just found it easier to take over every situation and get it under control rather than let my husband figure out how to be a dad. Now my son is a year old and gets a long just fine. He’ll let you know when he is thirsty, tired or hungry. He doesn’t need to be micromanaged and I don’t want to be that type of mother. It is time for me to let go and let my husband take over a bit more. It is scary and I may just start organizing my desk to fill the compulsive void but I think things will all run a little smoother now.  

Morning Mountain

It’s New Year Day at dawn. The house is dark and quiet and I have found a place for my thoughts. No babbling toddler pulling at my thigh, no husband trying to escape into his cave in the back yard. Only the jingle of the dog’s collar, as he scratches himself, and the click of keys as my fingers lay my voice to the page. Aahhh! Silence is awesome.

I’ve decided my goal this New Years is to find more time for myself. I have found one place that my thoughts can run wild and uninterrupted. It is in a place called 5:00 am. Recently a fellow mother of two young children, who is also my neighbor, and myself have discovered, that we can still get a little peace of mind together by hiking Eaton Canyon before dawn. We leave the kids and husbands at home tucked in their beds all warm and dreaming of their dreams and we grab our flashlight, jump in the car and head about 2 miles up the street where the San Gabriel Mountains meet suburbia. We walk in the pitch dark with wildlife rustling in the bushes, muddy twisting trails sheer, and cliffs. We make our way up to a precipice, looking over the city of Los Angeles as the sun rises and we both find our moment of peace and calm that helps us get through the loud chaos of the upcoming day. My husband thought we were crazy and irresponsible. Last summer there was a brown bear the size of my car in a tree six doors down and we’ve seen the coyotes cruising the streets for small pets early in the morning. He pointed out that bears and mountain lions don’t hibernate here in Southern California and that we are putting ourselves in outrageous and selfish danger. Well, that maybe but I’m not giving it up. When she is unavailable, I still wake at 5am, grab my flash light and power walk alone from my house all the way uphill to the entrance of the Canyon and back again. This is the only excitement or alone time I’ve found. Hiking by moonlight with the threat of bears, lions or coyotes having me for breakfast…what am I doing? Maybe my husband is right? Maybe I should have considered an affair instead. There would be elements of danger and excitement, but that would mean another man in my life and still no alone time. No dick is worth that. Fuck it! I’ll take my chances with wild animals. Mountain here I come.

The case for Martyrdom

1.     Going 3 days without a shower and on the 4^th day no longer asking my husband to watch the child so I could get 20 minutes to take one but instead telling him very sternly that I WILL be taking a shower, don’t bug me, I’ll be done when I’m done.

2.     Asking for my husband to play with our child in the other room for 30 minutes from 4:30 – 5:00 while I make our little man dinner since the boy's circling my legs and running around in the kitchen while there are hot pots boiling on the stove, hot oven doors, and sharp knives perching on the edges of counters, can maim him permanently, and getting a dramatic sign and a begrudging "Yah, okay."

3.     Trying to take my morning “Big Job” after I’ve had my coffee only to be interrupted by the tantrum unfolding outside my bathroom door because my husband couldn’t keep him out of the area for the whole 5 minutes this would have taken. (This one really gets to me as it happens almost every morning and if you read an earlier blog, this is a simple pleasure in my life that I long for.)

4.     Cleaning up after the kid all day and washing all his dishes, sweeping and mopping the sticky floor only to turn around and see that my husband has made himself a snack which has somehow utilized almost every utensil and bowl/plate/cup/knife/cutting board… everything, You name it and it is all piled in the sink and spread across the counters and crumbled all over the floors while he is relaxing with his feet up in front of the television after his long day.  Ps- Honey, I am NOT the maid! …Urrgggghhh!

5.     Leaving the boys at home together during a pissing winter rainstorm and trying to cram into two hours Christmas shopping, dropping off the dry cleaning, stopping by two banks, hitting Target, two kids stores, and barely buying a coffee to keep running this marathon before the phone rings, “Where are you?”

Yoga and the Barking Vagina

Yesterday morning I conquered my barking vagina, well, at the very least I avoided rousing her in yoga class. I had not been to yoga for 3 months. When I did go then it was about 10 months after giving birth and I was thrilled to be back in class.  I’m naturally a skinny bitch that has no shame so I was ready to show off my slender post-pregnancy body and make the other women in the class secretly jealous.  Initially, my narcissistic ego boosting was working perfectly and I was feeling like the shit.  I could feel their wicked stares stabbing my tight ass and flat stomach with this stretch and that bend. I was totally in it, breathing deep, keeping up with the instructor, and to be honest I am surprised that my giant ego head did not topple me over during warrior 3. Everything was great until we moved to inversions. Some jumped at the chance to try a handstand, I decided since I hadn’t done this in almost a year, to kept it simple and do a Half Shoulder-stand.  Most of the class scurried to the walls and flipped up side down, practicing a variety of head and handstands while a few others and I proceeded to remain on our mats in the middle of the room. 

On my back, I braced my lower back with my hands and raised my pelvis in the air for a perfect 45degree angle and then proceeded to kick my legs up one by one to achieve my inversion. This is where things went horrible wrong. As my first leg left the ground and was rising up to its perpendicular point, my vagina began gasping for air like a drowning swimmer. It did not make a noise but I felt the cavity where my womb was, expanding like a balloon. So with one leg up and my vagina full of air I decided to throw the other leg skyward and hope for the best.  I achieved success, a perfect Half Shoulder-stand. But very quickly it became apparent my strength is not what it used to be and my muscles began to quake. I realized, “Shit, I’ve got to get down but my vagina’s got a big bubble in it.”  Well, I was trying to figure this problem out still poised in my inversion when my body began giving out on me so fuck it I decided. I did my very best kegel and squeezed everything together in hopes I could come down with a soft landing. My vagina, having a mind of her own, began to bark like a seal while I descended back to my mat. Because most of the class was against the wall, there was no mistaking where these yelp were coming from. The only thing I could do was sit up aghast and give a dirty glair to the poor woman closest to me. Luckily, she was lying flat with her eyes closed so she didn’t see me but I don’t think I fooled anyone. 

I still finished the class. I had to. Getting up and leaving with tears streaming down my face  from embarrassment like I wanted to would be an admission of guilt. Once class ended, I did however scurry out and race to my car swearing I would never return.  It may have taken 3 months but I did go back to yoga. Although in a different class now, I learned a valuable lesson, try to avoid inversions shortly after giving birth because even skinny bitches can have a barking vagina.

Dumbass!!!

My husband can be such a DUMBASS. I swear my son and I do just fine. We have a rhythm. We should. I spend ALL day with him. We eat ALL our meals together. We go to the bathroom together. We get dressed together. Brush our teeth together. We have our own little language and I can understand his needs. I’m his best friend, the sun of his universe and he is mine. But when my husband pipes up and tries to tell me how to parent after he's been gone all day, I want to smack him. Kick his ass. Fuck, just give him a wedgie and throw a soda in his face. Now, I’m not violent and I only lash out at my husband, like a proper bickering wife, with words when my son is not around, but it would feel so nice to have at him in an incredibly immature way. This may be due to the fact that my days are spent with a toddler who has discovered the art of protest and doing an amazing job perfecting his performances. Ultimately I know I am an adult and it would never happen but good thing I still have a very active imagination.  I keep tight-lipped, chuckle to myself and smile at the thought of it. Ahhhh... Husband covered in a milkshake. Mmmm... Soothing.